Children of the Patriarchy - Chapter One

Chapter One: A Show of Force

“No bet.”

“Aww come on, it’s no fun without stakes.”

“No. It’s my jerky and I don’t want to share.”

“But this way you don’t have to share, you get to lose it fair and square,” Reginald said, smirking.

“You don’t make a very good argument, you know. You’ll have to do better than that,” Chance replied, taking another handful of jerky from the bag.

Ten-year-old Reginald or “Reg” got to his knees and gathered the dice for another throw. He had shoulder-length brown hair that was mixed with blond in a two-toned pattern and lavender eyes. The color of his hair shifted and moved between the two colors ever so slightly as to be barely perceptible, but it gave the impression of constant motion even when stationary. “By the end of this, I’ll have some of that jerky!” He sighed. “You got anything else to bet?”

Chance shook his head. “It’s all I packed today, plus it’s time to go inside. Let’s go.” His hair was short and just brown like his eyes.

“Fine, fine.” They both got up and dusted off their school’s gray robe uniforms. Reginald’s robes were decorated with silver buttons, which designated his status as a close member of the Patriarch’s family, though Chance’s were not. “Are you excited to have a class with the girls today?” Reg put the dice in his pocket.

The two preteen boys were at the uncomfortable stage of adolescence when members of the opposite sex transitioned from icky to interesting. Chance was further along the curve than Reginald, so he would have been embarrassed to say anything to indicate his interest.

“Psh, nah, what’s the big deal? It’s just some girls,” Chance replied, lying poorly. “I’m more interested in the demonstration than anything else,” he said with a bit more sincerity. Together, they walked along the outside wall of the school.

The Greater Imperial Academy of Rashil was built in the upper district, just outside of the main square that led to the palace district. It served as the primary educational and indoctrination center for not just the capital city of Rashil, but its eponymous greater empire. The nobility of the outlying territorial “acquisitions” were appropriated and moved to ensure proper integration of their nations upon their later return to their homeland as trained and obedient governors. The empire of Rashil and its Patriarch had enough practice with expansion, subjugation, and adoption that it had found the ideal combination of fear and obedience to drill into its colonial subjects.

The school’s original purpose at the onset of the ascension for the Patriarch’s dominion was as a military training center. It had its own exterior walls and fortifications, and while it had been hundreds of years since its formal reappropriation, the echoes of military architecture remained for those who knew what to look for. The battlement walls were constructed of thick azure-quartz bricks that had to be imported from far away. Selected specifically for their resistance to attacks, both mundane and magical, the mostly blue walls stood in stark contrast with the surrounding metropolis, caught in an eternal cycle of restoration and reconstruction of centuries gone by.

At the center of the complex was a plateau that rose to be the highest point in the city outside of the palace district. Atop it stood a building that defied particular definition, but was collectively called a theater. The large, domed building served as everything from lecture hall, to opera house, to temple. It was constructed of large stone pillars in an oval shape connected by carved hardwood walls with large windows to let light in. Though in the last century, the sparse lighting that could be conjured by a torch or two had been greatly augmented with the installation of gas lantern fixtures positioned regularly throughout the building.

Large gilded doors made of dark wood and lined with golden trim to accent its opulence were merely mundane set dressing, however, to the stream of uniformed boys entering the building slowly. The theater stood directly between the boys and girls halves of the academy complex, so the two genders entered from opposite sides. The din of the crowd increased as Reginald and Chance drew near the theater, with female voices now entering the chatter.

Once on the inside, the boys saw how the teacher arranged the students. They split each row in half, with boys on one side of the auditorium and girls on the other side, with a single empty chair between the two halves. For modesty, of course.

“How good of you to join us on time, Mr. Thurblood,” the deep and severe voice of a teacher said from behind them.

Turning, Reginald plastered on his best forced smile. “Of course, sir, I’d never be late on purpose!” he said in a barely sarcastic tone.

The scolding teacher loomed over the boys. He narrowed his eyes and gave them a penetrating glare. He grunted, “Take a seat and keep quiet. The demonstration should start soon.” With that, the two boys rejoined the throng and moved to find seats far from the girls’ side of the auditorium. On some cue, the large curtains that rimmed the enormous glass windows extended, covering the light as the room fell into relative darkness. The gas lamps at the center of the stage and along the perimeter walls turned up, and it gradually became easier to see as their eyes adjusted.

The large wooden stage was elevated, but only barely, to allow access to the stage floor from what would strictly speaking be under the stage rather than backstage. The wooden floor pulled away, and another platform was lifted into view, revealing a woman wearing the long, billowing white-and-blue-patterned robes of the limited female clergy and a man in the characteristic large wide-collared green and red woolen coat of a military officer dress uniform, with blond hair cut to shoulder length and tied back in a ponytail, along with various props for their presentation.

