by G. P. Ching
Theodor’s thin mustache shifted as he lifted a leather tome from the shelf. “Personally, I’ve always been a fan of the printed word. There’s a soul in every book, you know. The author creates a living thing in writing a story. It lives and breathes in our memories long after we’ve finished the tale.”
“It’s different seeing them on the shelf like this,” Finn said, although he wasn’t sure how a paperback had any more of a soul than any other type of book.
Theodor slammed the tome in his hands shut and returned it to the shelf. “Please forgive me for eavesdropping, but I overheard you tell Applegate about Paul’s infraction. I understand he was mauled by wolves.”
“You heard?” Finn felt a wave of nausea thinking about it and plunked down on the window seat.
“Word travels fast here. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Finn closed his eyes and rested his face in his hands. “I’m not sure I can handle this place.”
“Hmm.” Theodor leaned a shoulder next to a fat leather tome titled Necromancy, volume 1. “Perhaps I can help you with that.”
Finn stared at the man, images of Paul, the wolves, the blood, flooding his brain.
“You’ll forgive me for being presumptuous, but am I wrong to say that you enjoyed my demonstration yesterday afternoon?” Theodor asked.
“I enjoyed it very much,” Finn answered honestly.
“I was wondering if you might consider working with me after your regular classes. I can’t promise the extra lessons will mean a place as a magician, but perhaps there will be other… benefits.”
Theodor’s skin appeared waxy when the light fell directly on it. Finn waited for him to explain further. He didn’t.
“I-I’d like to learn magic.”
Theodor nodded slowly. “I thought so. Officially, it’s not allowed—magicians and enchanters are not supposed to mentor first-year students—but I sense you hold the predisposition.”
“About that, I thought students graduated this program after a year? How could anyone be eligible to train with you?”
He brushed the sleeve of his jacket. “Some choose to stay. All of the teachers here were once students.”
Finn remembered the others in the rafters of aerial and that Fuse had mentioned she used to be a student, but after what he’d seen today, he couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose to remain here longer than they had to.
“If we proceed, are you willing to keep our relationship a secret?” Theodor asked.
“Yes,” Finn said.
“Very well. Before I begin a mentoring relationship, I like to know my odds.” He reached into his pocket and produced a deck of cards. This deck was different from the one he’d used before: worn along the edges, with a set of black wings on the back. “Let’s ask the tarot if this is a good idea.”
“Tarot cards?” Finn scoffed. The idea that his future mentorship came down to a stack of cardboard and doodles made him feel even worse about his day.
Theodor stared down his nose at Finn. “We deal three cards. The first refers to your past preparation to study magic, the second, our present partnership, and the third, your future as an apprentice magician.” He shuffled. One card jumped from the stack and landed on the floor near their feet. Finn leaned over to retrieve it. When he sat back up, there was a table at the center of the alcove and Theodor was seated at it.
“Oh!”
“Magic.” Theodor shrugged. “What card do you have there, Finn?”
He flipped it over to find a picture of a man hanging by his foot.
“Ah, the hanged man. That is who you are, then.” Theodor laughed. “I am not surprised.”
“What does it mean?”
“The hanged man surrenders to his fate. You have given up on trying to control your own path and accepted that forces bigger than yourself are at work.” He split the deck into three piles. “Choose.”
Finn picked the pile in the middle. Theodor dealt three cards, side by side, on the table. He flipped the first.
“Knight of swords. In the past, you have been impulsive and unpredictable but loyal to the people you care for. You will be a fine apprentice if you are able to focus on your goals.” He held up a finger and looked Finn in the eye. “Beware of people around you who act inconsistently. They will be your undoing.”
“Um, okay.” Finn scratched behind his ear.
Theodor flipped the second card. “Ah! Eight of pentacles!” He clapped his hands, positively delighted. “You are ready to learn something new. Ha-ha! What a perfect card to represent the start of our relationship.”
Finn gazed at the drawing of a boy chiseling one of eight stars onto a disc and shrugged. If he said so.
