Javad paid little attention to the rest of his normal life. The next season passed quickly, as the purpose of his life was focused on his trips every ten days. And eventually found a way to make his visits once a week. He told his father he was becoming an acolyte of Inferno. The man barely responded to this news. Even more than before, he and the man were basically strangers. His mother was a little more thankful for this choice, but she couldn't afford to pay too much attention to him. He had a large, busy family, and everyone worked hard.

Summer passed into the end of the harvest season. He and Shora could converse well now. It was funny to him. He'd probably spoken more words to the orcish girl than his own parents. He told her of his plans to become a knight. Telling her of the grand city of Imperial Qismat. Sandstone streets and buildings of a color almost like gold. Multiple palaces topped with gigantic domes and flanked by tall spires.

"You should see our city too!" Shora exclaimed. "Under a mountain. Very big. A great cavern. Filled with-"

"Shora!" Uzgar stomped forward, more aggressive than Javad had ever seen him. But the tall orc halted when he reached her, and crouched down to her level, his face close to hers. "Our mountain city is a secret. It must remain that way. Haven't I told you?"

She frowned at him and finally nodded. "Javad told of his great city. We have one too."

Uzgar nodded at this. "It is a great city. It survived the war because it was a secret. No human can know too much. Not even Javad. I will stop him visiting if you tell him more."

"We never see it. Why, brother? You care about the place."

"Because neighbors didn't like me. And I didn't like them. I wanted peace, open skies."

"Was it the smell of the mushrooms?" she asked.

Uzgar shivered. "That wasn't all of it."

Javad couldn't help but smirk at the tall orc's discomfort. Uzgar usually kept his feelings to himself, watching them like a statue most times, sharpening his cleaver when he was doing anything at all. He wondered how sharp any one weapon needed to be.

Her brother finally left, and Shora turned back to Javad. "I can't tell you about the city."

"And I won't ask you about it. I'd like to keep coming here."

"Me too!" She grinned. "Tell me more of your big city. So many people together. What do they do?"

"With so many people, there are many more jobs than my small village has. Most in my village are farmers and laborers. A couple of craftsmen, but only basic tools. In the city, we have teachers of all kinds."

"Like me! What do they teach?"

"Some teach about war. Others know how to build the sandstone buildings. Expert blacksmiths live in the city, capable of making deadly weapons, strong and sharp. Some teach how to read and write." He expected her to latch onto the part about deadly weapons.

"What is writing?"

"Marks on paper or a tablet. They represent words. If you see the marks, you can hear the voice of the one who made them in your head."

"Show me. You must know these marks."

He took a sharp stick and carved a few words into the hard surface of the hill. "These marks represent my name. If you see marks like this, it means Javad."

"Carve my name!" she declared in excitement. "I want the hill to speak my name. Uzgar too."

Javad immediately felt inadequate. He only knew how to write his name because he'd pestered one of the few educated people in his village about it. "I don't know many words. I'd have to go somewhere to learn. It takes years."

"You want to be a warrior for your chiefs," she said. "They live in your big city. Can they write and read?"

"Yes. A nobleman will know how to read and write."

"Lucky you'd just fight," she said. "Leave writing to nobles."

"I guess so." But she put a voice to the fear that had nagged at him for many nights. He had hoped the elite warriors of the kingdom would be most trusted for strength and skill. It was logical enough. But he'd learned the Qismat Empire held their best man-at-arms to a high standard in all things. His lack of knowledge was an anchor against his goals. But how could a poor farmer's child even gain an education? Only scholars, priests, and their acolytes could read and write.

He didn't practice well with Shora that day. His mind was too distracted. When he returned home, he stared at the symbols for his name that he'd carved on the doorpost.

His mother, Vida, came up behind him. "If you can pass the entrance exam as an acolyte of Inferno, you'll be the second most educated person in this town, next to Sanem. I doubt most even know how to carve their own name, as you did."

He turned around and stared at her. Forgetting to say anything back, for she'd given him his answer. He'd lied to his parents about training to become an acolyte. But if the local Temple of Inferno accepted him, they'd give him all the education he ever needed, and more.

His mother tilted her head at him. Still waiting for his answer.

"Studying is hard work," he answered. "I'm going to make it happen though."

She nodded seriously at him. "Not such a little man, after all."

With that quick conversation settled, she returned to her work. Javad was left alone with his thoughts. He'd have to find every book in his town about reading. A new acolyte didn't have to know how to write, but they did have to read to attend classes. So he found the most educated person in town and offered himself up to her for any laborious task she needed. She was an elderly woman now and appreciated the help. In exchange, Sanem taught him to read, but it wasn't a simple task. Javad believed in the need for it, but found it tedious.

*

A year passed, with Javad split between his physical training with Shora and his lessons with Sanem. His parents didn't bother him as much, not even when he asked to reduce the chores he was doing. He told them it was to help him pass the test of the acolyte, and this time, he was telling the truth.

Shora complained. He needed to visit her more often to keep getting better. He told her about his plan. Even warned her he wouldn't be able to visit forever. She brushed it off. He couldn't afford to leave. He needed her.

It was a day like any other, until Sanem told him he was ready that evening. Those words would change the rest of his life. He'd have to leave home and travel to the Temple of Inferno, several days travel to the southwest. It was too far away for any visits to Shora's home. He'd warned her about this, but she'd never taken this seriously.

That night, after training, he told her about this decision. It was the first time he'd seen her cry. As he turned to go, she grabbed onto him firmly and pressed her lips against his cheek. Her stubby tusks left an imprint on his skin. Her brother saw it all, grabbed his blade in anger, and rushed at the boy.

Shora lunged into her brother with a desperate speed and strength. Faster than Javad had ever seen her move. A stream of curses poured out of Uzgar's mouth, but she held onto him tenaciously. Most orcish, but many in the Qismat language, for his benefit. "It was a mistake to allow the boy to come. He's poisoned your mind with his witchcraft."

Clamped around her brother's waist, both her legs wrapped around his like an embedded tick, Shora looked back to Javad. "Run Javad run!"

"What about you?" He asked as he turned to go.

Her brother refused to look at her, but didn't strike at her, despite her tenacious grip on him.

"Just go. Brother won't harm me."

It was enough; he ran.