by B N Miles
And so, as he dashed into the void-black wood, he did. Even in his exhausted, beat up and bloodied state, the darkness itself answered. He didn’t know what he was doing but his body did. He threw his arms out and the pitch black of the forest was covered in something more than shadow. The light from the stars and the moon was suddenly gone, the texture of the trees and the ground vanished, as if he were running through absolute nothingness.
There was a loud cracking sound, like split, rotting wood. Apelles called his name, but he didn’t answer. Sam couldn’t even see his hands in front of him, but it didn’t matter. The nothingness around him parted just enough for him to see a path of almost-midnight on the ground. He followed it.
He stopped running. That’s when he noticed the silence, as if the darkness not only sucked out the radiant energy in the world, but the mechanical energy as well. He lifted his hand and waved it across the air in front of him. Suddenly, he could see.
Everything was grey and muted, as if he were wearing a thin veil over his eyes. In the distance, he saw the thief. The man was reaching out tentatively, his palms searching for obstacles as he slid his feet across the ground. He was still inside of the nothingness. Sam was sure that he, himself, was as well. But somehow, his eyes were allowed to observe just enough light to make the world reappear. Maybe shadow had memory. Maybe it was part of him, inside of him, like millions of microscopic strands connected to his soul, stretching out and touching everything that he wanted to touch.
He could hear the sounds of the forest again as well, dim but there. Footsteps as quieted to taps. The girls shouting his name, the birds rustling in the trees.
Sam got closer to the thief until he could make out the details of his form. No, not a he; this one had a slim waist and breasts. She was clutching something to her chest. She had something on her back, something long and thin and encased in wood. A weapon, maybe.
The woman didn’t look up. She kept moving ever forward, searching desperately for a way out. Sam got within an arm’s length of her, circling her, studying her.
Suddenly, Mattie’s voice found his ear. A shriek quieted to a distant echo. She sounded frightened, maybe even hurt.
Sam didn’t even think about it, he just released his spell, his gaze swinging to the direction of the sound as the dark colors of the world snapped back into reality, like somebody had thrust a painting into his face. One moment, it was just him and the thief and the next, the girls were only yards away, holding hands and sprinting right for them.
The thief startled and took a step backward when Sam was suddenly in front of her. But just as Sam reached for her, she reached for him and brushed his arm.
Suddenly Sam was very, very nauseous. So nauseous that his stomach cramped and he doubled over. The thief darted past him. Mattie and Drina streaked past him as well, going for the girl. When the cramps subsided, Sam sucked in a lungful of air and became aware of Rosin’s hand rubbing soothing circles against his back.
One of the girls shouted and Sam bolted away from Rosin and toward the sound. Mattie was hugging a tree with one arm and panting, her other arm clutched around her middle.
“Rosin, help Mattie!” He shouted without looking back.
The thief was frozen in front of Drina, her back pressed against a tree. One of Drina’s knives was embedded in the wood directly behind her, the handle resting against her face. Drina herself was standing a leap away from the girl, poised to throw her other knife. All it would take was a snap of her wrist and the thief would have a knife buried in her face.
She clutched the package closer to her chest. It was wrapped in fabric, but it had the distinct shape of a thick tome. Maybe it was the Codex. Maybe it wasn’t. Didn't matter.
Sam unsheathed his sword. He could hear Mattie and Rosin shuffling toward him, around him, forming a triangle around the girl with Drina’s lifted knife as the point, caging the thief in. They closed in on her, an arm’s length away from her.
Nobody moved.
That is, until Mattie inched her foot underneath a large tree branch that happened to be next to her, kicked it up in the air, grabbed it with both hands, and swung as hard as she could at the girl's head.
Everything happened quickly after that.
The girl ducked then grabbed Mattie’s arm as it flew above her head. Drina’s knife shrieked through the air and impaled the tree where the girl’s head was not a second before. Mattie gasped and dropped the stick, holding her stomach with both hands.
