Jonis - Rowan Erlking (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📗

you going to do?”

“Block you,” the master said.

Taking that as a sign to go ahead, Jonis prepared his attack.

His first strike was very childish and failed. Jonis lay on the ground staring up at the sky wondering how he got there. The echo of his troop’s laughs rang in his ears. Getting up, he shook his head and rubbed where he now had a bruise.

“Come on, that attack was like a boy. Use your knowledge of fighting and attack me,” the master said.

Dusting himself off, Jonis muttered, “I am just a boy.”

The master threw back his head and snorted. “Come on. Somewhere in that head of yours is fighting knowledge you have yet to tap into. Show me the Cordril that you really are.”

His remark was not a taunt. Jonis heard it, understanding that this man had fought with Cordrils before and won, though barely. He wondered what this man had up his sleeve. Was the man hired to kick him apart with the kind of abuse Jonis had taken while boxing? Dreading the thought, Jonis clenched his fists trying to think deep down how to save himself pain from this new challenge. His memories answered him, bringing up all the things he had dreamed of at night that kept him awake. Delving deeper into his acquired memory, Jonis peered at this master and saw him with a changed understanding of his circumstances. The man was waiting for him. He had to move.

This time, Jonis merely walked over to him. The master braced for the attack, taking an unusual stance, truly on guard. Jonis recognized the positioning of the master’s feet, legs arms and hands, and he struck with a sweep of his own leg and attacked the man’s chest using the heels of his fist.

The master counter moved, sweeping away his strike and punched for Jonis’s neck.

Jonis blocked it, striking out.

Before the eyes of the military troop, it was if they were witnessing the transformation of a weak boy incapable of defending himself to that of a warrior too skilled for their camp. Jonis flipped backwards, landing on the ground in a way they had never seen him do before, even in the daily obstacle courses.

The master attacked, and Jonis leapt, then kicked him in the face. As the master staggered back, he grabbed Jonis’s ankle and swept him to the ground.

But Jonis got up again and the fight continued.

The sergeant no longer watched the match with smug satisfaction. He stared with growing horror as the master fought to keep from being knocked down. In many ways, their battel was like a dance of balance, counter balance, and who had the quickest reflexes. So far Jonis proved to be faster, but the older man had a longer reach.

Jonis toppled back, dazed and panting, feeling the master place his heel on his throat.

But then the master let up and bowed, extending his glove covered hand to Jonis. He lifted Jonis off the dirt. He was smiling. “Amazing. I knew you could do it. In a year’s time, you’ll be beating me.”

“Oh, no,” Sergeant Romley said, marching over. “We will not be training that one in martial arts. He is too dangerous already.”

“What? Because he is a Codril?” The master laughed. Shaking his head gravely, he said, “I was sent here to train all soldiers for the Brein Amon army. Though we haven’t had a Cordril in the army for ages, I dare say it is about time. Besides, he already has the skills. He just needs the practice. When he grows to his full height, he will surpass me.” He then turned and bowed to his sparring partner. “Jonis Macoy, it has been a pleasure. Now will you help me train these men?”

“No! No! No!” Sergeant Romley shouted. “That demon will not be aiding you in anything! He is not going to be raised to a position of honor.”

Jonis stood by, watching the argument as if such a thing could not possibly be happening within his lifetime. Another human speaking well of him? There could not possibly be two men like Mr. Farren in the world.

The martial arts master answered the sergeant with a solemn voice. “Are you afraid of him, Sergeant Romley? You have no reason to. Cordrils are civilized demons. They have a longstanding relationship with the army of Brein Amon, and they were integral in the removal of the Sky Children from our land. We are, in fact, indebted to them.”

“Nonsense!” the sergeant shouted, turning red in the face.

Jonis watched the master more intently. This man knew.

“It is not nonsense,” the master replied calmly. “My ancestor often talked about the troop of Cordrils that helped drive the Sky Children to the sea. One in particular he mentioned, a Yadis Macoy, was very helpful in killing over fifty Sky Children, clearing out Harmas where my people live.”

“He knew Yadis?” Jonis stared, blinking at him. That was the Cordril whose memories he had been struggling with lately—an ancestor who was a bit of an egomaniac, to be honest.

There was an audible gasp among the men.

The master nodded to Jonis. “He was awarded by the Patriarch of Brien Amon himself the gold metal of valor. Of course after that he vanished. Some say he went and traded his military profession for demon hunting. I suppose you can solve the mystery for me.”

Jonis excitedly nodded. “Oh, yes. Yadis loved the hunt. He despised the Sky Children though eventually specialized in parasite demons—but he charged a fortune for his services. And I am afraid he had quite a temper. He—”

“Silence!” the sergeant shouted.

Jonis clamped his mouth shut, pulling back.

