All Things Begin - The Anmah Series Book 1

The next afternoon, the Mistri family was on their way to Torkeln. Miva had decided that it would be a good time to stock up on supplies, and Elise wanted to make sure that the boy would be taken care of. Miva drove the wagon, and Analy and Elise rode beside him. The boy had refused to ride with anyone but Jarda, however, and they made an odd pair as they sat on Gorshan.

The big, coal black stallion was obviously a warhorse with his proud mien and graceful steps, and the man astride him was obviously an officer, and a high ranking one at that. Jarda was once again dressed in his spotless blue jacket with the gold embroidery on the sleeves and collar that identified him as a general in the service of the crown, a crisp white shirt, and black breeches tucked into shining black boots. His sword was in its place on his left hip, the leather-wrapped hilt and the tooled scabbard polished to a shine. The oddity was the small boy sitting before him, a silver eagle gleaming against his shirtfront on the end of a silver chain. He was still barefoot, but Elise and Analy had spent the morning sewing him a shirt, breeches, and a new cloak, and his long, blond hair was pulled back into a plait that hung almost to his waist with a new black, leather thong around his temples. Jarda had been surprised to see the boy’s hair color when it was clean and dry. He had assumed it was either black or dark brown, but that had only been the mud and grime that had saturated it. The previous night’s last meal and the hearty first meal the boy had shoveled in had already helped to fill out his frame substantially, and his bones were no longer prominently displayed beneath his skin. Jarda’s family had expressed surprise at this, but they had never seen an Anmah before. Jarda explained that they healed incredibly fast, and the boy’s body was putting the food to good use and doing it quickly.

Jarda had found out that the boy could speak about two hours after he had been put to bed. The whole house and several forest animals had as well. Jarda and Elise had placed him on the bench in the front room and had spent those two hours together. It had been a very long time since she had been in his arms, and they more than made up for his absence. She had fallen asleep afterward with her head on his chest, but Jarda could not relax. He lay in bed with his wife curled up against him, and he thought about the boy. The village he had come from was almost one hundred leagues from Torkeln as the raven flies, and the Parbata Mountains were in the way. Jarda was amazed that the child had made it through those mountains alone and had not gotten forever lost. He knew of many men who had not accomplished that feat.

Not long after Elise fell asleep, a piercing scream filled the house, and Jarda jumped out of bed and raced to the front room. The boy was thrashing around on the bench, his eyes closed tightly. As Jarda reached him, the other three occupants of the house filed into the room behind him. Jarda tried to pull the boy to himself, but thin arms flailed and little fists pounded against his chest. To Jarda’s surprise, the boy began to yell at him, his voice pitched high with terror. “No! Leave me alone! Baba! Help me! No, please! It hurts! Baba!”

Jarda took the boy’s arms and gently shook him. “Wake up, boy! You are dreaming!”

The words stopped as violet eyes popped open, and the boy looked around the room frantically. When his gaze landed on Jarda, the small body went limp, and Jarda held him close as the boy started to violently shake.

“So he can speak,” Miva said.

“It would appear so,” Jarda replied, and then he picked up the boy and carried him to his and Elise’s room, glancing at her as he did so. She smiled sadly and nodded, and so, nestled between the two adults, the boy slept through the rest of the night with only the occasional whimper. Jarda did not sleep at all. His hand stayed on the boy’s head, and his fingers unconsciously caressed it. Jarda’s mind raced until the black night turned gray and then first light came with the rising of the sun.

Now they were almost to Torkeln. Jarda had spent the first half of the trip asking the boy questions and getting only silent answers back. It was evident that speaking only happened in sleep.

“How did you first die?” The boy pointed to Jarda’s sword.

“Stabbed by a sword?” A nod.

“Where?” A forefinger to the chest.

“Then?”

Interpreting the boy’s gestures, Jarda was almost positive that he had figured out how he had died each time. In order, he decided that it was a sword thrust, thirst, hunger, overeating, struck by lightning, an animal attack, crushed by rocks, choking, drowning, freezing, a fall, and suffocation.

As they got closer to the city, more and more people joined them on the road, and the boy curled into himself a little more and a little more until he was crouched over the saddle’s pommel, his eyes closed. Most of the people looked at the duo on the horse curiously, but no one dared say anything. One did not make casual or snide comments to a general of the crown unless you wanted to be tossed behind bars or worse. When they got to the city gates, Miva pulled the wagon into the line waiting to be admitted, but Jarda only stopped Gorshan and moved him close.

