Humayre: The Chronicles of Ronin Wilder

“This is a co-ed building people,” said Mr. Jones. He stood in front of a grand set of stone stairs snaking up to the next floor. “However, that does not mean the rooms themselves are co-ed. The stairs you see behind me lead up to the boys living quarters.” He pointed to the opposite end of the hall. “The stairs down at that end lead to the girls living quarters.” He stood up straight and placed his hands behind his back. “The stairs you see in the center of the hall lead to the common room. The common room is co-ed. Your rooms are not.” With eyebrows raised he looked through the group of kids. “Common room co-ed. Living quarters not co-ed. You all got that?”

“What happens if we’re caught in a girl’s room?” asked Kevin. The look on his face was of genuine concern, like maybe he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

Mr. Jones gave Kevin a long hard stare. “If you are caught breaking this rule you will lose all your credits. It is one of the few rules at BrightWood where you will be punished so severely.”

“Credits?” asked Ronin. A credit card came to mind, which he thought was odd since there was literally no power at the school to provide such a service.

“Yes,” said Mr. Jones. “Our monetary system at BrightWood. One credit is equivalent to one dollar. The only way to earn credits is through school activities. In other words, you score high on a test, you get a certain amount of credits. Your house team wins an event, you get credits. Just about everything you do here can earn you credits. As long as it is done with excellence.”

“What do you do with the credits?” asked Sarrah Mann.

“Credits are used to purchase goods from the many stores and restaurants we have here on campus. They can also be exchanged for dollars. The exchange rate is one credit for seventy five cents.”

Money never interested Ronin much, at least that’s what he told himself. Probably because he never remembered actually having any. Well, unless he counted the twenty five cents his parents used to leave under his pillow when he’d lose a tooth. They really tried to sell him on the fact that the tooth fairy was real. He always knew it was them leaving him the quarter though. As a young boy he understood what they were doing. He missed it. He missed the innocence. He missed his parents. At least he had Mrs. Kinney. She was the closest thing he had to family. She was his family now.

So deep in thought, Ronin was shocked to find himself standing before one of the many paintings that lined the walls of House Ware Hall. It sounded like Mr. Jones was still explaining the credit system to the other students. It didn’t interest Ronin in the least. No one seemed to notice that he had separated from the group and was standing at the opposite end of the hall. It was nice to have a moment away from them all. He was used to being alone. It gave him time to think and to ground himself.

The painting hanging before Ronin was exquisite, created by a true artist. Even with a layman’s eye Ronin could see that. It was done in oil, a portrait of a man in his twenties. He was holding a Cyrus sword at his chest. That’s what Ronin decided to call the sword since he had no other frame of reference for it. The Cyrus sword was sheathed and held at an angle across the man’s body. He was wearing a BrightWood trench coat, exactly like Ronin’s. His face was serious, almost somber. But the artist captured something in the eyes. A defiant purposefulness maybe. At the bottom of the painting was a bronze name plaque. It read, Alexus Ware. There were no dates or other information.

This must be who House Ware was named after. The realization prompted Ronin to look closer. The man had long dark hair pulled back into a pony tail. He seemed awfully young to have an entire wing of a building named after him. Ronin wondered at what age he died. It filled him with a slight sense of foreboding. Another painting not five feet from the one in front of him pulled his attention away. It was of two people, a man and a woman, also done in oil.

As Ronin made his way to the painting he narrowly avoided hitting his head on a sconce. Which was very lucky. Narrowly missing it that is. At least twenty lit candles fanned out like a proud peacock’s tail. His head surely would have burst into flames. Ronin glanced back at Mr. Jones to make sure they hadn’t left yet, or seen his ungainly encounter with the sconce, which they hadn’t. As a matter of fact, it looked like they might be there for a while. Mr. Jones was answering questions with a frustrated look on his face, while half of Ronin’s housemates had their hands raised. Perfect, more time to explore.

Upon closer inspection of the painting a strange familiarity overcame Ronin. Squinting, he took a step closer. They weren’t just familiar, he knew them. His eyes darted down to the plaque at the bottom of the painting. It read.

Myrian and Devin Wilder.

The air felt heavy. Ronin sucked in a breath but his lungs weren’t satisfied. The buzzing began. The sort that often filled his ears when Dick would go on one of his drunken rampages. Nothing felt real. His body was numb. He read the names again, to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Not satisfied by what he was seeing, he read them again, then once more. No matter how hard he looked, the names wouldn’t change. He felt a light touch on his shoulder but his mind wouldn’t let him display a proper response. He continued to stare at the painting.

“I was hoping I’d get to talk to you before you found this,” said Mr. Wetstone.

Confused and numb, Ronin turned to face Mr. Wetstone.

“By your expression I think it’s safe to assume your parents never told you about BrightWood.” Mr. Wetstone’s face was full of compassion. “Am I right?”

“I don’t kn.... I mean. No. No they didn’t.” Questions flooded into Ronin’s mind.

“What exactly were you told about your parents?” asked Mr. Wetstone. “We know you have been in Dick Ellison’s care for the past six years. But other than that, we don’t know much about your circumstances.”

“My parents went here? Is that why there is a picture of them?”

“Yes they did,” said Mr. Wetstone. “And they served for ten years after that.”

“Did you know them?”

