The buried symbol, p.25
The Buried Symbol, page 25
Ashland whispered back. “No. It’s…interesting. Not too bad though.”
He smiled. “Warms you on the inside, right?”
She nodded, smiling at him.
“Brock.” Dory spoke over the buzz of conversation. “I believe you have a story to finish.”
“Yeah, right,” he replied as he stood.
The room quieted, and he resumed his telling.
“After my rival’s team broke the school launch record, it was my team’s turn. We wheeled our much smaller catapult to the launch line. My teammates cranked the launch arm and set the heavy projectile into the launch basket. The metal ball,” he held his hands a foot apart, “weighed about the same as I do.”
“Everyone stepped back, leaving me alone with the loaded catapult. The judge yelled, Fire! I pulled the release and something crazy happened. The coiled energy in the catapult caused it to jump off the ground, higher than the ceiling above you. I dove out of the way and rolled to my feet as the catapult landed right where I had been standing.”
Brock paused for the buzz that ran through the room.
“Luckily, I was fine. However, it was now dead quiet and the heavy metal ball was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the field, looking for a sign of the projectile but saw nothing. A feeling of frustration began to grip my insides until a cloud of gray dust suddenly billowed into the air. The heavy ball had finally landed, blasting a huge hole in the wall of the Academy, over two miles away.”
The room erupted in amazement. It continued for a while before Dory could calm the room. Once quiet, Brock continued.
“Having launched the heavy ball such an amazing distance resulted in our team winning the event. However, we were also required to clean the mess we had created and pay for the repairs. The effort consumed my life for almost a month, which left little time to spend with Ashland.”
He ended the sentence looking down at his radiant girlfriend. Her smile beamed back up at him. Heartfelt sighs echoed from the women in the room.
“I’m still trying to make it up to her.” He returned to his chair.
Applause rumbled through the crowded room, followed by the hum of chatter as the women discussed the story.
Annabelle leaned toward him, putting her hand on his arm. “My Brock. As usual, your stories are incredible, yet ring of truth. I heard of the damage that struck the girls’ tower from Abe, but he never told me what caused it.”
Tina chimed in, “Yes. I heard about it from Marcus Sprill and his crew of masons. He described the damage and how lucrative the job was for him. He even mentioned a helpful group of boys assisting with the repairs.”
Dory nodded. “As you can see, while Brock tells some amazing tales, they’re neither works of his imagination nor embellishments.” She turned toward Ashland as she spoke. “I’m sure you’re aware that Brock is special. He lives a charmed life, on a path that will surely lead to greatness. He could use the support of a strong, beautiful woman at his side.”
Their conversation was interrupted as Garrett and Saul began setting plates on the table. The aroma rising from the steak and steamed vegetables made Brock’s mouth water.
“This looks delicious.” Ashland noted.
“I’m sure it will taste as good as it looks,” Brock replied. “Saul is the most talented cook I’ve ever known.”
* * *
Shortly after dinner, Brock and Ashland excused themselves to join Tipper and Libby at their table in the back of the room.
Brock introduced Ashland, whom Tipper greeted with a hug. Libby informed him that she already met Ashland while helping her with the bath and getting her prepared for dinner. After the greetings, they engaged in conversation over a glass of wine.
As usual, Libby was quiet. Brock noted that her reserved nature was a fair contrast to Tipper’s friendly chatter. She eventually interjected, asking Brock a question that had apparently been on her mind.
“Is it true that your catapult launched a big metal ball over two miles?” Libby asked, tucking her long black hair behind an ear.
Before he could respond, Ashland spoke.
“I was there and saw the whole thing. The story Brock told earlier, if anything, was understated. When the catapult launched, jumping in the air like that, I feared for his life. I stood as tall as I could, trying to see if he was okay. After seeing him standing with his friends, I turned toward the field to see where the steel ball landed. When it hit the tower and everyone realized what happened, things got crazy.” She smiled as she spoke. “Students still talk about it in the halls. The engineering masters are out of their minds about it, trying to understand how it was possible. They even confiscated the catapult and the ball. Despite dozens of repeated attempts, I hear that it barely launches more than 1000 feet. The other masters seem amused by their persistence over the whole thing.”
