The Seventh Mountain (23 page)

“Okay. I’ll fight you on top of that hill on
The Island. You swim across with me. That way I know it’s just you
and me.”

Slone’s arms dropped to his side. “Are you
kidding me? I saw that thing come out of the water.”

“What, no backbone? I’ve been in there and
I’m willing to go again.” Mark was smiling now. Slone wasn’t.

“Yeah, you go ahead. There’s a difference
between being stupid and being brave.”

“Suit yourself.”

Mark turned to Chenoa. “I really hate
letting him get away with that.”

LeOmi said, “You’re outnumbered at least
twelve to three right now.”

Mark looked at her with surprise. “The odds
are twelve to two or rather, six to one.”

Chenoa cut him off before he had a chance to
stick his foot all the way into his mouth.

“Mark, take a look at Slone’s face, then
look at Ricky Barns. She means what she said. She stood against
them.”

Slone was walking toward Ricky and his nose
was still bleeding. Mark saw Ricky over LeOmi’s shoulder. He was
walking with a limp and holding his side.

Mark looked at LeOmi. “You mean to tell me
that you beat up Slone and Ricky while they were throwing me in the
moat.”

“I wouldn’t say that I beat up Slone. I just
slap kicked him and punched him in the nose. He just stood there
until Ricky tackled me.” She folded her arms behind her back and
gave Mark a sly grin.

“I know I want you as a friend, not an
enemy.”

LeOmi cocked her head and bit her lower lip.
After a moment, she turned and started walking off. Mark heard her
say, “We’ll see.”

 
* *
* 

Tim was waiting with Jamal and Nick for Mark
and Chenoa to return. Mark tossed Nick and Jamal their blankets and
pillows.

Tim asked Mark, “Are you all right?”

Mark looked at Tim and nodded yes.

“Mrs. Shadowitz saw what happened. She was
watching from the balcony. She sent a runner to tell me and to have
me check on you.”

“I’m all right, Tim. I’m just a little
mad.”

“You might get madder. Mrs. Shadowitz has to
decide if that counts as a practical joke. If it fits the rules,
well… she will have to award points.”

Mark went about putting his stuff in his
tent. “I understand.”

“The good thing is if she considers it a
valid practical joke, she will probably change the rules to prevent
something like this from happening again. Practical jokes have to
be clever and funny. I do not think that his attack was clever or
funny, but that is not for me to decide.”

Chenoa put her hand on Tim’s arm. “I don’t
think you’re helping him, Tim. Tell me about that girl, LeOmi.”

“It is not proper for me to talk about
students to other students. I can tell you this. She has uncommon
courage and a great deal of confidence in her abilities.”

“I know. I saw her fight. That was
impressive.”

“I bet it was. I would like to have seen it
myself; especially what she did to Slone Voif.”

“You can’t tell us anything about Slone
either, can you?”

“No, not really. Just this, keep your eye on
him.”

“I already know that, too. I wouldn’t trust
him as far as I could spit.”

“Yeah, well… Oh yeah, I have your Festival
Brochures. Here you go.” He handed Chenoa four brochures from his
stack.

“Thanks.”

Tim nodded and walked off.

The group went to The Oasis. They found out
that The Oasis was closed during the festivities, unless it rained,
as were all shops. They walked around looking for a vending tent.
No vending tents had been set up yet, either. There was no place to
get anything to eat or drink. They decided to go back to their
tents and wait for a vending tent to open.

They got back and saw that Tim was there. He
was sitting cross-legged in front of a campfire that had been built
on the ground. There was a cartload of split wood that hadn’t been
there before.

Tim looked up and saw them coming back. “Ah,
glad to see you are back. I have some jerky here. Do you want
some?” He held out a little white paper bag and let them get some.
He was already chewing on a piece.

“I guess that you found out that The Oasis
is closed for the week. The vending tents will not be open until
after sunset. I hate not being able to eat when I want to. That is
why I stock up on munchies. I have a bunch of stuff. If you get too
hungry, just let me know. I will take care of you. Oh yeah, the
rest of my group of students should be joining us soon. You will
get to meet those that you have not met already.”

