Wings in the Flame

Snap!
I jump as something long slaps down on the table just in front of me, looking up to meet the stern eyes of Sir Frandall. What did I do now?
"Yes, Sir?" I ask politely, totally innocent.
"Daydreaming in my class, and you have the nerve to feign innocence?" He booms, puffing up angrily. My bad. I hadn't been though, had I...?
"I was unaware, Sir. My apologies."
"Get to work, the rest of you!" he yells at the rest of the small class, and they all turn their heads back down to their work. Sir Frandall leans in over the desk, the cane in his hand still pressed against the surface of the desk. I pull back as far as I can in my chair. "I'm going to see you after class, am I not?"
"Uhm..."
"Am I not?" he repeats, stressing the sentence. I nod.
"Aye, Sir."
"Good. Now, as I was saying..." He walks away, back to pacing around the room while he lectures us. I let out a small sigh. Thank the Lord! I wonder what he wants to see me about, though I guess it would just be about the little 'incident' that just happened.
After class I stay behind like he told me to. I sit on my desk, waiting for everybody else to leave. Amelie pauses by my table, giving me a small smile. I return it, then watch her go. I like Amelie. A lot. We're just friends at the moment, but I'd like to pursue that further. I get the impression that she does as well.
"David, this can't go on," Sir Frandall says, sitting on the table opposite me.
"What can't?" I ask, making sure I know what we're talking about before we continue.
"These daydreams, the way you zone out randomly. Do you notice when you do it?"
"No, I dont't," I reply slowly, wondering where he's going with this. Don't most kids do that? I always see people getting told off for it in class. Do they know they do it?
"You don't even realize when you do it?" I shake my head. "Do you remember anything that happens while you're... 'out'?" Shake my head again. He sighs. "If this happens one more time, you know what I'm going to have to do?"
"Find a way to keep me focused?" I guessed. An image of all the torture and punishment devices I've seen flash through my mind. Great. What would I do if he put me in something like a girdle? Embarrassment much.
He shakes his head. "I'll need to take you to see a professional."
"Doctor Cranlough?"
"No. Somebody higher."
"Erm... Madam Rouge?" Madam Rouge is the head of the orphanage, a plump, kindly old woman. She set it all up from scratch, having the building made on a spare space just outside the Keep's walls.
"Wrong again."
"Who then, Sir?"
"I'm going to take you to see Lord Kretchmer."
No! He can't do that! Most people who go to see Kretchmer don't come back, and the rumors surrounding him... I nearly shiver at the thought. "Why, Sir? Can't we just ignore it, pretend it doesn't happen?" I plead, not wanting at all to go see Lord Kretchmer.
He shakes his head. "No. This is serious. These... 'episodes' of yours are not normal. We need to have you looked at, see if we can find out what causes it. Lord Kretchmer is the only person we can afford who is a professional when it comes to these things. This isn't something we can just leave, David."
I sigh, looking away. I know he's right, but it doesn't make it any less foreboding. "Fine. I guess I have no choice."
He stands, patting me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about having to do this, but it's for your own good."
"I know, Sir."
He looks like he's about to say something else, but thinks better of it, walking away. I follow his lead, heading back to my dorm room for my free period. All the boys share a dorm, as do the girls, but most people only ever use them when they sleep. I go there for peace and quiet, to have some time to myself. Living with other kids takes it toll on you eventually. I'd been in the orphanage my whole life. I don't know any life other than this one. Most kids come and go regularly, none that I knew of staying for more than ten years. I'm the oldest one here, and the most experienced with the way the place was run. I knew all the teachers and staff that stayed here, and even the travelling ones that came and went on an irregular basis. I was like a teacher myself to the younger ones, the kids that hadn't been here that long, even ones that had.
I flop down on my bed, putting my hands behind my head and staring up at the underside of the bed above me. All of the beds are bunks. I've had the same bed the whole time, right in the far corner of the large but cramped room. I close my eyes, and drift off.

"David."
"Mm."
"David?"
"Mmm..."
"Get up before I eat your serve, you great loaf."
"Dude, you're crazy," I mumble, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I'd know Kirk's voice anywhere. He smiles, helping me up. "Is it dinner already?"
"Yeah. And if you don't hurry, they wont let us in.You're lucky I knew you were in here." He turns and starts to storm out, and I follow.
