“You got me out of bed for some pissant?! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the captain, and as you know, right now I’m about as close to the King and his personal advisors you can get, so unless you want to take it up with him, do what I need and then go back to bed. Understand?”
The older man huffed and leaned back, crossing his arms and revealing more than Francis ever wanted to see in his life. He couldn’t help but shudder as the old man flashed the tent.
“Bah! You’re a bitch, and you know it!”
“Yes, I do. Now stop flashing me and inspect this boy. Tell me, what can you see!”
Once more, the older man glared at the captain, but then he turned, letting his hands and, thankfully, his shirt, drop. He cracked his knuckles, approaching Francis.
“Give me your hand, boy,” Nehemiah ordered.
Not wanting to argue, Francis held out his right hand and watched Nehemiah grasp it with both hands before the older man closed his eyes.
A faint trickle of energy struck Francis, and then it felt like he was dunked under the coldest pool of water in the world.
Nehemiah’s eyelids flew open, and he let go of Francis’ hands, staggering back a step. The old man’s jaws moved, revealing a few missing teeth, but no sound came from him.
Coughing and trying to clear his throat, Nehemiah motioned for a drink, and one of the men around the table handed him a metal cup.
In a few seconds, whatever drink had been in the cup was gone, and Nehemiah tossed the empty vessel behind him.
“Where did you find this boy?” the older man asked the captain.
“What did you see?” Vella asked, glancing at Francis once before turning and standing between the old man and the young boy.
“Bah! You can’t have this boy! One word from me and–”
Vella moved with the speed of a predator, grabbing Nehemiah’s white shirt and drawing him close.
“Is there any way he could tell me the truth about our enemy? What did you see, old man?” she growled. “Does he have the ability to see the future and save our army?!”
“He’s a sage,” Nehemiah gasped, pointing an old, spindly finger at Francis. “I can’t tell what skill or ability he has, but I can detect the power of a sage inside him!”
Every eye focused on him, and a few men backed away.
Craaappp… Now I’m screwed
…
He could see that Dirk’s face looked pale, and both eyes were wide.
“Impossible,” Vella stated as she moved to where Francis was. “A sage? At his age? Only someone who was a…” Her words stopped, and then she stepped back, standing beside Nehemiah, who started to grin.
“Oh… things are going to get really good,” the older man said, punching Vella’s side. Wincing after that action and rubbing his hand, which had struck the plate armor, Nehemiah pushed on. “Now, I suggest you go ahead and summon someone from the King’s court. This is going to raise a lot of concerns.”
***
What crap have I slipped in this time?
The trip away from Vella’s tent was much faster than the one to.
Four men accompanied him on each side, moving through the maze of tents and buildings, the smell of actual food teasing his nose. Somewhere, someone was cooking something that made Francis’ stomach growl.
The soldier on his left grunted, apparently having heard it.
“We’ll get you something to eat. For now, just keep up. ”
Nodding and not saying a word, he did his best, lengthening his stride as the men moved with purpose.
A large tent easily twice the size of the one Vella had been in began to appear in the darkness. Many torches and burning firepits illuminated the area around it, and guards were stationed all over. Near it was a massive tent with far more light and banners all around it.
It must be the King’s tent.
In the darkness, the red wolves seemed to dance in the blowing wind.
As they approached, guards with armor that matched Captain Vella’s moved to intercept.
“This is the one?” An approaching guard with blond hair asked.
“He is,” his escort replied.
Francis ignored the frown and the way the new guards looked at him.
“Go inside. They will have a place for him.”
“He’s hungry,” Francis’ escort said.
Sighing, the blond-headed guard gave a nod. “One of you go and bring some food. I’ll see what I can do. For now, hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Time? Time for what?
Francis sensed the men moving, the one behind him leaving the other three. He could feel everyone's gaze on him.
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“Time for what?” he whispered as they passed the pair of guards that had approached.
“You’re about to get a lot of visitors, sir,” the guard from his escort said. “Forgive me if I in some way offended you. I didn’t know what you were.”
Francis felt his face scrunching and tried to consider what the guard was talking about. When they arrived at a tent, two large white cloth flaps flew open, both guards holding a side for him. The scent of incense, perfume, and cleanliness within struck him first.
After that, Francis saw the woven rugs that lined every inch of the floor. A few yards away, Nehemiah was standing there, dressed in a long red robe and talking with two women, who immediately turned upon his entrance.
“Ahh, Francis! Come in! I was talking to the sisters about you!” Nehemiah exclaimed.
The old man’s grin felt so different from a few minutes ago, when he had stood half-naked in the captain's tent. Now, he looked like he belonged here, not locked up in some stock somewhere for getting drunk and forgetting his pants.
Francis’ eyes fell on the two women, both with red hair and curves that didn’t seem real. Each of their dresses seemed a little thinner than he thought a dress could be-- the light from lanterns and light gems shone through them.
“Oh, he is a young one,” the one woman on his left said. “The gods have blessed us. Come! We need to get you cleaned up!”
Francis felt his chest tightening as he tried to grasp everything happening.