Mark sat down across from Tim. “Why the camp
fire? I mean, it’s pretty hot out here all ready.”

“Well, it is tradition. The counselors are
supposed to keep one going, for their group, for the entire
festival. They cannot let it go out.”

“It seems to me like counselors have a lot
to do. What, exactly, are counselors anyway?”

“Yeah, we have a lot to do, but it is not
hard. Counselors are like big brothers and sisters. They have
already been through everything that you are going to have to go
through. They help guide you through the tough parts. Oop, wait a
minute… I thought so. Cap’n Ben has been trying to tag me all
day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look over my shoulder at the second level
balcony. That is Cap’n Ben up there. Oop… got to go…”

Tim disappeared just before something hit
the tent behind Mark. The pop noise on the tent startled him. The
others had been startled, too. They got up and went to see what had
hit the tent. A marble-sized splat of red wax was stuck to the
canvas. Mark looked back to the second level balcony. He realized
that someone had shot the wax ball directly at Tim.

Tim reappeared right where he had been
before. “Well, that is over with.” He sat back down by the fire.
“Where was I? Oh yeah, counselors…”

The group sat back down across from Tim.

Mark asked, “What was that all about?”

“Just a game. I am worth a lot of points. I
have never been got. Every time someone tries to get me and fails,
my point value goes up one point. If they fail, they lose my point
value. I must be worth more than a thousand points by now. Cap’n
Ben is going to have to work real hard to make up that loss.”

“A game? What kind of game is it?”

“The game is called Assassins. Ms. Vanmie
oversees it. There are runners and stalkers. I’m always a runner. A
player asks for an assignment of a certain point value. Ms. Vanmie
picks a runner as close to that point value as she can. She then
gives a picture, not a name, of the runner to the player and
assigns a color. That makes a player a stalker. Any player can be
picked as a runner. The runner must be tagged with the color that
Ms. Vanmie assigns. The tag can be anything that marks the runner
in that color. A stalker has as long as it takes to mark their
runner. If a runner marks a stalker, in any color, then the stalker
loses. I like using a red felt tip marker. Cap’n Ben just found
that out.”

“Does a runner know that they are being
stalked?”

“No, they are not told in advance. But,
after you have played for a while, you can pick up on the
signs.”

“How is it that you have never been
tagged?”

“Well, I am good. I developed Rooack Mareh
early. Tactical sight was easy after that.” Tim wasn’t about to
tell anyone his real secret. He knew where Ms. Vanmie kept the
runner’s pictures. He just checked them every morning as a matter
of course. If his picture was missing, then he knew that he was
being stalked. Once he was sure that he was being stalked, he kept
his guard up.

“It sounds like fun. Can freshmen play?”

“Sure, everyone likes freshmen, they are
easy points. Just tell Ms. Vanmie.” Tim grinned at Mark.

The rest of Tim’s students arrived as a
group. They sat down facing Tim.

“Okay. I was just starting to tell Mark,
Nick, Chenoa and Jamal about counselors. Let me introduce everybody
and I will tell everyone.” Tim pointed out each student as he
called their name.

“This is Mark Young. I think all of you know
who he is by now. This is Chenoa Day… Jamal Terfa… Nick Poparov…
John Griffin… Sandy Peat…Vanessa Moore… Charles Kaufman… Tab
Freeman… Christopher MacDonald… Brian Savage… Ruth Sawyer… Dana
Dover… Rebecca West… Pam Westover… and this is Daniel
Forsythe.”

Tim ran through the names pretty fast.
Introductions were just an informal formality here, a part of
tradition, so to speak. After all, they all shared the same classes
and getting to know each other would either happen or it wouldn’t.
Mark would learn later that the formal introductions were both
long-winded and pompous, like a bullfrog puffing up its throat.

“I was asked about counselors. Counselors
are like big brothers and sisters. Everything that you are about to
go through, in the next eight years, counselors have already done.
There are going to be some tough spots. Counselors will help you
through them. It is like the saying, ‘Been there, done that, got
the tee shirt.’ Counselors have been there and done that. They want
to see you succeed too.

