By now the dream was so familiar that he could tell its scent. Do dreams normally have scents? He wasn't sure.
He could tell its darkness from other blurring dreams. The deep darkness that promised to swallow all hope of light. The same chill that climbed his back, fear boring into him, reminding him that he had been here before. This place! The darkness recognised him. It had been waiting.

A disembodied growl hung in the air.  That was new. It was always a screech or a hiss. He rose to his feet and steadied himself for the monster that would emerge: the blood fires and contorted shadows.

He waited and waited.

Nothing came, nothing!

A crack ran across darkness like the face of glass. Then it shattered into dust.    He was now in a garden. Strange flowers towered above him, he could only touch their green stems. Green, white, blue petals and all lovely rose to the skies.
Birds of colours so bright chirped in between flowers.

There was a rustling behind him. He wasn't alone. Dreadfully, he turned around.

"Tell me your name?" But the question wasn't for him. There is a clearing behind him, a young man with a hard face, was talking  to a woman whom he was helping to her feet. The woman! Aris had never seen any like her. She was beautiful, too beautiful for any mortal woman. Her eyes were like burnished glass that held stars. Flowers blossomed in her dress. Her skin shone like polished copper, smooth as a pebble at the bottom of the lake. Her voice when she spoke was softer than his feather pillow. It was the sound of a gentle trickle. She said: "I'm Aria, daughter of the Earth."

Aris knew where he was! He knew who they were! The stories! The stories!

A roar filled the air. A voice mocking: Unbidden, I have come! "
It grew into a whirlwind dragging him, swallowing his screams up into an abyss. The flowers and Arin and Aria disappeared.

Above the being of light glared down on him, its gentle rumble filling his ears. "Unbidden, I  have come."

"No!" He screamed but the wind snatched it. He was drowning in nothing!

"Aris!"

The slap stung  under his tunic.

"Wake up!"

Reality flooded in, his room becoming clearer with each blink. It was still dark. Surely not much past the first cockcrow.
Someone waved a lamp in front of his eyes.

"Get up!"

It was Father—Emmeso. Aris  couldn't see his face for he held the lamp away from him but he couldn't mistake his voice.

"Follow me" His voice had a firmer edge than usual. Oddly, it reminded Aris of one time ago, when he was still a child. When Emmeso had flogged him for injuring another child in a rough play. Emmeso's voice had grown cold then.

"Stretch your hand." He had said. With a cane going up and down and an utterly emotionless face, Emmeso had whipped him. He still remembers his cries, his screams of disbelief. Not at the hurt of the came as much as the fact that father would flog him.

Emmeso left the room not looking back to see if he would follow. Yawning, he followed, through the corridor. The house was still dark. Was anyone even awake? Where was Emmeso taking him?

Emmeso stopped at the living room. Someone had lighted a candle there. It was Iyuca. His lips were moving in a silent chant. He was praying. They moved past him.

At the end of the passage, Emmeso opened the door. Aris could have sworn that the early morning chill had fangs sinking into his back. With rattling teeth, he followed Emmeso out to the courtyard.

It wasn't so dark outside. The sky was grey and dawn wasn't far off. Dee Kessel was out there. He greeted, Emmeso returned with a nod. Dee Kessel  was holding wooden swords. Had Emmeso called him out here to watch them spar?

"Take a sword." The command came abruptly.

"What?"

"Take it." Dee Kessel held out one to him. What was going on here?

Emmeso took the remaining sword. "Fight me. It's time you learnt a lesson."

"I don't understand!" His legs were quaking. He was glad for the darkness. Emmeso didn't need to see his cowardice.

Emmeso sighed. "Come at me, or I will come first."

Aris swallowed nervously. He couldn't remember his last practice. He had practised with guards in the past and he hardly ever won. When he did, he was sure they were just letting him. Emmeso wouldn't hold back. He didn't sound like he would.
"Come! I don't have time to waste."

He charged before his senses could keep him back.

Emmeso sighed. His parry was lazy, like a sluggish attempt to squash a fly.

