Fadeout

Chapter 7: Jamar

  The sun glinted off the window of Jamar’s new room at the Cartiam. He looked down at the yard full of Carillians and he could hardly contain his excitement. They had arrived late last night, but Jamar woke up bright and early to the sound of the wake up bell. He didn’t want to miss an opportunity to scope out possible playmates.

  There was a whole list of criteria that Jamar decided on the second day they were traveling. He wanted a boy close to his age, preferably someone who was 12 or a small 13 so that Jamar at almost 14 could dominate any physical activity. Teens older than that would be harder to control and manipulate. Boys younger would be more likely to whine and Jamar didn’t want to deal with that. He didn’t want the boy to talk much, because it would be annoying and if the boy was quiet than Jamar could be the one talking. Jamar smiled. It would be fun to have someone listen to him for a change.

  He surveyed the kids mentally ticking off those that didn’t fit. There had to be over 300 kids in the yard, but about half were girls and of the boys only 40 or so fit the right age group. Of those forty he didn’t like the looks of 14, six were too tall, and seven looked like they would talk too much or try to control things. Almost all the children had a serious look about them that was a bit depressing. It was no wonder they need their emotions removed.

  Jamar ticked back and forth over all the boys that were left. At least one had to be suitable. There were two boys tossing a ratty ball. Both fit the kind of boy Jamar was looking for. The lighter skinned one left and walked around the yard until he rested near the wall next to a girl.

  It was a brave move. Jamar wasn’t around very many girls on his father’s business trips, but the last time he was he couldn’t think of anything to say. And when he finally forced something out, the girl had laughed and flounced away, her pink hair ribbons leaving the scent of roses behind. But the boy in the yard was not driving the girl away with his comments. This girl was smiling at the boy and he had lost some of the seriousness he’d worn earlier. They clearly got along and Jamar wondered how they had gotten to the point where they could talk and smile.

  Then he saw the boy jerk when the girl squeezed his shoulder. Jamar laughed out loud. Maybe this boy wasn’t as used to being around girls as he seemed. He’d never get anywhere in a relationship if he jumped at every physical contact. Perhaps this was the one he was looking for. He looked smaller than Jamar, which was ideal, and he had a quiet look about him. He didn’t talk much to the girl or the other boy he had been playing with and he stared out at the rest of the kids playing as if he was used to being alone. Being on the outside of the Tirean society, Jamar felt confident they would have that in common.

  Jamar began memorizing this boy’s face, with his straight nose, brown eyes and sandy brown hair. They continued talking and then the girl walked away. Typical. The boy pushed off the wall and walked over to the other side of the yard. As he did, Jamar noticed he had numbers inked on the back of his brown shirt. Jamar snatched up some paper and a pen and wrote them down: 800190. Now he didn’t have to remember the boy’s face.

  A knock sounded at Jamar’s door and he set the paper back on the desk before saying, “Come in.”

  Lemuel cracked the door open, but did not enter. “I’ve arranged for one of the guards to practice your sword fighting with you this morning. He’s the best fighter here and you should be able to learn a lot from him.”

  “I’m ready,” Jamar said. He threw open his trunk and pulled out the practice sword that Lemuel had given him for his eleventh birthday. It would be too small soon and Jamar hoped his father would see how the scabbard only reached his knees as he strapped it on. Metal was expensive because it was so rare, but if he was to be taken seriously as an adult one day, then he would have to know how to fight and fight well.

  Lemuel opened the door wider and led the way down four flights of stairs to the ground floor and the main doors. Aside from the yard the Cars used, there was no place open enough to practice sword fighting inside the Cartiam. They walked out of the main house doors and Jamar squinted in the bright sun. The main doors opened to the rear of the Cartiam with a large grassy area. There were several paths leading back around the wall toward the stables and the nearest town.

  Waiting near the main doors was a Faan, over six and a half feet tall. He proudly displayed his silver medallion on his broad, overly-muscled chest and he wore a surly curl in his lips. Jamar instantly didn’t like this guard.

  “Now, I have to catch myself up on things here. You practice until lunch and then spend your afternoon studying. Carlyle should be here sometime next week and I don’t want you to get behind. Work hard and make me proud.” Lemuel touched Jamar’s shoulder once and then retreated back indoors.

  Jamar eyed the Faan. His sword was three feet long and barely reached his knee. It was obviously not the sword he normally used when he was practicing for himself. Jamar hated that he would not be a challenge to this guard. It was the one aspect he enjoyed about training with Carlyle. At least with Carlyle he could force the tutor to give him everything he had.

  “What’s your name, Faan?” Jamar eyed him to see if there was any weakness.

  “Tymas Kareem.” The Faan’s voice was deep and gruff. It showed no fear at Jamar’s Tirean status and even had hints of distain.

