Chapter II:

The sun had set behind the horizon, just beyond the thin strip of land that was Adaeria. Brilliant rays of pink, purple, and orange spilled into the windows of the barracks, and the whole sight would have been very beautiful if Kumi hadn’t been staring almost unblinkingly up at the low ceiling for the past five hours. Nightfall meant the return of the warriors and with them, Master Cathael, and with him, his punishment. Cathael was reasonable, if not tough, but Kumi had never exactly been one the master’s favorite students and Kumi’s flagrant display of magic, accidental or not, would not help his cause any.

Magic was expressly forbidden in the northlands of Adaeria, eradicated, Kumi hazily recalled from his lessons, nearly five hundred years ago by the War Prince Dánaidh the Great, for whom the Dánaidh warriors were named after.

But the Dánaidh were taken from the Southlands, were magic not only still existed, but was legal, even encouraged. Kumi remembered when six years ago, on the day of their first lesson as Dánaidh, some of the other boys who had grown up all their lives in Adaeria couldn’t believe this. Had Kumi had been younger, the slip-up would’ve been reprimanded, but otherwise expected. Unlike the Northlanders, the Southlanders were still born with magic in them. But if it was not practiced for years, it would fall dormant, and by adulthood, disappear completely. At fifteen, Kumi should have had very little magical ability left, if any. That he still possessed enough magic to have it slip out implied, correctly, that Kumi had still been practicing it in secret.

Knowing that Cathael would come to this conclusion as well, Kumi and Jahari had spent the better part of the day going over every possible option Cathael might have come up with, each one more terrible than the last. Jahari’s creativity, which had previously amused Kumi, was now not nearly as entertaining.

At last the last rays of light had faded and the low thrum of the voices of the returning Dánaidh filled the air. Kumi exhaled and stood.

“OW!”

It was only when a stinging pain shot down from the top of his head to the base of his neck that Kumi remembered that the ceilings in the cells had not been made for standing.

Eyes watering, Kumi ducked out of the cell, rubbing the blossoming bump on the top of his skull underneath his mane of dreadlocks. From his position outside of his cell, he could see both the dog and Jahari look up with almost identical expressions of curious concern. “Wish me luck,” said Kumi, beginning to make his way down the hall.

“Gods be with you, Kumi,” Jahari called after him. The dog barked in agreement.

Kumi made his way through the hallway and past the dining hall just as the other warriors began rushing in, beginning the nightly ritual fight for one of the twenty cells. They cast Kumi pitying looks as they passed by him, flattened against the wall, leaving in their wake the smell of sweat and grass, the aroma of a hard day’s work. By contrast, Kumi smelled embarrassingly clean.

He didn’t have to walk far to find Master Cathael; he was standing right outside of the doorway of the barracks, the glow from the torches illuminating his fairly lined face, his expression firm. He seemed a lot taller than how Kumi remembered him earlier that morning.

“Master Cathael—” Kumi began, but the master held up his hand and Kumi fell silent.

“Typically any infraction of The Law must be taken up with Lord Aelin,” Master Cathael said, his tone betraying a hint of distain when he spoke Lord Aelin’s name. “But as he’s out on the trade route until Summer’s End and this is—as far as I know—your first offense, I’m going to let you off with hole duty and double practice for the duration of your time in my barracks.”

Kumi could taste the watery bile rising in his throat at the thought of filling up twenty holes full of crap each morning and then digging new ones into the hard, dark earth. His body ached in anticipation of grueling double practice with Cathael, but he nodded solemnly and kept quiet. The outcome was still far better than Kumi expected it to be if Cathael did not tell Lord Aelin about Kumi’s slip up. Aelin was not known for his understanding nature. The older boys, trained by Aelin in their last year before shipping back to the mainland, bore the scars of Aelin’s impatience.

