The Chosen 2
As time passed, Fisk tried not to think about the home he left behind. Though he was really sad at first, and missed his family, it got easier and easier to forget about. Master Zemus never discussed it with the boy at any length. But when Fisk’s parents did come up in talks, the man seemed to infer that the boy’s family was sorely mistaken and had no idea what they had given up.
Master Zemus always called it an exchange. He never talked about giving away, sending away, buying or selling. Fisk eventually came to realize that he wasn’t the first or last exchange the Manor was making. But the man also never talked about that.
In fact, his master rarely talked to Fisk about many things at all.
Despite this, Master Zemus saw that Fisk got the best training and teaching. Sometimes Master Zemus did the teaching. Other times, such as with battle training, Master Zemus hand-picked Fisk’s trainer.
The boy got his own set of Manor robes, which he kept as clean as possible, and his own little room that served as a study and a bedroom. To his amazement, Fisk didn’t have to share it with anyone else. It was the first time he actually had something of his own.
It was also the first time the boy felt wanted and important.
Though Master Zemus didn’t talk often, and never showed any form of teacherly affection, he always made sure to let Fisk know how smart and full of potential the boy was. No one ever told him things like that before. At home, he wasn’t smart or important. He was just the little brother who had trouble lacing his boots and sometimes dropped and broke things.
Here, he was taught by masters in special classes, rather than in big classes like the rest of the kids had to go to. Much to Fisk’s amazement, he found that he could use magic. He also found that he was getting stronger and better at using the practice sword.
In time, the boy began to believe Master Zemus’ words. When the man told him that he had unusual talents that would be a benefit to the Manor, Fisk believed. When the man told him that he would one day be a great master himself, Fisk believed. When the man told him that he no longer needed to worry about the people he left behind, that they didn’t see his true worth, that they would have only held him back, Fisk believed.
When Master Zemus made himself the center of Fisk’s world, the boy didn’t question. He simply followed.
As his abilities began to grow, his mind began to change. He began to think differently than before. He began to see how unfair and cold the world was. He began to understand how the Manor was working to fix this injustice, and how Master Zemus was at the heart of making it all better.
But not everyone seemed to understand that.
The other kids, the ones not lucky enough to have Master Zemus as a teacher, would make fun of him. They said they didn’t like his teacher. They thought Master Zemus was creepy and they called Fisk creepy, too. They said the boy was weird because he didn’t go to normal classes like all the other kids. They said his eyes were funny and he pronounced words wrong. That his magic was broken and his practice sword wasn’t even real, so it couldn’t protect him from their bullying cruelty.
Fisk decided that they were all jealous and stupid and he didn’t want them as friends anyway. He didn’t need friends when he had someone like Master Zemus. At least, that’s what he told his teacher whenever Master Zemus asked if he had any friends at the school.
His teacher always smiled at his answer. It seemed to make Master Zemus happy that the boy was his friend. Maybe one day, Master Zemus would want to be Fisk’s friend, too.
On this day, Fisk was walking back to his room down the back streets of the city, trying to avoid anyone seeing him. He even wore his protective hood with the Manor symbol. But, the kids still saw him and followed him.
They started with their normal words. Stupid words that they thought could hurt him. Only, they didn’t hurt because Fisk knew they were the stupid ones and that what they said wasn’t true. The boy kept walking, acting like they weren’t there.
In his mind, he imagined something large and heavy, like a really big box, dropping on them from the roof. He imagined some of them got hurt. They would cry and he would keep walking. He might even laugh as they cried.
No box fell, though. And they still followed him, walking closer and closer. Finally, one picked up a small stone and tossed it at Fisk’s back. They all laughed as it bounced off and clattered to the stone street. He didn’t see what was so funny about it.
When he didn’t respond, they did it again. And again. Soon, he felt the annoying pelt of stones bouncing off the back of his robe. He did his best to ignore it, until one of the boys threw the stone really hard.
It hurt, and Fisk couldn’t help but let out a shout of pain. Fed up, the boy finally turned to face the other kids, face dark with anger. They seemed to think this was all the more funny.
“Leave me alone!” Fisk demanded. He realized his mistake as the other kids simply mocked him in weird, high-pitched voices.
He wanted to hit them, even though he knew he shouldn’t. There were four of them and one of him, so starting a fight would probably be a bad thing. But it wasn’t fair that they could throw things at him and he couldn’t fight back.
Fisk wanted to tell them that this was not what the Manor upheld. But they were too stupid to understand that, even though they wore the Manor robes and went to Manor classes. Master Zemus called them narrow-minded. He said that one day, people like Fisk would rule above the other stupid kids and they would all be sorry.
But what would happen one day didn’t help what was happening now.
