The Gifted Ones

         Before the School, everything was a series of perfect events that melded themselves so splendidly to form an attractive life that nearly everyone could be jealous of. I had anything I desired, and could act on a fleeting whim if it meant that I would gain some brief moment of happiness. My keepers lavished me with attention and praise, building my ego until I knew, with no doubt in my heart, that I could do no wrongs to this world. Ella, the eldest keeper that had been assigned to me, was especially doting. She was matronly, with her hair pulled back into a frazzled bun and her apron always firmly tied into a large bow just at the small of her back. She would send the lesser keepers into my study to bring me platefuls of freshly baked pastries and pitchers of frothy, chilled milk when I had my tutors present. She always said to pay them no mind, the constant stream of tutors that would present themselves to me in hopes that I might accept them and gain insight. Ella always said, in her matter-of-fact voice that I already knew everything they would try to teach me.

         It was her that first used that contemptible word to describe me, though never calling it to my face. She chose to relay her opinion of me to another of my keepers, Gregory. I overheard them one evening as I made my way from my wing of the home to the stately kitchen that rested on the lower floor; she was mending some of the younger children’s stockings as she spoke with him in hushed tones that carried too far in the silent home. “That Liam, he’s gifted and we must do right by him. That boy was left to our care while his unseemly parents cavorted across the world, and now that they’ve gone to their Maker, not a moment too soon for the boy mind you, we’ve got to do right by him. These tutors that the state supplies offer him no insight, no challenge. He needs to be with others like himself…” She went on to say, in her hushed tones, that an official had come from the state to offer me a place at their school where I would be challenged and my insights would be expanded. She continued, with her hushed voice as I stood on my toes as to not make a sound, that she had agreed and had signed over my life to the School.

         It was Gregory who first asked the question I most needed answered, when he asked Ella when I would leave and where it was I would be going. She spoke of my incarceration as though it were a joyous event, and she announced that I would leave within the week and that it was to a far off school that allowed for none of my keepers to follow. When Gregory began to state his dismay, with his clear voice roughened in concern, Ella dismissed him and forbade him to speak of it to anyone within the home, especially to me.

         It was at that moment that I knew without a doubt, that my doting Ella had sold me into a life of solitude, where I could trust no one and no one could trust me. Such is the case, I suppose, for those that are, as she called it, gifted.

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         When the week ended, I was picked up by a stately car and driven away from everything I had ever known. Gregory had packed my trunk with my most dignified clothing and my favorite books, had filled another, smaller bag with odds and ends that he believed I would find useful or that I would enjoy having with me. As I sat I the back seat of the silent car, I blessed his thoughtfulness and kindness in my hour of need. These little bits of my home would help me more than even the sharpest wit and wisdom.

         I was driven through winding mountains and long stretches of nothing but gravelly roads, unable to keep my focus long enough to retain the knowledge of how I would get home if ever I was granted freedom from this institution to which I was being sent.

         Hours had passed in a tense silence; my driver and temporary keeper exchanged only a handful of words with one another, and neither bothered to exchange any words with me. When we began to pull off of the main road and onto a pebbled drive, I felt the nervousness well up in my chest, threatening to escape and expose my fears for all to see. My keeper for the moment, balding and gruff, turned and glanced at me from the front seat. His hands, stained and calloused, passed over a paper-wrapped bundle that was wound with a simple piece of cording, but refrained from offering me any words.

         I was hesitant when I took the package, and I had to concentrate to get my hands to cease their trembling. When he turned back around and spoke in a low voice that was washed away by the car driving on pebbles, I untied my parcel and pulled back the wrapping. Everything spilled out in a tumble of clothing, covering my lap and the seat next to me with my new possessions. I looked through the heap carefully and began to pull out a raven-black pair of trousers and a pressed ivory shirt. I folded them carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles as they formed, before continuing onto the next of my new things. A suit coat that matched the trousers perfectly was next to be examined and then put aside in lieu of more exploration. Sleek black shoes, polished to the point of reflection, came next along with smooth leather gloves that wrapped perfectly to my hands. I admired my new clothing for a moment before I looked to the smaller package that lay waiting in the wrappings of the larger parcel. With a sigh, the cording was untied and the plain paper was folded back.