"I didn't think I'd been asleep that long," I muse, looking out the large windows of the main hallway to check the time. Crap, he was right. It was already around seven-ish at night, the sun just drooping over the horizon.
"Well you were. Now hurry up!" He punches me playfully in the arm, then bolts, running down the hallway. I laugh, chasing after him, taking it slow. I could easily outrun him, but I like to pretend I'm not that athletic. Jealousy isn't something I want aimed at me.
We make it to the mess hall just in time, Madam Bethanie scolding us as she gives us our serves. Kirk and I sit at a table with Amelie, Jordan, Lochie, Melina and Bruce. All of us are among the oldest here, and have all been here a while. Kirk came in when I was six, Amelie when I was eight, Jordan and Lochie (otherwise known as 'the twins') when I was nine, and Bruce and Melina when I was eleven. We're all pretty close friends, and the guys often compete with each other in physical classes.
After that I have a history class, the last lesson of the day (thankfully). I pay close attention so I don't zone out or whatever, but this class is just so boring. We hardly ever learn anything useful in history classes. Unless you want to be a Historian or Scribe to something like that, this class is pretty much useless.
I'm not sure what I want to be. We ophans often get good professions because of our strict education while we're at Madam Rouge's, so I can pick practically whatever I want. Blacksmith, Chef, Scribe, Battlemaster, Knight, even a Baron if I try hard enough. But I don't know what I want to do. I'd like to travel, see the world, but to do that I'd have to be a Knight or a Messenger, which I don't really want to do. I guess it'll come to me in time. But my eighteenth is coming up soon, and I have no choice but to get a job after that -Madam Rouge never keeps anybody older than sixteen at most, but considering how long I'd been here, she made an exception of two years for me.
We have an hour or so spare time after that, but again I just go back to the dorms. A few other boys are there, including Jordan and Lochie. The twins say hi (at exactly the same time) as I go past, and I give them a wave on my way. I sit on my bed, reaching under it to pull out the book I'm in the middle of reading, opening it to the page I was on when I last sat down to read. All of the kids here are taught to read and write, which is a good thing. Where would I be without books? Most people thought I was 'nerdy' because I read so many books, but now all of the kids who'd been here more than a year were used to the way I was. I was the senior here, so they didn't really question me much about these sorts of things.

Waking up with a book on your face and an official yelling at the tops of his lungs isn't the best kind of morning. I remove the book, checking the page number before I close it, sticking it under my bed again before I change and get my things together for my first class. Leaving my books in a neat pile on my bed, I head down to the mess hall for the first meal of the day, sitting with the same people I did last night, like I do every meal.
After that I head down to my first class, battle training. I'm not too fond of it -getting hit with a wooden sword over and over again while the Battlemaster is shouting tips and encouragement at you isn't my ideal day- but it's alright. I'm not too bad at it, either. The new kids always look at me and think that with my tall, lanky build they could easily best me, but I'm much stronger than I look.
Kirk and I are paired up in a fight. I take one of the sturdy wooden training swords from the barrel of them on my way into the ring, Kirk doing the same. I swing it experimentally, then hold it poised in my position on the south side of the ring, opposite him. He grins at me.
"Haven't done this in a while, have we?" he says brightly, clearly loving the fact he's going up against me. He and I have beeen rivals in battle training for some time now.
"Should be fun," I reply, grinning back.
"Steady... Go!" the Battlemaster shouts, and then Kirk's running at me, swinging his sword high over his head.
I leap to left, out of the way of his coming onslaught, bringing my sword around in an arc to hit him in the back. He grunts, whirling around and just managing to strike me in the shoulder. I stand back where he started, Kirk standing where I'd started. He charges again, this time swinging the sword out by his side. I begin to move to my right, then his arm jerks to the left. It's a feint, I realize. I duck under the sword, then swing my legs around to kick him in the thighs, knocking him to the ground. I jump up and run around, bringing my sword around and striking his head. He lets out a short cry of pain -the wood is pretty hard, and I hit him a bit harder than I intended- then gets back to his feet. We stand at opposite sides of the ring, both swords poised, both panting slightly, him moreso than me.
"I'm not going to lose to you, Dave. Not this time," he growls, smiling.
I chuckle. "Come on then. Slacking off?"
