Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

of battle tactics from former wars. Jonis listened with one ear, while his memories spun around in his head. Most of the time his memories spat out images of the same wars with different interpretations by the viewers.

Several of his ancestors ended up fighting in the wars against the Sky Children that had taken over most of Greater Gull and Minor Gull. The regular people had no defense against them. And the magicians, wizards, witches were being hunted to extinction. It was the Cordrils that had tipped the scaled on the side of Brein Amon in the end—not human ingenuity. Where his instructor talked of the Brein Amon army’s prowess and fighting tactics, Jonis’s memory told him that the only reason the Brein Amon army won was that the Sky Children—whom is ancestors called Camuses—were losing their demonic abilities, which they had been so dependent on in maintaining their dominance. And one crazy human in the Army of Man had insisted on making an alliance with the Cordrils to fight within the human armies. The Sky Children could not cope with the Cordrils fighting with the army.

The Cordrils had destroyed the only Sky Children left that could still touch a person and steal their life. Since then, the remaining Sky Children had been rendered into slaves. Of course, this teacher attributed the successful revolution to the might of the army, led by the famous General Dalis.

“Now, who can tell me what happened at the Battle of Stilson Bay, and how we routed out the last Sky Child fleet?” The instructor gazed superiorly over at them.

Most avoided his gaze, hoping not to be chosen. Jonis was nodding off. His collection of memories were a great deal more interesting than the lesson, as several of his ancestors had personally worked with the leaders of the revolution.  

“Mr. Greenwald.” Their instructor pointed to a thin twenty-something in the room.

Jonis heard the solider groan and peeked over.

Julwes Greenwald stood up. He, like everyone else, was aching all over. “Uh, they had more guns?”

The class snickered.

“Wrong. And that answer was not in a complete sentence.” The teacher gazed over the rest of the class, choosing the one who seemed to laugh the most. “Mr. Sipes? Perhaps you can explain.”

The jerk that had been shoving Jonis around rose. He scratched the side of his face with a glance to his desk. “I dunno. The Sky Children were already weak, so all we had to do was drive them back to their island.”

“Partially. They Sky Children were weakening. The powerful ones were dying out,” their instructor said.

Jonis coughed, smothering an indecorous laugh.

The teacher narrowed his eyes at him. “But what really drove them away? Maybe Mr. Macoy has an understanding of history that he seems to think I lack. What do you say, Cordril?”

Jonis flushed. However, he stood up, watching Sipes sit down with a malicious smirk on his lips.

“Uh, well, as Sipes said, the Sky Children were already very weak. And, well…as you said, the Sky Children were, uh, ‘dying off’. But uh, we drove them away because we had developed cannons and set them on the dock. The Sky Children were already driven to the boats by the, uh, ‘special recruits’ who were, uh, instigating their ‘dying off’.”

Jonis sat promptly down.

“Interpret that nonsense at once!” The teacher ordered, his face flushing irritably. “You mentioned the cannons, but you said nothing about what the army did.”

Reluctantly, Jonis stood up again. “Uh, sir. I do not want to offend your sensibilities, but what is written in that book is wrong. It says that the army drove the Sky Children to the sea. But in reality, about twenty Cordril hunters with a vendetta against the Sky Children drove them there. They had killed nearly two thirds of the Sky Children that still had gifts. The army manned the guns and barred the escape routes.”

His instructor’s face went deep purple. “How dare you contradict the set history of our land!”

“But it’s total garbage. Propaganda entirely,” Jonis almost whined. “The people were unable to take on the Sky Children alone. I know that for a fact. And if it weren’t for the Cordrils that came from the west, this land would probably still be called something like, uh, what was it? Oh, Westhaven.”

Jonis clapped his hands behind his back and stared matter-of-factly at him.

But that didn’t help any. Fuming, the instructor shouted, “Macoy! Stand front and center!”

Jonis obeyed, knowing how a Brein Amon classroom worked. He drew in a breath and sighed. Walking forward, Jonis stopped at the front of the room and waited reprimand.

The other recruits murmured and whispered among themselves.

“Stick out your arms,” the instructor said.

Obeying, Jonis did so.

“Roll up your sleeves.”

Jonis glanced at the teacher, raising his eyebrows, but he obeyed. He extended his arms again and drew in a breath.

The instructor lifted up his pointer switch.

Crack!

The sting of the switch against his skin reminded Jonis of hours under the slaver’s whip.

Crack!

It stung just as painfully now as it had back then.

Snap!

The stick actually broke.

Jonis blinked as he heard his instructor curse.

“Take your seat!”

Jonis bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

He walked back and sat down.

Sipes leaned forward and whispered to his seatmate. “He didn’t even flinch.”

“Good thing the drill sergeant stopped that fight earlier then,” his seatmate replied. “You’d a’ been toast.”

They finished class with the rest of the lecture. The instructor could not even look at Jonis after that.

 

Jonis’s entire body was sore when he sat down in the mess hall for dinner, taking an empty spot near the back wall. Korin ate several feet away near the door. Temis ate closer to the food line, eyeing the extras to see if anything was left. The others filled in, but all kept their distance from the young Cordril—except one. Oprin Sipes strolled in and sat next to Jonis, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “So, I see you saved some food for me.”

“Get your own.” Jonis shoved his arm back, too starving to waste time, even though the size of this grown man was intimidating.