“And finally, your future.” Theodor flipped the final card. At the sight of dogs howling at the moon, his smile faded and his chin dropped.
“What is it?” Finn asked. “It looks like—”
“The moon,” Theodor said.
Finn frowned. “What’s wrong with the moon?”
“This card represents illusions.”
“That’s good isn’t it, for a magician?”
“Sometimes the cards are unclear. The moon may indicate a deception or devious intent.” He frowned.
“Devious intent? Why would I intend to deceive you? You’re the best thing to happen to me today,” Finn said.
Theodor chuckled and brushed the cards into the deck. “Perhaps it is nothing more than a vision of your future as a master illusionist. As the hanged man, your natural tendency is to go with the flow. But beware of anyone who is known to have deceived you.”
“Sounds fair to me.” Finn shrugged. He didn’t take the cards seriously at all, but he hoped to say the right thing in order to receive the magic lessons. Not only did he think it would be cool to learn to conjure a table from thin air, but he suspected the relationship might provide him some protection. It would be worth it if Theodor could give him advice on navigating the demands of this crazy school.
Theodor stood and walked around the table. The images carved into the wooden shelves seemed to react to his shadow as he passed. The stars twinkled. The wands waved. The hats spun. Once his body swept through Finn’s line of vision, the table disappeared. Finn understood it had to be an optical illusion, but all he could say was, “Cool.”
“First assignment.” Theodor retrieved a book from the shelf and handed it to Finn. “Read this.”
From the yellowing cover, a young woman with raven-black hair and a dazzling smile stared back at him. Walking on Water: Making the Impossible Possible by Victoria Duvall.
“Is this by the Victoria Duvall, our headmistress?”
“Do you know anything about Victoria Duvall?”
“Only what I learned yesterday.”
Theodor gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “I believe you will find this book extremely enlightening, Finn. Even lifesaving.”
An odd thing to say. “I’ll read it.”
“Good.” Theodor lifted the book from Finn’s hands. “I’ll deliver it to your room for you. Now, you must hurry. You’ll be late for your next class.”
“But when do we start?”
Theodor handed Finn a card, a joker juggling three red balls. “Meet in this alcove when the balls drop. If there’s an incident like there was today, and you need my help, say my name over the card and I’ll come to you.”
Finn nodded.
“Now go. Hurry. If you’re late, there will be questions, repercussions.”
Finn hurried from the library, feeling more than a little off balance. This was up-close magic, impossible to explain and unsettling to witness. He was both excited and terrified to learn Theodor’s secrets: excited to perform the tricks, but terrified that knowing would ruin all sense of wonder at his abilities.
Regardless, as he pulled the schedule from his pocket and rushed toward a room called the armory for resilience class, he was glad to have something other than Paul to think about.
15
&nbs
p; Resilience
Hope paused on her way back from the gazebo, an icy prickle settling at the base of her neck. Ravenguard and Applegate were carrying a stretcher away from the menagerie area. Behind them, the grass was shiny red with blood. Wasn’t Finn in that class?
“Move along, Ms. Laudner,” Orelon said, his voice soft. His tone came across more empathetic than the words themselves.
She jogged into the school and breathed a sigh of relief to find Finn on the main stairwell. “Thank God you’re okay.” Her hand went to her heart. “I was coming from aerial when I saw Ravenguard and Applegate taking someone out on a stretcher from menagerie. Weren’t you in that class? What happened? There was so much blood.”
He looked distracted, like he didn’t recognize her for a moment or two. When he finally did, he scrubbed his bright blond hair with his hand and rubbed his eyes like he’d just woken up.
“It was Paul. I’ll tell you about it on the way to resilience. I don’t want to be late.”
Hope checked the map on the back of her schedule. “It says we’re in the armory. This way.” His feet fell in time with hers.
“When you took menagerie today, what animal was in the cage with you?” Finn asked her.
“Leopards. Why?”
“Mike had leopards too,” Finn whispered. “We had wolves. Rabid, red-eyed wolves.”