As the stage reached its apex, the woman raised her hands in the air theatrically and spoke with a projected voice that reverberated with the acoustics designed for the building. “Good day, boys and girls!” Under the robes of her office, she wore a long, flowing blue and silver dress and had long brown-blond two-toned hair like Reginald. “My name is Mistress Silvia. Some of the senior girls will know me from their temple visits. But for most of you who haven’t met me yet, I am here with Lieutenant Bearah from our own Army Corps of Magic and Spellcraft,” she gestured to the man off to the side of the stage, who gave a polite wave, “to show you some of what you all can do.” She smiled softly. “With the proper training, of course.”

She picked up a small tea kettle in one hand, and with the other she reached down into a box near her feet and pulled out several very long and presumably sharp knives. In actuality, while the tips of the knives were razor sharp, the sides of the blade were blunted. “To start, we shall show how a properly prepared sorcerer can protect himself, even when at a terrible disadvantage.” She gestured to Lieutenant Bearah. “If you would, please . . .”

The lieutenant dutifully stepped to the side of the stage and picked up a wooden quarterstaff in one hand. He readied himself in a half crouch and raised his staff in front of him.

Pulling one of the knives out of the stack, Mistress Silvia showed it to the crowd. “Are you ready?” The lieutenant nodded. A moment passed in silence as she took a knife and readied to throw. The crowd sat in anticipation long enough that Chance wondered if something was wrong. Without warning, the tea kettle spewed steam from the spout and the whistle was loud enough that the entire room could hear it clearly. At this cue, Silvia threw her knife straight at the lieutenant. Without hesitation, the quarterstaff came up to block, and with a hard THWACK sound, the blade stuck point-first into the staff. The room burst into applause.

“As you can see, the lieutenant was quite lucky, but anyone can be lucky a single time. Let’s try—” The lieutenant deftly spun the staff as one, two, three knives left her hand, followed by a loud THWACK THWACK THWACK as all three knives dug into the staff. Cheers burst from the crowd.

“Did you see that!” Chance turned to Reginald. “He caught all three out of the air.”

“Yeah, that was really something . . .” Reginald yawned and feigned boredom. “We see this stuff all the time at the palace.”

“Still though, how much luck do you think he used?”

“Not that much, throw your dice right and you could probably earn that back in a day or two.”

The lieutenant took off his blindfold and plucked the knives out of the staff. With a very subtle movement, Mistress Silva concentrated and forced as much magic as she could manage into the kettle, causing the water to boil more forcefully, letting out a sudden, much-louder whistle. At the sound, she threw another knife hard and fast. The lieutenant started, spun, and caught the knife by the hilt as it flew past. Gasps erupted in the auditorium at the surprise flourish.

Reginald sat forward in his seat. “Ok, now that was cool.”

The lieutenant cast a suppressed glare at his partner. He never wanted to do that trick, and she knew it. He would frequently lose at least a finger or two on the first attempts to catch the blade before they started blunting them. Even with that, he would still be cut regularly. While being able to choose your final outcome was great, it didn’t stop it from hurting each time he missed.

She gave him a smug smirk back and continued with her presentation. “That, children, is the male aspect of wizardry. The ability to store and use luck and chance at will is a powerful tool if used at the right time. Many, if not most of you young men have already experienced this in your gambling classes. Yes?” A murmur of incoherent, but affirmative mumbles hummed from the male half of the crowd.

The lieutenant coughed before he spoke up. “It is very important to not deplete your luck reserves, however. If you run out and try to draw on an empty reserve, it will rebound and that can be VERY disorienting and more than a little nauseating.” He approached Mistress Silvia and returned the knives, dropping them forcefully into the box she had just pulled them from and flashing a small hidden sneer at her.

Mistress Silvia added, “It is also important to note for you boys in the room, that if you take on a new host, you will lose your luck reserves. They are tied to the combination of body and spirit. So, pay attention to this when you possess your sons.” She clapped three times forcefully, and at that cue a large pedestal and a large target made of hay and burlap were pulled onto the stage by some assistant that Reginald and Chance had not noticed yet.

Mistress Silvia continued, “I will confess, in the demonstration with the lieutenant, I cheated a bit. A very powerful sorceress like myself,” she said without a hint of humility, “can manipulate probability so much that the vibrations caused by the friction of improbable collisions can heat something to the point of boiling. I used this through the kettle as a warning to notify the lieutenant when I was about to throw.”

 The crowd murmured softly as this demonstration of power had gone beyond the ability of the average sorceresses they knew from temple or classes. Silvia basked in the awe of the assembled students for a moment. She did like to show off after all. “Now, this is just my opinion, but I think that while the female aspect is harder to use, it is more powerful.” The girls in the crowd predictably cheered at this, but the male students had the good sense not to boo or jeer in response. Mistress Silvia continued, “Though it is a bit more subtle. We play at the rules of probability in a given area to various degrees to achieve a number of effects. For example, if you would please, Lieutenant.” She turned and faced him, extended her arm forward with her palm facing the lieutenant, and gestured for him to throw.