“You have to wait, but I am going to take the boy to Ma’ikel. If you get done before me, meet me at the palace. Just tell the guardsmen that you are my family, and they will take you to a room to wait for me. Otherwise, I will find you in the marketplace.” He leaned over and gave Elise a brief kiss. “I love you,” he whispered, and she smiled.

“I love you, too.”

Jarda reined Gorshan to the left and trotted past the line of wagons and pedestrians. The line was quite long, and he estimated it would be at least an hour before his family would make it through the gates. He, however, went straight to the front of the line, ignoring the curious looks he got from the people waiting. As he came close, the two guardsmen letting people in suddenly stopped what they were doing and stood stiff and straight. They were dressed similarly to himself, but the colors were reversed. Their breeches were blue, their coats were black with no embroidery, and they had the same white shirt and black boots. They both placed their right fists on their hearts and waited as Jarda maneuvered Gorshan around the wagon at the front of the line and returned the salute.

“Guardsmen,” he said brusquely, “do you know if Ma’ikel is in the city?”

“Sir, I believe so,” one man said, his eyes straight ahead. “At least, he has not left through this gate, General.”

“Thank you.” Jarda signaled for Gorshan to pick up his pace to a trot, and they made their way into the city. The horse’s shoes rang loudly on the cobblestones, and the people in the street quickly moved aside to let them pass, their eyes going wide at the sight of the boy in front of Jarda. He could hear the whispers as he passed by, but he again ignored them. He stayed on the main road, never looking anywhere but straight ahead, but he could see the startled faces out of the corner of his eye.

After about ten minutes, he reined Gorshan in and stopped at the bottom of a long flight of wide marble steps. A guardsman quickly stepped up to him, saluted, and then took the bridle. Before dismounting, Jarda leaned close to the boy’s ear and whispered, “I do not want anyone to know about you yet, boy, so keep your eyes on the ground until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded and hunched even deeper into his cloak.

“Do not be afraid, boy. I will keep you safe.”

Jarda dropped to the ground and lifted the boy off the horse. Setting him on his feet, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, partly to keep him from bolting and partly to let him know he truly was safe. Turning to the guardsman who was still standing at attention, Jarda said, “Take my horse to the stables, and make sure he is well taken care of.”

“Yes, General, right away.” The soldier saluted once more and led the horse around the steps.

“Come with me, boy,” Jarda said as he guided the boy to the steps, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “I am going to take you to someone who can help you.”

There was no reaction from the boy, but he did keep his eyes down as Jarda had bid. The man did not miss the looks he was given as they climbed the steps and stopped before the large wooden doors. The guardsmen who stood there snapped to attention and saluted as he approached.

“General Mistri to see Ma’ikel. It is urgent.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them said, and he quickly pushed open the right-hand door. “He was in the throne room last I knew, General.”

“Thank you,” Jarda said and began walking down the wide hallway.

No matter how many times he was in the palace, Jarda never got over how beautiful it was. The floor, the walls, the columns flanking the hallway, the entire palace was made of gleaming white marble. The stone itself was streaked with varying shades of gray, and here and there, colorful tapestries broke up the monotony. The only other things in the palace that were not white were the doors. They were made of the finest gacha wood, and the palace servants spent many hours making sure that they, and everything else in the palace, shone like glass.

Palace guardsmen, in their white coats and shirts, blue breeches, and black boots, stood between the columns. They snapped to attention as he approached and then immediately returned to their watchful stances as soon as he passed, eyes scanning the area and hands on hilts of swords.

Jarda had walked about halfway to the throne room when he realized that the boy was trembling. He stopped and went to one knee in front of him. Placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders, he asked, “Are you all right?”

Violet eyes glanced up, and Jarda saw tears flowing down the boy’s face. He was biting his bottom lip so hard that a thin trail of blood ran down his chin. Jarda reached a hand out and gently pulled the lip free and wiped the blood off with his thumb.

“Are you scared? Is it all the swords?”

The boy nodded, and Jarda wasted no time in picking him up and holding him close as he stood.

“I told you I would keep you safe, boy, and I will. Now, keep your face down on my shoulder, understand?”

The boy nodded again and buried his face against Jarda’s neck as he wrapped his little arms around it. The man could feel the tears trickling down beneath his collar, and he tightened his grip and quickened his steps.

Two more guardsmen stood at the door to the throne room, and they came to attention. Jarda stopped in front of them.

“Is Ma’ikel within?”

“Yes, sir,” one said, “but he and the king are not to be disturbed.”