Master Cathael placed a firm hand on Kumi’s shoulder, and Kumi winced at the strength of his grip, but Cathael’s pale grey eyes were concerned. “You understand the severity of this, Kumi? If it happens again, I will have to report it to Lord Aelin.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kumi took his time walking back into the barracks, past the dining hall now slowly filling up with the boys who had claimed their cells for the night and could now safely get dinner. The pudgy, grey-haired cook, Wassye, was already doling out tonight’s latest ration of foul-tasting porridge and overcooked deer meat, both plopped unceremoniously into the same clay bowl. Kumi counted down the days until he was simultaneously old enough to hunt and cook his own food and the end of his hole duty. Summer’s End could reach him fast enough.

He rounded the corner to the quarters to find Jahari’s cell empty except for his charred wooden waster, but the dog still holding Kumi’s place in the adjacent one. That kind of loyalty should really have been rewarded with a name, Kumi thought.

Not long after Kumi had settled into his quarters, Jahari returned holding two reeking bowls of the thick mush, handing one to Kumi, who took gratefully. At this point, he was hungry enough to eat handfuls of dirt, which was what Wassye’s food usually tasted like.

“I figured if you left your cell to get supper, you wouldn’t have a cell to come back to,” Jahari explained, seating himself inside his own quarters. Kumi wondered where he had ever gotten the notion that Jahari was a simple-minded pile of muscles. “I just got a second helping—Wassye really outdid himself today.” Ah, that might’ve explained it. “What happened with Cathael?”

Kumi spooned some of the lumpy porridge into his mouth and held back a gag. Dirt might have actually been more preferable. “Hole duty and double practice,” he said around a large mouthful.

“For how long?”

There was definitely something crunchy about the mush today. The sudden shift in consistency and texture made Kumi’s stomach clench. “Until Summer’s End.”

“That’s not so bad,” said Jahari. Kumi heard the soft clunk of Jahari setting down his own clay bowl. He couldn’t possibly be finished already? Kumi by contrast had barely forced down more than three spoonfuls of the porridge, and hadn’t dared touched the venison yet.

“Cathael said he wasn’t going to tell Lord Aelin about it either.” Kumi continued, placing the bowl down in front of the dog once he could choke down no more. The dog sniffed at the mush, huffed through its wet black nose, and scooted away. Kumi considered taking it outside and pouring it down a hole, but decided he didn’t want to be out by the latrines any longer than was necessary considering he started hole duty tomorrow morning. “Jahari, do you want the rest of my porridge?”

Jahari poked his head out of his cell and looked around at Kumi in surprise. “You didn’t finish it?”

“I get full easily,” lied Kumi.

“Well, no point in letting it go to waste.” Jahari held out his hand and Kumi wordlessly passed him his bowl.

***

With double practice, Kumi was now the very last one back to the barracks every night, but when Cathael told him he could use the extra time, and Kumi had to grudgingly agree. Even with the extra one-on-one effort with Cathael, Kumi now was just on par with the other Dánaidh, and certainly nowhere near as disciplined as Jahari.

Jahari was an anomaly, Kumi had decided. Kumi watched as each morning at the beginning of their lessons, Jahari’s eyes would be set on Master Cathael, lecturing from underneath the shade of a large oak. Jahari drank in every instruction, every word, sitting stiffly on his haunches, barely moving but his eyes bright and alert. If not for the measured rise and fall of his barrel chest, Kumi would have assumed Jahari stopped breathing as well.

In hindsight, it had been Jahari’s rapt attention to the point of fixation that Kumi had mistaken for dumb silence. But once Cathael ended the lesson and called to the Dánaidh to start their training for the day, Jahari was always the first to perform the Cathael’s instructions to near perfection.

As the weeks passed, the smell of piss and shit continued to stay with Kumi after each morning of hole duty, and the constant shoveling made his back and shoulders ache well into the night. The work created a three foot radius of stink only Jahari was brave enough to cross, and even then not until Kumi vigorously scrubbed every inch of his body at the well after he was done. Even the stray dog on its nightly visits began to keep its distance from him after Kumi resumed spending his nights on the hard dirt outside.

On the morning of Summer’s End, of the day the Dánaidh advanced to their next Barrack numbers, Lord Aelin returned from his trade route with the newest group of boys to begin their training. Twenty-three new Southlander boys were in tow, roped together by their necks and hands as Aelin led them inside the main gate and through the square. Within, a few of the older Dánaidh were milling around by well, including Kumi and Jahari, as there was no training that day in preparation for the Summer’s End Ceremony.