Aris panted as his sword creaked against Emmeso. He strained teeth gritting.

Emmeso sighed and kicked his feet from under him. "Too weak. Get up!"

Hard dirt scrubbed against his face. He felt anger. Disgrace. He would hurt Emmeso now.
Yelling, he got to his feet and charged blindly. 

He didn't get far. Emmeso's  blade slapped him across the torso, sucking the air out of him. Gasping he crumbled to the floor. His sword clanking.

Emmeso waved impatiently. "Get up, get up. You have died twice now. Pick your sword."

His body hurt, it hurt. He reached for his sword, flat on his belly like a lizard. He got up and got himself ready for more pain. Dawn was nearer now, he could make out his heaving shadow.

Emmeso considered him a bit. "Your form is all wrong. This is what lack of practice causes. Your feet are too wide apart. Adjust them as I taught you. Tighten your centre. Good. Now, look at me. I'm going to attack you now. Prepare."

Emmeso didn't give him a second more before springing on him. Too fast! It was a miracle that he raised his sword over his in time to parry. He realized that his left was open. Emmeso would go for it, he realised with dread.

Emmeso didn't, he simply withdrew.

Emmeso was easing on him because he was weak!

Shame and anger mixed
uncomfortably in his gut. Somehow he moved backwards as Emmeso's blade came cracking down.

Emmeso didn't give him a chance. He pursued raining blow after blow.

Aris screamed. It was frustrating. Emmeso's  blade was everywhere! He couldn't keep up. Emmeso was pushing him up to the pavement. He couldn't take it anymore. His hands were blistered.

Emmeso's blade was a whirl. Now and then, he smacked him across his naked shoulders. Ah! It hurt. Pain, agony. Let it all end.

The gods heard him. Emmeso cracked down on the joints of his arm. The same move he had used on Dee. He didn't reach Aris'wrist. There was a need. His wooden sword clattered uselessly and he too.

"Please no more." He whimpered and buried his head in the dust.

Emmeso's feet shuffled impatiently. Then he sighed, dropping his sword. "Your training is long overdue. I let you fiddle around with books and stories. I wasn't as firm as I should have been. But there is still time. I will make a man out of you. This time, every morning, we would do this and more. The times are dangerous, my son. It's time you started working. After you had breakfast go to the Kuzie. Seek the Scribe King, I have got you enrolled. It's time you put your writing to better use."

Where had the easygoing Emmeso gone to? This every morning!

Emmeso helped him to his feet and embraced him. While he was still shocked, Emmeso added ,"Your mother told me of how
you saved your sister. I'm proud of you. The gods sent you. I am grateful to be your father." Emmeso left him dazzled on the courtyard as dawn burst upon his sight.

He was in pain, sweating and he needed a bath. High gods keep him!

                             *******

His arms still throbbed with pain under his tunic as he crossed the wide courtyard of the Kuzie. He winced, massaging his shoulders. When he had got into the bath, they were glowing red as if the blood beneath was threatening to burst out. He was sore. Sore!  His arms still felt like they would fall out any time soon. And Emmeso said that this would be a daily thing. This training thing eh!

Now, where was he supposed to go?
Here he was in the courtyard of the Kuzie.  The Kuzie, the heart of scholars and scribes of Alamaria. He lifted his eyes.   Its four sides spanned meeting as wide square, grey as it was old, spanned and looming. Architects would call it a quadrangle. In its grey and revered classrooms. Here, Giro, the thrice-blessed had taught and made epics long! Anadi the calm had perfected the knowledge of shapes here. It is said he locked himself up  in one of the vaults underneath the Kuzie and had neither food nor water for days. When the room was finally opened, he was exasperated on the floor, the walls covered in his scribbling of numbers and figures. "I found it," He had said. He was mad and delirious, they said. What he had found no one knew for he died shortly after exhausted. They say the scribes locked the vault. That Anadi's sacred scribblings may not be eroded until one comes who can decipher them. A hundred ago!

Three hundred years ago! Kuzie Hermin would have composed his treatise: "The People Of The Centre" here. It was glorious!