  “How long have you practiced with the sword?”

  “Since I was eight months old. Shall we begin? Or would you like to ask how much I can bench press too?”

  Jamar clenched his jaw. The Faan was taking over the lesson. Still, Jamar pulled out his sword and took his position across from the guard. He would rather learn how to beat this Faan than argue with him over who was in charge. The Faan may have size and strength on his side, but Jamar knew he was smarter than the guard and he would rely on his superior intellect to make him succeed. He would make his father proud.

  Tymas pulled out his sword and immediately attacked. Jamar threw his sword up and stopped three of the blows before the Faan whacked him in the right shoulder. The sword hit so hard Jamar almost fell over, but he managed to move his feet in time to catch himself. Yet before he had a chance to straighten, another blow smacked his left thigh and then another blow to the right side of his rib cage.

  Jamar stumbled back and fell on his rear.

  “Get up,” Tymas said. He turned his back to Jamar and returned to where they had started, which was much farther than Jamar thought. “Raise your guard and keep it up.”

  “You’re going too fast.”

  “How else are you going to be able to fight real men?”

  Jamar scrambled to his feet and charged. Tymas didn’t turn around, but he swept his arm back and pushed Jamar to the ground.

  Jamar sputtered, trying to catch his breath. “You can’t do that! This is a sword fight.”

  “If you were going to fight honorably and not attack your opponent when his back is turned, then I wouldn’t have. But you are obviously spoiled, impatient and incapable of defending yourself.”

  Jamar could feel his whole body start to shake. “Don’t talk to me like that!”

  “Until you learn some manners, I’ll talk to you as I like.”

  “I could get you fired.”

  Tymas laughed. “Get up and fight, Tirean.” Yet the way he sneered the word ‘Tirean’ was as if it were a slur.

  Jamar stood up, determined to stop the Faan’s attacks and within the minute found himself back on the ground. Again and again Jamar would get up and over and over the Faan would advance so quickly and with such a wide selection of jabs and feigns that Jamar could not anticipate where he would strike next. His whole body ached, but especially his right arm. Tymas seemed to enjoy hitting his sword arm every chance he got, until Jamar could barely hold his sword up.

  Tymas moved in closer and Jamar swung wildly at the Faan’s head. Tymas blocked it and followed up with a hard blow to the back of Jamar’s legs that swept his feet out from under him. Jamar’s head crashed into the earth and Tymas threw back
his head and laughed.

  There was a ringing in Jamar’s ears, but he glared up at Tymas. He hated Faans. They were cruel inferior idiots. He realized that he would not be able to beat Tymas in a sword fight. Not until he was stronger and taller. After all, he was only 13, almost 14. He hadn’t reached the greatest fighting potential he would have for several years now and then he would come back and make this Faan suffer. He’d wait until the Faan was 70 if he had to, but one day he’d humiliate the Faan the same way Tymas had humiliated him today. Until then he’d have to find some other way to make Tymas sorry.

  Jamar rolled over and pushed himself up. Then he stormed off, threw the main doors open and didn’t bother to shut them. Let the Faan do his job. He half limped from a big bruise on his left thigh and with every step it was a reminder of how much he hated Faans. Perhaps he’d start a campaign to remove them from the nation. Or push for their medallion status to drop to copper, tin or a new lower class of clay. The thought made him smile, until he arrived at his father’s study and let it fade.

  Jamar knocked quietly and waited a moment before entering anyway.

  “Father, you need to fire that Faan. He is cruel and doesn’t know how to teach a proper sw--”

  “Not now.” Lemuel was crouched over his desk. “I told you I had work to do. Every second you distract me puts me further behind.”

  “But that Faan tripped me and pushed me to the ground. You can’t let him treat me like that. You have to fire him.”

  “Tymas is the best guard we have and I will not fire him because your ego was bruised.”

  “Not just my ego. Father look!” Jamar pulled up his sleeves and was dismayed at how little the skin was discolored. He knew it would look much worse the next day.

  It didn’t matter though, because Lemuel never looked up.

  “This is why I need to practice with someone my age.”

  “Fine.” Lemuel was sounding more impatient. “You can pick one of the Cars and practice fighting with them. But you will have to have a guard with you at all times.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “However, if your fighting skills or studies start to suffer, this will be the first thing to go and you must attend to more of the company’s business.”

  Jamar let out a short breath. He was happy to learn more about the company, even if it meant more homework. Besides he would spend time with his father.

  “Agreed?” Lemuel asked, looking up for once and staring into Jamar’s eyes.

  “Agreed.” Jamar nodded. It was a small price to pay and it would keep the boredom at bay.

  “Then you may pick a Car first thing tomorrow morning.”