Shaman's Crossing

Even as doubt and guilt for feeling that doubt assailed me, I realized that something was missing. “My rock’s gone!”

Rory and Spink looked at me as if I were slightly mad.

“The rock I brought from home with me. I always kept it on that shelf. It was a, well, an important keepsake.”

“Your girl gave it to you?” Rory asked, even as Spink suggested pragmatically, “Did you look under your bunk?”

I was on my knees, looking under every bed and in the corners of the room, when I heard Gord return. He was greeted with an uproar of voices, some telling him what had befallen him even as others demanded that he immediately clean it up. I reached the door just in time to see peace and relaxation fade from his face, to be replaced by his usual expression of resigned caution. It struck me for the first time how much he had changed since the first day at the Academy. We all followed him to the door of his room, to gawk at his shock and dismay.

I think the others were disappointed by his reaction. He walked into the room, looked down at the ruined books, soiled clothing, and sodden bedding, and made not a sound. He did not curse or stamp or whine. He only drew in a deep breath that swelled his back against the tightness of his coat. It reminded me of a beetle’s carapace as he lowered his head into his shoulders. “What a mess,” he said finally. Then he hung up his greatcoat in his cupboard and set his weekend satchel on the floor beside it. There was a posy pinned to the lapel of his greatcoat, and I wondered if the girl he was promised had put it there. Could she love him, fat and unlovely as he was? Was that where he got the strength to go to the urine-soaked blankets and tug them off his books and notes? As he picked it up, the sodden blanket sprayed yellow drops on the floor. There was a collective chorus of groans of disgust and one or two chuckles of that horrified laughter that comes over men in bad situations.

I stepped forward. “Sergeant Rufet said to tell you that he would issue you clean bedding.”

Gord glanced up at me and for a moment the opacity in his eyes melted. I saw the pain this insult had dealt him. But his voice was flat when he spoke. “Thanks, Nevare. I guess that is where I’d better start then.”

“I’ve got to get to my assignments. Spink and I didn’t get our work finished during our time away.” I was making an excuse not to help him and I knew it. I left him and got my books and went to the study table. Spink came and joined me a while later. When I glanced up at him, he said, “There’s not much I can do in there. He’s made up his bed and dried off his books as best as he can.” He opened his books. Without looking at me, he added, “All his drafting notes are ruined. He asked if I thought you’d let him copy yours onto clean paper, and I said you probably would.”

I nodded and bent my head back to my studies. A time later, I heard the swishing of a scrub brush at work.

That incident was a turning point in my first year at the Academy. After that, the division was so plain within our rooms that we might have been wearing different uniforms. Spink, Gord, and I were seen as a unit, with Kort and Natred in a separate orbit around us. They spoke to us in our room in the evening and never shunned us, but neither did they go with us to the library or spend free time with us. Kort and Natred seemed a self-sufficient duo, not needing any other alliance. Trist ruled the roost for the rest of them. Oron was probably closest to him, or gave every sign of wishing to be. He always sat beside Trist, nodding to his every word and laughing the loudest at his jests. Caleb and Rory followed the golden cadet without question. Sometimes Rory came to our room to visit and talk, but not as often as he had. And when we sat at the study table or at the mess table, we sat divided by our loyalties.

We did not find out who had invaded our rooms, nor did I find my precious rock. It was strange for it to vanish, for there had been a small amount of money in a coat pocket, and that had not been taken. It became common knowledge that I had reported the incident to Sergeant Rufet. The day after we returned, I was called out of drafting class. A third-year marched me silently to the administration building. I was immediately guided to an upstairs chamber. My escort tapped on the door and then waved me in. Heart hammering, I entered the room. I saluted, and then stood silently. The room was paneled in dark wood, and the winter daylight from the tall, narrow windows did not seem to reach me. There was a long table, and six men seated around it. Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, bandaged and pale, was seated to one side in a straight-backed chair. His posture was very stiff, either from nervousness or the pain of his injuries. Beside him, standing at parade rest, was Cadet Ordo. I recognized Colonel Stiet and Dr. Amicas among the men seated at the long table. A figure moved near the windows, and I realized Caulder Stiet was there as well, observing. I directed my salute to the colonel. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.