The corridors were empty though. Not a student in sight. They were probably in their classes. He wasn't about to go to any of them to ask.

Someone was crossing the courtyard, towards him. He looked middle-aged. New Alamarian by the looks of it. He wasn't dressed like a student or scholar. Maybe he was a porter. The guards at the gate had told him that there were several inside. Maybe he could help him. He took a step forward.

The sand in the courtyard was white like the colour of churned milk with pebbles stirring with each stride. The porter looked at him. His eyes were piercing at first. They seemed to get into Aris. As if probing his purpose. Then a smile crossed the length of his face. "The gods keep you," he called a greeting and went up to him. "Where did you come from?"

Aris nodded slowly even without his red tunic that blazed in this world of grey he would still stand out.

"From the gate, outside." Aris replied.Where else?

The porter chuckled "I meant what do you want?"

Aris shrugged his shoulders. "I am here to become a scholar.  I can read and write. I can bear with sums—"

"So you want to be a scholar?"

"Yes, that's what my father said. It's what I want." What else could he want? The porter studied him keenly for a minute. Aris quickly asked. "Where is the Scribe King? I would need to see him."

The porter grinned a bit. "Of course you would. Follow me I know my way around. Let me help you with your bag." He wanted to protest, but the porter had already slid the bag down his shoulders. It must be the custom here. The bag was not heavy but he didn't want to give a reason for offence.

"I have worked here for thirty years. Sometimes, I trim the hedges. I have been known to wander the halls carrying quills and papers to scholars and students alike. I have been to every office. The Scribe King keeps his office on the highest floor. They say he likes to watch the sunrise from up there. Don't point though. Scholars say it is silly and rude to point if you can use your words instead."

They moved down the corridor. The porter turned to him, his voice a whisper. "Don't drag your legs. The scholars don't like that." Aris nodded and picked his feet as silently as possible. The first class they passed had students with eyes on their sheets writing what the scholar was scratching on the board. Hardly, anyone looked up as they passed. "Calligraphy class. Very serious for those who want to become secretaries and draft documents for others. With good calligraphy, you could even work in the government. "

Aris nodded, realising that his sigbi script was anything but perfect.

As they went under an arch before the stairs, Aris stopped to read the motto of the Kuzie a ribbed on the crown of the arch. Old Alamarian sigbiscript: That All May Be Known In The Centre.

"You can read it?" The Porter asked.

He nodded. "Old Alamarian. 'That All May Be Known In The Centre' See how the Centre is represented with only a half spiral. Nowadays, it's made in full to represent the wholeness of the centre. Three spirals and it would be the spirit and fourth-"

"The gods," the porter nodded impressed and began to climb the stairs. "The Scribe King knows his Old Alamarian. He keeps all the old books in his old library."

"Are students allowed to read them?"

The porter chuckled. "He might allow a few from time to time."

They clambered up the stairs. The next floor had an empty corridor, but they didn't stop there.

On the next floor, they went down the corridor. A voice came down, from class at the end of the corridor. Aris stared in through the door. The  voice was strong yet light:
She was as beautiful as the night!
Eyes like honey, brown as the earth!
Lips full with Ania's bounty
Graceful, wondrous.
Like the goddess herself-

Arin's forlorn love, she was reciting it.

"Oh! loveliest of flowers tell me your name
I may rule all, but you rule me
I'm but a king of a Queen!"

"But the lovely flower spoke,
She smiled, as bashful as the hare
And then she spoke: I'm Aria, daughter of the Earth." He mouthed it silently. Then, instinctively as if aware she alone wasn't reciting the piece, she gazed towards the door. When she saw him, she flashed him a smile. Her hair was plaited into two thick braids that coiled like ram horns at her neck.

"Marry me prettiest of all!
I have gold, but I will give it up for thee,
And I will trade my crown for a prawn.

Aria the lovely fled from him:
"Alas, I'm the daughter of the Earth!
We can not be!"