Jarda said sternly, “And I am telling you to go let Ma’ikel and King Tomas know that General Mistri is here to see them and that it is urgent.”

“I would, General, but the Anmah said not to disturb them for any reason.”

“This is not just any reason. Go and tell them I am here.”

“But, General…”

Jarda took one step closer to the man as his eyes narrowed. “You are not arguing with me, are you, Guardsman?” He felt the boy tense at the harshness of his tone, but he could not let this man get away with such insubordination.

The man gulped and said, “No, sir, General. I will tell them you are here.”

“Good choice.”

He stepped back and watched as the man knocked on the door before slowly opening it and entering. Jarda could see the second guardsman glancing toward him, and he slowly turned his head.

“What are you looking at?”

The guard’s eyes snapped forward. “Nothing, General.”

“That is right. Nothing. You saw nothing, and you heard nothing, and you know nothing.”

“Absolutely, General.”

At that moment, the door opened and the first guardsman held it wide.

“King Tomas and Ma’ikel will see you now, General.”

Jarda took one step into the room and stopped. “Might I suggest that you simply obey orders the next time you are told to do something? Unless of course, you truly want to spend the next six moons mucking out the stables?”

“No, sir…I mean, yes, sir, General,” the man said, saluting.

Jarda turned his back on the door as it closed and walked down the red carpet that led to the throne at the front of the room. He glanced around and saw the two men he was looking for off to one side, seated at a large table. He detoured to them as he whispered to the boy, “Do what I do, but keep your eyes down. Understand?”

At the boy’s nod, Jarda put him on the floor on his right side and dropped down on his left knee, his right hand on his sword hilt and his head bowed.

“In the city for what, an hour? And already scaring my guardsmen, are you, General Mistri?”

Jarda smiled without moving and glanced at the boy. He was in the same position; he even had his right hand on his left hip.

“Not more than fifteen minutes, Your Majesty, and I promise, the fright was not intentional,” he said smoothly. “And I apologize for making him interrupt you, but this truly is urgent.”

“Oh, for Yisu’s sake, Jarda, stand up, join us, and tell us what you are doing with this child.”

Jarda stood. The boy followed, and the general placed his hand on his shoulder, but he made no move to join the men at the table.

“If you please, Your Majesty, I need to speak to Ma’ikel alone.”

The king’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And just what is it that you cannot say in front of your king?”

“It concerns this boy, sire. I regret that I cannot say more than that right now.”

King Tomas frowned as he looked at the little boy in front of him. The king was a handsome man with sparkling brown eyes and curly brown hair that hung to his shoulders.

“Who is he?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty. That is one thing I hope Ma’ikel can help me with.”

The king’s frown deepened.

“Look at me, child.”

The boy stiffened, and Jarda quickly said, “He cannot, sire. I have told him to look at no one.”

“What? Why?”

“I regret that I cannot tell you, sire.”

“You cannot tell me, or you will not tell me, General?”

“I cannot, Your Majesty. Not just yet.”

Tomas studied his general. “You are serious, Jarda?”

“Yes, sire, very serious. I am sorry.”

The king waved his hand dismissively. “Do not be sorry. I am sure you and Ma’ikel will tell me what you think I need to know later.” He turned to the man sitting next to him. “Is that not so?”

The other man at the table had skin much darker than any other in Torkeln and dark hair curling just past his ears. He looked to be about twenty-five years old, but Jarda knew he was at least a hundred times older than that. He turned violet eyes to the king. “Of course, Tomas. I always tell you what you need to know.”

“No.” The king held up an admonitory finger. “You tell me what you think I need to know. There is a difference.”

Ma’ikel smiled and inclined his head briefly. “That is true, but you should know that if I do not tell you something, then you do not need to know it.”

“So you always say. Fine, go, both of you. Confer in secret if you must.” He looked down at the papers on the table as Ma’ikel stood and moved to Jarda.

“Come, Jarda,” he said, “let us go to my room.”

Jarda nodded and once again picked up the boy who kept his head down. Nothing was said as Ma’ikel led them through a door behind the throne and down a darkened corridor. He opened a door a dozen paces down the hall and gestured for Jarda to enter. The interior of the room was lighted by the sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. Closing the door, Ma’ikel leaned against it and looked at his friend.

“So, who is the boy, Jarda?”

The general placed the boy on his feet and turned him around. He put his arms over the thin shoulders and held him against his legs. The boy kept his eyes on the floor.

“I was telling the truth when I said I do not know, but I do know one thing. He is Anmah.”