He laughs, then runs left in an arc. I follow his lead, running the same direction to stay the same distance from him. He jumps at me, flying through the air. I give a surprised shout, then leap towards him, taking a huge risk. If this was a real battle, I wouldn't have done it, but hey, I can be stupid here right? I fly only an inch or so above his sword, feeling the rush of air from his momentum as I go past. I somersault as I land, rolling in the dust of the ring, twilring around as I stand to face him. He turns around, a puzzled look on his face.
"How the hell did you...?"
I shrug. "When you've been doing this class as long as you can remember, you pick up a few things."
"Gah. You're so annoying sometimes," he growls, but I can tell by the grin on his face that he's joking.
"I know."
This time I go first, running at him, raising my sword over my head. He jumps to my left to get out of the way, and I swiftly change course to follow his move. He didn't expect that, and he falters, which is just enough for me. I whack his knuckles with my sword, and he drops his, the wood making a satisfying thump as it hits the dirt. I grab his arms and hold them in a lock behind his back, pressing the tip of my sword into the crook of his neck under his chin with my other hand. We both stop, panting hard, knowing I've won.
"Stop!" the Battlemaster calls, raising an arm as a signal. "Kirk has been defeated. David, release him."
I let him go, and he laughs, turning to face me. I smile at him as we shake hands in the formal manner, then we turn to leave the ring, putting our swords back. Two others enter the ring next, and Kirk comes to chat with me while we watch, cheering them on.
"Thought you said you were going to win?" I chide jokingly. He playfully punches me in the shoulder.
"You're such an ass," he laughs.
"Not as much as you."
"Yeah right!"
We both laugh, getting into a little play fight. Good fun other than the few bruises we both recieve on top of those we got in the sword fight.
Literature class isn't anywhere near as fun. We just learn more about the use if proper grammar, which I've already learnt several times over. Sir Frandall takes this class as well as Classics, so I'm familiar with the way he teaches. He mainly lets me do my own thing during the classes I've already done several times, as long as it looks like I'm working.
"David?" he says, leaning over my desk.
"Yes?"
"Again," he says simply, giving me a meaningful look before turning and pacing around the room to review the progress other kids are making. 'Again'? What did he mean by that?
"What was that about?" Bruce murmurs in my ear, and I shrug.
"I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out myself."
"Tell me when you do. I'm curious."
"Always," I chuckle in response.
I look around the room, taking note of everything. I often did this in my spare time. I'm really observant by nature, so I put that to use when I have nothing better to do. I glance out the window and see that the sun is a little higher in the sky than it should be. Why is that? Was my perception of time going out of whack? Or had I just-
I stop there, realizing what Sir Frandall had meant. I'd zoned out again, which is why it's later in the day than what I thought it would be. Dammit! How could I have let myself do that? Now he'd refer me to Lord Kretchmer. I am not looking forward to the end of class.
Sir Frandall keeps me in when class ends, like I expected him to. I sigh as I sit down on my desk, waiting for himto finish up with checking he has everybody's papers.
"Come with me," he says, getting up from his desk and heading to the door. I follow him silently, morosely. I so do not want to do this.
We stop outside Lord Kretchmer's office, the weak wooden door firmly shut. Frandall gives me a tiny, reassuring smile, then knocks on the door. He responds almost immediately, Lord Kretchmer's face meeting mine as he opens the door.
"David. Frandall," he says simply, nodding a greeting at us both. We nod back, and he lets us in. Sir Frandall sits in a chair on one side of his desk, and I sit in the one next to him, Kretchmer sitting on the other side.
"You know of his problem, yes?" Sir Frandall asks, and Lord Kretchmer nods.
"I do recall something of the sort, yes. I never really expected young David to be a sufferer of the abnormal, to be honest," he replied, his head having only a few traces of his once thick wispy grey hair, his thick glasses a prominent feature on his narrow, bony face. "I'd like to examine him, if I may?"
"If he agrees, it's fine." He directs this at me, clearly wanting me to make input.
I clear my throat, and nod. "Aye. It's fine, Sir."
"Very good. Take your shirt off, then."
I do as I'm told, removing my plain white linen shirt and hanging it over arm of the chair. Lord Kretchmer takes out a bunch of equipment I know as part of a Doctor's profession, laying it all on his desk. He pick up one and puts one end over his head, pressing the other against my bare chest.
