It had been ten years since I started my jugar training. Ten years of endless study, brutal labor, and loneliness combated only by the presence of my faithful father. I had completed two full-term prenticeships, weaponcraft and justice, just I had planned. Upon completion of these, I was accepted as a jugar’s prentice promptly, my six year plan was working perfectly. My jugar master, Marcell, was acting jugar of Northern Shkhem. I spent nineteen months prenticing with Marcell, before my plan was dismembered. I was twenty years old and headstrong. While working with Marcell, I noticed inconsistencies, things he did that appeared out of line with the Iron Code, at least to my young mind. I furthered investigations into Marcell’s actions without his knowledge. What I did afterward made me lose my prentice position, and possibly the chance to ever become jugar.
I exposed Marcell, and had him removed from office. With my master out of office, I lost my prenticeship. Furthermore, because of my still young age and the requirements placed on a jugar, I was overlooked as the jugar and I would not be eligible to become a prentice again for another five years after the new jugar was settled. My adherence to the Iron Code was the very thing that motivated my life, but it was the same thing that had halted its progress.
While the bitterness I held from the sour deal I received was ever-present, there was at least one redeeming benefit. The jugars are the idolized men of Eret, every boy wants to be them, and every man honors them. To the same degree a good jugar is revered, a wayward jugar is despised, hated even more than a rebel. For a twenty year old prentice to investigate and expose a crooked jugar was something unheard of. The honor I earned from my deed was profound. I had become famous not just in my hometown of Northern Shkhem, but also in Southern Shkhem, Eretton, Bashan, and I even received a gift from Ostrak for my deeds. The gift was a strange iron and wood sculpture like nothing I had seen before, while far from beautiful it was at least unique, the iron in it alone must have been worth a fortune. While the honor and gifts were nice, they still paled to becoming a jugar.
My father and I had grown much closer in the past years as well. He worked tirelessly as a woodsmith while I worked tirelessly in my jugar studies. When I was studying, I normally arrived home about the same time he had retired from smithing for the day, we would spend our evenings bantering about who was working harder. It was all in jest but served to bond us together. I think my father was glad I was still living at home with him, I reminded him of my mother. He had enough iron stashed away that he did not need to work as hard as he did, but I think he just needed something to fill his days until I arrived home in the evening.
While it is true that I was very focused on becoming jugar, often I found that Carus became the subject of my thoughts. Ten years since I told her my desire to be jugar and I still could not stop thinking of her. Her life was playing out just as she said it would when we were together. She moved to Southern Shkhem with her parents when her father was elected as the Ealdorman of Southern, where she was now a teacher. It was fine with me that she had left Northern Shkhem. The less of her I saw the less pain I felt, but the distant between us was not great enough that it prevented an occasional encounter with her. She was still beautiful yet somehow single. Her father caused much less stress in her life now because he had left Carus’s mother years ago and married a younger woman after becoming Ealdorman. Carus and the other women of her broken house rented a home in Southern together. I knew all this through the gossip on the streets; I had never exchanged more than a cordial greeting with Carus for ten years, but it sounded as if Carus’s life was in a good place.
Carus had fulfilled most of her aspirations, today I hoped I would be a step closer to doing the same. While my hopes of securing another jugar prenticeship in Northern could not possibly be met for another year, there was a glimmer of hope. The jugar’s prentice position remained closed in Northern while the new jugar settled, but in Southern Shkhem there was an open prenticeship with their jugar, my hero Asiron. Since we lived in Northern Shkhem and Asiron was in Southern Shkhem, I could not apply to be Asiron’s prentice, I should have had to wait for another prenticeship with the Northern Shkhem jugar. This changed though when Asiron decided to help Northern Shkhem by accepting prentice applications from both Northern and Southern Shkhem. It was only recently decided that he would open the applications to both towns; it also meant that this would be the largest pool of applicants ever. Today was the first day Asiron would be taking applications, and I had every intention of being among the first to apply.
