Humayre: The Chronicles of Ronin Wilder

If the Great Hall represented the rest of BrightWood, then Ronin knew that was where he was supposed to be. That was where he belonged.

Cavernous. It was the first word to pop into Ronin’s mind. Just the week before he had read about Carlsbad Caverns National Park in a travel magazine. The Great Hall reminded him of the pictures he had seen. Magnificent was the second word to pop into his mind. A smile stretched from ear to ear. It was medieval in all its gloriousness. Many afternoons he sat in his library back home and read about the Dark Ages. He often wondered what it would be like to be a knight and to live during that time. Sometimes he wished for it. By the looks of the Great Hall he might be getting his chance. Or at least the closest thing to it in a painfully modern world. His eyes darted about feasting on everything.

Huge colorful tapestries draped the grey stone walls. They depicted various scenes of Medieval life. Hanging overhead, at least a hundred feet up, hung a multitude of little banners. Each banner looked to have a picture on it with something written below it. The warmth of the air, coupled with its smoky aroma, was intoxicating. It wasn’t so smoky as to be uncomfortable, but rather filled the senses with a woodsy coziness. Four stone fireplaces warmed the room. Two on the entry wall and two on the back. They were massive. Twenty feet across and ten feet high. Enough wood was burning in each to heat a small home for a couple months.

Torches as big as couches were mounted to the stone walls throughout the Hall. Four chandeliers, each of which was the size of a small car, hung from the stone ceiling. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of candles ablaze on each. And once again, maybe the most curious thing of all, no signs of electricity.

At the center of the room were five oaken tables lined up into a hollowed out rectangle. Just in front of the back facing table was an oaken podium. A man was standing at the podium. He had long brown hair, was thin, looked to be in his early twenties and wore the same sort of trench coat Ronin was wearing.

“That is Mr. Wetstone,” said Mr. Wall, nudging Ronin. “He is your new headmaster. Well. If you choose to attend BrightWood that is.”

With a raised eyebrow Ronin asked, “If I choose to attend?” He looked at Mr. Wall like he was crazy. “You guys couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He looked around the room. “This is the most amazing place I have ever seen.”

“That’s a good attitude to have,” said Mr. Wall. He looked down at Ronin and gave a slight nod. “You know. I normally don’t do this, give advice that is, but there is something about you I like. And I don’t like many people.” He led Ronin towards the far left oaken table. “Don’t make the mistake and think you are getting a free ride here. This will be the toughest thing you have ever done in your life. Don’t ever forget the importance of what you are doing. And remember. It is all bigger than you, me, or any one person.” He pointed to an empty chair right next to Kevin. “Take a seat.” He patted Ronin on the back. “Good luck my friend.” As he walked away he chuckled, “Banana.”

Ronin slid the robust throne like chair away from the table. The plush cushions were a deep burgundy. The woodwork was intricately carved and gold-leafed. The armrests ended in paws gripping a ball. He took a seat. Soft and comfortable, like it was designed just for his body. He slid the chair forward. In front of him, engraved on the table was WILDER. Underneath his name was an engraved picture of a sword, which looked just like Cyrus’s. Laying just above his name was a small stack of papers with his name on the cover. A gold and black pen, which looked quite expensive, sat next to the papers.

“What is all of this?” asked Ronin, looking to Kevin.

“Some sort of contract,” said Kevin, not taking his focus from the paper work he was thumbing through. “Why don’t you try reading it?” He gave Ronin a quick sarcastic glance and added, “You do know how to read?”

“Wow. Mike was right,” said Ronin, shaking his head. He wondered what Mrs. Kinney would say about Kevin. Even she had her limits.

“I doubt that,” said Kevin. “I’d be willing to bet he hasn’t been right about much in his life.”

“Looks like everyone has found their seats,” said Mr. Wetstone, with a raised voice. He straightened some papers on his podium. “Let’s get started, shall we?” He motioned for everyone to quiet down. “This is always the most difficult thing for me to do. You would think after doing this for sixty five years that I would finally get the hang of it.” He laughed. All the kids were quiet.

Sixty five years? Ronin figured that had to be wrong. Mr. Wetstone looked to be in his twenties, if even that. Ronin looked to his left, and was about to say something to Kevin, when he remembered Kevin was a sarcastic jerk.

