I started thinking about the people of Emil Torath and my mind floated to Ikrivain. I decided to spend 10 minutes questioning the idea of who he is–or at least who he thinks he is. These moments appear in every novel in some form. The character questions or reveals their identity and then reflects on that identity in the middle and again at the end as a way to show the character’s growth throughout the novel. So, here we go with part 1:
Ikrivain
The day I met my father was the day I became a killer. No, it was not him I slayed. He is a mercenary, see. When He heard of my birth he came to see me and to blood me proper. We went down to Calisanth, near the shore where the poor wash themselves in the river. My father serves with a large company of men, men who take pleasure in the blooding those who believe a man is not whole until he has blooded another. Six of these men were with him that day, and they found a boy of 9 years, much older than I, and larger as well. I watched them pull the boy from the river and when his own father stood to block them, they offered a bag a silver–two pieces for each year of the boy’s life. My father said, “Those silver belong to my son here. We mean to set the two against each other, and the purse shall fall to he who does not.”
That easy a bargain was struck. I’d not used a blade, not even to part meat from a hare or shave bread into chunks that could be eaten. He called the blade he gave me a dagger, but to a boy of six years it might as well have been a sword. The other boy did have a sword, a short jagged length of metal one of my father’s men produced. There were other bets as well, and the man who shared his sword placed is coins and his faith upon the other child.
The men circled around us so that all we could see were their black leathers and the summer sun beating upon us. I remember the smell of the river, the sweat of my father’s men and their cheers.
The other boy was as scared as I, but had the look of a tougher soul. His skin was red from many hours in the sun and he held his blade in front of him with two hands, pointing it down towards me.
I started to back up and one of my father’s men shove me from behind. I tumbled forward and would’ve fallen into to the boys blade had he not leaped away fearfully. They all laughed at us then. I scrambled to my feet as another mercenary shoved the boy towards me. His blade slid across my shoulder and I yelped. The men continued to laugh and cheer, egging the boy on.
I backed away and was pushed back to the center, this time by my father himself. He growled, and demanded I prove I was his kin.
The boy jabbed his sword at me clumsily. For all his size he wasn’t very fast or agile. I danced away and swung my dagger at his blade. Metal rang against metal and the men cheered louder than ever. We clashed blades like that twice, three times until I could feel the rattle of it in my elbows. I dipped backwards at the boys next swipe and his weight carried him off balance. He fell to his knees and his blade stuck in the ground. I came around behind him, the tiny crowd whipped into a frenzy now.
I froze. I did not know how to kill then. I held my dagger out in front of me and jabbed it almost questioningly into his rear. He howled in pain. He spun around with his blade and it dug into the same shoulder he’d struck before. I know now that if I dropped my blade then I would not be hear to tell this tale.
But I did not drop it. Instead I found courage and sank the dagger deep into his chest. The men roared. Afterwards my father came to me and gave me the bag of coins. 18 silver pieces. He left me the dagger and made me promise to learn it. I never saw the man again.