All I wanted to do was make sure Michael and I were safe… trade some information for some training, and stay alive…
Spindly fingers snapped a few times before his face, and Francis shook his head, looking at Nehemiah, who gave a smile with too many missing teeth.
“I’m sorry, son, but you stink. Bella and Lacy will take you to get cleaned up and dressed. We have a meeting soon--many want to meet a person who is possibly chosen.”
That word made his head spin, and Francis fought to stay standing, feeling a pair of arms catch him on both sides.
“Come with us. We’ll help you,” one of the women said as they easily lifted him back to his feet.
A chosen… they can’t think I’m a… to the hells! My sage skill.
The belief that sometimes a god might come and choose someone from birth or perhaps even make someone their avatar led most to blind faith and worship. It had never really been his thing, as he couldn’t offer any value to the temples. Even worse, being the ninth son was considered by some a small curse. A burden to care for, knowing they wouldn’t be given the chance to amount to anything.
Lost in those thoughts, Francis soon found himself in a secluded section of the tent, which contained a copper tub filled with steaming water and various items floating on top.
The room smelled sweet, and beside the tub on a small stone pedestal was the largest piece of soap he could ever remember beholding.
That thing is larger than my whole hand!
“Would you like some help washing?” one of the women asked.
Turning to his right, he saw a pair of green eyes sparkling at him as the woman pulled his arm into her chest.
“Uh… I think I can manage…”
She sighed and nodded.
“Well, I am Lacy, and that is Bella. We can stay here and help you with anything you might need.”
Her voice sounded so sweet, and the offer was tempting, but when he turned to the side, he saw a smile that sent a shiver down his back.
That Bella looks like she wants to eat me…
“Actually, I prefer to bathe alone if that’s okay. What I really need is something to eat.”
“You mean food?” Bella asked.
Her playful tone seemed weird, and Francis nodded.
“Yeah… what else besides food would I eat?”
Lacy sighed and shook her head, that soft smile never leaving her lips.
“You are young, I guess… perhaps in time you will learn. Bella and I shall let you bathe. We will be right outside, and if you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to call out our names.”
Clearing his throat, Francis nodded and watched as the two swayed their hips to the extreme with each step, showing off what he finally realized they were offering.
An urge came for just a moment, but then his stomach growled, reminding him that food was more important.
Without waiting, Francis stripped off his clothes, tossing them on the rugs and letting out a moan as the soft carpet touched his bare feet.
Perhaps I could pretend to be a chosen one for a little while…
Without waiting--and not caring about how warm the water was--he climbed in, dunking himself under multiple times before grabbing the bar of soap.
This thing takes two hands to hold!
Glancing at the washcloth, Francis chuckled and went to town, scrubbing himself with haste. He watched as the dirt began to stain the clear water.
***
Tugging at the outfit, which felt a little tight, he sighed.
I look like a fucking noble… Oh what I wouldn’t give for my mother and that asshole of a father to see me right now.
“We can get something that fits you better tomorrow,” Nehemiah said, adjusting the jacket from behind. “Now then, I will say you should enjoy the company of the sisters. They are here to care for the chosen ones.”
“Uh… okay, maybe later. Tell me, has my brother arrived yet?”
He saw the slight frown on the older man’s face in the mirror's reflection.
“No… he has not. But do not worry, he shall be safe from the fighting tomorrow. Now I have news, we need to leave and head to the tent where the King is waiting. Many are excited to meet you and learn about you.”
Spinning on his heel and almost tripping because of the new boots he wore, Francis held back a curse.
My first pair of real boots, and they’re nicer than anything I could imagine…
“Nehemiah, be honest with me. I’m not certain I’m a chosen. What are they going to do, and what does that mean?”
“Boy, you realize that to have the value you represent?” the older man asked. “At your age means you must be one. Not even a prodigy would be that high of skill at your age. No one else could hope to reach a sage rank in a skill before they are five hundred years old. Those who possess it are few and rarely seen by most people.”
The older man put a wrinkled hand on Francis’s shoulder and gave what he assumed was a reassuring smile.
“You realize that you won’t have to worry about anything again, right? No doubt the King will reward your father and mother–”
“NO!”
Both Francis and Nehemiah backed up at how loudly he had shouted that.
“I mean… No. That man doesn’t get to earn anything because of who or what I am. He gets no part of anything the King wants to give. Only Michael and I. Do I make myself clear?”
Sucking his lower lip in, Nehemiah bobbed his head a few times. His entire face scrunched up, creating mountains of wrinkles from his nose to his forehead and onto his bald scalp.
“Perhaps when you speak to the King later, you might voice that in a better way. Chosen or not, he won’t like that answer.”
“Then he'd better change his mind, because I won’t,” Francis replied, crossing his arms.
A large sigh escaped the man, who shrugged.
“Who am I to argue? Let’s see if they are ready for us. It’s going to be a long time before you get any rest. I hope you got some sleep.”
I’d say I can get some sleep when I die, but I know that isn’t true.
Following the older man toward the tent flap, Francis couldn’t help but feel uncertain about what was to come. He said a quick prayer for the first time in a long while.
I’m not sure who is watching, but if someone is, try not to let me screw this up.