“What? That is impossible.”

“No, it is not. Boy, you can look up now.”

The little head slowly rose until violet gaze met violet gaze. Ma’ikel’s eyes went wide, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Impossible,” he repeated softly, and then he dropped to his knees and took the boy’s head in his hands.

The boy whimpered and tried to pull away, but the Anmah’s grip stayed firm. “Do not be afraid, little one,” he said tenderly. “I will not harm you. Do you understand?”

The boy made no indication that he did, and Ma’ikel looked up at Jarda. “Is his mind intact?”

“It is,” Jarda said.

“Then how is it that you do not know who he is? Did he not tell you?”

“He will not speak. Well, not when he is awake, anyway.”

The boy’s head snapped around, pulling free from Ma’ikel’s grasp, and he frowned up at Jarda, his little lips pressed together tightly.

“You called out in your sleep, boy. You called for your baba.”

Tears formed in the boy’s eyes, and he hung his head as his hand went to the token around his neck. He extracted himself from Jarda’s hands, walked to the cold fireplace, and dropped to the floor in front of it. He wrapped his arms around his legs and placed his head on his knees. The men could see his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“Tell me everything, Jarda.” Ma’ikel’s voice was stern. “How you found him, what you know of him, everything.”

Jarda did so. When he told his friend about the boy’s deaths, the Anmah’s face went ashen.

“Twelve?” he breathed. “In just four moons?” He glanced at the boy who had not moved other than to start rocking back and forth. “How is he still sane? It took almost five hundred years for me to reach a dozen deaths.”

“But you were twenty-seven when you first died, my friend. He is only six, and he had to cross the Parbatas to get here. I cannot even imagine what that was like for him. A hundred leagues, Ma’ikel, think of it. A hundred leagues of heat and cold and animals and dangers, and yet he made it here. Alone. And as you said, still sane.”

“Amazing. I have never heard of such a young Anmah going through anything like it. Every Anmah who was this young at their first death, and there have only been a handful, mind you, was around others who knew who and what they were and were able to guide them.” Ma’ikel studied the boy for a moment and then looked at his friend. “I know what we need to do.”

“And what is that?”

“He will stay here at the palace. I will be his Siskaska in the ways of the Anmah and intellectual knowledge, and you will be his guide for physical training.”

“Me? No, Ma’ikel, that is not possible. I am only home for a two-week furlough. I am to head back to my company after that.”

“Nonsense. I will talk to Tomas, and he will have you transferred here as General of the Guard. The position is vacant at the moment. The highest ranking officer in the Guard right now is a captain. It would be a great honor.”

Jarda cocked his head and studied his friend. General of the Guard would be an immense honor, indeed. “What happened to the former general?”

“He died a sennight ago. Lung fever.”

“And you think you can get King Tomas to agree to this?”

Ma’ikel grinned, flashing even, white teeth. “I know I can.”

Jarda chuckled at his friend’s confidence. “All right. I am up for it.” He looked over at the fireplace and saw that the boy was watching them closely. “What do you think, boy? Do you want to stay here with us?”

The violet eyes flared briefly, and the boy nodded slowly. Jarda held out a hand toward him.

“Come here, then, and I will properly introduce you.”

The boy stood and walked to the men. Jarda pulled him to his side.

“Ma’ikel, I would like you to meet this boy. I would tell you his name, but I do not know it, and he will not say. Boy, this is Ma’ikel. He is going to teach you all you need to know about being Anmah. What do you think of that?”

Ma’ikel’s eyebrows rose when the boy held out his hand, but he engulfed the thin forearm in his large hand. The boy’s hand could not even reach around the older Anmah’s arm.

“Very nice to meet you, little one, but we cannot keep calling you ‘boy.’ Let me see. Can you write?”

The boy shook his head.

“Hmm, that poses a problem. I shall just have to pick a name for you, then. Until you decide to tell us your real name, that is. How about…”

“Ga’briyel,” Jarda said.

Ma’ikel nodded thoughtfully. “That is a good name. Strong and powerful. A good name for an Anmah.” He looked at the boy. “What do you think?”

The boy tilted his head and gazed into eyes that matched his own before nodding.

“Good. Ga’briyel it is. Come now, we must introduce you to the king.”

They made their way back to the throne room. Tomas had not moved, but his head came up as the two men and the boy approached.

“So? Have you decided I need to know something?”

“I have,” Ma’ikel said with a smile. He took the child by the hand and led him to the king. “Jarda and I would like you to meet someone. This is Ga’briyel. Ga’briyel, this is King Tomas of Mahadesa.”