Tipper nodded, turning toward Libby. “That’s what Brock told me earlier today, when he first described the incident. The story is true.”
“But that still doesn’t explain how it happened,” Libby protested.
“Libby, I don’t understand it myself,” Brock replied. “The engineering masters’ inability to reproduce the results using the same catapult and ball makes it even more bewildering.”
The conversation grew quiet with nothing more to say on the subject. Ashland asked a question in another direction.
“Brock, how did you and Tipper…become friends?” Ashland asked before turning toward Tipper. “Please take no offense, but it is exceedingly rare for an Unchosen…to be held in such high regard by someone with a rune, especially if that someone has the mark of Issal.”
Brock turned toward Tipper, the one person who knew the truth about his past. Having never lied to Ashland, he didn’t want to start now. He cleared his throat, about to speak when Tipper interrupted.
“I never met my father,” Tipper began. “As you might expect, my mother was Unchosen. When I was a baby, she decided that selling her body was the only way to support the two of us. She and I lived in a brothel in Lower Kantar for years. It wasn’t so bad. I had chores, of course, but I had food and a roof over my head. Men came and went – none ever seeing her as more than a piece of meat. Some beat her. Others fled after the coupling, refusing to pay for what she had to endure. As I grew older, I began to realize that it was tearing her apart, but we never spoke of it. She had no other solution given her limited options.”
Tipper’s eyes were unfocused, distant as he spoke of the past. “When I was eleven, she became ill. At first, it was just strange behavior, but it soon became far more than that. It was as if her brain was coming apart. She had delusions, ranting and raving about this or that. In a matter of weeks, she became a psychotic animal. We were kicked out of the brothel, left to live on the streets. Two days later, I woke in an alley next to my mother’s cold, dead body.”
Clearly feeling old emotions returning, tears began to cloud Tipper’s eyes.
“I learned to survive on my own, often the hard way. I slept in crates, scavenged food where I could, and somehow made it on my own for six months without ending up dead or in jail. Then a steady round of cold winter rain hit the coast. For days it rained. Try as I might, I couldn’t stay dry. Being wet on those cold nights must’ve been too much for my undernourished body. I became ill, coughing so hard that I would spit blood. Soon, the fever became too much. Weak and alone, I curled up in a crate to die.”
Tipper looked down, a tear tracking down his face.
“That’s when Brock found me. I was too far out of it to remember myself, but he took me in to nurse me back to health. I woke two days later with the fever gone and only a heavy cough remaining. Given a steady diet of soup and other liquids, I was soon healthy. That’s when Brock’s father found me hiding in their loft. Brock and his Aunt Ellie had kept it a secret as long as they could. His father told him I couldn’t stay and had to be out by sunset. However, by that time, I was healthy. Since then, Brock has been my best friend, always watching out for me. He somehow got me out of jail both times I was caught for stealing food. He would bring me something to eat every time he saw me, whatever morsel he could take without his father noticing. He gave me clothes. He gave me his friendship. Thanks to his annoyingly positive attitude, he even gave me hope when I had no right to hope. This past summer he brought me here.” Tipper gestured to the room around them. “Now I have a job. I have a room of my own with hot meals every day. Best of all, I have a beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed Libby close as she rested her head on his shoulder.
Ashland wiped her eyes dry as her other hand squeezed Brock’s.
“Thank you for sharing your story, Tipper.” Ashland told him sincerely. “I’m glad your life has taken a better turn. Take care of Libby. She’s a nice girl.”
Tipper nodded back, smiling as Libby snuggled against him.