"Explain these 'episodes' of yours to me," he says, as he moves the small metal thing around to different parts of my torso.
"I don't know much about them, Sir. All I do know is that it's been happening my whole life, but only when I'm not concentrating really hard. I don't realize I'm doing it, and don't remember anything between when it starts and when it ends. It's just... blank."
"So you recall nothing during these blank periods?"
"Aye."
"And you have no clue as to when it happens?"
"None at all, Sir."
"How often does it happen? Is it a regular basis?" He directs these questions at Sir Frandall.
"No. It has no regularity whatsoever. When he looks tired, it happens maybe two or three times a lesson, but when he's fully awake, once at most. Like he said, it doesn't happen if he's concentrating."
"Hm... Alright." He sits back, thinking carefully. "The only help I can offer right now is to keep him under close observation, maybe run a few tests. A month or so probation and I should be able to determine what it is. I have a few ideas, but I cannot be sure if they are correct unless we follow it through."
"Thank you, Kretchmer," Frandall says, standing up and formally bowing his head. "I will watch him closely and make record of my observations. Come, David."
I stand, quickly putting my shirt back on, give Lord Kretchmer a bow, then follow Sir Frandall out. That wasn't so bad, I guess. I was expecting something a lot worse than that. Sir Frandall takes me back to the dorm room, standing in the doorway when we get there. He looks... distant, almost, like his mind is occupied by something else.
"You're excused from your next class. I'll let Sir Roderic know."
"Er, thankyou, Sir," I reply, not really sure what to say to that.
He nods, then turns and walks away. I head over to my bed, sitting down on it. I sigh softly, feeling confused by all this, then take out my book.

One month passes between then and now, nothing important happening. I'm taken out of Sir Roderic's class by Sir Frandall, much to the surprise of Amelie and Jordan, who are both in that class. I hadn't even dropped the slightest hint to anybody about my little incidents, so nobody has any idea except Sir Frandall, Lord Kretchmer and myself. At least, that's what I thought until we walked straight past Lord Kretchmer's office.
"Where are we going?" I ask Sir Frandall.
"Somewhere... 'special'. You'll be surprised."
That was all he said as we made our way through the orphanage and out the front doors, for reasons I can't even begin to fathom. We walk through the town, attracting little attention, but we always stay close to the Keep's walls. I wonder why that is, but that wonder is short lived. We stop outside the huge drawbridge that provides entry into the Keep, a troupe of Imperial Guards standing by the entrance. Sir Frandall states his name, and they wave us through.
Through to the Keep! When I was young I always dreamed of being allowed inside the Keep, seeing the Baron or maybe even the King. I'd learnt by now that the chances of that were extremely minimal, but here I was, an insignificant orphan in the most important place in the castle. I can hardly hide my amazement at just how huge the reception hall is as we enter, the cavernous space echoing our footsteps as we walk through it. Frandall heads straight throught to the back, heading up a large flight of stairs, the polished wood covered in thick, lush red carpet, the handrails either side ornately carved and decorated. We keep going up numerous flights of stairs, each less amazing than the last, the corridors and halls becoming more dull and plain the higher we went.
We finally stop at the very top, an extremely mundane and surprisingly small room, the walls just plain stone. Sir Frandall walks over to the only door in the room, the polished, sturdy oak door set in the stone the only difference from the boring walls. Frandall pauses just outside the door, taking a deep breath. Raising a hand, he knocks, just once.
"Come in," comes a muffled voice from the other side of the door. He opens it, and I'm taken aback by what I see.
This is by far the most amazing room we've come across in the whole Keep, the walls lined with leather of the highest quality, bookcases against two of the walls and sets of drawers on a third, all of the furniture exquisite and extremely rare. In the centre of the room sits a huge, dark wooden desk, small animals carved into the sides of it. That must be the work of the best sculpter in the country, maybe even not from this country. Three cushioned and exquisite chairs sit around it, two on the side closest to the door.
And in the last chair, facing the door from its place on the other side of the desk, frowning over some paperwork that sat sprawled across the surface of the desk, was Baron Xavier Kryslier himself.
