Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

closed the book immediately with a shrug and set it aside on a table. “I was only curious.”

Hunching down to look Jonis in the eye, Mr. Farren bit his lip. “Did it happen yet?”

Blinking, Jonis stared back, though his heart gave a jump. “What happen?”

The magistrate stood upright, drawing in a deep breath. “I think as soon as you get your school uniform, we ought to have you tested. I have a theory about Cordril youth. I want to test it on you.”

Jonis continued to stare at him. “Test what?”

Mr. Farren smiled again with that harmless, yet thoughtful way. “Your intelligence. I have a feeling that you are no longer a C level student.”

He turned without another word.

Jonis had observed that Mr. Farren loved mysteries about as much as he loved magic, which explained a bit why this man took him into his home. Perhaps Mr. Farren thought he was a mystery that was so intriguing that the magistrate could not let it go.

 

On the following day, the wrapped brown packages containing his new clothes started to arrive. The school uniform came first. In it contained one simple straight collar tunic with long straight sleeves, a vest that ran long in the front, but only to his waist in the back with a tie strap. It had a matching pair of breeches with buckles at the knees. A small jacket went with it. Mr. Farren had purchased white stockings to match. As soon as the magistrate had Jonis dressed in the outfit, he took the boy out to the cobbler to get shoes fitted for him.

The cobbler wasn’t any happier to see Jonis still in town than the tailor was. However, Mr. Farren and Jonis soon left the shop with one pair of gray leather boots and an order for a better fitting pair later. By then it was getting late. Straight from the shop, Mr. Farren took Jonis to school, which was held in a large brick building down the road back towards the main thoroughfare.

Jonis’s teacher did not hide his disappointment at seeing him alive and in his classroom again. It disturbed him even more seeing Jonis dressed like the other children. The other boys stared at Jonis from their desks when both the town magistrate and Jonis stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Mr. Ditrick,” Mr. Farren addressed the teacher with a formal bow, gazing on the classroom full of cast iron seats, topped with wooden desks. “May we come in?”

The teacher knew he had to say yes, though he really wanted to bar the young Cordril from ever setting foot in the building again.

“Of course,” Mr. Ditrick replied with a brisk nod. “You may take a seat in the back. And I suppose Jonis should take his place at his desk.”

Both complied—though Jonis wished he were sitting in the back of the class with Mr. Farren.

The lesson continued right where it left off before they were interrupted. They were doing sums on their slates. Jonis had preferred simple math to the new complex equations his teacher was pounding into their brains. Strangely, this time while he took his seat, Jonis noticed something different about the writing on the chalkboard. The equation was still just as long, but now, his memory tickled and told him how to solve it. He didn’t know whose memory he had gotten the information from, but Jonis’s heart pounded when he realized that all the math equations were now cake to him.

He picked up his own slate and chalk and started to work.

The teacher called several of his classmates to the board to solve the math problems, skipping over Jonis whom he always thought a dunderhead. He felt it wise not to embarrass him in front of the village magistrate. Rumor had already spread how the magistrate had taken a peculiar interest in the boy, and it was not wise to annoy a town official.

They passed from Math to History, and then from History to Science. Mr. Farren did not interrupt the lessons. He did not do anything more than watch Jonis as he studied from the books on hand, listened to the lectures, and worked energetically in his notebook on class assignments. The twinkle in Mr. Farren’s eyes flashed and increased, as did the gentle grin on his lips as the lessons progressed. When the lunch hour began, he at last rose from his seat and approached the teacher.

“Your methodology seems quite sound. I am rather impressed,” Mr. Farren said to him, glancing once at Jonis who decided to head to the cafeteria instead of waiting for his guardian. It was apparent to him that this discussion was private.

“I would like to set up a test for Jonis after class, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Farren said.

Jonis passed out of the door, missing his teacher’s response to the request.

“So, blue-eyes, did you kill your old man?” Tavin, a boy in the class higher than Jonis asked, barring the way to the dining hall.

Jonis stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them from touching the others. It was an old habit of his, one he adopted when he realized just how powerful of a shock people got when his skin connected with theirs, especially when he was upset. “No. My father died of old age.”

The boys around him laughed, sounding more sinister than jovial.

“He didn’t look that old!” Tavin said with a menacing glare, but he still kept his distance. “I heard you killed him for his sword. Someone saw you fighting with the cop to keep it.”

Lowering his eyes, Jonis stared at the boy’s shoes. “My father was ancient. I was digging his grave with the sword. We didn’t have a shovel.”

“I think you killed him, demon.” Another classmate slapped him on the back. Jonis recognized Regan’s voice. Regan sat kitty corner from him near the back of the room. Regan immediately jumped out of the way to see what Jonis would do.

Jonis took his hands out of his pockets. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Well, you’re an idiot.”

“Oooh!” Those standing nearby gathered in a crowd, sounding in chorus as they waited for a fight.

Jonis just turned and continued on his way to the cafeteria.

Tavin let him pass.

