Aeres Academy - Chapter 1 preview

Author Note: Preview chapters are rough/first drafts. These chapters have not been edited, expect that there may be errors - however, feel free to point out consistency issues!

Prologue

My life changed five times after I was unceremoniously deposited on the planet of Tionerth, fully reincarnated in a body that was about sixty years too young.

The first time was when numb, exhausted and ignorant of the native language, I stumbled into the cobblestoned back alley that hosted Eamond’s restaurant. Among the refuse, the slumbering bundles of humanity and the alien smells of the world, I came across something familiar. A gang of hoodlums, urchins, beating on a man. 

Urchins in the Fagin’s gang sense of word, with shivs and chipped knives, ragged clothing and the thin musculature of the starving. Their victim was bleeding, a deep cut down one arm, the refuse pail fallen to the ground and spilling assorted vegetable scraps. 

I reacted without thinking, stepping into the fray and calling for them to halt their attack. Would have worked better if I spoke their language. Would have been easier to win the fight, if my body did what it was told. But it lacked the musculature, the trained reflexes and muscle memory of my old one. I might have died from old age, but I had kept training till my very last day – even if it was more tai chi than kickboxing.

It was, perhaps, for the best that I was disabused of notions of my own immortality at that moment. Though I might have regained a body in my late teens, this was not my world – as the teleporting knife, the blurring buzzsaw of a shiv and the rope that twisted around my feet as they ran highlighted to me.

My lack of finesse also helped, for the injuries I accumulated required healing. Enough so that Eamond – the proprietor of the restaurant and the attacked – gave me a room to recuperate within for a few days. One thing led to another and I managed to find my first friends and my first job. 

Funny, how of all my old skills and knowledge; it was my ability to wield a ladle and stand over a wok amidst flame that proved the most useful.

Well, that and a facility for languages.

The second time my life changed was two years later, when I chose to take the next step of my new existence. A necessary step to fill the gap in my mind left behind by the entity that had thrust me into this world, to fulfil a much needed role.

Not that I knew that, not at that time.

Chapter 1

There was a tension in the air today, a frisson that was for the most part magical on the streets of Haeros. You could smell it on the air, in the slight frisson of ozone that came from the overuse of magic through the city, such that it was noticeable under the overlaying accents of a semi-medieval city. All around me, on crowded cobblestone streets amidst gray stone slab buildings reminiscent of 18th century Europe, the citizens of Haeros hurried through their day, forced to wait word of the results of Recruitment day.

I passed the citizens of the city and received a wave or a smile, a word of encouragement or well wishes as I did so. It was clear by how I dressed that I was on my way to an academy, one of the many students attempting to test their luck. The excitement in the air threatened to speed up my heart, raised the hair on the back of my arms and put a bounce in my step.

Long years of discipline kept me moving at a more sedate pace, kept the adrenaline to a more modest level. Too early, too soon to get excited. My movements were a sharp contrast to many others around me, fellow applicants who rushed through the crowd, jostling pedestrians and bouncing off carts. And those were the ones who took the mundane route. 

Over there, a man leapt through the air, bouncing on rooftops and the occasional shardlight post. He ducked and wove between a woman who walked on air with a tray of fresh bread on her head and another delivery person on their repurposed, enchanted, flying door. 

As early as it was, the air was crisp with this world’s equivalent of autumn, though Haeros never grew that cold. Snow on the ground, certainly, but for a month or so only. Most of the time, the weather itself was quite pleasant, what with the city being sheltered from northern winds by the mountain range to the north and warmed by a distant ocean to the east. 

On that day, the sky held wisps of clouds, airships commanding the higher skies as they crossed the distance between city states, the thrum of their propellers a background accompaniment to the chatter and cries of citizenry and the baying of alien domesticated drayage animals. 

A beautiful day, and I was well on the way to being on time for my target. Which, of course, was when fate decided to throw a wrench in my plans.

The loud crash, the screams and shouts were my first clue. I missed the inciting incident, the curve of the streets hiding the matter from me. It mattered little, for the scene revealed itself to me as I pushed through the growing crowd, frustrated pedestrians and a fast growing medieval traffic jam of carts, wagons and carriages.

I skirted around the local equivalent of the horse, the toopha, and made sure to give the creature’s big, flat mouth wide extra distance. Four legged, wide bodied and low-slung legs, the toopha most closely resembled a sauropelta. Its ridged and armoured body, oval face and scaled snout still mounted big, flat teeth that I had seen crush their way through the side of a wagon once before, never mind the stubby and heavy tail it wielded for balance and defense.

The toopha were slow, plodding creatures that never seemed to stop eating – could not, I would assume – but also, were happy to keep moving. So long as the feed bags slung around the sides of its body were kept full, the creatures were docile and hard working.

Right now, the few wagons in the street had come to a stop, the creatures placidly chewing on their meals while they waited for the problem in the street junction to clear. Wagon and carriage drivers alike were standing on their conveyances, shouting for the blockage to get a move on.

Loud as they were, they were still drowned out by the screaming center of the problem. Standing beside his broken handcart, the red and florid owner was propping up a second individual and shaking him with one hand. The kid, dressed in light leather, a short, hilted sword by his side and a knife stuck in his belt dangled half-dazed off the edge; one leg bent at a painful and unnatural angle.