Ashland turned to Brock. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry for how coldly I treated you when we first met.” She looked down at their clasped hands as she spoke. “I…I guess I thought you’d be pretentious like others at the Academy. Many have had everything in life handed to them. They lack compassion and perspective.” She looked into his eyes. “As I grow to know you, I realize I was wrong. I realize that you’re exactly the kind of person I was looking for. After tonight, I realize it more than ever. I love you with all my heart, Brock Talenz.”
“I love you too, Ashland Pym.” Brock gave her a quick kiss.
Ashland turned to Tipper and Libby. “Well, it’s late. We’ve had a long day. It’s time to say goodnight.” She stood, looking at Brock expectantly.
“Goodnight Tip, Libby.” Brock stood. “We’ll see you at breakfast.”
Brock followed Ashland toward the stairwell, hesitating when he remembering something. “Oh, wait. I haven’t gotten a room yet.”
Ashland took his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I have a room.”
She continued up the stairs with an anxious Brock in tow.
39
They woke as one the next morning - Ashland’s shifting causing Brock to stir. Glancing out the window, he could only see white through the frosted panes. He gave her a kiss and slid out of bed. She remained under the sheets as he got dressed.
“Are you coming down for breakfast?” he asked as he pulled his trousers up.
“I will in a bit. I need some time to clean up,” she replied. “A girl needs to be presentable you know.”
“I think you look great right now,” he replied, flashing a devious smile.
She laughed and threw a pillow at him. “You’re horrible.”
He caught the pillow and sat on the bed, leaning in for a kiss. Before it got too far, she pushed him away.
“You’d better go before we get started again,” she said.
He sighed before scooping his tunic off the floor, pulling it over his head, and lacing the collar. After sliding his feet into his boots, he walked to the door and turned to face her before he opened it.
“I’ll see you soon.”
She nodded, and he slipped out of the room.
As Brock descended the stairs, the front door opened, blowing snow into the entryway. Tipper followed behind, stamping snow off his feet.
“It looks like it’s coming down pretty hard out there.” Brock remarked.
Tipper looked up at him. “G’morning, Brock. Yeah, it’s more snow than I thought I’d ever see. I know that’s not saying much since the first time I touched snow was only a few weeks back, but it’s crazy out there. It’s already well past my knees. I just finished shoveling a path to the road. Dory says if it keeps coming down like this, I’ll have to shovel the roof. Can you believe that? Shoveling snow off a two-story roof?” Tipper shook his head. “I never thought it was a thing, let alone that I’d be doing it myself.”
Brock reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced at the empty room.
“I’m pretty sure that Ashland and I are the only ones in the rooms upstairs. The weather will likely keep everyone else home, so it’ll be a quiet morning. Do you want to eat with us?”
Tipper nodded, clumps of snow falling on the floor. “Yes, definitely. Let me get the snow off and I’ll join you. I’ll see if Libby is free as well.”
“Sounds great,” Brock replied before heading to the kitchen.
He stepped inside to find Saul taking pastries out of the oven. They smelled wonderful.
“G’morning, Saul,” Brock said. “What’s for breakfast?”
Saul turned toward the door. “Brock. You kitchen thief. Are you here to steal some of Saul’s treats before they’re ready to serve?”
Brock held up his hands. “Oh no. Not this time at least.”
Saul set the hot pan on the counter and began scooping the pastries into a basket.
“That’s good. Saul has made a special treat for you today. Saul promises you’re gonna like it,” he replied in his odd third-person manner.
“Well, I can promise that I like the smell already,” Brock replied.
“You go on out and have a seat. Saul will bring it out shortly.”
Brock backed through the door into the dining room and spotted James walking in.
“Hi James. Can I get four cups of caffe? Tip and Libby are going to join Ashland and me for breakfast.”
“Sure, Brock,” James replied, walking behind the bar. “They’ll be right up, with a little milk.”
Shortly after Brock found a seat at a table, James set four cups upon it. Just minutes after that, Tipper and Libby joined him as Ashland was descending the stairs.