“Wolves?”
“When have you ever heard of a theater performance using trained wolves?”
“Never.”
“It was like Amuke did it on purpose,” Finn said. “Paul said he was afraid of dogs before he entered the cage and then, boom, we get wolves.”
Hope’s eyebrows sank and she shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. He couldn’t possibly change which animals he’d had in the woods, unless there’s an entire zoo out there.”
“How would you explain it?”
“You’re saying Amuke called the wolves into the cage after Paul said he was afraid of them, and then they attacked Paul?”
Finn rubbed his chin. “No. Not exactly. I think Amuke called the wolves to antagonize Paul, but they wouldn’t have attacked us if Paul hadn’t attacked them first.”
“What? Paul attacked the wolves?”
“Yes. He snapped one’s neck. The rest retaliated.”
Hope’s eyes flashed toward the ceiling. “Forgive me for blaming the victim, but what a moron! Who is dumb enough to attack a pack of wolves?”
“I can’t argue. But, Hope, when I told Applegate, she seemed completely unconcerned. She even smiled a little.”
“Smiled?”
“It was odd. It gave me a bad feeling.”
“They must have taken him to a hospital. There was so much blood.”
Finn shrugged. “She said she’d handle it.”
“The way she handled Amanda?” Hope snorted. “There was something bizarre about that girl at lunch today. It was almost like she was possessed.” They’d arrived at a door labeled “Armory” and Hope held it open for Finn.
“It’s about time,” Kirsa yelled from somewhere down below. “Get your asses down here!”
Although the room was described as an armory, it reminded Hope of an ultimate fighting pit. They had arrived on a second-floor platform that circled a sunken training ring. Every type of medieval weapon Hope could think of hung on the walls. Knives, tridents, chains, scythes, spears. The ceiling was a pulley system of concrete blocks and sandbags. No guns, but Hope wondered if they would work here anyway, considering the strange electromagnetic properties of the island.
Hope hurried down a flight of metal stairs. She hated to think what all the weapons were for, although she didn’t have to guess at the purpose of the wooden wheel at the center of the room. Kirsa pried a throwing knife from its belly.
“Welcome to resilience. I’m Ms. Hildburg, and I am here to make you stronger.” She paced in front of them, eyeing Hope like she was of particular interest. “Hope, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I think you should go first. Let’s see what you’re made of.” She slapped the wheel.
“Why her?” Finn asked.
Hope wondered why Finn said anything. It was obvious he didn’t want to go first. Maybe he felt sorry for her. Hell, Hope felt sorry for herself. The way Ms. Hildburg looked at her was like she’d found a new plaything, a cat toying with a mouse.
Kirsa placed her fists on her hips. “Does Hope look like the kind of girl who needs a boy to save her?”
“No,” Finn said. “Maybe I just want to go first.”
“I’m glad you agree, and sorry, but I’ve made my choice.” Kirsa took Hope by the elbow and coaxed her toward the wheel.
This was the class Hope was most worried about. As a Soulkeeper, she was naturally more resilient than most humans, but making that too obvious could have dire repercussions. As she stepped up on the small ridge and placed her back against the wood, she focused her mind on appearing normal. One at a time, Kirsa strapped her wrists into place, then her ankles, tightening the leather buckles until Hope winced. No matter how much it hurt, she must not wrench her arms free from the cuffs, or move too quickly to avoid the blades.
“We always start on the wheel,” Kirsa said. “It’s an old trick, too cliché for a real performance, but it serves a valuable purpose.” She selected three knives from the rack and backed away from Hope. “The restraints force you to absorb the full impact. Without them, you might jerk or twist to avoid the cut.”
“How can she absorb the impact?” Finn asked. “You have a knife. You’re talking about stabbing her.”
“Change is only possible when the body is stressed.”
“They keep telling us that.”
“Because it’s true.” She approached Finn and tapped the point of the knife on his chin. “A cut here, a slice there, and the body adapts. Your skin gets thicker. Your muscles become more resilient.”
