and bent to meet his gaze. “Like Tehya,” he said, “I am excellent at hearing words under one’s breath.”
Hunter chuckled nervously.
“Come,” Bardoc waved Hunter through the wide room.
There was excess empty space in the center, a crisply-made bed and an empty nightstand on one side, a desk and stocked bookshelf on the other. Across from where they stood was a doorway, which opened into an equally sparse, much larger room a half level below.
Hunter got closer to the second room and realized that its walls were lined with shelves, brimming with thousands of small bottles in all shapes and colors imaginable.
“Wow.” He stepped down into the room, careful not to miss a stair. “What’s all this?”
“Samples. For training.”
Gawking, Hunter strode toward the back wall. Inside the bottles were solids that must have come from every corner of the world, glimmering liquids, gasses that swirled and roiled within their confines, and even flames. It appeared as though every particle in nature was accounted for.
His eyes found a clear, barrel-shaped bottle full of dark red dust that swirled like water. Beside it was a broken dagger, the hilt and blade separated by one smooth slice. He thought of what his grandpa had told him about combat in a world of magic. The old man hadn’t mentioned any weapons.
“You grew up on Earth,” Bardoc said.
Hunter turned around, a sour feeling in his stomach. “How’d you…?”
The Instructor breezed to a grouping of tall-backed leather chairs in the far corner of the room and seated himself. “Ears that hear whispers have little trouble deciphering loud words through a floor,” he said, tapping his spindly finger against his left lobe. The scar-like imprint of his mark, almost identical to Grant and William’s, shone distinctly on the back of his hand.
Hunter couldn't help wondering what his own would be like when it finally appeared. "Right. That." He sat down in the chair facing his new Instructor. The leather was cool and well worn.
"And Tehya confirmed it when I spoke with her before bed last night."
"Oh," Hunter chuckled nervously.
“You come from a place permanently severed from the worlds of etâme. You must have questions.”
He had plenty. Most of them he had been able to ask his grandpa, but the attack had put a limit on the answers he’d been given. “Probably,” he said, not knowing where to start.
Bardoc twined his fingers together. “I have a few of my own, as it happens. But you must answer me fully and honestly.”
Hunter considered the Instructor. The sourness in his stomach folded over itself, rising like dough. It was a feeling of wariness. Of distrust. Why? Was it the smile that didn't reach his eyes or was Hunter just suffering from the sting of Ariana's betrayal, and more guarded than normal? The man didn't know that Hunter was on the run from Falken Fyrenn. He only knew that Hunter was from somewhere it was apparently impossible to be from. Maybe this was enough to cause Hunter to feel this way. But the man was Tehya's father. The rest of the kids trusted him enough to come here for lessons and stay in his home, and Hunter had put his trust in the kids. So there was no reason he should be hesitating. "Okay."
Bardoc straightened his angular frame. “Delightful,” he said. “First; what brought you to Ionia.”
Grandpa's voice rang in his ears. Falken Fyrenn is no made-up villain, boy. He’s as real as you and me. And he’s been hunting you since infancy. I know only that he wants you dead. That your parents brought you to me to protect you. He could still see the flames seeping through the hidden door, hear the old man shouting instructions down the cold, dark stairwell. Take those pages
Hunter chuckled nervously.
“Come,” Bardoc waved Hunter through the wide room.
There was excess empty space in the center, a crisply-made bed and an empty nightstand on one side, a desk and stocked bookshelf on the other. Across from where they stood was a doorway, which opened into an equally sparse, much larger room a half level below.
Hunter got closer to the second room and realized that its walls were lined with shelves, brimming with thousands of small bottles in all shapes and colors imaginable.
“Wow.” He stepped down into the room, careful not to miss a stair. “What’s all this?”
“Samples. For training.”
Gawking, Hunter strode toward the back wall. Inside the bottles were solids that must have come from every corner of the world, glimmering liquids, gasses that swirled and roiled within their confines, and even flames. It appeared as though every particle in nature was accounted for.
His eyes found a clear, barrel-shaped bottle full of dark red dust that swirled like water. Beside it was a broken dagger, the hilt and blade separated by one smooth slice. He thought of what his grandpa had told him about combat in a world of magic. The old man hadn’t mentioned any weapons.
“You grew up on Earth,” Bardoc said.
Hunter turned around, a sour feeling in his stomach. “How’d you…?”
The Instructor breezed to a grouping of tall-backed leather chairs in the far corner of the room and seated himself. “Ears that hear whispers have little trouble deciphering loud words through a floor,” he said, tapping his spindly finger against his left lobe. The scar-like imprint of his mark, almost identical to Grant and William’s, shone distinctly on the back of his hand.
Hunter couldn't help wondering what his own would be like when it finally appeared. "Right. That." He sat down in the chair facing his new Instructor. The leather was cool and well worn.
"And Tehya confirmed it when I spoke with her before bed last night."
"Oh," Hunter chuckled nervously.
“You come from a place permanently severed from the worlds of etâme. You must have questions.”
He had plenty. Most of them he had been able to ask his grandpa, but the attack had put a limit on the answers he’d been given. “Probably,” he said, not knowing where to start.
Bardoc twined his fingers together. “I have a few of my own, as it happens. But you must answer me fully and honestly.”
Hunter considered the Instructor. The sourness in his stomach folded over itself, rising like dough. It was a feeling of wariness. Of distrust. Why? Was it the smile that didn't reach his eyes or was Hunter just suffering from the sting of Ariana's betrayal, and more guarded than normal? The man didn't know that Hunter was on the run from Falken Fyrenn. He only knew that Hunter was from somewhere it was apparently impossible to be from. Maybe this was enough to cause Hunter to feel this way. But the man was Tehya's father. The rest of the kids trusted him enough to come here for lessons and stay in his home, and Hunter had put his trust in the kids. So there was no reason he should be hesitating. "Okay."
Bardoc straightened his angular frame. “Delightful,” he said. “First; what brought you to Ionia.”
Grandpa's voice rang in his ears. Falken Fyrenn is no made-up villain, boy. He’s as real as you and me. And he’s been hunting you since infancy. I know only that he wants you dead. That your parents brought you to me to protect you. He could still see the flames seeping through the hidden door, hear the old man shouting instructions down the cold, dark stairwell. Take those pages
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