by Edun, Terah
Not that a fury could take a dragon in a fight. But the nasty bitches did have a tendency to harry, and the combination of their nuisance tactics and a heavy storm could spell death for even the best crew.
As the ship plowed through the waves, Vedaris suddenly heard an ominous crack. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but all of a sudden, the entire ship went topsy-turvy. It was already awhirl from the wind and waves, of course, but he would swear to his dying day that this time, it went airborne.
The last thing he remembered before the darkness hit was watching a surprised sailor’s face as he flew across the deck—a man who, strangely enough, reminded him of the fat and greedy baker’s son back in the city.
*****
He awoke to the chatter of voices nearby: a man and a woman, moving away from him. Slowly he began to regain feeling in his arms and his legs. By the gods, he ached. As he opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a room, not on a ship, and certainly not in the midst of a storm.
The healers were still speaking quietly on the other side of the room. He sat up— too quickly, as it turned out. The healers rushed over as he groaned. He struggled to rise; he had to get out of here. His legs felt weak and his head was spinning, but he didn’t care to entrust his health to Sahelian healers; he’d never had a good experience with any of them. As a child, the state-sponsored healers had tsked at his late magical development, and later on…well.
Assigned to expectant Sahelian mothers throughout pregnancy and delivery, each healer took a vested interest in his or her charges. The abilities of the child later in life reflected well upon the nourishment and clinical techniques designed by the healer during both pre- and post-natal periods. In his healers’ eyes, therefore, he had been a blemish upon their careers—until eventually his father had stopped allowing them in the house, and they had stopping calling on his family altogether.
On the streets, it was more a simple dislike for healers that pushed him and his acquaintances to avoid them. They were body grabbers, the lot of them, always wanting poor families and street kids for research for “the greater good of Sahelia.”
The woman reached him first. She was Human, thank the gods. “Calm down! Please, you’ll tear open your wounds—and your head can’t feel much better, either.”
“Where am I?” Vedaris demanded. “Which borough?…I demand you call my cousin the…”
Before he could finish that thought, the male healer, also human replied, “You’re in the Madrassa Healing Center.”
“Madrassa…w-wait, the Red Madrassa?” Vedaris sputtered.
The woman smiled; it looked good on her. “Yes, if you must call it that.”
Vedaris now knew she was an Initiate—they both were. “But…but I was on board a ship just past the Windswept Isles.”
The male healer frowned. “Are you sure?”
“His clothes…they were caked in sea salt,” the woman said thoughtfully. “It seems he speaks the truth.”
The healers frowned at each other, and then the male healer scowled at Vedaris. “We need to consult with our superiors.” He turned away without another word.
She lingered long enough to say, “Please wait here. We’ll have food brought for you, okay?”
Where the dreck am I going to go? Vedaris thought bitterly. I feel like gutter trash and I’m fifty miles inland from the nearest port. I don’t even know how I got here.
“Don’t worry.” the female healer replied, smiling again. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Vedaris looked at her queerly; he hadn’t said a word aloud. But then he remembered that Human healers were said to have the strangest powers…including mind healing, whatever that was. Well! If she thought she was going to spy on his thoughts, she had another thing coming!
With that thought, he promptly slumped over and fell back to sleep.
In the portalhouse:
A glow surrounded Sitara as she prepared to call up a waterway portal. She knew full well that connecting the damaged portals would exacerbate the burden on the already sorely tasked portal network. One more push might trigger a domino effect, closing and opening gates at random across the land.
She really didn’t care.
Just as her energy gathered to weave the two portals together—the blue of the water folding into the purple of the broken pathway in a seamless meld—she felt a tingle and then a sharp pain in her head. A crack of yellow, almost like lightning, sped toward her. She screamed in horror, and then knew nothing for quite some time.
When she woke her clothes were charred, her stomach burned, her memory was cloudy, and she lay on a gritty mountain ledge strewn with pebbles and rocks. Unsteadily, she got to her feet, putting one her hand to her waist, and stumbled to the edge. It was a long way down.
Well, she couldn’t stay up here. She didn’t know where she was, but she did know that she needed help, and fast. Just then, the earth at the lip of the ledge crumbled, and she tumbled headfirst onto a hidden path, landing in a slump in front of three travelers.
This time, she did not rise.
Sidimo:
As they stumbled through the gate, they looked up and around in surprise. The portalway trip had taken longer than expected. They had left Sandrin in darkest night; but here, wherever they were, the late morning sun shone high above.
“Hey!” Maride shouted. “I thought there were trees? The Genur portalway is supposed to be in a forest surrounded by tall redwoods!”
Sidimo suppressed a sigh. Yes, O Master of the Obvious, he thought. This, wherever they were, was surely not the Genur portalway. For one thing, this gateway was embedded in stone. Outer portalways were usually open to the air on all sides—freestanding steel ovals the width of three Humans and the height of a gryffn.
Secondly, they stood on rock and gravel with, yes, no trees in sight. A mountain was to their backs, with the gateway embedded in it. As Sidimo moved closer to the mountainside and trailed the raised edge of the portalway with his fingers, he thought, It’s almost as if it were carved from the mountain itself. Perhaps it had been.