It was a change of pace for me that morning. I had been done officially with my pre-studies for over five years now and I was just waiting for another prentice position to open. While I waited those years, I tried to stay current with my studies; I also learned as much woodsmithing as I could from my father. Woodsmithing went hand-in-hand with weaponcraft, the knowledge I attained in both fields greatly helped my understanding in the other. Jugar’s usually stayed out of combat, usually their presence was enough to subdue unruly authorities or citizens, but there were times when the confrontations devolved into physical combat. I tried to prepare myself for all situations that could face a jugar. This desire for preparation appropriate to my calling dictated my schedule. I would wake every morning before dawn and follow a stiff exercise regiment that included practice with several Eretian weapons. Then I would have breakfast and join my father in the shop to work on and learn my woodsmithing and weaponcraft. After a long day in the shop, I would travel to the library in Northern and spend some time studying the dusty old laws of Eret. I was serious about my pursuit of jugar and my work was proof of it. The peaceful walk to Southern was a welcome change compared to my usual morning routine.
The walk provided a lot of idle time to reflect. My mind relived the events that brought me to this point, my mother’s death, my father’s approval, my fight with Marcell, my adoration for Asiron, and the years I had spent training. These things occupied my mind for probably the first hour of the trip, and then my mind returned to Carus. I was travelling to Southern Shkhem, would I see her there? Was she still single? Would we talk this time? Whenever my mind would dwell on Carus I almost always consoled myself with the thought that, if I do not become jugar, then maybe we could still be together. I hated the thought of not being jugar yet cherished the freedom it would mean. My mind thought of Carus so much because in a way the doors with her were never really closed. They were shut for a time, until my jugar journey was done, but if I was not accepted then there would be nothing to stop me from returning to her. That is if she would have me, and if she had not married already. These are the thoughts I weighed as I travelled to Southern Shkhem to meet with my hero, Asiron.
Southern’s sky was still dark when I arrived. Southern was familiar enough to me to make it to key points across the town, but smaller less important locations I would be no good at finding. Fortunately, Asiron’s office in town was right next to the courthouse which was visible from the outskirts of town because of its tall bell tower. I stepped up my pace as I reached town and hurried to the tower standing tall in the distance. I arrived at the courthouse with remarkable speed.
I could not see any lights burning in either the courthouse or Asiron’s office across the courthouse’s land from me. The dark buildings comforted me in that I would be among the first to apply. I arrived at Asiron’s small two room office and peered into any window I could. I saw no movement, lights, or signs of anyone. I checked all the windows again and found nothing of course. I stared down every street I could, hoping to catch a glance of Asiron, I did not. Disappointed, I walked to the front of the office and leaned against the wall waiting. It was still dark, but rays of light were beginning to appear over the horizon. I turned to see the courthouse again, this time however, a single light appeared in the darkness. Jugars worked much with the local courts; there was a small chance Asiron was there.
I made haste to the courthouse and scaled its wide smooth sandstone steps effortlessly. Upon reaching the door I took the handle but before I opened it a posted notice grabbed my attention. It read:
Upon the sixth bell toll of the third Wednesday of November, Arad of Southern Shkhem will be beheaded for provoking rebellion against the Chairman of Southern Shkhem. The punishment for which is decapitation. The officiate is Eron, ‘Asiron’, the Jugar of Southern Shkhem. The place is Sorrow Tree south of town.
-By order of Tsor’s Iron Code
I released my hold of the door and sprinted south toward Sorrow Tree. I was unsure of the time but I knew it was nearing the sixth bell. At this moment I was glad I had devoted myself to physical excellence for so many years. Upon my arrival at Sorrow Tree, I was amazed at the group that had amassed so early in the morning. I approached the crowd that had gathered and slowed from a jog to a hurried walk, trying not to draw attention to myself as I regained my breath from the run. As I blended into the back of the crowd a few people turned to see me sucking air behind them. Fortunately, before many saw me the bell began to ring. My attention turned to the spectacle before me for the first time. Eron, or Asiron as many people had become fond of calling him including myself, stood to the right of the clearing under Sorrow Tree, his face was solemn. Centered in the clearing was a black cloaked man, just like I had seen when I was fifteen. Next to him was who I assumed was Arad, tied and kneeling over a stump.
Southern Shkhem’s bell thundered through the air six times. Asiron stepped forward a bit and spoke, “Arad of Southern Shkhem has been found guilty of rebellious actions against Southern Shkhem through direct action, and has broken the Iron Code. He is determined to be unredeemable. According to the Iron Eret Code of Tsor, the proper punishment for his actions as determined by myself, Eron the jugar of Southern Shkhem, is death by the axe of Tsor at Sorrow Tree by Tsor’s command. Arad is unmarried and will leave no family behind; his token will be auctioned to the public.” Asiron stepped back crossing his arms and facing the ground before him.