The kids began to murmur, Mr. Wetstone motioned for them to quiet down. “So,” continued Mr. Wetstone. “Let’s just get it all out there. At least the most relevant things. You will learn more specifics in your Intro class with Mrs. Bar.” He took a drink of water from a crystal goblet, wiped his mouth and continued. “In nineteen forty five your plane, or world, whatever you fancy, dropped the Atomic bomb. From this event a tear occurred in space time. A wormhole as your people call it. People from my plane of existence streamed into your plane of existence. Now mind you, this wasn’t the first of these occurrences. We theorize that it happened several times before, but that is a discussion for another time.” He glanced up from his podium into a multitude of blank faces.

“Rahvein and Vein,” said Mr. Westone. “The people from my plane, or world, or whatever you’d prefer.” He shook his head and wiped perspiration from his brow. “I’m sorry. This is not an easy task, and I really don’t like to be the one to do it.” He slicked back his long hair. The stress was obvious on his face. “Anyway. The purpose of it all. That’s what we need to discuss.” He cracked his neck and took another drink of water. “This school was created not long after our people arrived. Its sole purpose is to train Humayre so that they, meaning you, can maintain the balance of power between us and the Vein. Humayre, it’s what all of you are called. Humans with Mayre in your blood, hence the name Hum-ayre. Mayre. How can I even explain it? It’s an energy that governs the natural rules of my world. It’s an energy that flowed from my world into yours. But now, instead of governing all life it simply enhances a select few.” Rubbing his temples and closing his eyes he took a deep breath. “You are all so special, so rare. Without you we could never hope to keep the peace and the balance.” His eyes were solemn and serious. He paused for a moment, then continued. “I am a Rahvein. My people once ruled our plane, but Mayre has a funny way of balancing power.” He rubbed his hands through his hair. “There I go again, getting side tracked.”

A young woman with short brown hair and wearing a BrightWood trench coat walked up to the podium and whispered something in Mr. Wetstone’s ear. He nodded.

“Okay. Let’s keep it simple,” said Mr. Wetstone, his focus back on the kids before him. “The Vein. Our enemy, our neighbor. There is nothing to compare them to. They are not evil in your sense of the word, but they are also not good. They live to experience pleasure. They do not have empathy or compassion. Life means nothing to them unless it is their own. As such they are dangerous but at the same time manageable. Our purpose is to stop the Vein who break the covenant and to live peacefully with those who do not.”

Mike raised his hand.

“No questions please,” said Mr. Wetstone.

Mike put his hand down and folded his arms. He looked like a child who just had his feelings hurt.

“You’re Intro class will fill you in on everything I have missed,” said Mr. Wetstone. “Anyway. To the most important thing. The papers you see before you. They are your contracts. Each is tailored for the individual it addresses. Read it. Take heed. And then decide if BrightWood is for you. Anyone who does not sign the contract will be sent home tonight. The gag orders you signed earlier will be in effect for your lifetime.” Taking one last gulp of water he then added, “Good luck to all of you. And I look forward to the first of many years we will have together.”

Mr. Wetstone nodded to his audience and then made his way out of the hall with the young woman following closely behind. Once he disappeared, the chatter began. Kids were firing questions left and right at each other. Ronin wished he was sitting next to Mike. He was all but sure to get a good conversation out of him. Kevin on the other hand. He looked as though someone just told him the sky was blue, which he obviously already knew. He thumbed through his contract with a nonchalance that was maddening to Ronin.

If you can’t beat them join them. Ronin picked up his paperwork. He flipped through the entire document, then carefully stared at page one. It was another contract. The first thing he noticed was Dick’s signature at the bottom of the page. After reading more he figured out how Dick got the new T.V. And that wasn’t all. Dick signed over guardianship of Ronin to BrightWood Academy. The contract stated that Dick would receive five thousand a month for as long as Ronin remained a student of BrightWood Academy. This was almost enough to make Ronin want to tear the contract up and take his chances at home. But it only lasted a second. His heart began to race. Tingles shot up his spine. Could he finally be free? Another signature at the bottom of the page caught his attention. It was unrecognizable. A sniffle drew Ronin’s attention. Kevin rubbed his face quickly. His eyes looked watery and his hands shook. He caught Ronin staring.