The cliff they stood on, more of a goat path, wasn’t very wide. “So where are we?” Allorna demanded, as she walked forward to look over the cliff’s edge.
“Abbas,” muttered Sidimo as he traced the glyphs on the gate.
“Abbas!” exclaimed Maride. “I didn’t sign up for this!”
Allorna turned away from the mountain’s edge with obvious reluctance. The vista of sweeping valleys, distant blue peaks, and clean air was gorgeous, particularly after so long in the city of Sandrin. She said to Maride, “Clearly, something went wrong with your portalway.”
With a glance over his shoulder, Sidimo muttered, “I’ve heard rumors of recent fluctuations in their stability.”
“You know, that would have been good to know before I risked our lives!”
Sidimo ignored Maride’s latest bit of drama; his attention had already returned to the etched glyphs. He was fascinated by the question of how this portalway had come to be embedded in the mountainside, so far away from any kind of town or city with officials who could maintain an active gate.
“All right,” sighed Maride. “Let’s go back through…this time to Genur, yes?”
“No,” Sidimo replied.
“No?!”
He had the attention of both his companions now. “We can’t,” he said simply.
“Why not?” Allorna and Maride asked simultaneously, glancing sidelong at each other. Sidimo thought Allorna might have blushed.
“The glyphs…they’re in Ceralic,” he replied. “This means the portalway was built to be one-way only, and although the glyphs are faded, they appear to say Death to those who go back between.”
Maride, of course, began to mutter some choice words about idiots and portalways. Allorna grimaced as she recited the old nursery rhyme:
Check the portal before you go.
You never k
now. You never know.
If Ceralic, expect one-way.
If Gaeric, there and back that day.
She sighed. “Fine, let’s just find the nearest town with a portalway. We’ll regroup from there and make some decisions.”
“This is your master plan?” Maride cried. “Break me out of prison with a 1,000 shilling reward on my head, and casually stroll into the nearest village?”
“If we’re as far away from the city as Sidimo thinks we are, your warrant is the least of our problems,” responded Allorna.
As they started along the path, Sidimo grimaced, and hoped she was right.
They had no way of knowing if the alarm had been sounded just for Maride or for Allorna and Sidimo as well. If not, then no one would know they’d gone up the tower; and even if they’d been seen, it would take days to sort through the rubble for bodies. It would take another few days before gardis protocol expanded the search beyond Sandrin.
As they walked toward a bend in the mountain pathway and rounded the edge, little pebbles started pelting the ground before them—and suddenly it sounded like something much bigger was tumbling towards them.
Fortunately for them, the onslaught of earth eased with no more than a few hand-sized rocks, enough dust to fill a tavern, and a filthy body that landed at their feet.
Allorna rushed forward, Sidimo by her side. “Is it alive?” Maride asked from a safe distance. “Or better yet, make sure it’s dead!”
Allorna slung a dirty look at him while Sidimo checked for a pulse and injuries. Maride quickly interjected, “You know, because of the roaming dead and the like! Can’t be too careful these days!” while backpedaling to the turn of the bend.
“She’s alive, but badly injured,” Sidimo said as he picked her up. “We need to get her to a healer.”
Allorna, who had been crouched next to Sidimo, stood and was now staring off into the valley below. “And I know just the place,” she murmured, gazing at the white cinder path a few meters below that led to the Madrassa.
Chapter 4
Allorna:
Memories from a previous visit to the Madrassa headquarters with her father surfaced. They had been there to ensure the security of the various schools prior to Prince Sebastian’s enrollment. Of course, instead of trudging across the countryside, they had flown in on a gryffn guard directly to the school grounds. It had been a good way for her father to review the aerial defenses of the seacoast while flying en route from Sandrin.
The Prince would be joining classmates from all the kingdoms and races at the academy, which was famed for its schools of Healing, Politics, Research, Air, Fire, Earth, Water, and the Unknown.
As they trooped down the mountainside, it occurred to Sidimo to question the path’s origin. With a tilt of his head as he searched the edge of the white thoroughfare for markers, he asked, “Allorna, you’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
Her stance was sure and her gait was a fast clip. Even with the girl in his arms weighing him down, he could see that Allorna was almost eager to enter the citadel at the very base of the valley. “Yes,” she replied. “I was here with royal security in preparations for the arrival of the Prince. That town and the citadel to the east of it is the home of the Madrassa.”
Maride’s mouth widened to an “O” as he stumbled along behind them. “Seriously?” he whispered sotto voce. Naturally, he knew of the famed Citadel and the academy it housed, collectively known as the Madrassa—officially, at least. Most people knew it better as the Red Madrassa, given the magical accident a century ago that had tinted the leaves of the Citadel’s trees a brilliant red. Even the tree trunks were colored a deep, light-drinking maroon. Once, Maride had told Allorna that he had dreamed of studying there since he was eight, when he had stumbled upon a book in the family library that boasted of the academy’s efforts to be unencumbered by societal restrictions.
