Dashyl's Quest

The next morning, Fretly nudged Dashyl in the back at breakfast. He was whispering again. “Hey, I told Rathyra that I wanted to keep a dream journal and she said she didn’t think it was a good idea,” Fretly explained, glancing behind Dashyl’s head while he talked. “I asked her if I could just have some paper and she refused. I told her it was so we could play games, but she flatly refused. Weird, huh?”

“That is weird because she encouraged me to keep a journal and share it with her.” Dashyl squinted at Fretly.

Fretly squinted back and locked his gaze with Dashyl’s. He spoke even more hushed, “speaking of journals, I found something.”

“What,” Dashyl asked eagerly.

“A journal. Your father’s journal,” Fretly swallowed as he finished the sentence.

Dashyl stared at his companion. His face felt flush, his toes tingled. He hadn’t told Fretly about his father, and there’s no chance his companion could have known his would father have kept a journal.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Sheemyra, the curic who cooked breakfast, was suddenly standing behind them, a bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other, looking down her nose at them. "What," she growled again.

“Nothing,” they both snapped.

“Finish eating. Today is a big day. Today you begin your combat training,” Sheemyra revealed.

“Combat training,” Dashyl asked, shocked. “Why do we need to know that?”

“So you can survive on your own once you leave this place. You don’t want to end up here again, do you, wounded, almost dead,” she quizzed them. “The world is a dangerous place, as you have both experienced early in life. Don’t you want to feel confident in your ability to fight?”

“Makes sense to me. Do we get weapons,” Fretly asked.

“Not yet. For now, you will begin with hand-to-hand combat.”

“Wait,” Fretly nearly interrupted. “Who is going to train us in combat? You healers?” Fretly laughed and nudged Dashyl with his elbow.

Sheemyra narrowed her eyes and spoke sternly, “we are not only healers. Some of us specialize in combat moves and weapons.” The curic brought her spoon down with a loud thwack on the counter next to her. The boys jumped in their seats.

“Oh wow,” Dashyl said, impressed.

Sheemyra smirked and said, “now finish up and report to Kymla for your training.”

As the two trainees changed their clothes, Fretly whispered quickly to Dashyl, “I will give you the journal tonight before bed.”

Dashyl trembled a little. He didn’t know if it was from the excitement of learning to fight or from fear of what he would read in the pages written by his father.