The Baron looks up, and his face lightens the slightest bit. "Ah, Frandall. And young David, I presume? Do sit down," he says, his voice ringing with authority, gesturing to the two chairs in front of him. We move forward and sit, Sir Frandall surprisingly casually. I perch tentatively on the edge of the chair, my mind racing. Why have I been brought to see the Baron? It can't be that serious can it? Only the highest and most important people got to see the Baron up close like this. The only way we commoners could ever get this personal with him was if he were getting executed, in front of the whole town. So what in hell was going on?
"My Lord, you summoned us?" Sir Frandall queries, adressing him formally.
He nods. "Aye, I did indeed." He pauses, shuffling through a few of the papers. I glimpse my name on one of them, in cursive handwriting, which sets me even more on edge. "David, put your hands up."
I immediately do so, not questioning his request. I give Sir Frandall a questioning glance, and he nods his head, as if to say 'just go along with it'. I look back at the Baron.
"You got that ring from your father, yes?" he asks, gesturing to the ring that sat around the middle finger of my right hand. The silver band is shaped like a dragon, curling around to hold its tail in its mouth, its wings tucked in tight against its body, sapphire eyes catching the light.
"Aye, M'Lord," I reply quietly.
"Have you ever wondered why he left if for you?"
"Uhm... Of course, My Lord. Is it not a natural thing to do?"
"That it is..." he muses, trailing off. He picks up a sheet of paper and begins to scan over it. "Have you heard the Legend of Keindreh?"
"My Lord! Surely you can't-"
"Hush, Frandall. Patience." Sir Frandall puffs up angrily, but stays quiet. "Now, David?"
"N-no, Sir, I haven't heard it."
He nods thoughtfully. "Frandall, if you would be so kind?"
"Yes, M'Lord." He turns to me, clearly reluctant to tell me whatever it is. "The Legend of Keindreh is a prophecy that was given by a seer around two hundred years ago. It states that a Savior will be chosen based on certain qualities. Often people -Nobles and peasants alike- have lied about having these qualities so they will gain fame and fortune, but none of it has ever really worked. This Savior would be found while the castle was in times of great danger. They would travel across the lands -without any real direction- to find the End."
"The End, Sir?" For something a 'Saviour' is supposed to find, it doesn't sound very pleasant.
"Yes. Nobody knows just what exactly the End is, but it's said that it will free us from danger." He pauses, looking around the room. His eyes catch something behind the Baron -a tapestry, hung on the wall. "See that? It was made by the seer who gave the Legend, a visual depiction of something to do with it."
I look at the tapestry, taking it all in. It shows a perspective view of the castle walls, and everything is pretty much normal. Aside from the huge, flying beasts roaming the skies around the castle. The flying things look sort of like dragons, ancient flying reptiles that humanity hasn't seen for more than half a century. The theory was that they'd all died out, but if that was true, why were they on the tapestry? There was one that looked a lot more feminine and powerful than the others, but it was mainly a silhouette, so I couldn't see it very well. What I could see, though, was somebody riding it, standing on its back, tall and thin with a mop of dark brown hair... Somebody that had uncanny resemblance to myself. But it was probably just a trick of the light, or maybe it's one of my distant relatives or something.
"That's just about all of it," Sir Frandall sighs, giving the Baron a meaningful look. He nods.
"Thank you. Notice anything odd about the tapestry?" the Baron asks me, linking his hands and putting them to his chin.
"The dragons?" I guess.
"No. Look on the dragons."
I realize, rather reluctantly, that he's talking about what I hoped he wouldn't. "That man, Sir, who is he?"
"Did Frandall tell you why he brought you here?"
"No, My Lord. I thought it was because..."
He shakes his head. "That is part of the reason, but there's something more."
"I still don't think we should tell him while he's so young," Sir Frandall puts in, clearly not happy.
"We cannot wait, my good friend. This is something we must tell him now. Who knows how long it could take? He's shown at around twenty, so if we send him now, that means two years at least."
"I know you're right, but that doesn't make it any easier for him."
"He's plenty old enough."
"Yes, but... He has no idea..."
"Which is why we're telling him now."
"...Fine. Go ahead."
"Thankyou." He takes a deep breath, then looks straight at me, his amber eyes meeting my deep blue ones.
"Do you know why you're here, David?" he asks, his tone low and serious.
"No, Sir," I reply softly, puzzled.
He smiles, the only time in my whole life I've even heard of him doing it let alone seeing it for myself. "You've been Chosen. David, you are the Saviour."