The day had waned into late afternoon before they finally reached the small township surrounding the Citadel. “Please, we need help for our companion!” shouted Allorna to townspeople walking past as she pointed at the girl in Sidimo’s arms. “Is there a healer or apprentice nearby?”
A young man with a horse and cart told her, “I’m picking up an order at the Madrassa. I’ll give you a lift to the healer’s shop.” Gratefully, the three companions hopped into the wagon with the injured girl.
As the cart exited the town to the east, they got a better view of the Madrassa. It stood on a low, flat-topped tor, slightly raised above the valley floor. Eight grand buildings, irregular in shape, towered above the many other facilities located on Citadel grounds. “Each of those towers,” said Maride as he looked up, with a grin stretching from ear-to-ear, “is dedicated to a sole school and its pupils.”
Sidimo:
Sidimo, who had yet to look up, continued to concentrate on the girl in his arms. He felt weak, almost dizzy; but to his senses, she looked no worse for wear, so he continued his vigil.
They took the unconscious girl to the Healers’ emergency headquarters, which (like all the other specialties) had an outpost in the central building dedicated to the intermingling of the Schools. After the Initiate Wars—and to some extent, because of them—the Citadel sought to demonstrate the usefulness of each School understanding all the other Schools’ crafts, in order to better serve their communities as a whole.
One example, which they later learned the Healing Headmaster was fond of repeating, emphasized that Healing could be augmented by Fire magic in some cases. If a burn victim came in, the healer could tend to the physical wounds and lacerated skin, while the Fire Initiate could draw away the pain and heat caused by the fire.
Sandcloth-garbed healers, Initiates, and Probates of the School of Healing quickly surrounded Sidimo, Allorna, and Maride as they entered the EHQ. They took the girl into another room and pulled the dividing cloth down, indicating that they expected the other youths to stay outside. She was still unconscious when the healers took care of the burns on her stomach and wrapped her waist in cloth laced with herbs.
As she lay on the table still unconscious, with a pupil attending to her dressings and the cuts on her face, a Probate came up to Allorna, Sidimo and Maride. “Oh my!” she said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry for your friend. It must have been a terrible journey for you to face the mountains alone.” She looked guilelessly from face to face.
“Yes. Yes it was,” said Allorna, a little warily.
“Yes, yes!” nodded the girl. “But never fear, you made it just in time. The admittance exams for this leap year are just about over!” When all three youths looked at her curiously, she said a little uncertainly, “You…did come for tests, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Maride said brightly, “The Admittance of Harthur!” Sidimo nodded thoughtfully. He remembered reading something about that. Every three years, the Madrassa was supposed to do a mid-year admissions round, to let new blood into each five-year cohort. “We’ve been looking forward to this for months!” Maride continued.
“Oh, good!” the healer replied. “I’ll just go fetch the Headmaster, then.”
Allorna and Sidimo turned to look at Maride. “The admittance tests are based on the feats of the homeless student Harthur,” he quickly explained. “Students are allowed to test for admittance once every three years outside of the normal recruitment by Initiates.”
A tall man came striding toward them; by the badges on his tunic, he was the Headmaster of the Healing School. He cut an imposing figure as he looked down his nose at the three youths standing before him, but the half-smile on his face helped ease their concern. He might have been anywhere from half a century to over a century old…and all the students knew better than to ask. The truth was that he was somewhere in between, with the healing knowledge and wisdom to prove it.
“I am Masadi, Headmaster of this School,” he greeted them warmly. His eyes settled on Allorna. “Young lady, can you explain how you came to be here?”
“Headmaster, it’s true that we’re a long way from home, but we came after hearing of the admissions opportunity.” She was lying through her teeth, but it was better than the alternative. “We’d like to test for placements in the Schools. If you’d allow it.”
“My dear,” Headmaster Masadi responded, “The decision is not solely up to me. You must appear before the councils, and the four of you must show aptitude in one of the Schools. We are already on the last two days of the tests, and halfway through the school year. Most of those who are testing are doing so for Probate status.”
This time Sidimo interjected, “We came through Genur portalway…surely an exception can be made?”
Masadi’s gray eyes flicked to Sidimo’s, and Sidimo thought he saw a little surprise there. “Entrance through Genur is no guarantee of admission,” he said evenly. “Merely a commitment to be assessed.”
“That’s all we ask,” Sidimo countered.
“Very well, then. I will speak with my fellow headmasters. Be prepared to give testimony and undergo testing in the morning. In the meantime, partake in dinner and a restful night’s sleep.” He waved over a young healing Probate, whose bright blonde hair was knotted in a bun.”Candis, please take these candidates to Mesur dining hall and the attached guest wing for the night.”
With a beautiful smile, the Probate bowed to the Healing Headmaster, then nodded to the companions. “Come this way, please,” she said softly, turning toward an open archway leading outside. Glancing at each other, they followed. Sidimo took up the rear, as he paused long enough for one last look at the anonymous girl they had saved. She seemed to be fine—or at least, as well as could be expected.
Allorna:
They heard the bustle of the dining hall well before they entered. When they did, they found themselves among hundreds of students and Probates, who were milling around carrying trays and joining friends in booths along the walls, as well as at long tables in the center of the vast room.