Seth stared at the chubby boy still seated innocently beside him. Timilehin Adio. The name was debatably long.
"That's an odd one," he told him with a smile, finding himself falling into the roll of friend quite easily. "Where from?"
Timilehin looked away from him timidly. "Nigeria."
Seth had heard of the country once. He didn't know much about what it was like before the first world crack, but the little he knew of it now claimed it was where the Sun King Baron placed his seat of authority. Somewhere in its south, or perhaps it was east. He banished the thought, refocusing his attention on their conversation.
Timilehin Adio, one of his minds murmured, as if testing the name. Too long, it added.
Seth found he agreed.
And Borriovani isn't? another mind asked.
"It's not that it's long," Seth replied. "It's that its foreign, and long."
"It's also not complete," Timilehin murmured. "It's actually Oluwatimilehin Adio."
One of the boy's burst into laughter. "By Fenrir's blood, that's a fucking long name."
Seth turned his head to find it was a bald boy with small eyes and reddish skin who'd laughed. He had been one of the boy's who'd attacked Igor and taken a vicious blow to the stomach. "And you are?"
The boy's laughter died like an artificial geyser turned off at the source and his face morphed into a bit of a frown. He puffed out his chest. "Silverfang of tribe Unkuti," he said.
Seth paused to turn a questioning gaze on Timilehin. The chubby child shrugged in response.
"Let me get this right," he began, attention returning to Silverfang. "You're laughing at his name," he hooked a finger at Timilehin, "when you have a name as pretentious as Silverfang, and come from what I am certain is supposed to be an enigmatic tribe called Unkuti? Ukunti, Silverfang. There's a lot of things wrong with the name of your own tribe, speak less of yours. No offence, but you sound like a comic book character gone wrong."
Silverfang frowned, his indie-red skin tightening in his anger. When he rose from his seat to reach across the table, Seth's hand snatched up a fork fashioned from iron from the table, unsure of how he'd known it was there, and pointed it at the boy.
Silverfang froze half way through his action.
"What were you going to do?" Seth asked with mock confusion. "Come all the way across this table? To do what? Make a point?" He cocked his head to the side, knowing his confidence was fake. "That doesn't sound like a very smart move, Silverfang of tribe Ukunti. You'll just end up making a mess of the table and annoying everyone."
"I'll wring your neck, too, while I'm at it," Silverfang snarled.
Why's everyone here so feral? one of Seth's minds wondered.
He had no answer for it, but he did have one for Silverfang, so he told the boy, "Maybe you will."
Having two older brothers and growing up around people perpetually larger than him in most places had given him the gift of an annoying mouth where his peers developed powerful fists. He might not be the most confident in a fist fight, but he knew he could always annoy anyone or make them doubt a certain outcome with his words. It would surprise most how easily a confident bluff and a confusing word could create doubt strong enough to change a stronger opponents mind.
"But while I'm smaller than you in height and size," Seth continued. "I am most definitely faster. Come across to this side and I'll have your eye before you're done crossing the table. A small price to pay for the chance to wring my neck, wouldn't you say?"
There was a moment of hesitance within which his minds begged Silverfang not to call his bluff. It wasn't that Seth would back away from the fight. It was merely that he wasn't confident he could win the fight or even leave a lasting mark on his opponent.
As his minds begged and his fate wavered in the moment, every brother watched with interest. It was odd how no one in the ever busy dining hall had thought to stop them so far.
Silverfang remained in place across the table and Seth watched the contemplation in his dark eyes and knew when logic, or perhaps it was fear, won over. Quietly, the boy lowered himself back to his seat.
Seth fought back a relieved sigh.
Circumstances had played to his favor. He was a new child, admitted under unknown circumstances as far as they were concerned. He had also stopped Igor's attack once. It had been nothing but luck on his part, but none of them knew that. He was a wild card in this moment.
Seth nodded after a moment but did not release the fork. "Good call."
When he returned his attention to Timilehin, he kept Silverfang in his periphery.
He had known he didn't respond well to being threatened. His time with Jabari had taught him that well enough. What it hadn't taught him—hadn't been able to teach him—was how willing he was to fight back when his opponent wasn't that much stronger.
Shouldn't we let the fork go? a mind told him.
Yeah, another concurred. Our grip there's getting kind of white.
And we think we're kinda shaking too. We guess we were scared.
Of course we were, another replied. But it wouldn't have stopped us from taking out that pretentious forest boy's eye. And it wouldn't have gone very well for him with all that shaking while we did it.
"Thanks," Timilehin mumbled.
Seth offered him a gentle smile, mildly distracted from his thoughts. "You're welcome, Oluwatimilehin."
The name was definitely too long for something too foreign. He'd had to take his time saying it just so he didn't make a mistake, but he doubted he'd be able to use it very often.
We really hope we get used to it fast, a piece of his mind thought. We really like the kid.
"Are we sure?"
Positive.
"That's good."
"You're weird," Timilehin said. "Always mumbling and talking back at the priests."
Seth shrugged. If only the boy knew.
Timilehin was quiet for a moment after that so Seth returned his attention to the food before him and started eating. Unsurprisingly, it was as sweet as it was bountiful.
Before long the fat boy nodded once, as if making some life changing decision, then said, "Rumor says you're a nice person."
Seth paused at that. What rumor?
They'd only spoken for a few minutes at best, and the boy hadn't had the time to talk to anyone else. It made him wonder just how much the rumors flying around about him were.