At this cue, he took a large orange ball and threw it at her. The air in front of her took on a shimmering smoothness, and when the ball came into contact with it, its path changed mid-flight. Now instead of heading straight for her, it curved out and shot over the crowd, landing in the lap of some underclassman girl.

The lieutenant continued his barrage. In sequence, without fail, they all veered off in various, seemingly random directions. “This open-palm redirection technique is the foundation of all female sorcery. Unlike Lieutenant Bearah, however, I could do this all day. He can throw as many balls as he likes and he still won’t hit me.” She turned to face the crowd again. “Let’s up the stakes, shall we? It’s no fun without stakes.” Reginald nudged Chance, who scoffed. Mistress Silvia reached down near where the box of knives had been and lifted a delicate white vase and placed it on the pedestal between her and the burlap target.

The lieutenant drew two pistols from his belt and stood at the far side of the stage from the target. “Now please, do not try this at home. Only very highly skilled sorceresses should even attempt such a trick.” She turned back to the lieutenant and raised one arm in front of her and one arm behind her. The air took on that faint shimmer.

He raised the guns straight at her and counted out “Three, two, one!” BANG! Faster than the eye could see, the bullets traveled through the air, hit the shimmer, and bent in the air in front of Silvia. The rounds moved in the air around her, and then back together, moving on their original path behind her. The vase exploded as the bullets impacted it and landed on the target.

The crowd was awestruck, so it took a silent moment before the applause started. Mistress Silvia and Lieutenant Bearah both faced the crowd and took a long bow. “Thank you! Thank you! This works by generating two fields: One making the path of the bullet improbable, and the other reversing this effect on the other side. The bullet has a sort of ‘memory’ for what it was doing, so by reversing the forces applied, you can redirect objects around you.”

A few minutes later, the lights came back up and the classes were dismissed for lunch. The boys and girls filed out through separate doors, but exited into the shared courtyard between the two schools. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the theater and into the outside afternoon air, Chance had his precious bag of jerky out and was snacking on a small piece.

“Boy that was really something, eh Reg?” said one of Reginald’s other friends as he ran by, slapping him lightly on the arm.

“It sure was,” a soft voice said behind them. Reginald and Chance turned to see a girl standing behind them. She had long auburn-blond two-toned hair and lavender eyes like Reginald. Like Reginald, her hair also slowly shifted between the two colors. Her long hair was in a braid laying over one shoulder, with the odd errant strand of fringe bangs having freed themselves from their prison of hair ties and bobby pins. The early afternoon sun lit her from behind, causing the hair to cast an ever-shifting shadow and lining her whole body in an aura of light. She unconsciously tried to blow one of the blinding bangs several times before giving up and adjusting her books into one arm to reach and pull the hair behind her ear before flashing a smile. The female school uniforms were designed to be far less elaborate or intricate as the male uniforms, with their detailed embroidery and gilded seams. Her uniform was a simple navy-blue skirt and plain gray blouse. Conspicuously deviant from the uniform code, however, was a pin of a violet-colored flower attached near the waist of the skirt.

“Oh uh . . . H-Hi,” Chance stammered out, awash with unfamiliar feelings.

She smiled wide. “You must be Chance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Who? Me?” He turned and looked side to side like that would somehow answer his question. “How?”

“This is my twin sister, you idiot. Try not to drool on yourself,” Reginald interjected, waving a hand in front of Chance’s face. Chance shut his involuntarily slack-jawed mouth.

She smiled warmly again. “Indeed, Regina Thurblood.” She bent one knee in front of the other and spread her dark-blue skirt in a curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh, don’t be so formal all the time.”

“Maybe you should be more formal. Have you ever thought of that?” She snapped back and stuck her tongue out at Reginald. “You guys headed to lunch?” She asked as her tone suddenly became much more casual and conversational.

“I uh . . . I brought jerky.” A long pause. “You want some?”

“Sure, I’ll try a piece.” She stuck her hand in the bag and pulled out a long, thin strip.

“YOINK!” Reginald snatched the piece out of her hand and immediately took a big bite. “Told you I’d get some!” he yelled as he ran off, satisfied with his pilfering.

“WHAT A JERK!” Regina said, stomping her foot.

“More like a jerky . . .” Chance replied with a groaner of a joke.

Regina’s face at first straightened, then burst out laughing. “More like a jerky! Nice. I’ll have to tell him that later!”

“You want another piece?” Chance asked, pulling another large strip from the bag.

Regina smiled wide and replied, “Yes, thank you. It sounds delightful.”

“Well, I figure it mostly smells delightful, it doesn’t actually make a sound on its own.” Regina rolled her eyes, groaned loudly again, and gave Chance a playful punch on the arm. Chance smiled back at her and shook the bag in her direction. They shared the rest of the bag together.