by Dante King
“You clever and lucky bastard,” Bradley breathed. “I’ve been on that list for ages and kept getting knocked back.”
“Well, you have one now, bud, so fuck the list,” I said.
“This is very generous, Justin,” Nigel said.
“Yeah, I’m trying to think what these other three could have done to deserve such a gift,” said Damien, grinning and indicating Bradley, Nigel, and Rick.
“Hmm,” I said, rubbing at my stubble in a parody of a deep thinker, “now that you mention it, Mr. Davis, you make a fine point.”
“Fuck you, Fire Mage,” Rick rumbled good-naturedly, giving Damien a shove that almost sent him into the swimming pool. The big Earth Elemental turned to me. “What was all the after-class stuff about, friend? Did you, ah, get any new spells?”
“By that,” Damien said, leaning in conspiratorially and dropping his voice to the level of someone who had been taught to whisper in a sawmill, “I think our subtle friend here is asking whether you and Madame Xel and/or Madame Scaleblade spent a little time bumping uglies.”
“Firstly, I’ll have you know that my ‘ugly’ is fucking good looking,” I said, “and I’d hazard a guess their uglies are goddamn works of art. Secondly, I have to be the bearer of bad news and tell you that there was no bumping of uglies. I didn’t even get to gently tap uglies with them. Nor see their uglies.”
“A crying shame,” Bradley said, sipping his drink. “What did they want to talk to you about then?”
I reached out, scooped Bradley’s drink out from under his nose, and leaned back in my chair.
“Hey, what the hell—” Bradley said.
I held up a finger. “I’m using your low-man status within the fraternity to steal your drink. Before you kick up a fuss, I’d like to draw your attention to the broomstick you are clutching in your other hand.”
Bradley glanced down. “Point well made, and taken.”
I sipped the drink. It was pretty good. Tasted a little bit like passionfruit which, considering the name, was a pleasant surprise.
“To answer your question,” I said, “I guess that they had a couple of bits of information that you might be interested in hearing—I know I was.” I took another sip of the all-white cocktail to lubricate the tonsils and then said, “Basically, Madame Scaleblade—or Odette, as she wants us to call her—told me that my dad’s spirit is in my staff.”
To illustrate my point, I summoned my vector and held it up.
“Your old man’s soul is in that staff, is that what you’re saying?” Damien asked.
“Correctamundo,” I said.
“That’s fucking pretty weird, bro,” Damien said.
“I concur,” said Nigel.
“My thoughts exactly,” I assured them. “Anyway, Odette reckons that if I can find the way to do it—a pretty big ‘if’ potentially, seeing as this staff looks very much just like a solid piece of crystal to me—I might be able to have a yarn with my father.”
There was a thoughtful silence that was punctuated only by the clink of ice against glass.
“Yeah, I don’t have any ideas how to help with that, friend.” Rick shook his head, setting his dreads to swaying like a collection of dancing snakes.
“To be honest, I would have been surprised if anyone did,” I said.
“Certainly something to think about, though,” Nigel said. “I shall dwell on it over tomorrow morning’s yoga session.”
“Great. Thanks, Nigel,” I said. “Also, Madame Xel told me why the Arcane Council takes such an interest in what Chaosbane and Mazirian gets up to. It’s because this place actually used to be a training facility for mages. Which mages you ask? Well, those who supported my parents before the Void War.”
Bradley let out a low whistle and gazed blankly out toward the pool.
I looked where he was gazing, then turned back to him. “Was the whistle in response to my revelation concerning the Academy’s history?” I asked. “Or at that water nymph’s captivating hourglass figure?”
Bradley ran a hand through his hair. “A little of both,” he said.
Damien smacked his lips as he finished his drink before he clapped his hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Mm, yes, all that’s very interesting,” he said. “Your dad’s soul potentially stuffed into a blinged out walking stick, our school having once been the place where the Twin Spirit Army trained its crack mages—yep, interesting, there’s no denying it. However,” and here Damien steepled his fingers and looked over the top of them, in the same way as M might regard James Bond when he’d done something particularly reckless and then disappeared off to some remote tropical island for a bit of a bender, “what in the world were you doing sitting with Arun fuckin’ Lightson in our potions tutorial?”
The eyes of the group swiveled to me as one.
“Well, in a nutshell, I was trying to bury the hatchet, I suppose,” I said.
“You should have tried burying the ingredient knife in him instead, friend,” said Rick sagely. “They are sharp and just the right length.”
“Not really what I meant, big fella,” I said.
“Or stuck his head in the cauldron,” Bradley suggested.
“Or just set him on fire,” Damien supplied helpfully.
“Right, yeah. But if we can put aside, for a moment at least, the poor decision I made in not brutally murdering Arun Lightson in a room full of witnesses, I have something else that might interest you half-wits,” I said evenly.
“What’s that then, Justin?” Nigel asked.
“This—and please save your exclamations of disbelief for after I’ve finished—is what,” I said. “I was chatting to Lightson, and he told me that his boys in Frat Douche had basically given him the flick—he’s dead to them, from what he told me. Anyway, I said to him that he could seek shelter within our frat’s walls if he needed to, but in return he would have to do something that would win the trust of not just me, but all of you as well.”
“Well, Justin,” said Nigel carefully, while the other boys choked and spluttered with disbelief at my words, “I hope that he offered to bring something fairly exceptional to the bartering table. Something along the lines of a genie that is in the habit of excreting gold bars and conjuring swimsuit models on a nightly basis, because—and I highly doubt that I am alone in this sentiment—I would rather self-circumcise with a rusted set of gardening shears than spend any more time than I must with that fellow.”
“Well said, friend,” rumbled Rick.