“What?” asked Kevin. “What’s your problem? You don’t see me staring at you like an idiot, do you?”

Nothing could ruin Ronin’s mood at that moment. Brushing off the insult he refocused on his own contract. The signature. It was too rushed to make out. Just under the signature was a printed name. His heart jumped. It was Mrs. Kinney’s. He read the paragraph above her name. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. BrightWood was offering to pay Mrs. Kinney five thousand a month as well. But instead of it just being for the duration of Ronin’s tenure at the school, it was for life. Well, for life as long as Ronin graduated. He didn’t need to read another word. They could have told him that he needed to walk through fire and he still would’ve signed.

After signing all the documents Ronin glanced around. Every kid had a smile on their face. Even Kevin couldn’t hide his grin, though it looked like he was trying. The sound of boots echoing off stone drew all the kid’s attention. Four men in what looked like butler uniforms entered the Great Hall from where Mr.Wetstone had exited. Their uniforms all had yellow BW’s stitched on their left breast. The four men stopped in front of Ronin’s table. They spread out. The man standing in front of Ronin spoke first.

“We are your house servers. My name is Mr. Jones. To my right is Mr. Wills, Mr. Edges and Mr. Miles.” His posture was perfect. His hands were held behind his back and he had an air of confidence that drew Ronin’s immediate admiration. His slicked back brown hair was so well groomed it almost looked sculpted. Mr. Jones continued, “In front of you, engraved into the table, you will find your house insignia. There are four houses total. Your house is where you will be living. I can assure you that it is where you will be spending the least amount of your time at BrightWood.” He glanced down the row of kids. “Each of you was assigned to a house based on your Mayre levels. This is how your position at the table was assigned as well.” He stared at Ronin for a second. “Ronin had the highest concentration, hence his spot at the end of the table.”

Kevin glanced at Ronin. His face was blank of expression. Ronin could feel the jealousy exuding from him.

“No doubt you have many questions,” said Mr. Jones. “Unfortunately I am not permitted to answer anything that is not directly related to my duties. We are simply here to show you to your quarters and to take care of any needs you may have.” He held his hand up with index finger pointing to the ceiling. “Notice how I said needs and not wants. It is at our discretion to choose which requests we honor.” He looked around the room, then refocused on the kids. “One thing I can tell you. There is no electricity. No technology of any sort will work here. So, don’t bother flooding us with questions as to why whatever gizmo you have is not working. That’s all I can say about that.”

Mike raised his hand.

“Yes?” asked Mr. Wills.

“Are you trying to tell us that you guys are some sort of aliens from another dimension?”

“First of all, I am not telling you anything of the sort. That was Mr. Wetstone. Second. I am a human. As a Humayre you are more alien than I am, my friend. And third. Don’t get caught up in labels. Think of it like this. Rahvein and Vein are your neighbors from another plane, or dimension as you so succinctly put it, much like Canada is a neighbor to the United States.” Mr. Wills brushed his hands down his buttoned-up coat and continued. “That is all I can say, and I am afraid I may have said too much. If you have any more questions save them for your roommate, he will be a drop-down second year, or for your Intro class. As Mr. Jones pointed out, we are not permitted to answer questions of that sort.”

Mike crossed his massive arms and exhaled in frustration.

“One last thing before we show you to your living quarters,” said Mr. Jones. “Tomorrow, at eleven am, you will meet here in the Great Hall for the Awakening ceremony. And yes, I can feel the questions bubbling in your young minds already. And no, I am not permitted to go into further detail. I can tell you this however. All these rules have been set into place through much trial and error. There is a reason for our purposeful withholding of information. Trust that we know what we are doing. After all, we have been doing this for quite some time.”

A numbness washed over Ronin like a massive wave hitting a small pebble. Just this morning the center of the universe was his town. It seemed impossibly big. Often he feared he may never escape its grasp. But now there was something so much bigger. Could Mr. Wetstone be telling the truth? Were there other people not of this world living right under their noses? It made his life seem so small and insignificant. What did it all mean? His heart started to race. Was everything he had ever known a lie? He rubbed his hands together, at least his nails weren’t hurting. He glanced down at the other end of the table. Relief washed over him when he noticed all the other kids looked just as confused as he was feeling. Well, all except Kevin and Mike.