"There are women here. Even after a hundred years, they are still a shocking sight especially one as beautiful as this."

Aris agreed as they moved on. After Mara the clever had disguised herself as a man, studying for years and nearly becoming a Scribe King there was not any ground to prevent women from becoming scholars. Mara had proved that being a scholar wasn't all about what was between your legs.

They went on with the porter whistling despite their warning for silence. Old thoughts nudged at Aris' insides. Was he ready for this? How would the scholars take him? His tutor had stopped teaching him six years ago. He had spent the rest self-teaching. Was that enough to impress the scholars of the Great Kuzie? What would the Scribe King think of him? Was he clever enough to be here? This was his actual test. It was easier to sound smart at home and tell Bibu stories. But here he would be before sages of sages, how would he stand?

They went through a corridor lined with statues of great scholars. Giro the thrice-blessed grinned only from a corner and Kuzie Hermin cast his gaze to the ceiling, a bit haughtily, clutching his books. Stone eyes followed them as they ascended the last stairs. They could see him, his weakness, everything.

The last corridor was a bridge with the sides open to the skies. It ran away from the main building to a slender tower. "That is the Scribe King's office." The porter led the way. He looked at the door at the end of his journey. The scholar in the tower, isolation. Very typical. "The sunrise from here is good." Was the porter trying small talk? He wasn't in the mood he was all tensed from his meeting.

At the door, he nodded to the porter. He had guided him and carried his bag all the way here. He deserved a tip. He fished out a copper coin. "Thank you, sir. Please take my token."

The porter smirked and pushed the door open! He didn't knock! The scribe King would throw them all out! His first day was botched before it started. He hung outside stunned.

"Come in!" the porter's voice had become firmer than before. He got in carefully, he got in. Considering the doorpost with suspicion.

Inside the air was filled with the dust of old books. Shelves lined the wall, completing an octagon. The porter was sitting on the huge seat before the desk littered with documents and quills.

He was grinning now. His hands locked. "Aris Asta Goe, you were looking for the Scribe King. You are looking at him."

Aris froze. Impossible! The porter, the porter! The scribe King had carried his bag! His legs were weak, weak.

He picked a quill and began scribbling on parchment. "Aris, Aris. Your father is my friend but I haven't met you before." He flashed him a smile and withdrew into himself. "Aris, Aris? What does that name mean? It doesn't sound old Alamarian, nor is it of the various dialects that the new folk brought from the North. Aris, Aris, what does it mean?"

Aris sighed, embarrassed. "I don't know. Nobody knows, Sir." He looked away. When he looked back the Scribe King was looking at him, no past him as if he wasn't there. Then life returned to his eyes.

"Your Old Alamarian is good. The motto you read and those letters. Some stay here for up to years before learning it. You know Arin's, Forlorn love. That's not an easy poem. If you mastered that you must know several folk poems. You are probably versed in the works of scholars. Quickly, complete this quote; when men wear their chains... Go on"
"When men wear their chains for long they begin to resemble bangles by Kuzie Eugo in his book " The Truths Of The Centre."

He nodded disinterestedly. "Yes. It's elementary. Tell the story of the world from where Ivara steps in. Just jump to his verse.

Aris concentrated, mentally running the poem through his mind:

Yet, all was not done.
From the north, unbidden,
Uncalled, Ivaka the forbidden,
Came forth, his sword blazing.
"I'm war," he said
"I am fire," said he
"Unbidden, I have come,

Those lines! They were the same in his dreams. 'Unbidden, I have come.'

"Continue, Aris. You are shaking and you were doing so well." The Scribe King cracked his fingers. "Fright? And we are the only ones here."

"No, sir. I will continue."
What did this mean?

Yet, to war now I find loathsome
Aoha holds the sky,
Idem the water,
Ania the earth.
The pillars are set
And I'm well met
The fourth pillar shall I be
To the north, the darkness shall I keep
To thy wars, my sword shall I lend."

His heart was pounding when he finished. He could have sworn the words were in the air whispering silently. Unbidden, I have come.

"You are good. You had a tutor a child?"

