25th of Summer, 508 A.V.; 6th Bell
"All right. Line up." The tutor said gruffly, pacing back and forth in the medium room, shined black boots making a steady clop clop sound on the stone floor.
Before he paced the room twice, they had to be in a line. Otherwise, they'd get a severe dressing-down in front of their fellow trainees. The boys, all aged between twelve and fifteen, scrambled into a rough approximation of a line. For all the militaristic phrasing and attitude their tutor employed, they were not trained as a military. They were expected to be eventual bodyguards, not soldiers.
The room they were in was actually one of their patron's warehouses, full of barrels and crates that likely held more than any of the boys would make in their entire lives. Anyone caught stealing was immediately reported to the Syliran guards, and dismissed from the training. No one ever stole after they had been in the "program" for a year or so.
The wealthy merchant that was paying for their tutelage wanted loyal guards, and thought that recruiting them young and teaching them everything was the best way to go about it. Apparently it was, because he'd had guards die for him before, it was said.
"Today, you're going to learn how to practice the Flux alone," the tutor said. He was an older man, both tall and heavy...more than a little of that weight came from fat. Thanks to his skill with Flux, however, he could likely beat a man half his fat and half his age. The wings of white on his temples would have made him seem distinguished, if he'd bothered to shave that morning.
Deltan, thirteen years old at the time, looked on with curiosity. After the initial induction into the program, he had proven quite adept among his peers. He was not the best, but he was good enough to warrant being taught to use the magic form that their tutor trusted to only those he felt would surely end up in their patron's retinue. It had been a frustrating process, one which he had been tempted to give up more than once. Only the threat of expulsion from his patron's tutelage--and the subsequent loss of a stipend that helped cover more than a little of their cost of living--had kept him from giving up altogether.
After days spent effectively locked in a room with only the occasional delivery of water, he had discovered the art of Flux. It had been an epiphany; it was slow at first, the sense of a vague power in him. Then it came faster, and he understood that the power ran through paths within him, connecting every part to every other part. He was a conduit for energy, and he found that he could move that energy, just like his tutor had said. During the first days, the energy resisted him, fighting to remain as it was. Then, slowly, Deltan had been able to manipulate it more and more. Now, a year later, he and the others were to be taught a new way to practice the Flux. Their teacher had finally decided they could be trusted to do more than transfer potential from one set of muscles to another.
The older man gestured to a stack of staves, all with heavily weighted ends. He picked one up and tossed it to an older boy with the unnatural speed and strength of a longtime Flux user. The boy had the breath knocked out of him in a loud whoosh! and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Without missing a beat, the tutor tossed the second staff to a younger boy, more gently to match the boy's experience with Flux. He caught it, though he staggered back against a barrel and nearly knocked it over. On and on it went, until all six boys had either caught or been assaulted by their staves.
Deltan, for his part, barely caught his. Instead of using Flux to stop the heavy thing, the boy had allowed it past him, gripping it and empowering his arms to swing it around once to deplete the momentum. It was an intoxicating feeling as it always was, untapped potential flowing from all the muscles in his body and focusing in his arms. Had he been the first in line, he would have been likely crushed by his staff. Instead, he had been granted time to develop a pathway for energy to both his arms. A faint, familiar pain gathered in his temples once he'd returned the energy to where it belonged.
Whenever he extended himself to two points at once, it caused a headache. Later today, he would likely be almost in tears with the pain in his skull. For now, he would live with it. It was the price one paid for the potential to be as powerful as a master Flux user. Their tutor knew this was true for each of them to a certain extent, and made certain to force them to either fail or experience the very threshold of overgiving. It was up to them to decide whether to use the Flux or not, though he had described in detail the consequences of overgiving. Anyone foolish enough to overextend their power deserved the consequences, in his opinion. As a result, those who seemed too eager to show off were promptly dismissed. Then again, those who were scared of their power were sent out the door right after them.
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by Deltan Colari on October 19th, 2014, 1:48 am 