“Nice to meet you, Ga’briyel,” Tomas said, resting his hands on his knees and studying the boy who stood before him with his head bowed. “Will you look at me now?”

The boy glanced to his left where Jarda stood, and when the general nodded, he slowly lifted his eyes to the king. Other than a slight raising of the eyebrows, Tomas kept his expression composed when he saw the violet eyes of the Anmah.

“One of you, Ma’ikel? How is it possible you did not know about him?”

The next hour was spent telling the king everything that was known about the boy. At the news about the boy’s deaths, Tomas went pale, an almost identical reaction as Ma’ikel’s had been.

“An average of three a moon? Has that ever happened before, Ma’ikel?”

“Not to my knowledge, Tomas, and I know almost all of the Anmah’s history.” He looked at the two men. “You know that once an Anmah dies from something, he cannot die from it again, but what you may not know is that he can still be hurt by it. Jarda indicated that the boy first died from a sword, which means that no bladed weapon can kill him again, but he can still be stabbed, and it will still hurt. He can still fall from a height, be attacked by an animal, or drown. He will heal very quickly, of course, but the pain will be agonizing until he does.”

“So,” Jarda cut in, “he can still starve, but he will not die.”

“Correct.”

“That makes a lot of sense, then. He was skin and bones when I found him last night.” He chuckled. “He ate twice as much of Elise’s stew as I did last night and three full bowls of porridge this morning.”

“What time did you find him last night?” Ma’ikel asked, a thoughtful look on his face.

“About an hour before full dark, why?”

The Anmah shook his head as if to clear it. “Nothing; it does not matter.”

Talk returned to the events surrounding the boy, and when Ma’ikel brought up the idea of Jarda becoming the new General of the Guard, Tomas immediately agreed.

“That is a stupendous idea. I had thoughts of promoting one of the captains to the post, but I would much rather have you protecting me, Jarda.”

“Yes, sire,” Jarda replied, “if that is your will.”

“It is. Now, what are you going to do about Ga’briyel?”

“He will be under my tutelage as far as the Anmah and his education are concerned,” Ma’ikel said, “and when he is a little older, Jarda can teach him to fight.” He paused and looked at the boy who had wandered away from the men to look at the tapestries. “I do not know if it will happen, but I have a strong feeling that he will become Sainika.”

Jarda frowned and followed his friend’s gaze. “A warrior Anmah? What makes you think so? Has it not been millennia since one has emerged?”

Ma’ikel nodded. “Almost five thousand years. Since long before my first death.” The thoughtful look returned, and Jarda studied him. He knew his friend was holding something back, but that was not unusual. As the king had stated, Ma’ikel only told you what he thought you should know, and apparently, this was not one of those things.

“And until he is older?” King Tomas said. “What will be done with him until then?”

Jarda spoke up. “Your Majesty, I have an idea about that.”

“Yes?”

“You know that my wife and I have not been able to have a child of our own. I would like to see if she would consider taking the b…Ga’briyel as our son, sire.”

The king smiled. “Another fabulous idea! The three of you can move into the general’s quarters immediately.”

“Quarters, sire?”

“Of course. There is a suite of rooms in the palace not far from the guardsmen’s dormitory. I am sure you and Elise will be very comfortable there.”

“Thank you, sire. I am sure we will.” Jarda looked around and saw the boy on the dais trailing his fingers along the king’s throne. “Ga’briyel, come here, please.” He looked back at Tomas. “I am sorry, sire.”

“Do not worry about it. He is an innocent and does not know any better. Proper respect for the crown will be just one of the many things you will have to teach him.”

“Yes, sire.” The boy had reached the table, and Jarda picked him up and set him on his lap. “Now, Ga’briyel, would you like to live with me here in the palace? I will take care of you and teach you all you need to know about the ways of men, and Ma’ikel will teach you about being Anmah. Do you like that idea?”

The child nodded. Other than that, he showed no emotion at all, but his hand closed tightly around his token.

“Good,” Jarda said with a smile and then turned to his king. “If that is all, Your Majesty, I would like to find Elise and tell her what has happened.”

“She is in the city with you?”

“Yes, sire, she wanted to make sure the boy was taken care of.”

“Well, now it will be her official duty to make sure he is,” the king said. “We are done here. Find her and then tell one of the guardsmen to show you to your new quarters. After that, take Ga’briyel to the shops and get him and you everything you think will be needed, courtesy of the crown. I assume he does not have much now?”