“-you idiot wannabe Adventurer, using Skills you can barely control-”

I tuned out the rant, as I pushed through the crowd. A small circle had opened around the pair, bystander effect well in play. Anger at the delay and inconvenience pushed aside by curiosity and the entertainment factor of the pair. Space that I could use to cut through and keep moving. No need to worry about– 

Movement caught out of the corner of my eye, instinct from decades of training had me across the final few feet to grasp the arm moments before it – and the knife it was holding – could plunge into the side of the screaming merchant’s side. In the moment of surprise, as the hand stilled and the dazed wannabe adjusted to my presence, I stripped the knife from his hand, leaving him defenseless.

Which, of course, meant that the merchant was now punching the boy with his free hand.

“HOLD!” I roared, elbowed the merchant’s propping arm upwards at an angle. It broke his hold on the kid a little, enough that he began to slump to the ground. I finished my turn, got my free hand up and I pushed the merchant back, hand on his chest.

There’s a trick to moving another person, especially when they are surprised. Firstly and most of all, keep the momentum. Off-balance, the human instinct is to recover that balance. Once a single step is taken, you keep moving to keep your opponent off balance, never letting their conscious mind or instincts take over.

Three quick, large steps had us far enough from the kid – now on the ground, clutching his broken leg and slumped beside the broken cart – that I could stop. Immediately, I dropped my hand, breaking contact with the man.

“You – how dare you, who do you-!” 

Gibberish, and not just because he was speaking Haelos, the local dialect of Tionerth. I was grateful I’d grown up learning Cantonese, since Tionerth – or at least the continent I was on – was a tonal language. More guttural and with some strange glottal stops that were uncommon to my own experience, but not impossible to learn. 

No, the merchant was not making sense because he was fighting both outrage and adrenaline. His eyes were glassy, pinpricks as he focused entirely on me. I took his attention by bringing up my other hand, the knife I had stripped still there, blade flat against my forearm. He froze, the weapon a dash of cold water that probably dumped another gallon of adrenaline into his system.

Sometimes, too much could be just as freezing as too little.

“You’re welcome,” I said. 

“He, they, I-” He stepped forward, closing the distance.

Intimidation is a game. A mental game. One that is entirely dependent upon making the other individual aware that not only could you, but you would, win the upcoming battle. It’s a projected level of utter confidence in one’s ability, a skill that had to be learned or trained for many. 

It was a skill I had in abundance, after spending too many damn years living as a minority in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Learnt as a form of protection, as a method to end fights before they began – or to send the foolish away, after a quick altercation.

In this case, a shift in my stance, dropping my weight a little, a turning of the shoulders and a coldness in the eyes was all it took to make the merchant step back. It probably also had a lot to do with the knife still in hand, the one on my hip and the light, brown leather armour I wore. All signs that like his former victim, I was an Adventurer – or hopeful at least. 

Considering this body presented to be in the mid-twenties; the risk of me being an actual Adventurer – an individual well versed in violence and its many applications – was significantly increased.

“Nearly died, yes.” I smiled though there was no mirth in my eyes. “Not that I blame him for swinging. You were shaking him around while he had a broken leg. I wouldn’t want to be in that position either.”

Sweat damped his head, the redness receding a little. Frustration shook his body and he slapped his own leg, a loud crack of meaty hand against linen pants. It then moved to his olive green hemp apron, balling and grasping the article of clothing in an attempt to wring out his anger.

Good. 

He dropped from physical aggression to autoaggression and then violence against property. One more, and…

“You hit me~!” the pained, disbelieving voice form behind me was young and all too male. I did not even need to look to know it was from the Adventurer, as his sniveling over the broken leg had stopped. 

Of course, hearing his voice just enflamed the merchant.

“You tried to stab me!”

“Because you tried to hit me!”

“Children.” Command tone, the same one I used in the mou kwoon. A trained tone, one perfected over decades of dealing with unruly children and boisterous adults, all intent on proving they were the top dog in class. Also, very useful for calling a halt to all movement to ensure safety in class. It did its job once again, freezing the pair’s argument for a moment. I turned my body sideways, stepped so that I could see them both. 

“You were both idiots.”

Now I had their shared animosity.

“You took my knife!”

“You pushed me!”

“Yes and yes.” I flipped the knife in the air, noted that our audience were beginning to grow uneasy and impatient. The noise from behind the crowd, blocked and unable to see the cause of the traffic jam had grown. My time was running out.

In all senses of the word.

I caught the knife, flipped it again. Keeping the pair’s attention.

“Now, you can go back to trying to kill one another. I figure that you just might manage to do it before the guard arrive.” I caught their gazes, turning side-to-side to do so. “Or you could talk. Get your cart moved out of the way. Maybe even figure out how you could get repaid.” I said that to the merchant. “And you, healed. Maybe even in time to take part in today’s recruitment process.”

Knife hilt slapped into the palm of my hand and I flipped it again, this time forwards. Into the space between the pair. It hit the ground and by pure chance – I wasn’t that good with knives – stuck in a gap between the cobblestones, hilt up.

“Your choice.”

I watched the pair freeze, the knife a stark reminder of what was to happen. They were calmer. Not calm, and unlike the mortals on Earth; these two knew in a bone deep manner what would happen if they went for the knife. They understood loss and violence in a way most humans on Earth could not know, not after we had grown so civilized.

On Tionerth, next to a dungeon that spewed monsters and reached the very core of this hollow earth, they understood death and loss all too well.

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