Turning to the master, Sergeant Romley hissed, “You will not encourage him. This demon child needs to be taught a lesson in manners. You are countering all the work I have done.”

With a mild chuckle, the master shook his head. “Are you so cowardly that you have to stomp great potential under your heel? He is but a boy, and a talented boy at that. If you do not let me encourage him for the benefit of the Brein Amon army, I will talk to General Gomrey myself and make sure you are removed from your post.”

Sergeant Romley went white.

So did Jonis. He blinked at the master. Watching his drill instructor pull back like a frightened animal and cast him a look of hate, Jonis stiffened.

The man bowed and backed off.

Turning to Jonis, the master said, “I want you to teach the slower students the basics. You may have to dig into that memory of yours to find them, but I have confidence that you will do fine.”

Moving on from that, the master proceeded to command the group in a set of drills and body positions. He had Jonis return to his place in the group, set aside for later. When the lesson was over, Jonis jogged with his troop to the advanced obstacle course where the sergeant stood, still glaring at him.

“Teacher’s pet,” Oprin muttered as he passed by, sneering.

“You got the sergeant so mad,” Julwes said, nodding as he took his place in line.

Temis tapped Jonis on the shoulder, whispering, “You had better watch it. The sergeant looks murderous.”

“I’d say he’ll try to kill you on the course,” Korin added.

Jonis peered over at the man. Indeed, hate was all he saw, almost like the black smoke that darkened the sky from the smoldering fire that burned his father’s grave. It was ugly.

“Be careful,” Emrit hissed.

Cyle nodded.

“Fall in!” the sergeant shouted.

They made a straight line.

“Forward! Engage! Hut! Hut! Hut!” Sgt. Romely marched to where Jonis stood in line, walking alongside of him. When Jonis reached his turn Sgt. Romley handed him a heavy pack. “Since you are so on par with our martial arts master, I think you had better up your training. Carry this with you through the obstacle course. If you put it down once, you have to start over. Is that understood?”

He dropped it on Jonis’s shoulder.

Immediately the weight pulled Jonis to the ground. The boy had to heave to get it on. Struggling to stand, his knees buckled.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jonis replied, saluting him.

“Hut! Hut!” Sergeant Romley barked, slapping Jonis forward.

Jonis staggered, catching his breath. But he started on the task ahead. Though many from his troop passed him along the way, and though he finished last, Jonis did not put down the pack once.

 

Chapter Eight: In Practice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In our world…Magic is a fact.

 

 

 

 

It was a painful month, one Jonis did not like thinking about. He had finished studying and transcribing one scroll and had gone on to the next one. Emrit appreciated what he had gotten from so far, and found this new collection equally intriguing.

“How to cure psoriasis,” Jonis read. “Create the following lotion to be applied to your hands. Cut three handfuls of peppermint….”

“Why do they always use peppermint in potions like these?” Emrit asked, shaking his head. “I don’t like the smell, and sometimes it feels cold and hot at the same time.”

Jonis didn’t even look up from the scroll. “Peppermint increases blood circulation. Most herbs have properties that help or harm the body.”

Emrit lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Cyle. “Are you dropping hints again?”

Smirking, Jonis blinked at him. “Me? Drop hints? I only drop hints when people don’t listen to plain words. So why would I drop hints now?”

Both men shook their heads.

“There is nothing wrong with a good smoke,” Cyle at last said. “It makes you warm inside and gives you a great buzz. Why isn’t that in your scrolls?”

“Because,” Jonis said with a sigh, “the scrolls say that tobacco, or for that matter any weed burned and inhaled, only fills your body with its burnt leavings—tiny ash. It blackens your lungs and shortens your life, like I told you. Just because it has a temporary pleasing effect does not mean it is healthy.”

Cyle moaned, shaking his head. “So those ancient twits say. What did they know?”

“A lot more than most of us,” Jonis replied. “Their knowledge is what preserved them against total annihilation from the demons. Did you know that every village had either a magician or a magister once? Some of this stuff was common knowledge. Mr. Farren used to say that the demons are spreading faster than ever. Only this time we have no way to protect ourselves.”

“Not according to the master.” Emrit snorted. He started to laugh. “He says that the demons are nearly gone, thanks to you wonderful Cordrils.”

Jonis moaned. Their martial arts master really had gone overboard. He besides knowing about Jonis’s ancestor, he also had a Cordril friend once when he was young. The master never forgot him. It explained a lot to Jonis and to the others. Unfortunately, that only made the sergeant deal harsher with him. Jonis now had to carry weights doing field exercises and even when cleaning. The upside was that Jonis had gotten stronger.

“Very funny,” Jonis grimaced. “But if you were listening, he mentioned that he had not seen a Cordril for ages. I had not seen another one, except for my father, most of my life. And the one I had met was not the kind of person you would like to bump into either.”

“Which is why you killed him,” Cyle said. They had heard