“Sword!” Rosin shouted. Sam tossed it at her and she caught it before swinging it at the girl. Drina had pulled two more knives from spirits knew where and flew toward the thief.
The thief tossed the book to the ground and lifted her arm, bringing out the weapon that had been strapped to her back. It was a thin flail, sleek and slim and black. Expensive. That was seabone. Toxic metal from the Meeran sea. Sam could recognize the beautifully shaped white waves along the handle anywhere. There was no other metal that looked like marble, and he didn’t think that even the likes of Delcan could afford such a rare import from a country stamped with a trade embargo. She was Meeran nobility, and very high up.
The thief swung the flail and the thick, sleek chain flew toward Rosin’s head. Sam yelled and dashed toward them. Rosin bent backward just in time to avoid losing her nose. Drina shrieked and leaped for the girl’s back, both knives poised for an overhead sweep.
The thief didn’t even look at her as she grabbed Rosin and used her like a springboard. The thief sailed over Rosin and Drina crashed right into the petite blonde.
The thief was very good, better than the lot of them. There was no telling how old she was under that full black mask, but she had a few years of experience on them at the very least.
Mattie was laying on the ground, gagging like she needed to vomit but couldn’t. Drina had all but flattened Rosin, who was clutching at her belly and groaning. She scrambled up to go at the thief again, but the girl in black grabbed dropped her weapon just in time to grab both of her wrists.
Sam saw his chance. Drina doubled over and heaved, looking like she was going to get sick right on her opponent. The thief released her, but when she realized that Sam was close, it was already too late.
When he closed the distance between them, he gave no quarter and took no chances.
He leaped for the girl in black and wrapped his arms around her waist, taking her to the ground as he fell, smashing her chest with his shoulder even as bile rose in his throat.
The girl hissed and struggled with all of her might, kicking out and screaming. She shoved both hands onto Sam’s chest and he gagged, his dinner threatening to spew all over the ground. Let it. He would just puke all over her.
He pinned the girl's hands above her head and flipped her squirming onto her stomach. His vision blurred and he hunched over, spewing somewhere on the ground. He didn't let go.
Maddie stumbled toward them, her hand on her mouth and the deepest frown he'd ever seen on her face. When she kneeled down and reached for the black mask, the thief bucked wildly, but Sam pressed down on her with his full weight, throwing up a second time, his grip tightening on her hands.
Mattie pulled the material up and the thief tried to turn her head away, but Sam grabbed the back of her neck and kept her still. He almost let go out of surprise when Mattie pulled the hood off.
June.
“Figures,” Mattie muttered darkly.
“I’m coming!” Drina shouted from somewhere behind him. “Sorry! Guess my gag reflex isn’t as tough as I thought!”
She was joking even now, probably because she felt the Sam thing Sam was feeling. Relief. They’d finally caught the thief…well, one of them. Drina rounded them, shucking off her shirt and ripping into it in the process.
June had gone completely still. She looked beyond them, her mouth a thin line.
“I knew it was you,” Drina said conversationally. She balled up one of the strips from her shirt and bent down to shove it into June�
��s mouth. “I said to myself, ‘if June is crazy enough to like Delcan, she’s crazy enough to be involved in some national conspiracy. Good thing she’s shit at running.’”
June’s nostrils flared.
“Can you hurry up and do her hands?” Sam groaned, right before he puked again. June squealed and tried to wiggle away. When he recovered from the bout of heaving, he glanced at the little bit of sick in her hair.
“Well if you don't want me to throw up on you, June, stop using your talent. It's useless anyway. You lost. We know who you are, we saw your weapon.”
“Okay! I’m alright!” Rosin slowly sat up beside the tree and pushed herself to her feet before dragging herself to the tome that lay forgotten on the ground. She picked it up and pushed the cloth away from it, letting it drop to the ground.
“What is this?” She muttered, flipping it open. Her eyebrows jumped up her forehead, then the space between her brows dimpled, her face drawn in concentration. Her eyes moved from the book to June then back again.