But Regan shouted back, “Well, you can’t talk. You are barely passing with a C. It’s only luck that you aren’t a total dummy.”

Glancing back once, Jonis blinked at him. “Unlike you.”

But it was a mistake to mouth off. The boy jumped on Jonis’s back, strangling Jonis around his collar with his bare hands.

“Get off!” Jonis tried to bat him away first, swinging back his arms and teetering towards the wall. Both fell against it. The wood boomed and creaked under their weight.

The noise from the scuffle drew Mr. Farren and his schoolteacher out of the room. Both men ran into the hall and stared at the two boys fighting before moving to interfere.

Jonis reached behind himself, placing his hands on his classmate’s face. The crowd stepped back, watching Regan’s face go from pinched, angry, and bright red to ash white. Regan stared up at the ceiling, gasping. But Jonis let go, tossing the drained boy aside. His eye flared luminescent blue as his hands balled into fists. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

Then he looked up.

His eyes widened when he saw Mr. Farren’s disappointed face, and even more so when his eyes fixed on his teacher’s glare. Jonis loosened his fists, and he fell back against the wall.

“I’m sorry. He….” but Jonis could not bear it, watching them both with horror. He turned and ran down the hall. Already everything was ruined.

“Stop, son,” Mr. Farren called out, taking a step after him.

Jonis halted near the corner at the other end, breathing hard with his eyes fixed on the floor.

Mr. Farren jogged through the boys, breathless by the time he reached Jonis. He placed a hand on Jonis’s shoulder. “It is all right. It was in self-defense.”

“It is not all right!” Mr. Ditrick shouted, tromping after them. “This is what I mean! Did you see what he did to Regan?”

The magistrate turned. He gazed down his nose at the teacher. “Did you see what that boy was doing to him? I never thought our schools allowed such savage behavior.”

“I am sure Jonis provoked him,” the teacher said through his teeth.

“Ah,” Mr. Farren replied coolly, lifting his chin higher. “But aren’t you supposed to be raising young gentlemen here? Young gentlemen should know how to behave regardless of provocation.”

“But that thing used his demonic powers against the boy. Surely that should be punished!” Mr. Ditrick’s voice had gone low and dangerous, a sound that made Jonis’s bones shudder.

Jonis listened to Mr. Farren’s silence. He knew admittance was in there.

Immersed in guilt, Jonis turned around and faced them. “I will never do it again, I swear.”

“Liar,” his teacher snapped from his safe and distant spot in the hall. “You’ll resort to it, you demon. It’s in your blood.”

Mr. Farren placed a hand on Jonis’s head. “I think not, Mr. Ditrick. Jonis will keep his word, and I will help him.”

His teacher went silent. He knew it was the word of a magistrate. There was no countering it. He drew in a breath and huffed. “Yes, sir.”

“And the test will go as planned for this afternoon, right?” Mr. Farren added, gazing calmly on the teacher.

Again the teacher bowed. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Farren turned and escorted Jonis directly to lunch. When they had gotten around the corner and had walked up the stairs to the cafeteria, Mr. Farren whispered into Jonis’s ear, “We will have to get you gloves. Long sleeves have already been ordered for you for daily wear. I don’t want you accidentally bumping into someone and have him blame you for loss of strength. That boy is not harmed?”

Jonis shook his head. “Only tired. And I am sorry I did it. I didn’t think, except to get him off my back.”

“I accept your apology. I know you mean it.” Mr. Farren bent over to get eye to eye contact. “Now you must commit to your promise. Swear that you will never resort to harming any of your classmates, even if it means taking a bloody nose. You must be respectable, or you will never make it among humans.”

Crossing his heart, licking his hand, and raising his palm, Jonis said quickly, “I swear I will never even think about touching any one of my classmates ever again, even if I have to get a bloody nose.”

Mr. Farren smiled.

“I believe you.”

 

No one dared touch Jonis the rest of the day. No one spoke to him either. When class had finished, Mr. Ditrick took Jonis to the office where they met Mr. Farren. His teacher sat Jonis down at a mildly scarred wood desk and handed him copies of their graduation exam. Taking it into his hands, also handed a pen to write with, Jonis peered at the first question. Then he stared at the page with larger eyes. He looked up at both Mr. Farren and his teacher. Mr. Ditrick still frowned at him.

“I don’t understand,” Jonis said flipping through the papers. “I am only in grade seven. Why are you giving me this?”

Mr. Farren smiled down on him with that same mysterious glitter in his eyes. “Just answer the questions honestly, Jonis. Don’t hold back. I believe I know something about you. And watching you today, I believe your actions have proved it. However, your teachers need to see it.”

The elderly man looked entirely serious.

Shrugging, Jonis set the papers onto the desk and applied his pen, dipping it into the inkwell.

The test was not as hard as it had initially looked. Taking his time, Jonis peered at each question. Answers for each one floated upward from the deep memory his father had passed on to him. As he went on, the answers became easier to recall. In a way, his inundated memory was slowing sorting into the cracks in his head, finding