"Yes, sir."

"He did his job well. Let me test your knowledge of the old days. Who was the first king of Alamaria?"

Aris suppressed surprise. This was too easy, was this a trap? "Arin the first," he said slowly.

"And apparently the last. Arin didn't father any sons and the kings after he avoided his name like a curse. Being first is not always lucky. Now, tell me what happened at the battle of Tenuria?"

"At the battle of Tenuria, 400 years ago the Alamarian army was crushed by the Tortev riders from the North."

"And why is that?" He rubbed his chin.
"Because the Alamarian army consisted mostly of infantry. The Tortev were nomadic master horsemen and archers. Four hundred years ago our army didn't have the experience to beat them."

The scribe King drummed on his desk. "And Oti the general who led our forces then was banished. The high councillors were not returned in the following elections. But our people learnt, we always do. We learnt the ways of the Tortev and bested them at it. It was Emiro son of Ito that finally crushed them at?"

"The Battle of the bleeding plains. The Tortev were massacred. Their allies defected in thousands. Their villages plundered and people sold. When Emiro was done, he boasted. "Of the northern riders, I have laid waste that their numbers may never reach even a tenth of their steeds that now wander the plains riderless."

"Strange, isn't it? I imagine that the rolling grass plains of the north remain empty, silent for the sound of riders has forever left it." The scribe king seemed morose. "War and blood. Men and swords. Boy, you are clever. Do you have musical talents?"

"Sometimes, I sing on a banjo to my sister. It's not really..."

The scribe king nodded. "You were well trained, Aris. I am impressed. You will not begin at the first class. Do you know what we do here, Aris?"

Aris didn't know if he was supposed to answer that. His mouth was yet to move when the Scribe King interjected, flapping an arm. "Of course you do. Why else are you here? Here we teach and we also teach those who teach. The first is mostly commoners, those who can't afford private tutors. They make do with our general classes. Pragmatic little things. Pull out of school the second they can write their names and count beyond their fingers and toes. The second are you and the rest aspiring to be scribes. It's an attractive future to some. A noble house could employ you as their secretary. You could join the government. You may even travel the world writing books and making studies. Who knows one day, when we are all bones and maggots children could be reading the compendium of Kuzie Aris: All In The Centre. Would you want that?"

"I think so, sir"

"You think so? Not very certain eh? It is well. You are young, plenty of time to discover what you want to do with your life." He winded back to his chair like a dancer worn out. He drank from the glass on his table, eyes bulging with each hasty swallow. "Your father told me you were coming today. Let's get to your class.

His class was on the east side of the Kuzie on the second floor. He tried to keep up with the Scribe King's long strides. Where did he store all that energy in his skinny body?

He pushed Aris through an open door without much ceremony. " Aris, greet your classmates!"

Aris was instantly besieged by several prying eyes. All eyes were on him.
He was squirming. Boys and few girls in the grey tunics of the scribes. All situated on stools.
Deep breath.

The scholar was a short man with large ears that darkened at the tips as if burnt. He smiled at him. Aris noticed that his hair was cut low, oiled and brushed until it gleamed.

"Einye, I have brought you the student  I told you about. The High Councilor's son."

You shouldn't have said that
He could feel them observing him with new eyes, considering him. He wondered what they would say if they discovered he was only an Asta.

Einye came over and patted Aris' shoulder as if they were long lost. friends.

"Take care of him. He's smart. Aris, see you later."

With that, the Scribe King abandoned him with strangers.

Einye padded him to the front of the class. "Welcome, Aris. Everyone say welcome to him."

"Welcome!" It was a blend of young voices: those too old to be children, boys, girls, those closer to being men and women. Hairy chins and blooming blossoms. And Aris was now one of them.

"Go ahead, introduce yourself,"

Aris summoned his eyes from the brick floor to face the class. He inhaled and exhaled. He hoped he was putting on his brave face. "My name is Aris." He hesitated. They seemed too interested in him. Some were leaning against their desks in boredom. "Aris Asta Goe." He imagined disdain on some faces. Yes, I am adopted. "And I'm pleased to be here."

