Servant by Matt Stuckey (the ebook reader .txt) 📖

It was a quiet, moonless night under the dusky sky within the heavy trees. Winter had just sank its claws into the earth, and showed no signs of letting go its grip any time soon. Large trees groaned under the weight of snow, yearning for warm sunlit days gone by. Here and there, the rustle of small animals could be heard, frantically scurrying around looking for sustenance in the barren wasteland that was once their home of abundance and luxury. Farther up the ridge, warm cook fires and hearty laughter stood in stark contrast to the chill of winter. 

In many ways, Fulmino had never really belonged amongst his fellow humans. Whether it was children his own age or adults, neither group made an effort to understand him.

Tomorrow was another day, of course. Most people said this mantra as an encouragement to the endless possibilities the proceeding day might bring. To Fulmino, it was a curse and a burden that weighed heavily upon him. After all, tomorrow brought another day of endless ways that things could go wrong.

Perhaps he would comb one hair in an offensive direction, and be mercilessly tormented by his peers for his “indiscretion”. No matter what he did, there was always a fault or weakness his fellow peers would be happy to point out to him, when they spoke to him at all.

Adults were no better. Secretly Fulmino believed that adults were all out of touch with reality in one form or fashion; who in their right mind could sit and dither about absolutely nothing for so long as was considered prudent to do so?

To make matter worse, they often times handed out “golden bits of wisdom” that often turned out to be poorly useful. More than once, taking the advice of adults had gotten him further distanced from his peer group, such as the infamous string of tattling incidents that earned him scornful looks from his masters and mistresses and blows from his fellow students.

“Just tell an adult” was what they always said; what the adults actually meant was don’t cause problems we will have to fix. Supposedly, such immature behavior stopped when his peers “grew up”, but he had yet to see evidence of this. The taunts were still just as sharp as ever, the only difference was that most were too busy with their snobby friends to seriously maintain a constant barrage like was once possible in earlier years.

To make matters worse, tomorrow was the day that his class was separated into different areas of study.

It had been tradition for so long as records were kept that students in their seventeenth winter of life would be tested to determine where they would be put for future study.

The majority of students would test negatively for magic and be sent to a different city to begin work in the trades. While everyone knew this to be the case, it still was very upsetting to those students that tested negatively.

A positive magical test instantly transported the student and his family to a higher social strata where they enjoyed a life of luxury compared to those relegated to the trades.

Granted, there were some in the trades successful enough to match the prestige relegated to the bottom strata of positives, but no further. To be without magic was to be normal, yet it meant so much more as well. Tradesmen without magic were seen as second class citizens at best by the elite; worker bees in a hive if you will. The whole thing mildly disgusted Fulmino, especially considering how low his chances of being born with magic were in the first place.

While most schools avoided the discussion of magical bloodlines and social hierarchies for obvious reasons, Fulmino did remember the one time it had come up in class. During a study of the early magical families, a significant question occurred to him.

What was the difference between the current class structure and that of the early magic lords? When he asked the master, the response was less than inspiring. Looking down his nose at him, the master replied “Surely young man, you are not implying that there is any correlation between a few powerful families who killed any magical competition they faced and our current system of equal opportunity to all that allows any person born with magic to have elevated social status”? The class laughed at Fulmino’s rapidly reddening face. One of the more vocal tormentors, Pontius, told the master “You will have to forgive Minnow here; he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shout”. With a severe tone that his face contradicted, the master admonished Pontius and continued on with the lesson.

Laying there in the dark, Fulmino scowled into the blackness and ignored the cold through the heat of his anger.

How dare they mock him! It had been a legitimate question!

He knew the real truth of the matter though; that those lords in power financing the schools and academies did not want such discussions to take place.

Better that the sheep not get too restless before facing the slaughter. Workers in the trades had always been restless towards the magical community, forcing reforms at times. Such was the reason that all children attended school equally before being tested, to better improve chances of magical ability manifesting. Fulmino snorted. What rot! Everyone knew magic was in the blood, yet few brought up the obvious conclusion; no matter what schooling was accomplished, knowledge did not equal hereditary magic.

Rolling over on his cot, Fulmino noticed the first rays of sun breaking the horizon over the winter shrouded woods.

Great; not only did he have a huge day beginning, it would start with no sleep. Rolling off his cot with a huge yawn, Fulmino approached the basin of water to shave and wash his face. He closely scrutinized his own face while watching the razor scrape across his skin.