"You can call me Timi, Al Jabari," Timilehin told him.
Seth cocked a brow, remembering how the boy had been in disagreement when Borriovani had shortened his name. "You sure?"
Timilehin nodded. "It's what my mother called me."
Seth's brows furrowed. Wasn't that more of a reason not to use it? "Are you sure you're alright with it."
The boy shrugged, timidly. "She won't mind. She hasn't called me that in five years."
That sounded even worse to Seth.
We wonder why that is? One of his minds asked.
No, don't ask, another broke in just as he asked: "Why not?"
Timilehin shrugged. "Because she's dead."
The absence of emotion in the boy's words made Seth unsure of what reaction he was meant to give. He could not decipher if the boy was putting on a brave façade or was truly unbothered. And if the latter was the case, was it because he truly didn't care or had time numbed the pain.
Just call him Timi and stop trying to be philosophical, another mind chided. We don't think we have the mental facility for it.
"I never said I wasn't going to," he answered them.
Then get on with it before he starts thinking we don't like him.
Seth cocked a questioning brow. "I'm beginning to worry you have interests that I do not. Should I be?"
"Interests in what?" Timilehin asked in a quiet voice. "And why are you getting worried?"
Seated side by side, Timilehin outmatched Seth in height by a few inches so that when Seth reflexively moved his hand to ruffle the boy's short hair as he often did Natalie's when she was being too nosy he had to reach up. "Nothing for you to be worried about, Timi."
The boy's hair was like wool, fluffy and soft to the touch, but much of it coiled in on itself so that it was firm. It was also a simple black.
Hand still on his head Seth found Timi watching him with an expression he could not quite read. He removed his hand awkwardly and returned to his food, the silence between them deafening even in the loud dining hall.
A new friend, a mind whistled. This is going to be fun.
We don't like the way we're making that sound, another mind pointed out while a third chuckled.
We aren't making it sound anyway. We only said this is going to be fun.
Seth fought back a groan as their bickering grew. "Glad to see you're entertained."
A moment after, he added to Timi: "And you can call me Seth. Jabari's not a name I…" he let the words trail of, unsure of how to end the sentence then sighed gently and started a new one. "My name's Seth."
............…
After dinner they moved to their next activity, one Seth found he would happily do without. Along with a number of other children that had not taken the lesson they had, they cleared out the dining hall of empty plates, gathering unfinished meals and cleaning stained trays with rags that were somehow dirtier. How his mates were able to keep the tables and benches clean with them was beyond his comprehension. He caught Barnabas taking subtle bites of what was left over here and there but said nothing on the matter.
The day was darkening significantly by the time they were done and Seth was baffled once again as the children trooped out, leading him without intent to the next task. Seth had thought himself averse to servitude in cleaning the dining after the other children but the next task showed him he had been sorely mistaken.
The seminary latrines were a horror to behold. They smelled of something pungent and verily disturbing. The smell of feces, against all possibility, was the least of his worries as they labored through the ordeal of fetching water from a well with iron buckets taken from a shelter almost half a mile away from the latrines themselves. Scrubbing and pouring with muscles sore from the day's lesson was a tutelage in punishment, one they did with scowls and frowns and gagging sounds. The gagging only seemed to make it worse as it often led to opened mouths forcing them to taste the smell in the air.
This task they did in utmost silence. Nothing else filled the air save the sounds of water splashing and brushes scrubbing. There was the occasional gagging but nothing so thorough or defined, as the stench of decay that accompanied all else was a constant threat in the atmosphere. To his shame, Seth had been forced out on more than one occasion for throwing up all over one of the latrines. After that, he was forced out every time he showed the barest hint of it.
After their cleaning, they retired to the bath houses which were nothing more than wooden stalls, countless in number and built against a stone fence. There was a glaring absence of heated water, and with a new set of iron buckets Seth followed his mates as they crossed a distance to the same well to fetch from the same water used to tidy out the latrines. With winter breathing down their necks, they subjected themselves to the touching chill of unheated water, shivering with every drop as they cleaned themselves.
By the time they made their way to their dormitory there wasn't a child without the mantle of exhaustion to their name. They took to their beds with the zeal of mammals seeking out mates and fought for the comfort of sleep on mattresses too thin to discern where they ended and the cold ground began.
Seth slept, eventually, to the thought of how the children were expected to survive the seminary if sickness peeked from the corner of every task.
The night, unsurprisingly, proved quick and Seth was awoken to the bickering of his minds and the dreadful lines of a new notification he'd never seen before. Even in the darkness of the early morning before first light, he read the embers very clearly.
Daily Quest: [Road to Power]
You are a child on the path of the soul. Power is no stranger to the Struggling Ones and thus is a requirement of all. Attain success in building yourself in body before the dawn of the soul and attain power where all else fail.
To do this, you must master the way of the draw, the breath, and the step, advancing as is required till you are as much a path of these techniques are they are of you.
Daily Objective: [1000 draws 0/1000]
Daily Objective: [10,000 steps 0/10,000]
Daily Objective: [20,000 breaths 0/20,000]
Reward: Quest Completion
Consequence: Lucid Dreaming.
Are we sure we didn't offend Jabari in anyway? One of his minds asked, worried.
His response was a grievous scowl and a venomous tongue. "I wish I could cut out those silver eyes when next we meet him."
Understandable, another mind agreed. But more importantly, what kind of consequence is 'lucid dreaming'?