“Just what he is wearing, sire. We burned the rest of what he had on him when I found him.”

“That bad?”

“Yes, sire, that bad.”

“Well,” the king said, scribbling something on a piece of paper and handing it to Jarda, “just show this to the shopkeepers and you will have no troubles.”

Jarda glanced at the paper and caught his breath. It gave him the authority to purchase anything from the shops and bill it to the palace.

“Your Majesty, I cannot accept this. It is too much.”

“Rubbish. Think of it as a bonus for accepting your new post.”

“But—”

“General Mistri, you would not insult me by refusing my gift, would you?”

Jarda swallowed and bent his head. “Of course not, sire. My apologies.”

“Good. You may go.”

Jarda dropped to his left knee briefly before standing and taking three steps backward. Then he took Ga’briyel by the hand and turned toward the door.

“And General?”

He turned back around. “Yes, sire?”

“No skimping at the shops. I intend for you and your beautiful wife to be comfortable, as befitting your position.”

“Yes, sire.” Jarda turned his back on his king before frowning. He was discomfited with the idea of living in the kind of splendor the king obviously intended, but he supposed he had no choice. He pulled the door of the throne room open, and the two guardsmen outside snapped to attention. Jarda looked at the one to his right.

“Guardsman, do you know if my wife has come to the palace?”

“No, sir, I have not heard. The guardsmen at the main door would know, however.”

“Thank you.”

Jarda and Ga’briyel walked through the palace back toward the main door, the boy’s grip tightening as they passed the guardsmen between the columns. Once outside, Jarda stood before one of the guardsmen.

“Have my wife and parents entered the palace yet?”

“No, General. No one has entered since you did.”

Jarda thought about trying to find them, but then decided against it. His time would be better spent finding his quarters and getting settled.

“I need three messengers, guardsman.”

“Yes, sir, right away.” The soldier pulled a thin gold whistle from his pocket and blew a trio of shrill blasts. Less than a minute later, three young boys, each about twelve years old and dressed all in black from their shirts to their boots, stood at attention in front of the general, their fists over their hearts.

Pointing at each of them in succession, Jarda said, “You go into the marketplace and ask around for Elise Mistri. When you find her, you will bring her and the two elders with her here to the palace and let me know immediately. You are to go to the Captain of the Guard and the Captain of the Chatra. Tell them that General Mistri wants them in the general’s quarters. And you are to show me where those quarters are.”

“Yes, General!” the boys said loudly, and then two of them took off at a run, one down the steps and the other around the side of the palace. The third stood, silent and stiff, and waited for Jarda.

“Well?” the general said. “Lead the way.”

“Yes, sir!” The boy walked past Jarda and entered the palace.

Jarda was about to follow when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw the questioning look in Ga’briyel’s eyes. He took the boy’s hand and walked behind the older child.

“A question?”

A nod was accompanied by a tiny finger pointing at the back of the boy in front of them.

“Ah, yes. He is a Chatra, a guardsman-in-training.”

The finger turned so that it was pointed at Ga’briyel’s chest.

“You? You want to be a Chatra?” Another nod.

“Hmm. Someday, perhaps. You have to be at least ten years old to join their ranks, though. That is a good four years in the future.”

Jarda was startled when Ga’briyel yanked his hand away and stopped in the middle of the hallway. His thin arms were folded over his chest, his lips were pressed together, and anger had caused his violet eyes to glow brightly.

“Chatra, stop!” The boy in front of them immediately came to a halt and turned around to look at them as Jarda knelt in front of Ga’briyel. “What is the matter?”

The boy glared at Jarda as he once again pointed to the Chatra and then to himself.

“I said you can be a Chatra when you get older.”

Ga’briyel shook his head, stomped his bare foot, and pointed to the floor emphatically. Jarda pressed his own lips together, not in anger, but in an attempt not to smile at the child.

“Now? You want to be one now.”

The boy nodded, and Jarda glanced over his shoulder at the Chatra who was waiting for him. The guardsman-to-be was biting his bottom lip, and Jarda knew he was also trying not to smile. He turned his attention back to the little Anmah.

“But no child has ever been admitted to their ranks at your age. Ever.” When the little lip curled and a growl came from the little chest, Jarda put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That does not mean I cannot teach you a few things, though. Would that be enough for now?”

The lip relaxed, but the anger remained in the eyes as Ga’briyel started to walk.

“Carry on, Chatra,” Jarda said as he stood and once again took Ga’briyel’s hand.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sainika, indeed,” Jarda muttered to himself as they continued down the hallway.