“It’s a roster,” Rosin said, flipping the pages back and forth. “Of students, looks like. Decades of them.”
“Hey,” Sam said to nobody in particular. “Can one of you check on Apelles? I lost him when I went into the forest.”
“On it,” Drina said. She walked off, delving into the woods, calling Apelles’ name.
“Well, June,” Sam said, glancing down at her scowling face, “we might be here for a bit. Go ahead and get comfortable.”
28
Drina came back with a dazed-looking Apelles. The man had his arm slung across her shoulders and was leaning heavily on her. She apparently found him passed out. The voices of the other instructors and older students echoed through the forest, calling out their names. Sam didn’t realize how far they ran into the wilderness—the search party had looked for them for half an hour before Sam ever heard their voices.
Sam called to them for help, something he might have never done before coming here. When his call was immediately answered, he smiled to himself. It was a relief to be able to trust others, to be able to rely on them to help him when he needed it. He wasn’t alone anymore, as Apelles liked to remind him, and he was right.
A group of people materialized from the forest, their hands eagerly reaching to take away Sam’s burden. He was helped to his feet, slapped on the back, and thanked for his efforts. If he was less drained of energy, he might have smiled, but that darkness spell really took a toll on him. When he walked back to the campus, he dragged his feet. At least he wasn’t Apelles, who was only half-conscious and was carried like a bride.
Sam walked amongst the small crowd across the valley, under the Academy archway, and into the main quad. Mode was there, standing in front of the wide-open front doors, the torchlight glinting off his white hair.
The group that found Sam and his crew wordlessly dispersed. Mode didn’t acknowledge them as they passed him by, trailing into the school. He was, however, staring at Sam.
Right. He probably had some explaining to do.
Sam stopped in front of his headmaster, holding the roster tome out to the older man. When Mode took it, Sam folded his arms behind his back and squared his shoulders in the Varin resting stance.
Mode didn't say anything at first, and neither did Sam. He didn't know how to begin.
Suddenly, the frigid headmaster put a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam almost flinched and looked up at the headmaster, a growing sense of confusion and unease worming into his nerves. Mode didn’t strike him as the sort of man who freely touched people without a very good reason.
“You did well, Sam,” Mode said. He patted Sam’s shoulder then took his hand away.
He was taken aback that the headmaster knew his name at all, much less praised him. “Thank you, sir,” Sam said.
Mode’s eyes shifted to Sam’s shoulder and he cocked an eyebrow. Sam sensed somebody standing close behind him. Three somebodies.
“Headmaster Mode,” Mattie said. “May we take Sam to the infirmary?”
Mode nodded and stepped aside. Mattie grabbed his hand and led him past the headmaster. Sam let himself be led like an old animal, but before he got into the school proper, Mode called out to him.
“After you’re cleared with Miss Cher, I want you to sleep. Those bags under your eyes are horrendous, and you’re useless to me when you function at half capacity. After you sleep, report to my office.”
“Yes sir,” Sam muttered.
“We’ll make sure he gets rest,” Rosin chirped.
Mode studied Sam for a moment, his red eyes taking him in like he was studying a formula. Finally, he nodded, and Mattie tugged Sam into the dark, protective arms of the castle.
“It was Franklin, sir,” Apelles said in a flat monotone.
It had been a day since the incident, and Sam felt refreshed and alert after sixteen hours of sleep.
“Hm. Interesting,” Mode said. “Go on.”
“There isn't much to tell on my end,” Apelles said. “When Sam and I arrived at the administrative building, I saw two figures run into the woods. Sam took off after one, and I followed the other. The one I followed just so happened to be Franklin. He stopped running a few minutes into the chase and I suppose he thought that attacking me was the best course of action.”
“Hm. I suppose it was, given that he used his sleep talent on you and got away.”
“He's much quicker than I remembered,” Apelles said.