Mike looked irritated and Kevin, well, he looked as nonchalant as ever. Somehow Kevin’s energy calmed Ronin. If Kevin wasn’t freaking out, then why should he? Mrs. Kinney popped into his mind. She’s all that really mattered. They were going to take care of her. It didn’t matter if they were little green aliens who were going to do horrible experiments on him. It was all worth it if they took care of Mrs. Kinney. That was the big picture. Nothing else mattered.

“Okay, this is how it works,” said Mr. Jones. “Those of you with a helmet under your name are House Falk. Your house server is Mr. Miles. Those of you with a shield under your name, you are House Robbs and your server is Mr. Edges.” He stood up tall and placed his hands behind his back. “Suit of armor, you are House Wilder. Mr. Wills will be your house server. And last but not least. House Ware. You have a sword beneath your name and I will be your server.”

House Wilder? That’s a weird coincidence. Never had Ronin heard of anyone with his last name before. Curiosity momentarily ceased the existential battle in his mind. He was about to raise his hand, but Mike beat him to it.

“Who are the houses named after?” asked Mike. His arms were still folded and his eyes dared Mr. Jones to not answer the question. It was becoming pretty obvious that Mike had a bit of contempt for authority figures.

“Famous warriors who are no longer with us,” said Mr. Jones, quickly. He shook his head. Mikes interruptions were obviously getting on his nerves. He refocused on the group as a whole and continued. “Let’s get to, it shall we?” He motioned with his hands for everyone to stand. “We will be taking you to your rooms now.”

The four house servers split up into pairs. Mr. Jones and Mr. Wills lead Ronin and company to the left. Mr. Edges and Mr. Miles led their group to the right. As Mike followed Mr. Edges, Ronin felt a loneliness come over him. Even though he’d only known Mike for a brief time, he felt he was already a good friend. He was disappointed they were not in the same house. Walking right in front of Ronin was Kevin. Not a great consolation prize. The guy was a total jerk.

Thinking about his room, a disturbing realization dawned on Ronin. What if he got stuck with Kevin as a roommate? The mere thought of it irritated him. No way could he live with the guy. He’d end up punching him in the nose and getting kicked out of school. And who would he talk to about all the crazy stuff happening? Not Kevin, that’s who.

So deep in thought and without realizing, Ronin was lead through a hall and into a strange room. There were no windows and it smelled of wet stone. Candlelit sconces flickered their meager light through the dank and dark room. Mounted to the stone walls were glass cases. Each case held a single sword. At least a hundred of these cases were displayed throughout the room. Needing a closer look, Ronin stopped while the rest of his group continued on.

The glass was spotless. It looked meticulously maintained. Ronin leaned in, making sure not to touch the glass. The sword looked exactly like Cyrus’s. The blade shimmered in the candle light. The metal seemed to change colors from a dark red to black. The way in which the colors swirled and moved within each other gave the blade an organic almost living look to it. Below the sword was a plaque. There were names and dates on it. They read.

Keiri

Aaron Anderson

BW 1955-59

KIA July 15th 1966

KIA, Ronin had seen it before in newspapers. It meant killed in action. He scanned the room. Every glass case he could see had a sword in it. The whole room was a giant memorial. Chills crawled down Ronin’s spine. He wondered if this might be his fate. Dr. Storm immediately came to mind. Was this what he meant when he said, “Try not to get yourself killed.” He glanced around the room. The sheer number of glass cases, or as he saw them, death boxes, overwhelmed him. The ground felt unstable and his palms slicked with sweat. The room seemed to shift and sway.

“Mr. Wilder,” said Mr. Jones. He was standing in the arched entry leading to the next room “Are you going to join the rest of us?”

The sound of Mr. Jones voice centered Ronin. The dizziness dissipated. Relieved for the distraction, Ronin hurried out of the room to join Mr. Jones. Just as he was about to leave, a glass case caught his attention. It was different from the others. There was no sword inside. Instead, a wet-suit like outfit hung behind the crystal-clear glass. It looked just like what Ryan had been wearing. One word on the memorial caught his attention above all others. Rahvein. Assuming the worst he put two and two together. Did that mean Ryan was a Rahvein? A being from another dimension? If that was the case there was no predicting what Ryan might do. Great, I have an alien as an enemy.