He was grateful when Einye took over, slapping his shoulder again. "You will learn everything about us in no time. Go sit by Asa. She will show you how we do things here."

A bright-eyed girl who sat closest to the door, Asa presumably, waved at him.

He moved over to her, his gut was unsettled.

He settled into the chair and began fumbling through his bag for his writing things. "Welcome," Bright-eyed Asa began as Einye was returning to his lecture.

"Thank you," he didn't look away from his bag.

Einye was saying something. "Before
Alamaria, what was?"

A blonde boy shot an arm up.

"Yes, Urius."

He got up, grinning.
"First came Aoha from the east,
The sun he bore to feast-"

"No, no!" Einye dismissed him with a wave. "I don't mean the creation story the priests tell us, I meant before this city was built was here on this spot?"

"Oh!" Urius gracelessly slid down. "I don't know, Kuzie."

Einye shook his head. "Use the library, the library. The grand library. Ah! You don't know how lucky you are. Everything you need in a place."

The grand library of the Kuzie! He had only dreamt of it. Long shelves with unending scrolls. Every book was ever written and worth reading was there, or so it was said. Now, as a student, he could go there. Yes.

Another hand was up. A boy with a serious face. Aris predicted that he was a studious one. There was something lifeless about his brown face that reminded Aris of a cloth washed too many times.

Einye nudged and he rose straight like a shooting reed.

"Before Alamaria was formed, over 1000 years ago, there was nothing in this parts..."

Wrong! Hermin accounts that people had always lived in these parts. First, the Gora, wiped by the passing Tortev. They in turn met the Gita who met the Alamarians.

"This was an unoccupied territory. We took it as our inheritance."

The Gita never formed a civilized government and the Tortev before they did not, but that id not justify calling the land uninhabited. Which books had he been reading?

"Kuzie Pila says that it was Arin who laid the first foundations."

No wonder, Hermin called Pila a fraud. His books were half fables and half-truths. So wrong!

Einye raised a brow while humming. "Everyone, is Kai right?"

There were disinterested nods and affirmative noises. Aris shook his head. No, no, no. They were all wrong. couldn't they see it?

"Aris, you shook your head. You don't agree? Why? Tell us, tell us."

No, no, no! He rose sluggishly. He could feel fear sucking his gut and climbing up his throat, a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. His first day and he was already answering questions. They would think him a show-off.

All eyes were on him, expectant. He would only look at Einye and him alone. He could just say that he agreed with everyone else. Play the coward. His arm throbbed. Emmeso! No! He couldn't. Not anymore.
He inhaled and exhaled. "Kuzie Hermin the most renowned scholar of his era recounts in his treatise  'The people of the Centre' that the Tortev and Gita had always lived here that we call Alamaria and its environs. It wasn't Arin who led us here. Our ancestors had already settled in villages around here for at least a hundred years before Arin was born. Arin joined these villages to make Alamaria. He didn't make Alamaria out of nothing." He exhaled it was done.

Einye looked at him with new eyes as if probing him. "Well said," he said lazily. "You may sit down."

"Class, when it comes to Kuzie Hermin and Pila, take Hermin's word for history for he lived it and take Pila's words for only folk tales because that's what he did best."

Laughter. Laughter.

Asa dug into his arm, a bit roughly. "Have you read all Hermin's works?" Her bright eyes seemed bigger.

"Most of them, I think." Her eyes were making him uncomfortable.

She let go of his arm. "Bookist! I haven't even reached the tenth chapter of his Testament."

Aris chuckled. "Don't worry, you will get there. Just keep trying."

Asa nodded. "I can't remember Kai ever failing a question. I don't think anyone has ever stood up to correct him."

"That was not my intention!"

"Let us hope he doesn't see it that way."

Aris followed her eyes to Kai. Kai's met his at once.

Kai smiled, holding his gaze long enough to stir that familiar sucking in his gut. His eyes seemed to say: "Welcome to the Kuzie"