Without hesitation the executioner’s hand emerged from the cloak, it bore the dragon tattoo just like the one I saw in my youth. He deftly grabbed the axe by his side and raised it over his head in a fluid motion. As the axe rushed into the rebel’s neck, we saw Arad’s life flee his body. When I left my home that morning I had no idea I would see a man die. Nearly as quickly as I had arrived, it was all over.
The crowd dispersed almost immediately from the graphic scene. I joined and tailed a small group headed back to town. The group I followed began talking about Arad and his life as they walked. From their conversation I was able to gather that until recently he lived outside Southern’s city limits but inside Southern’s territory. He was a hermit in near utter isolation. He appeared in town talking about a conqueror that was going to overthrow not only the Chairman of Southern Shkhem but also the entire Eretian Table. Several people in town began following him. Unlike the last rebel of significance, Ezra, there were no deaths linked to Arad; although, some of the gatherings received much attention from the Southern locals. From what the people said, it sounded as if Arad’s threats of conquering the whole of Eret were serious, albeit ridiculous. Even with the momentum he had gained with the citizens, one would need untold power to overthrow the seven Chairman of the Table. Asiron had yet again fulfilled his purpose by expediting the legal process and extinguishing Arad before he set Eret ablaze in rebellion.
The crowd remained together and I picked up finer details of Arad’s life until we reached town where they separated. When I reached Asiron’s office, it was completely aglow with candlelight; Asiron had beaten me here from Sorrow Tree. I knocked on the door, waited for an answer, and then entered Asiron’s office when I heard the muffled reponse on the other side.
Ecstatic to meet my hero, I greeted Asiron as I entered his office with an energized, “good morning sir.” Sullenly he replied, “for whom?” I was puzzled at his reply until I considered the event that had just transpired. I reconsidered my response in an effort to avoid reliving the conversation I had with my father ten years prior. With grace I replied, “for the citizens of Southern and the rest of Eret that you saved from Arad and his ill-fated rebellion.” Until this point Asiron had yet to pull his eyes from what he was writing in his journal, but my words caught his attention. Asiron looked at me speculatively and said, “boy, I think we both know that was not your intent when you said ‘good morning’. Nice try though.” His stone face broke into a smirk now.
He pushed his journal aside, his entry still unfinished, then asked, “we left Sorrow Tree at nearly the same time. Did you get lost?” At this point I was dumbfounded. Confused I asked, “how did you know I was coming here? How do you even know who I am?” Asiron replied, “Demos, don’t be so humble. Half of Eret knows who you are! You’re the boy who took out the wayward jugar Marcell! Don’t play dumb with me, acting like I should have no reason to know who you are! Believe me; jugars take note when you take out one of their counterparts! I don’t know whether to welcome you into my office or prepare myself for a fight,” Asiron continued joking. Concerned I replied, “sir, I’m not here to threaten..” Asiron interjected, “stop it Demos, I know why you are here. Have a seat.”
Asiron had a large, well-used desk in his office; I took the chair across the desk from Asiron then looked to him to resume the conversation. He studied my tense posture then said, “take a breath Demos.” I took a short breath and emphasized it as proof. Asiron leaned back from his desk and settled into his chair. In a calming easy voice he said, “this business has enough tension and anxiety. You need to be at ease whenever you can afford it. If you ever get the chance, spend some time with Orestes, he’s the jugar of Nabatene. That man’s one of the most relaxed I’ve ever seen.” I was a bit surprised at the light tone in which he spoke with me. His tone I was unable to recriprocate however. Whether I was overwhelmed by my enamorment with Asiron or whether I was just overstimulated from excitement to become a prentice again I could not say. Most likely it was both. Regardless, Asiron sensing that idle conversation with me would probably be one sided given my awe struck state; he abandoned the topic and went to business.