         When I gasped, my keeper glanced at me from the front seat and put a silent finger to his lips, commanding silence at my discovery. With a calming breath, I swallowed down any urge to question the contents of the package, choosing instead to run my fingertips lightly over the smooth, cool metal and the contrasting soft leather that formed a holster for the weapon that was still nestled into the paper.

         Somehow, I doubted that Ella had this in mind, when she signed the contract that bound me to this supposed school. Somehow, I knew that Gregory had been suspicious of her decisions and had tried to dissuade her from committing me to strangers’ tutelage. I knew, without a doubt, that had they been told that their then fifteen-year-old charge had been given a sleek, highly polish, government-grade firearm with his school uniform, that they would have demanded his return. At that moment, I knew that I would never see either of my former keepers again unless something went terrible wrong at the School.



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I had been in the School for three weeks; attending private meetings with a never-ending series of professionals that would question even the smallest of events before spending the evenings in a small study where I would be given instruction by a different instructor each night. The lessons were challenging at first, courses in Latin and advanced mathematics, in cultural etiquette and a half-dozen foreign languages of which I had only the most rudimentary knowledge. Such lessons were to be expected and I took them in stride, waiting for the instructional sessions that involved the strangest part of my school uniform.

         When my third week was coming to an end, I was summoned out of my private dormitory and received the instructions that I should present myself to the Masters waiting in the atrium. I smoothed my suit coat over my shirt and made sure that the holster and firearm were secure; I had received no instruction to the contrary regarding the etiquette of carrying the weapon within the bounds of the School, and until such instruction came, I was not to be found without it.

         I arrived at the atrium to find several older students waiting in the soft chairs that surrounded the low tables. Two of the students had their suit coats thrown over the backs of the chairs and from the main hallway I could see the embroidered crest on the lapels of their coats. This was the mark of an older student, the crest of a fraternal organization that denoted their areas of expertise, and I was told by one of the professionals who regularly saw me for private meetings that I would be advanced into one of these organizations as soon as I was caught up to speed, having begun later in the year than most.  This advancement would place me above those within my age group, but I was told in the strictest of confidence that I was expected to surpass those within my year within a few months of my arrival. I looked forward to the challenge that this would provide.

         The Masters that sat in the chairs turned when I cleared my throat softly, and by the first utterance they all were facing me, “Good evening, Masters. I was bade present myself to those waiting, and I hope I’ve not kept anyone needlessly.” I saw one of them, blonde hair slicked back from his forehead and his green eyes hidden by black frames, offer a nod of approval at my words.

         The blonde stood and took a few steps towards me, extending his hand in greeting, “Rowland. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liam.” When the formalities of introduction had been met, he offered a brief smile, “I’m to be your Mentor over the next few months while we determine which of our esteemed organizations would be best served by your admittance.” 

         I nodded at his words, and allowed my mild curiosity to speak for me, “That means, if I’ve read my Handbook properly, that I’ll report directly to you at start of day and you, in turn, will create my schedule, yes?”

         My Mentor, smiling in approval, nodded, “Absolutely. We begin tomorrow morning. Meet me on the firing range, five o’clock sharp. If you show me your natural gifts with your weapon, then we can contemplate breakfast for you. Is that understood?”

         I allowed myself a moment of private thought, selecting the words of my response with the utmost care. “Completely, Mentor. I will present myself, as directed, and shall engage in whatever training and testing you consider pertinent in ascertaining my future position within one of the School’s organizations. The Masters have selected a wise and dedicated Mentor to guide my actions, and I thank them for it.” I paused and watched as my simple flattery enticed the older students and put them at ease. “Now, if it pleases the assembled Masters, and specifically my Mentor, I wish to take my leave and begin to prepare myself for the rigorous training and class schedule I will undoubtedly begin in the morning.”

         When I received their blessing to retire, I offered a slight bow and returned back to my dormitory. As I changed out of my uniform, taking care to hang up the pants and the suit coat, I went through the details of the private meeting. Rowland was an unknown entity to me, and yet he was to be my Mentor; I knew that in order to thrive within the School, I would need to make my training with him an equal parlance of information.

         Without knowing the kind of man my Mentor was, I would have no hopes of knowing what sort of man the School hoped to turn me into.