Darkness of the Heart
Chapter 2: A Realization of Hopelessness
Rikash fidgeted in his seat, watching the master's assistant walk down the rows of students, a few still scribbling madly, collecting their papers. As always, Rikash sat near the end of the row to the furthest right, so that he had a few extra minutes to finish, should he ever need it. Unfortunately, it was the practical exams he had trouble with, not the written. His own pages were full, words scrawled at a slight slant.
A large slate at the front of the room had the ten questions they were required to answer written on it in white chalk. Rikash had managed to answer them all, and fairly satisfactorily in his mind. Now he was anxious for it be taken, so that he could escape from the stifling heat of the Examination Hall.
It was nearly summer, true summer, a summer that made even true Carthakis sweat and be in discomfort. Despite the fact that he had spent seven years, and seven summers, here in Carthak, Rikash still thought of himself as a Northerner.
When the assistant finally made his way down the last row, snatching papers off of students' desks, students on the other side of the room were already walking out the doors on shaky legs. For the first time, Rikash regretted sitting so far to the end.
His paper having just been taken, Rikash pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his legs. His white pants were, once again, too short, ending about an inch above his ankle. But seeing as there was only ten days left until graduation, he wasn't going to worry about it too much. Though, he didn't really have any other clothes, besides a few other sets of the uniform.
Rikash sighed. Looks like he would be heading for the school tailor's before the delegates arrived.
As one of the last students to leave the Hall, the walkways were nearly deserted. All things considered, he felt he had done fairly well, at least compared to the boy who sat in front of him. He had spent the entire test shaking, and sweating. Well, they had all been sweating in the heat, but this boy… Rikash shook his head, he wouldn't be surprised if his test paper wasn't even readable.
Walking to his rooms, Rikash wiped a sleeve across his forehead. This, thankfully, dislodged his brown hair, which had previously been plastered against his head with sweat. It seemed as though his appearance was the only thing he had inherited from his parents, his hair was the exact same color as his mother.
He had two hours until the students would be called to the Exhibition Hall, where they would greet the masters from the Imperial University. All of which would be spent in the tailor's, being stuck with pins. Rikash sighed, at least most of his bruises had faded.
The tailor wouldn't be pleased to see him, Rikash though wryly, as he collected his two spare sets of uniforms in his arms. This was the third time this year he had had to have his hems let down. The only good thing about this trip was that while he was there, he would have the chance to get another belt, perhaps a red, or dark purple.
It was a little harder than he would have liked to see over the pile of clothes in his arms. He had to rely heavily on what he remembered of the route. Unfortunately, he hadn't reckoned on the steady flow of servants too and from the Exhibition and Dining Halls. They were generally able to avoid him, but one, carrying a similar load, in that it impaired his sight, ran straight into him.
This wouldn't have been too bad, but this particular servant was at least a foot taller than Rikash, and about twice his weight. Rikash got knocked off his feet, into a column, his clothes dropped unceremoniously. The servant's basket of gems and jewelry scattered all over the floor.
The man, according to Rikash, was the nearest thing to a giant he had ever seen. Which was probably why he was given the task of carrying such a heavy load. The jewels he had been carrying where the ones the students were expected to magic. He gulped, there was no way he would be able to do that. The servant was still standing, which could only be expected when you are that size.
Rikash, slightly sore from smashing into a stone column, got to his knees and began scooping up the sparkly stones and dumping them in the basket, praying that none had shattered. The servant just watched him, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Picking up the last jewel, Rikash got to his feet, wiping off the knees of his pants as he stood. Still the taller man was silent. "Sorry." Rikash mumbled, and, glancing back at the man one last time, grabbed his dropped clothes, and hurried on.
As he had expected, the tailor gave him a dirty look when he opened the door on a large pile of clothes. Underneath this, of course, was an apologetic Rikash, with a shrug ready for the tailor's inquiry as to why he grew so much. It was the same thing he asked every time the only blue eyed student showed up on his doorstep.