Asiron leaned back toward his desk resting his elbows on the worn top, then asked, “now, you have something for me don’t you?” I pulled the application I had written from my cloak and handed it to Asiron, still silenced by my awe. Asiron took the paper from my hands saying, “thanks, I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.” He turned his back to me as he tucked the paper away on one of the shelves behind him. I was completely underwhelmed by the exchange. I questioned him, “is that all then?” Almost surprised by my voice, he turned back to face me asking, “what else would there be?” Words were far from me and I fumbled about my words stating, “uh, I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would be a little more complicated is all.” Asiron’s answer was short, “no, that’s it.” I knew I was pushing the bounds of my welcome but I was not ready to leave, there had to be more I was supposed to do. It could not be this simple. When I applied with Marcell six years ago there was an hour long interview that followed. I had waited ten years for this day and it amounted to nothing more than me handing him a piece of paper. Was Southern’s process that much different than Northern’s? I sat at his desk motionless thinking.
Asiron curious as to why I was still in his office asked in a pleasant tone, “do you need something else?” I replied, “umm.. no, I guess not,” then I stood to leave. I turned to the door and grabbed the handle to open it. I cracked the door and was reminded of a question for Asiron, I asked over my shoulder, “there is one thing, when do you think I will hear by?” He smiled at my question which eased the tension that had built from my uncomfortable muteness. His tone was easy when he replied, “I have to take applications for a full month. Then I have to take another two weeks for reviews. So you should hear from me in early January.” I nodded to his answer then turned back to the door. Asiron’s words stopped me from leaving when he said, “although, I won’t need that much time. I’ll be surprised if I receive even a handful of applications. Everyone knows you’re applying, and nobody wants to apply against the golden boy from Northern Shkhem who took out Marcell the jugar! Like I said before, you don’t have much to worry about Demos.” His overly kind words were as unexpected as the sun on a rainy day.
I walked outside onto Southern’s streets, my anxiety relieved by Asiron. Perhaps I had underestimated the importance of my fight against Marcell. I knew Asiron had probably heard of me, but he actually recognized me from the crowd, of which I was not entirely sure how he accomplished. While I had good words from Asiron, I also had yet more waiting. My day had arrived and all the excitement it would hold had come and gone, the sun just barely over the horizon. I would have the rest of the day to walk home and think, far too much time to think.
I had reached the northern edge of Southern Shkhem when I saw her, Carus. She was walking down the street with her sister; I could not remember her sister’s name after the years. Her sister was only background though, because it was the man walking with them that got my ire. The man was taller than the girls; we were close to my height. His belly was robust and filled the bottom of his shirt significantly, starkly contrasted to my fighting form. His hair was thin and flat, it was limp, nothing compared to my full bodied mane. Everything about him was weak; I had bettered him in every physical characteristic. He was nothing.
We continued to walk towards each other on the street, my mental critique of the man continued in my head. As we neared, I was fully confident that none of the three had noticed me walking towards them. Now within earshot, I heard the man say something I could not understand but both girls burst into laughter. Carus leaned in against the man as she laughed. Then stayed there for a second resting her hand on his shoulder, then leaned back away from him laughing. As she did, her gaze crossed over the road ahead of her where she saw me. I could feel my face heat up. When our eyes met she managed between bursts of laughter to casually say, “hey Demos.” I cannot remember if I said anything in reply or not. We crossed ways and they continued laughing down the road.
In fury, I began thinking to myself. So that’s it, he can make her laugh? I can make her laugh too. I bet I was ten times funnier than that fat dullard. Even if he was funnier than me, that was all he had. What could he have on me? Not his job, I’m nearly a jugar. Maybe his money? Doubtful, father has a stockpile of iron and nobody to leave it to besides me, plus the iron I’ve saved. Not to mention the wood and iron sculpture I could sell for a heavy chunk. I have him bested in everything. I remember times when I had made her laugh even harder than that.
That was the first time I had seen Carus with any other man, and ten years after our split it was not easy for me. I was fairly confident that I truly did have him bested in every category one could be bested in. Yet I was still jealous of him, by my own admission I truly had almost everything one could want, but this man still had something better than what I had. My thoughts turned to fantasies of beating the man down in the middle of the street or saving Carus from him after he turned out to be a terrible monster. I hoped for a day when I was jugar in Northern Shkhem and he stepped into my town where I exposed him for a criminal in front of everyone. I relished the thought of embarassing him heavily.
The walk home felt quick. My thoughts were consumed the entire trip with rage and envy towards this unknown man. Yet by the end of the trip I realized the true source of my pain, it was the nonchalant greeting Carus had for me after so many years of separation. The greeting I received was one that is given to someone of whom you know but have never had a real conversation with, an acquaintance. Perhaps I had been nothing to her this whole time, just an acquaintance.