The younger boys were hunched under the weight of the rope, darting nervous glances at the other Dánaidh as they shuffled behind Aelin, their eyes pleading for answers. Kumi could almost feel the bristly ropes scratching his own neck as he watched Aelin pull the boys to Barrack Ten, snatching the rope forward whenever someone lagged. In the back of his mind, Kumi remembered dully that that had been him almost six years ago.

He watched as newest Dánaidh warriors were pulled along by their chain of rope. He could see his own history on their terrified faces. They had been taken as slaves at a young age, perhaps even born into it. Maybe they were servants first, working in kitchens at their mother’s sides for the lords of Athol in Westeren Adaeria, or maybe even the kingdom of Branwen in Eastern Adaeria. Maybe they had been taken straight from the Southlands without ever having stepped foot into Northlands of Adaeria, scared of Aelin and the other masters’ strange appearances. Whereas Lord Aelin, Master Cathael, and most of the people native to Adaeria were fair of hair and skin, the Dánaidh were all dark of complexion, hair, and eyes, varying in shades of brown, the majority taken from the central Southlands, a sprawling, lush country called Nyameke.

Kumi, however, like many of the Dánaidh, had never seen Nyameke. From birth he was a slave, and if not for what he assumed were his deceptively well-built parents, he would have never been selected to become one of the Dánaidh, trained for years to be Adaeria’s first line of defense, the protectors of their captors. Defending men like Aelin who roped them together like cattle, lashed them when their hesitant steps caused the line to drag…

“Kumi!” There was a crushing grip on his wrist, and Kumi jumped. The flames that had suddenly erupted in his hands disappeared in an innocent puff of acrid smoke. He looked up at Jahari, who had stepped in front of him to block him from Aelin’s view. “What are you doing?”

But Jahari didn’t wait for Kumi’s answer. He dragged Kumi along by his wrist, and Kumi, still caught in Jahari’s vice grip, had no choice but to follow.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” Jahari whispered, finally letting go once they were a safe distance away from the other Dánaidh or Lord Aelin.

They were in front of the entrance to Barracks Fifteen, now completely empty as the boys prepared for the Summer’s End Ceremony that evening, out carrying water from the well to bathe with. Kumi cradled his wrist to his chest, rubbing it, and Jahari took notice. His expression softened.

“Sorry. But really, what were you thinking, performing magic right in front of Aelin?”

Kumi was still watching over his shoulder as the boys were led to Barracks Ten, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly, his expression unreadable.

“Come on, we have to get ready for the ceremony,” said Jahari, leading him back to the square.

Kumi barely noticed where he was walking. He didn’t understand what had caused his outburst; he had witnessed the proceedings for six years now. Every year on Summer’s End, Lord Aelin would bring in the newest group of young boys to East Adaeria Island. It was not only tradition, it was protocol. Every sect would advance a number, the day ended with the Dánaidh in Barracks Nineteen setting sail for the Adaerian mainland to begin their service, the newest Dánaidh moving into the Barracks Ten. The cycle continued as it had for centuries.

Jahari and Kumi stripped and washed by the well, Kumi washing twice for good measure. They then followed the milling line of boys who waited as Master Cathael handed them the pale blue silk robes of Summer’s End that Aelin had brought back from Branwen, trading them for their usual linen loincloths and tunics. The older the boys were, the darker the Summer’s End robes. The newest Dánaidh wore robes of pure white, and the oldest boys would wear robes of dark cerulean after they returned from their Summer’s End Hunt. The Dánaidh of Barracks Sixteen and above stood now in their usual linen tunics, gathering their bows and filling up their quivers with their best arrows.

“I think mine is too big,” said Kumi, lifting up his arms and shaking back his sleeves so they wouldn’t cover his hands. The robes dragged on the ground, completely obscuring Kumi’s feet.

