Page 74 of Harbinger

He drops back and sighs, wiping his mud-caked hands on his equally dirty pants. “I can’t remember what comes next.”

“Here. Let me show you.” I pick up another stick and drag it through the sodden dirt to form a half-decent G, then add an H.

He immediately copies it. His G loops backward, and the crossbar on his H slants. He grunts, his shoulders falling a little. “Mine don’t look like yours. I can’t do it.”

“It took me forever to get it right when I was learning.” If only I was making that up so he would feel better. “I had to go to school and use a pen. I wish I could have drawn in the mud.”

“Really?” He eyes me with a suspicion all children reserve for the claims of adults.

“Really. You’ll get it, too. Try again.”

He bites his lower lip and sets to work, eyes darting over to mine like he’s cheating off my test. The results are significantly less lopsided and facing the right direction. He looks up from his work at me for feedback. I give him a thumbs-up, and he beams.

I show him a few more letters, and he sets to work, concentrating on each like his life depends on it.

“Let me guess. You want to be a knight,” I say.

But he shakes his head and keeps working. “Nah, my sister says that if I learn all my letters and how to read the ancient tongue, I can be a vesper.”

“A vesper, huh? That’s better than a knight.” And a lot safer. “Do you like books?”

He lights up, nodding so hard I’m afraid his neck will snap. “My mother used to read to us. She said books can take you anywhere.” But then his face falls. “Do you think they can take you to the Stars?”

“The Stars?” My throat constricts. I guess that answers the question of what he’s doing here. “I suppose so.”

He smiles again, but this time it’s brittle. “Good,” he says, a slight quiver in his voice. “I want to see her again … but only after I learn how to read.”

“Well, then you’d better keep practicing.” I show him how to do another set of letters.

He works through a few more before he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Arden.” I spell it out in the mud with deliberate strokes. “Can you spell yours?”

“Yes!” He slumps forward, biting his lip in concentration as he works.

He manages to get most of a B drawn before a severe voice interrupts us. “Breccan, what did I tell you about bugging people? And look how filthy you are.” The female conscript who won the first sparring match drops to her knees beside him. Her red hair is still damp from the baths, but she doesn’t seem to care about getting dirty. She glances over at me. “I’m so sorry if he was bothering you.”

“He didn’t bother me at all,” I say, meaning it. “I was waiting for someone anyway.”

“I’m Shea.” She holds out a hand.

I start to take it before realizing mine is covered in dried mud. “Oh.” I brush it off before I shake hers. “Arden. I saw your fight earlier. Impressive.”

“Thanks,” she says with the air of someone who has long since forgotten how heavy a sword is. “I saw your fight, too.”

I shake my head. “That wasn’t a fight. It was public humiliation.”

But she laughs. “No one beats Sir Procrax, except Bishop.”

I don’t miss the reverence when she says Bishop’s name, like he’s more than a man or a commanding officer … like he’s a god.

“My sister is going to be a knight,” Breccan boasts, leaning against her.

She ruffles his hair. “And you are going to be a vesper.”

A pang hits me squarely in the chest. I push onto my feet, dusting off my pants. “I should find …” I stop short of calling the others my friends.

Shea stands up, too. “If you ever want someone to show you some moves, let me know.”