With a sigh, the tailor, an elderly fellow with salt and pepper hair, waved him in.
It was half an hour before he let Rikash go, the teenager decidedly sorer, resulting from his short flight earlier, as well as several pin holes all over his body, compliments of the tailor. Walking down the hallway, after promising to return in another hour to pick up his clothes, he rubbed his wrist, where a particularly sharp pin had left its mark.
So now he had an hour to kill, if it didn't kill him first, wearing a pair of borrowed clothes, since all of his were being altered. His fellow students would be preparing for the arrival of the University masters eagerly, so at least he didn't have to worry about any run ins with them. He knew he should be practicing, so that he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself when he was handed a jewel, but he couldn't bring himself to go through an hour of repetitive failure. There really was no point in practicing, no amount of practice could make his Gift any stronger. The most he could do was a weak protection spell, and only on an object that was very susceptible to magic. The jewel would flare once when near a drink containing poison. Quite worthless if you asked him, since it had to be all but immersed in the drink to work.
Slightly absorbed in his thoughts, Rikash tripped. He stumbled once before putting a hand against the wall to steady himself. He clenched his teeth, afraid to look up and see what he had tripped over. Unfortunately, looking down want much better. He blinked, and barely had time to register what he was seeing before a knee jerked up and jabbed him in the stomach. Hard.
Rikash grunted, doubling over, tears clouding his blue eyes. His attackers laughed, watching him. "What's the matter Draper? Worried sick about tonight? I would be if I were you, thankfully, I'm not." The speaker was a boy his age, one with a moderately powerful gift, to go with his moderate intelligence. This wasn't the first time he had beaten on Rikash, not by a long shot. If he had cared to remember all the times he had awoken bruised and sore, he would have been out of his mind, however, he did know that it had happened for the first time shortly after his first practical class, in which he completely failed to do whatever they had been asked.
Many times before, he had been tempted to reply 'actually, it's not Draper, its Salmalin' if only just to see the looks on their faces. Everyone at the school knew who his father was, they just didn't know that he was his father. They also knew his mother, but he wasn't quite sure how. Probably something to do with her being the Wild mage, no one had ever bothered to tell him. But, as always, he knew better, and kept his mouth shut. There was a reason he wasn't allowed to use his last name, and, knowing his parents, it was probably a very good one.
Instead, he just stayed quiet, and let them hurt him. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop them, if he tried to fight back, they would use their Gifts, and he would be that much worse off. It was better just to let them do what they wanted, and then deal with the bruises as best he could. That was what he had done for seven years now, and he wasn't about to change, not with only ten days left. Once those ten days were over, he would never have to see any of his fellow students again. Mainly because he wouldn't be accepted into the Academy, but also because he would be leaving for Tortall the day after Graduation.
He raised his head to look the other boy in the eye, and realized there were about five others there as well. Rikash gulped, this was not going to be pretty. Jekair, the one who had kneed him in the stomach, grinned, before swinging his fist at the brunette's face.
When Rikash finally limped into the tailor's an hour later, the bruise next to his eye that had nearly faded was back, in living color, and had brought friends.
The tailor only frowned before dumping the clothes in the teenager's arms, and pointing him at a small, curtained off, section of the room. Rikash shuffled over, attempting to wipe some dried blood off his lip as he did so. Praying he wouldn't be stuck with more pins, Rikash stripped down to a pair of cotton shorts, discarding the loaner clothes on an upturned bucket. He pulled the white shirt over his head, wincing as a bruise on his back was stretched.
Thankfully, both the pants and shirt fit, so he wouldn't be subject to the tailor's heavy hand again. Pushing the curtain aside, he held his newly altered clothes in his arms, one pair on. Rikash thanked the tailor, eyeing the belts. Sighing, the tailor nodded at the rack. "Size and color?"
"Size five, and red please." Sadly, the significance of this was lost on him. The tailor however, smiled sardonically, and handed the youth a bright red length of cord.