“They all come in one size,” Master Cathael said. He was wearing his own silk robes of dark cerulean, embroidered with looping gold accents down the sleeves and chest, his sandy blond hair tied back in a short braid. “You’re just small.”

From beside him, Jahari choked back his laughter, avoiding Kumi’s indignant glare. The robes of course fitted Jahari perfectly.

“Cathael, a moment of your time?”

The laughter died in the back of Jahari’s throat, and Kumi froze in his spot, eyes whipping to the ground.

Lord Aelin strode up to Cathael, shrewd blue eyes glancing momentarily at the robes hanging off of Kumi’s small frame. Of everyone in their silk robes among the dirt and dust, Lord Aelin looked the most out of place. His expensive robes were trimmed along the collar and cuffs with the snow white fur of an animal that lived nowhere near the island. Aelin looked simultaneously older and younger than Cathael, his face barely lined, his hair still a pale blond, but Kumi was sure that in his six years as a Dánaidh, he had never once seen Lord Aelin smile.

Lord Aelin pulled Cathael off to the side, out of range from the other boys who were too busy joking and laughing about the ceremony to pay any attention to either of them. Kumi surreptitiously inched closer, and Jahari, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.

“The ceremony will have to be cut short,” Lord Aelin said to Cathael, brushing an offending leaf from his shoulder where it had fallen. “I’ve brought builders to expand the barracks for the next few weeks, and they need to begin as soon as possible. They’ll be here by midday.”

“Expand, My Lord?” Cathael asked in a way that indicated to Kumi Cathael understood exactly was Aelin was saying.

“We can’t have our Dánaidh fighting for space every night, sleeping outside.” Lord Aelin said pointedly. Kumi was surprised that Cathael’s expression of doubt remained. Unlike most of Lord Aelin’s orders, this one appeared to be beneficial to Kumi and the other Dánaidh.

“With all due respect, My Lord, my Barracks have been overcrowded because you brought seven more than the usual number with you six years ago. And I see you have been steadily increasing with each year.”

Lord Aelin’s expression didn’t change except for a slight narrowing of his eyes. “I am expanding the Dánaidh, Cathael. There are whispers of resistance in the Southlands, and Adaeria needs to prepare itself. King Eóin has been more than generous with me in order to expand the Dánaidh and strengthen Adaeria’s defense. Surely you wouldn’t question the King’s judgment?”

A low blow, Kumi thought. Cathael’s expression seemed to reflect a similar opinion, but he said, “Of course not, My Lord.”

“Then do not question mine.” Lord Aelin swept away from Cathael, and called to the growing crowd of Dánaidh and their masters. “The Summer’s End Ceremony will end after nightfall tonight.” A collective groan rose from nearly two hundred Dánaidh.  “The barracks will be expanded and the builders will be coming from the Bay by midday. You will all do well to uphold the title of Dánaidh while they are here and end your celebrations after Nineteen depart this evening. I will be staying here to survey the builders’ progress.”

Kumi and Jahari exchanged hesitant looks. Typically the Summer’s End Ceremony ran well into the next morning, the only day out of the year that the Dánaidh did not have their training or lessons. There was also the added benefit of Aelin’s departure back to the kingdom of Brawnen with Nineteen, the Dánaidh who had completed their training. He accompanied them to determine where they would best be stationed in Adaeria, and the remaining Dánaidh on the island took advantage of Aelin’s absence, the older boys staying up well until the sun’s rays began to peak over the horizon.

This train of thoughts was reflected on the faces of nearly all two hundred of the boys, except for the Dánaidh of Barracks Nineteen who looked disgustingly pleased. Not too long after Lord Aelin’s announcement and the Dánaidh had dispersed, Nineteen left for the hunt, leading the way for the other of-age warriors, whistling and singing as they went. Their voices had almost completely faded when the singing abruptly stopped, punctured by a yelp of surprise as one of the Nineteen’s quiver burst into cold flames, a pinprick of green and blue light in the distance.

Kumi hunched his shoulders as Jahari sent him an exasperated look. “Accident,” Kumi whispered.

Inwardly, however, he smiled to himself. He was getting better.