The man plucked the chicken wing from Jonis’s hands. Grinning superiorly over Jonis’s astonished face, Oprin took a bite out of it. He chewed with a nod, humming to himself. “Not bad. But I think chicken is too good for you.”

Jonis face grew hot. His cheeks flushed red as the weight of Oprin’s arm around his neck intentionally shoved him into the bench to keep him still. Clenching his fists to keep his temper, Jonis glared down at his tray and the diminishing chicken.

“Now this bread looks good.” Oprin reached over to take it.

Jonis batted his hand away. “I’m tired, cranky, and hungry. Leave me alone.”

“Naughty boy,” Oprin said, patting Jonis on the head, and grabbed the roll anyway. “You should learn how to talk to your betters.”

He took a good bite. Grinning, he chewed in Jonis’s ear.

“Delicious.”

“You want my meal?” Jonis hissed through his teeth. “Fine!”

He stood up from his seat, shaking Oprin off with a more ease than those around him had counted him for. Taking up the tray, Jonis dumped it and all it contents on Oprin’s head.

“It’s not like I don’t know starvation anyway! I can cope! You want more?” Taking up his glass Jonis dumped his water down Oprin’s shirt. “Here!”

Oprin grabbed Jonis’s shirtfront, and raised his fist. “I’m gonna kill you!”

But Jonis smiled in a calm way that made his luminescent blue eyes glitter like sunlight on water and his mouth twist too cleverly for his age. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”

Heads turned to watch. Conversation died.

The man’s fist connected with Jonis’s jaw anyway.

Tumbling backward, Jonis flopped on the hard concrete. The back of his head thumped in a way that would render most humans unconscious. His arm sprawled, but Jonis moaned with his eyes open as he stared up at the ceiling.

Oprin stood over him.

Everyone turned. Most in the room popped out of their chairs to watch what the demon would do next. Among them, Temis craned his neck, and Korin rose to his feet, peering over the crowd. So did the supervising corporals. They turned with frowns, converging on where Oprin was.

Jonis rubbed his chin first before shaking his head and getting to his feet. As he did this, Oprin unexpectedly fell backward. His face and arms went white and shaking. 

“I told you not to do it,” Jonis said. He continued to rub his jaw, staggering on his feet for balance.

“Recruit! Halt!” one of the corporals called over the noise of the hall, marching over from the far end of the room.

The other had stopped just over Oprin, his mouth agape while he peered at the man’s immediate sick pallor. Jonis did not move, though his balance had returned.

“Explain this!” the corporal shouted at Jonis.

Jonis drew in a breath, glancing about to see if anyone would speak up. No one said anything. With a shrug, he started into an explanation. “Well, you see, I was about to have dinner here when—”

“That demon assaulted me!” Oprin roared, trying hard to get to his feet but was unable to stand. “Look what he did to my uniform!”

“You wanted to wear it,” Jonis replied with a shrug, looking over his shoulder at the man.

“The demon dumped his food on Recruit Sipes, here, and then he touched Sipes, knocking him down,” one of the others from the troop said.

Stung by the blatant falsehood, Jonis pulled back towards the wall. He knew no one would take his side.

The corporals rounded on Jonis. They towered over him with their fists clenched.

The boy backed away with one step before raising his chin defiantly. “Ok, I’m guilty. It bothered me so much that Sipes wanted to eat my dinner that I dumped my food on his head. And then with great skill, I agilely shoved my face into his fist, falling down, and then later knocking him down without actually laying a finger on him. Satisfied?”

“What is the problem?” Their drill sergeant marched into the room. “Green Troop should be going out to the field.”

“There seems to be an altercation between these two recruits,” the corporal said.

Groaning, the drill sergeant snapped, “Speak plainly, would you?”

“This demon here, used his demon skills against recruit Oprin Sipes,” the other recruit said again, glaring at Jonis.

Their drill sergeant turned to face Jonis, a dark look settling in his eyes.

Lifting his hands high for all to see, Jonis showed that his gloves were still on. “Look, he hit me in the face and got rebound. My jaw still hurts. I never touched him. He touched me.”

The drill sergeant looked over at Oprin who was still quite faint, though he had now managed to stand with some help. “Did he dump food on himself also?”

To that, Jonis’s face immediately grew red. Trying to make light of it, he said, “Oh, no. But my rolls and chicken wing were both taken captive. The rest of my plate simply got jealous. They jumped to get inside his mouth, but he had shut it already.”

Someone sniggered, but the majority remained silent.

“I see,” the drill sergeant said with a frown.

The drill sergeant stepped back as if to assess the entire group that watched. His eyes had not eased in their glare.

“Recruits Jonis Macoy and Oprin Sipes, you two will run five miles tonight for fighting. Then you may join your troop after that in two hundred pushups.”

The entire troop moaned.

“If I see or hear of any more fighting among you, you will all do five hundred pushups, and the entire troop will run five miles, got it?” He turned and walked to the door. “Now get out there on to the field! All of you!”

Still making disgruntled noises, the entire troop moved, hoping to not get punished for more antics of their troop mates.

The drill sergeant stopped Jonis from passing, letting Oprin go by. “You had better wise up, boy. I thought you were smart this morning, dealing with chubby as you did. You have tenacity and endurance, but