“Counselors do more than that though. Each
one of you, except Mark, is here, at The Seventh Mountain, because
I picked you. From the time that you were eight years old until you
were almost eleven years old, I have watched and studied you and a
bunch of others. You are here because you met the standards set by
this school in courage, intelligence, physical ability, thirst for
knowledge and knowledge of God. And make no mistake, those
standards are high. The Council of Elders agreed with every
selection that I made and you were then called to come to this
school and train as Magi, warriors of God.

“Counselors are also the ones who maintain
the contact with your families; counselors pick up and deliver the
mail. They transport families to and from school events. They make
special notifications when needed. The same counselor will stay
with a group of students for the whole eight years that they are
here.

“A counselor can be selected as an
instructor after they have finished their first tour. That tour is
fourteen years. That is one year of classroom study, two years in
field training, three years of observing potential students and
eight years as a counselor proper. I am hoping to be selected as an
instructor. Teachers are selected by the teacher that they are
going to replace. They almost always choose an instructor.”

Tim stood up. “If anybody is hungry, I have
a bunch of munchies.” He walked over to a tent and pulled back the
flap. The floor of the tent had large bags filled with bags of
chips, boxes of cookies, sandwich crackers and all kinds of snacks.
“Take what you want to, sparingly. Leave enough to share with
others. No telling who might show up hungry… including me. Make
sure that your trash finds its way to a proper trash
receptacle.”

After snacks, Mark, Chenoa, Jamal and Nick
looked at the brochures.

Chenoa pointed at the pamphlet. “Awesome,
tag, on horseback.”

Nick said, “Check it out, robot wars, too
cool.”

Jamal said, “I wonder what the endurance
contest is?”

Mark said, “I think I’ll watch the archery
and sword fighting contests. It says here that first day archery is
for all comers. Sword fighting is for freshmen only. Single combat
in the morning, teams in the afternoon.”

“You going to enter?” Jamal turned his
brochure to the page that Mark was reading.

“I don’t think so. I just want to
watch.”

“I might enter the endurance competition. It
says the first day is standing on one foot on a pole.”

“That could be tough.”

“Yeah, but you can’t catch a rabbit unless
you chase a rabbit.”

“Let me guess, your grandfather said
that?”

Jamal grinned. “Yep.”

Mark raised his voice a little. “You guys
want to meet back here for the air show?”

Nick asked, “What kind of air show?”

“Tomorrow is hot air balloons.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

Chenoa said, “Yeah, that’s okay.”

Jamal grinned. “If I’m not still standing on
a pole.”

 
* *
* 

The first night, sleeping on the ground, on
just a blanket, was uncomfortable at best. Mark tossed and turned
and dreamed of being in a dank, cold, stone prison with no hope of
escape. When he awoke, the sun was up, but he was chilled to the
bone. He remembered that Tim was keeping the campfire going. He
crawled out of the tent and made his way to the radiant warmth of
the fire. Tim was there eating some kind of pastry and drinking
from a mug of hot cocoa.

“Good morning, Mark. The latrine and showers
are over there.” Tim pointed toward the school.

“Thanks. I just need to warm up a bit. I got
kind of chilly last night.”

“Yeah, that is pretty common in a desert
climate. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just go and get some more
blankets.”

“Afraid that is against the rules. You can
only use what you bring with you on the first day.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It is not about fair. It is about
institution and training. You are supposed to make do with what you
have and what you know. You have your signet, right?”

“Yeah…”

“You will be all right then.”

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Well, this is a lesson in being prepared.
You never know what you are going to be up against. A good Magi
never gets too cold, too hungry, or too tired. Always keep stuff
with you that you can use, especially your ability to think
clearly.”

The friends met at the campfire after
completing their morning necessities. They decided that the first
order of business was to get breakfast and to get some more
blankets. The food tents weren’t hard to find. All they had to do
was to follow their noses. The aroma of breakfast beckoned through
the morning air, tantalizing their taste buds with promises of
delight. They split up, each searching, striving for that one thing
that their noses had zeroed in on. A few minutes later, they were
back together.