“It’s okay, Finn. Don’t get in trouble because of me,” Hope said softly.
Finn shook his head, his face reddening. Hope’s impression of Finn was that he was not the type of kid who usually took a stand. In fact, he struck her as someone who often flew under the radar, used his small stature and underestimated wit to get what he wanted. So, she was surprised when her new roommate pushed back.
“You can’t become resilient to a steel blade. It’s impossible,” Finn said through his teeth.
Kirsa snorted. “If you believe that, you haven’t been paying attention. Your friend here has already begun to change.” She pointed her knife at Hope. No… No… Hope cringed against the wheel, her eyes darting between Kirsa and Finn. Had Kirsa noticed something already?
“What are you talking about?” Finn asked.
Kirsa closed in until Hope could feel her breath on her face. “The way you walked down those old metal steps was incredible. I heard every step Finn took, but not you. Your steps were silent. And fast. Faster than normal for someone who’s only been here a day. I have a feeling that you are one of the special ones.”
Hope shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kirsa lifted one corner of her mouth and shrugged a hypermuscular shoulder. “We’ll see about that.” Approaching the wheel, she grabbed the edge and with a downward sweep of her body, sent Hope spinning.
Hope closed her eyes and focused her mind, trying her best to tolerate the repeated rotations. The first knife flew from Kirsa’s hand. Hope heard it sing through the air, her heightened senses projecting its trajectory in a split second. She shifted slightly and it sank into the wheel a finger’s width from her bottom rib.
Finn exhaled in relief.
“Missed,” Kirsa said. “Can’t win them all.” Another knife flew from Kirsa’s hand.
Hope sensed this one too and shifted, but Kirsa’s aim was at the center of her body, and there was only so far she could move within the restraints. The blade sliced into her abdomen to the left of her belly button. The pain was sudde
n and intense. She screamed, warm blood spreading across her stomach from the force of the spinning.
She heard the shuffle of footsteps.
“You’re wasting valuable class time, Finn,” Kirsa said.
Hope opened her eyes to find Finn trying to stop the wheel. The wood grazed his fingertips until the friction slowed her spinning. Kirsa didn’t stop him. In fact, she lowered her knife with a huff.
“She’s hurt. She needs a doctor.”
Hope tried to meet Finn’s eyes, but he was too absorbed in her stab wound. “Finn…”
Kirsa waved a hand dismissively and moved for a bundle of healing supplies strapped to the wall. “She doesn’t need a doctor. I’ll fix her up.”
Finn didn’t seem to hear either of them. He grabbed the hilt of the blade.
“Don’t pull it out,” Kirsa said flatly. “She’ll bleed more.”
But Finn wasn’t listening. He seemed almost in a trance as he yanked the knife easily from her flesh. A spurt of blood followed the blade. Finn pressed his hands against the wound.
“I told you not to pull it out!” Kirsa yelled. She approached with the kit, shoving Finn away. But she broke into laughter when she inspected the wound. “Hot damn.”
Poor Finn staggered back in confusion. Hope wanted to say something, wanted to explain why her abdomen was completely healed, but she had to play along. She had to act as surprised as he was.
“See?” Kirsa said to Finn. “I can always spot the ones who can adapt. You think that’s something? Watch this.” She stabbed Hope in the chest, right above her bottom rib.
Hope’s mouth gaped in a silent scream. Healer or not, a knife to the chest hurt. The pain reverberated through her lungs.
Finn paled and held his hands out to her, helpless and no doubt thinking she was about to die. With what he’d been through with Paul earlier, she hated to put him through this, but there was nothing she could do.
Hope coughed, then gagged, blood splattering across her bottom lip. The knife slid out again, followed by another splash of blood that stained more of her uniform. She tried to stop it, to hold back her power and keep her secret, but the wound stitched itself closed. When it was entirely healed, Hope let out a deep breath of relief before promptly turning her head and hurling vomit over her shoulder.