“I did.” His face turned somber. “They were great warriors, but even better friends. My best friends.” He rubbed his chin and shook his head. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about them.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell me?” asked Ronin. His mind was spinning and barely able to form a clear thought.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Wetstone. “There are a lot of things we don’t know. Six months before you were born, they decided to leave BrightWood. No one knew why. Then, ten years later, we received news that they were both killed while performing an unsanctioned mission. We ha…”

Ronin interrupted. “In a car crash. They were killed in a car crash.”

“No. There was no car crash.” Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, he continued. “It was all a cover up by Homeland Security. To protect their interests in our school. You see we are not an independently operated entity, the U.S government oversees almost all we d…”

“They didn’t die in a car crash?” interrupted Ronin.

“No,” said Mr. Wetstone. “They were killed by a Vein. All we know is his name. Or the name he goes by at least.” His jaw clenched and his eyes burned with hate. “Raven.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “For years we have been trying to apprehend him, but we’ve had no luck.”

Anger welled up inside Ronin. His ears burned. Everything had been a lie. Even his parents lied to him, or at best deceived him. Why wouldn’t they tell him about BrightWood? Raven, he was the one responsible for taking away his happiness. He was the reason he lost his parents. He was the reason for Dick. Never had he hated anyone so much, even more than Dick.

The painting of his mom and dad called to him, as though it knew he needed comforting. He turned to face them. It was the first time in six years he had seen them. After his parents died all his belongings, including pictures, were taken somewhere. He never saw any of them again. Dick told him it was standard practice for foster agencies to throw such things out, but Ronin was pretty sure it was a lie. Dick probably threw everything away. All Ronin would have wanted was one picture so he could remember. But he didn’t even have that.

“I loved your parents,” said Mr.Wetstone. He put a hand on Ronin’s shoulder. “You know, when I heard they gave you the name Ronin, it was one of the happiest moments in my life. And I’ve had a very long life.”

Ronin said nothing. He just continued to stare at his mother and father. His heart ached. He remembered being happy, so happy. Raven, the name burned his soul. Ronin had no idea who he was but never had he despised anyone so much. Raven. For some reason the name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And then it came to him. The plane. Martin and Mr. Wall were talking about a Raven.

“I was to be your godfather,” said Mr. Wetstone. “And then they left. I was so angry. They just cut me out of their lives. But once I found out they named you after me, I understood they weren’t trying to get away from me. They wanted you away from all of this. Especially after they were accused of treason. But it was all lies. Dr. Storm and I knew it. We were never able to disprove it and clear their names, but we knew. We knew the source. Veins are never to be trusted.”

Something odd dawned on Ronin. “Why do you care what name they gave me?” he asked.

“Because it is my name,” said Mr. Wetstone. “My name is Ronin Wetstone. Or at least the name I took when I accepted this plane of existence as my own.”

As much as Ronin wanted it to mean something, that his parents gave him Mr. Wetstone’s name, he felt nothing. No connection at all. He was too numb. The portrait of his parents was the only thing comforting him. A small bit of happiness took hold deep inside of him. Just to see his parents again filled him with a sense of security. He remembered his dad’s stubble. It used to scratch his face when he’d kiss his cheek. His dad’s jaw always looked so strong. Like a superhero’s. The artist captured it perfectly. Ronin noticed a chain painted around his father’s neck. He followed it down. It ended at a medallion partially covered by his jacket. And then it all came back to him.

Pulling the letter from his pocket Ronin compared the crossing swords on the red seal to the crossing swords on his father’s pendant. An exact match.

“What is that?” asked Mr. Wetstone. “Where did you get that?” His voice was firm and demanding.

Crap. Ronin’s first instinct was to stuff the letter back in his pocket. But it was too late. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Something was connecting this letter to his parents and now it was most likely going to be taken away before he could figure it all out. The look on Mr. Wetstone’s face worried Ronin. The kindness in his eyes was gone. Despite their obvious connection, Ronin knew that whatever this letter was would trump that connection.

Ronin held the letter out.

Mr. Wetstone snatched it and focused on the red seal. He quickly unfolded the letter. His eyes darted back and forth. “Where did you find this?” his asked, in a raised voice.

“In the carriage I rode in. It was between some cushions.”

Mr. Wetstone exuded tension. It was so thick Ronin could almost feel it. “What is it? What does it say?” asked Ronin. He felt a frenzied need to know. “What do the double swords mean?” The desperation in his voice must have appealed to Mr. Wetstone compassionate side because his eyes softened.

“I can’t read it,” said Mr. Wetstone. “It is written is in a language I can’t read.” He looked at Ronin with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“What do the crossing swords mean? Do the crossing swords mean anything?”

“It is the insignia of House Moore, a Vein house not far from here?” With a raised eyebrow, he continued, “Now you need to tell me why you are so desperate to know.” He suspiciously eyed Ronin.

Ronin turned and walked to the painting of his mother and father. He pointed at the pendant his father was wearing, and said, “That’s why.”

Mr. Wetstone hurried to the painting. Squinting, he leaned in close to get a better look. He backed up. His face was blank. He glanced at Ronin then back at the painting. Without saying another word he rushed towards the exit. Just before he vanished into the next room, he stopped and said, “This changes nothing. Honor your mother and father with your efforts here. Make them proud.” He paused, then added, “I will see you tomorrow at the Awakening.” Abruptly, he exited the room.