I obeyed, moving by rote. Unsure of what to think of this new discovery, I fetched my journal and writing utensils. Hopefully, Selwyn’s lesson would shed some light on exactly what I was capable of doing.
“This is the line that divides those with talent,” he said as he drew a wide line down the center of the slate with a chalk. “On this side,” he began writing on the right side of the line, “we have the Sept Son and his followers.” He listed the positions in the following order, each slightly lower and farther from the line than then next: Sept Son, defender, assistant, trainer, tester, recruiter, user, and trainee. Then he began writing of on the left side of the slate. “On the other side, we have those who hate, reject, avoid, disavow, and oppose the Sept Son and those who follow him.” He listed words that I had only heard of in passing while studying with Errol: Elitist, Viscus Voro, Impendo, and Denego.
“Over our time together, I am going to teach you to defend yourself from each of these.” He pointed to the left side of the slate. “To do that, I am going to be giving you insight that only three of these positions have.” He indicated the top three on the right: Sept Son, defender, and assistant.
“There are two reasons that not everyone knows what I am going to teach you. First, it is for their safety. If all talents of every level knew all the techniques of engaging those who oppose the Sept Son and the code, they would become overconfident and attack without provocation. Second, this knowledge is powerful. Only those who have demonstrated that they have the strength of character and discernment to determine when to use the techniques should hold this knowledge.”
A heavy blanket of responsibility fell over my shoulders. The weight pressed down on my frame. I was to be given something that even Errol did not know. I looked up to find Selwyn’s dark eyes watching my face.
“I am not sure I am ready for this,” I said.
He nodded his understanding. “That is alright. I know you are ready. You are going to have to trust me.” The depths of his brown eyes searched mine.
I felt the gentle brushing of his mind against my thoughts, not changing them, just soothing the nervous thoughts that rose to the surface. His calm, steadfast confidence soothed me, but I found the greatest peace came when I reached out to God. Lead me, Almighty. What should I do? The answer came immediately in a wave of quiet assurance.
He had a purpose for me. I still wasn’t sure what it was, but I was certain that this was what he wanted me to do. I trusted Selwyn as I trusted one of my brothers, but I trusted the Almighty more.
“Where do we begin?” I asked.
Chapter XV
Hadrian
I stared out the window. Snow blanketed the ground, muting the world. The time of the death watch had begun. Death watch was the three weeks when most of the elderly died. As they fell, overcome with age or infirmity, the white expanse of snow was marred by patches of brown, freshly-turned earth.
Only four hours ago, I had stood beside one of those plots of raw earth and watched as a man too young to qualify for the death watch disappeared beneath the plods of dirt. Consus Faluvius turned only forty-three last month. I knew him from my days of training under the late Sept Son. His life ended abruptly a few days ago when he consumed the poison meant for me. We knew immediately. He was rushed off to the healer’s ward and the meat burned in the fire of the dining hall.
Although Tristan tried to dissuade me, I went and sat by Consus’ side. The man was dying in my place. The least I could do was hold his hand and ease his passing. While his body contorted and flailed as the poison attacked his organs, I held his mind at a distance. He wasn’t aware of the pain as he readied himself for eternity.
“Hadrian,” Renato’s voice cut through my thoughts as he waved a hand before my face. “Hadrian.”
“Yes,” I responded, blinking back to the present. The familiar surroundings of my study fell into place, pushing aside the horror of the past day.
“I called your name about six times. Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, fine,” I assured him. To demonstrate my health, I picked up the nearest open letter and struggled to focus on the words.
“I came to bring you something from the courier’s packet.”
“You said there was nothing that needed my attention,” I commented, setting the paper aside so I could center on my assistant. His normally calm countenance was obviously shaken.
“I was wrong,” he replied. With shaking hands, he dropped a thick packet on the desk top before me. “Master Faroro wrote about news of Blandone or rather the lack of news.”
“Why?” It didn’t make sense to write about the lack of news.
“Blandone is missing.” Renato’s voice shook slightly.
My head came up as I sought out his face. Worry creased his forehead and his eyes were unusually moist as he avoided meeting my gaze. “How? Why?” I demanded.
“Eight days ago, Blandone and his wife suddenly disappeared from the community. Then three days later, there were a handful of strange events initiated by the leadership. Master Faroro speculates that the Elitists discovered Blan and when they moved in on him, he escaped. However, Faroro cannot see how he managed to evade both the Elitists and our men. No one has passed word to him or any of the contacts and spies that are stationed around the compound.
“The only other alternative is that Blan is dead.” Renato frowned. “I don’t believe it, but Faroro hints at it