“Go cry to your master, you freak,” one of the boys shouted, trying to look intimidating.
Fisk never cried in front of Master Zemus. Not even when the other kids were mean to him. Crying was for babies, and he wasn’t a crybaby.
When the taunt received no response, the boy picked up a stone and held it up in one fist. “Didn’t you hear me? I said go cry!”
The boy threw the stone as hard as he could at Fisk. Fisk saw it flying towards him, right towards his face, too fast to dodge. He winced, readying himself for the pain. But the pain didn’t come. Only silence from the other side of his eyes.
Fisk peeked out at a strange sight. The stone hovered, floating in mid-air, only a few lengths in front of him. The other kids looked at it aghast, then turned to see the robed figure that stood watching them from the street. At first, Fisk wondered if it might be Master Zemus. That his teacher did care and would come to help him.
Then he saw that it was someone else, someone Fisk didn’t know.
The other kids seemed to know this person, though. He was older than they were, but not quite a grown up yet. His eyes were fierce and unforgiving, brows pinched down, making him look all the more frightening. The kids didn’t scare Fisk, but this older boy did.
“What is going on here?” he asked with the sound of authority. He wore Manor robes, but different from the ones the kids wore. His showed some sort of rank.
“Nothing…” the boy who threw the rock said, looking down at his feet.
“That is what I thought,” the older boy walked forward. Then his hand flashed out, fist closing around the rock, plucking it from where it floated in mid-air.
Fisk boggled at the boy. It must have been his magic that stopped the stone. But why would he protect Fisk like that?
The other kids said nothing. They just looked afraid, like they might wet themselves. Fisk would have thought that it was funny if he wasn’t also afraid.
“Do you not have somewhere more constructive to be? Classes? Studies?” he asked, dropping the rock on the ground.
“Yes, sir,” one of the others stammered before taking a step backwards. As a group, the turned and ran back down the street, leaving Fisk alone with the older boy.
Fisk swallowed, then regained his manners. The other kids were stupid, but this older boy most certainly was not.
“Thank you,” he said. Instantly, he wished he hadn’t.
The older boy whipped his head around, the sharp, angry eyes focusing on him. Surprisingly, his next words were advice, “If you let them goad you into a fight, you will be the one who gets in trouble.”
Fisk gathered his courage. Part of him was curious. “How did you know I was thinking about…”
“Asking questions can get you in trouble, too,” came the answer.
“I’m sorry,” the boy looked down. “Master Zemus taught me that. I forgot.”
The other boy fell silent for a long time, then he spoke a bit more softly, “Zemus teaches you?”
Fisk bit down on his lip, regretting that he said that. It was always bad when someone found out about that. But this boy seemed to know his thoughts, so trying to make up a story would probably be bad. The boy just nodded instead.
“I did not know Zemus took on a student. It is undocumented,” the older boy mused to himself, almost seeming to forget that Fisk was there.
The boy was used to that, though. He sighed and looked down, “Are you going to make fun of me now, too?”
“What?” the older boy asked, looking surprised. “Why would I do that?”
“Because the other kids did when they heard Master Zemus is my teacher,” Fisk confided. It was the first person he told about his struggles. He hoped it didn’t sound too childish.
“Is that why they are bothering you?”
The boy nodded.
“They are foolish,” he grimaced.
Fisk liked the sound of the word “foolish.” And he liked the way this older boy said it. The word was like “stupid,” but more grown up.
“You think they’re stupid, too?” Fisk asked.
“I think a lot of people are stupid,” he answered.
Fisk grinned in spite of himself. Then he looked more serious, “Even me?”
“I do not know you. So far, you do not seem stupid to me,” the older boy told him.
Feeling heartened, the boy said, “My name is Fisk. What’s yours?”
He paused, seeming to consider before answering, “I am FuSoYa.”
Fisk peered up at the boy, mouthing his name a few times to remember it. Then he asked cheerfully, “Does this mean we’re friends now?”
He didn’t know how making friends worked. But sharing names seemed like a good way to start.
FuSoYa’s angry eyes narrowed a little, a different expression stealing over his face. It was the expression Fisk saw when someone thought they were clever. His next words were interesting, “Maybe we can be. But I need to know more about you first.”
“Like what?” Fisk watched him curiously.
“Well, like the things you enjoy doing. Where you came from. What kind of things you study in class. I bet Zemus teaches you many interesting things,” FuSoYa leaned forward, placing a hand on the boy’s back.
Something felt funny in Fisk’s head for a moment. He suddenly found himself wanting to share everything with his new almost-friend. Where he used to live. How the Manor people brought him there. The things he learned from Master Zemus. Everything.
And much to his delight, FuSoYa listened to everything. Very, very intently.