After enjoying Saul’s cheese and pepper pastry, the two couples spent the morning chatting in the empty dining room. It was nearly noon when Dory strolled in and declared that the roof did indeed need to be shoveled because of the snow piling up outside. Tipper went off to find Garrett to help with the effort, while Libby excused herself to get the baths ready in case anyone wanted to use them.
That left Brock alone with Ashland. They talked for a bit and then Ashland put her hand on Brock’s leg. It only took moments before it affected him. He suggested that they retreat to their room for some time alone. She smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him up the stairs.
* * *
Brock lay on the bed with his arms around Ashland when they heard a noise on the roof. The sound of footsteps was followed by a loud scraping sound going across the ceiling.
“Good grief,” Ashland said. “It sounds like he’s going to fall right into the room.”
He laughed. “That would be very much like Tipper.”
Again, footsteps climbed toward the apex of the roof, followed by the scraping sound of the shovel pushing snow. The footsteps began the third ascent, followed by a loud thud, a rapid scraping sound, and a trailing cry.
Brock glanced toward the window as the dark shape fell past.
He bolted out of bed, running to the window. He flipped the latch, yanked it open, and stuck his upper body outside.
Through the thickly falling flakes, Brock saw Tipper buried in snow. He was curled up on his side, holding his leg as Garrett trounced through the snow toward his co-worker.
Brock retreated into the room and slammed the window shut. He ran to the pile of clothes on the floor, and began to dress.
“What are you doing? What happened?” Ashland sat upright in the bed.
He glanced up at her. “Tipper fell. I think he’s hurt.”
Brock grabbed his trousers, quickly sliding his legs in. He secured them at the waist and glanced toward Ashland as his reached for the door handle.
“I really hate to say this, but you might want to cover up.”
She hastily pulled the blanket up to her neck before he ripped the door open and shot out into the hallway.
Brock ran down the stairs as Garrett dragged Tipper and a lot of snow into the inn. A grimace of pain twisted Tipper’s face. Brock scrambled over to Tipper, ignoring the cold snow beneath his bare feet.
“Where are you hurt?” Brock asked.
With a clenched jaw, Tipper groaned, “My leg.”
Garrett was frantic. “He hit his leg on the hitching post when he fell. I think it’s bad.”
Brock lifted the leg of Tipper’s trousers. The blood on the outside couldn’t prepare him for what was underneath. Just above the boot, Tipper lower leg dangled at an unnatural angle with two white bones jutting out. Blood seeped down the leg from the wound.
Garrett’s face went white and he backed away.
Brock glanced up at Garrett. “Get him some food.”
Confusion reflected on Garrett’s pale face. “What? Food?”
Brock spoke louder, his voice firm. “Do it. Anything Saul has. Go.”
As Garrett scrambled off to the kitchen, Brock focused on Tipper’s wound. Needing contact with exposed skin, he placed his hand on his friend’s forehead and closed his eyes.
From behind, he distantly heard Ashland’s voice. “Brock! No!”
Ignoring her, he quickly found his center in the calmness of Order, finding it easier every time he did it. Extending his awareness, he found the source of Order within Tipper, disturbed by the angry red tempest of his wound.
Brock reached out with his mind, diving into the fury of red symbols swirling about. He pulled hard at the Order within Tipper, using it to surround and squeeze the massive mess of red symbols. The swirling storm of runes sped up and then began to unravel, the red threads dissipating into the blue until they were gone.
His eyes opened to find Tipper’s eyes wide as he struggled for air. Tipper gasped and his body shivered violently. Brock looked down at his friend’s leg, now appearing normal other than the dried-on blood.
Tipper was still trying to catch his breath when Brock heard Ashland descending the stairs. Garret burst into the room with a half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, running to where Tipper lay.
Ashland knelt next to Tipper. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Tipper sat up, looking down at his leg. “Yeah. I’m fine now. Except I feel like I could eat a whole cow.”