“That tends to happen when one when one's life is at stake, I suppose,” Mode said. The headmaster was leaning back in his huge chair, his pet vessar sitting on the floor with its massive black head resting in Mode’s lap. Its eyes were half closed, and it wouldn’t stop staring at Sam, who was ordered to sit silently on the couch and observe.
Apelles’ neutral face transformed into something slightly sheepish, yet still quite emotionless in Sam’s opinion. “Yes sir, that it does.”
“We can be grateful that neither he nor the girl escaped with anything important,” Mode said, his eyes flicking to Sam. “Samson, are you aware of what those thieves were trying to steal?”
Sam glanced at Apelles, who nodded at him and said, “You can tell him.”
“Yes sir,” Sam said. “I don’t know why, but it’s called the Creation Codex.”
Mode leaned back in his chair and stroked the smooth black scales atop the vessar’s head. “Not the Codex, no. I'm afraid that would be quite difficult for two people to steal.”
The vessar hissed. It was a deep, hungry sound.
“Do you know what the Codex does, Sam?”
“No sir.” But I wish somebody would tell me.
Mode’s eyes stayed locked on Sam as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thin book. He tossed it on his desk.
“Time to start educating yourself on the subject,” Mode said.
Sam shifted just enough to lean over and grab the small book. The cover was old and worn. There was no title or author.
“The Codex, thankfully, is the most heavily guarded item in the entire country,” Mode said.
The vessar hissed again, less menacing this time, as if he had an opinion on the matter.
Mode smiled at the huge creature, a little one, but a smile all the same. How somebody could smile at a beast like that was beyond Sam, but then again, Mode was petting the damn thing.
Mode’s smile disappeared and he focused on Sam again. “It took us several years to acquire it from Meera, and it will take them a few to inevitably steal it back from us.”
So they were…planning on Meera succeeding?
“I don't understand,” Sam said, looking from Mode to Apelles.
“No, you wouldn't,” Mode said, “but you will in time. I wouldn't normally tell a first-year student about this. In fact, most of the military is ignorant of the Codex. However, considering how involved you are already, and how involved you might be in the future, I see no harm in allowing you to learn. Starting with tha
t book. This is, of course, with the understanding that if you tell a soul, I’ll cut out your tongue and dissolve it and whomever you tell a vat of vessar venom.”
Sam didn’t like where this was going.
“Don't worry about it now, Sam.” Mode waved him off. “You're still only a boy. And you have much more training ahead of you before your country asks anything of you. But know that there is much more going on than you or anybody else is aware of. Hopefully, the things going on above your head will soon end.”
It was clear that Mode was going to remain vague on the subject. Sam looked at the unmarked book in his hands. “Understood, sir.”
“Good, now,” Mode’s voice brightened to something slightly less severe. “Apelles has told me about the project he assigned you. I don't suppose he thought anything would come of it, but here we are. You went above and beyond expectations, Samson, you and your friends. I expect great things from you in the future.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. His stomach flooded with warmth. Gregory Mode expected great things from him. He wouldn’t let his headmaster down.
“That is, if you can stop fighting with that boy…what was his name?”
“Delcan Capelli,” Apelles said.
“Ah, yes. From the noble line of…something or other.” Mode shook his head, picked up his quill from the inkpot, and scrawled something on one of the many documents scattered across his desk. “I hardly pay attention to the higher ranks. Most of their children don't even make it past the first-year preliminary exams. I don’t usually bother with names until they make it into the fourth year.”
Mode seemed to be talking himself, but Sam knew it was for his benefit. For a moment, the enigma of Gregory Mode cleared away for the image of a normal man with unpopular opinions and a utilitarian spirit. Sam was being allowed a glimpse of Mode’s humanity, something that probably only a few people saw.
Apelles cleared his throat. “Delcan is the one with the fire talent.”
Mode frowned mildly, then it cleared before he penned something else. “Oh yes, I remember now. How ironic that he and Sam don’t seem to get along.”