It was what he considered a better than average face, with deep set brown eyes and angular features. Eyeing his hair, he carefully examined the one attribute that was both a source of personal pride and endless torment for him.

Reaching down his back, thick and strait, it was as black as night and glossy. Often times, Fulmino would wash his hair in a crystal clear stream that took his breath away with the cold. It was times like those that he felt most at peace, when there were none to laugh or torment him.

It was later that the torment would begin, once he reached school. The boys would be the most obvious, with their belligerent stares and comments. “What, does he think he’s a girl?” “If you won’t cut your hair, I can cut it for you!”. He was used to it from the boys, and if it wasn’t his hair it would be something else that they took offense with.

It was the girls and adults disapproval that truly annoyed him. The girls were often offended by a boy with such beautiful hair, and went out of their way to whisper and point when he came by, or studiously ignore him like he wasn’t there.

The masters and mistresses both frowned on the first day when they saw his hair, and often times used it as an excuse to justify their inaction at his torment. “That boy is obviously asking for attention by wearing his hair like that, and if he gets bullied because of it that’s no one’s fault but his own” was the typical response he had heard between two masters while waiting to speak to one of them.

As frustrating as their behavior was, he knew that it was to be expected. Typically it was girls that had long hair, and the few men who did so were either essentially feminine or from a family where any and all eccentric behavior was overlooked.

As the son of a miner, Fulmino did not fit two of the three accepted explanations, and the third was not accurate. Fulmino let out a long sigh as he headed to breakfast. All of his thoughts faded away as he approached the familiar breakfast table and saw his mother and younger brother sitting there.

His father was gone, probably taking an early morning shift so as not to miss the big event later this afternoon. Though the hope was slim, Fulmino knew all parents held unrealistic hopes that their children would be selected as magically positive. He could see his father now, whistling as he swung the pickaxe…

“Good Morning Fulmino! I made your favorite breakfast this morning for your big day”!

“Thanks Mother”

Fulmino and his brother exchanged nods. Only two years younger, Sol possessed many of the same tendencies as Fulmino, though he was somehow able to cultivate a few friends whereas Fulmino always had none to speak of.

Over the years, the two had come to a mutual understanding that involved little talking and as a result no fighting, but they were no longer very close. Sol resented having a loser big brother, whereas Fulmino resented having his former minion of many adventures turn on him shortly after Sol’s thirteenth birthday. Honestly, neither of them had any problem with the arrangement, and both parents enjoyed the sibling harmony, even if such peace came at the price of little spoken communication between the two.

As Fulmino began eating breakfast his mother launched into what she thought was a motivational speech, that often times had the opposite effect on Fulmino.

“Son, I want you to know that even if you fail the magic test, there are still options available to you. Obviously, we want you to pass the test. But, should you fail there is nothing wrong with becoming a miner like your father. Just make sure that you do your best”.

Fulmino had to make an effort not to roll his eyes. YES, he had been PLANNING to not do his best so that he could have lower prospects the rest of his life.

Breakfast passed all too quickly, even with the monotone of his mother throughout the entire event. As much as he loved his mother, there would be some obvious benefits to working a trade, namely that you could leave and never have to see your family again, he thought with a grin.

His grin faded as he thought of the pitfalls of the trades. Many laborers barely saw their fiftieth winter. Along with backbreaking work was the equally heavy taxes that went towards the military and magical academies.

All too many laborers went to an early grave from drink and stimulants, when they could spare the money. Fulmino shook his head and chuckled ruefully. Maybe he couldn’t blame them for that once it finally set in to most of them that there was nothing else, just the same low pay position that paid for the privileged to become more so.

Shaking off dark thoughts, Fulmino finished breakfast and began his walk to the school. As he got closer to the school, carriages passed him and occasionally came close to running him over at times.

Fulmino shook his head; as if he needed another reason to remember his low chances today. The elite often times rented carriages for their children on testing day, to remind all the tradesman’s children just who was going to be chosen for what today.

In a way, it was all too realistic. The blue blooded magic user’s children would zoom by everyone else on their way to fame and glory, while most of the tradesman’s children would be left behind, slowly walking down a dirt road that led to nowhere the rest of their lives.

As Fulmino neared the school, he noted the other walking students all chatting amiably. A half grin forced its way onto his reluctant face. Even people who rarely talked at all were talking with others as if they had been good friends all year; it was all a façade, and