I held up my hands in a mollifying gesture. “Lads, lads,” I said, “I quite understand, but here’s the thing. He offered to help get us a poltergeist.”
That brought them up short. The noises of indignation and skepticism ceased.
“How?” Bradley asked carefully.
“He’s got a cousin,” I said. “He’s a Death Mage apparently. The only one in the Lightson family, who are all Holy Mages.”
Bradley nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I remember hearing about him when Arun and I were younger. The family didn’t talk about him much though. He was a bit of a fuck-up, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s what Arun said,” I affirmed.
“And he reckons that this cousin of his can be trusted to help us procure a poltergeist?” Nigel scoffed.
“That’s what he said,” I replied.
“But, you and Janet Thunderstone, you’re dating, aren’t you, friend?” Rick suddenly said in his base rumble.
“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” I said. “We are sleeping together on the reg though.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?” Rick asked.
I didn’t answer. I was going to need some time to mull that one over.
“What are you getting at, Mr. Hammersmith?” Nigel asked.
“Just, why does Justin not ask Idman Thunderstone to release a poltergeist?” Rick asked.
“I already have,” I said. “Janet’s old man basically told me that he can’t just go releasing poltergeists a
t the drop of a hat.”
“That makes sense, sadly,” Nigel said. “Poltergeists are outlawed magical entities of extreme power. Busting one out from behind bars is a high crime I imagine.”
“High crime?” I asked. “That sounds like the sort that is punished with the short drop and the sudden stop.”
“Hanging?” Nigel said, surprise coloring his voice. “That’s a bit uncouth, isn’t it? Very Earthling. No. Avalonia justice requires the prisoner to at least get a chance. He’s pitted against three sabertooths, with only his bare hands to defend himself.”
“Sounds fair,” I said in a deadpan voice.
Damien looked thoughtfully at his broomstick. “I hate Lightson as much as anyone else. . . . but, shit, if he can deliver a poltergeist… Is it worth rolling the dice with the motherfucker?”
“That,” I said, “is precisely the question.”
“It is hard to believe that a man whom you have helped tricking into having carnal relations with a pig isn’t going to be harboring some serious grudges,” Nigel said.
Another broody silence fell.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s just sweep that question to the back of our noodles for now. How about we go and take these new broomsticks for a spin, huh?”
This suggestion was met with a chorus of eager agreement from all of my fraternity brothers.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey, Nigel,” I said, “I just thought, do you even need one of these things, being a flying Wind Mage and all?”
“Why would I use up my own mana reserves and risk crashing to my doom when I’ve got one of the best broomsticks in the world at my fingertips?” Nigel asked me.
“Makes sense,” I replied. “I’m using similar reasoning for not casting my Flame Flight spell.”
The five of us moved a little way away from the bar, and anything else that we might potentially smash into on takeoff, and mounted up. Bradley and Nigel, having come from well-to-do magical families, had prior experience with flying broomsticks, but it was a totally new experience for Rick, Damien, and me.
“Now, the best advice I can give you is this, chaps,” Nigel said, once we had all thrown a leg over our brooms and were standing in a loose circle. “Broomsticks in general are intuitive magical objects. These Solarphine’s Sticks are bound to be even more finely tuned to a rider’s thoughts and movements. Now, they will channel mana out of you via your vector. The vector acts as a conduit of sorts, actually. It’s quite interesting, the way that—”
“Nigel,” I said, “I understand that you’re just trying to be helpful, but will you hurry the fuck up before winter descends.”
The others laughed.
“Right! Yes, sorry!” the halfling said. “Basically, they will drain mana from you, but at an extremely slow rate due to the special converters that are built into the broomsticks. Now, you ride them, simply, by imposing your will on them to accelerate or decelerate. Lean left and right to go left and right.Forward for down and back for up.”
“Sounds pretty straight forward,” I said. To be honest, as soon as Nigel had started explaining how to fly our brooms, I had immediately been visited by a memory from my childhood of playing Ace Combat on the PlayStation 2.
Thanks to being a child of the noughties and growing up with everyone’s favorite cupboard-dwelling wizard, part of me wanted to kick off from the ground to take off. Just before I did this though, I recalled what Nigel had said about using my vector to control the speed of the broomstick. I established the link with my crystal staff, which was always there now, humming away in the back of my head like elevator music, even when the staff itself had not been summoned. Then I pulled gently back on the neck of the broom handle and imagined taking off at the speed that you would if you were on a bicycle.
My broomstick wobbled into the air and began moving forward. It wasn’t the smooth ascension that I had been after, but at least I hadn’t crashed into anything. I slowed the broomstick with a thought and brought it around in a slow circle. It was, in a way, like riding a bike. The slower you moved the less maneuverable the broomstick was.
“Not bad for an Earthling,” Bradley said. He took off with enviable smoothness and hung about twelve feet in the air. He looked quite the picture up there, six feet higher than I was. His hair was as immaculate as usual, and his coat billowed nicely in a slight breeze. Edging my broom into drive, I maneuvered it upward and came to hang next to him in the air.
I had already had the experience of flying with my Flame Flight spell, but this was different. My spell caused my mana to drain at such a rapid rate that it felt like I would find myself plummeting to the ground at any moment. Riding the broomstick, however, never felt like I was flirting with sudden and gruesome death since it drained only a tiny amount of mana to keep me airborne.
“Come on, guys,” I said, suddenly chomping at the bit to start practising barrel-rolls and all the other fighter pilot tricks that I’d seen on Top Gun and Stealth. “Get your asses up here so we can start working on some fucking sweet-ass nicknames for each other.”
Damien managed to get up into the air first go, with about as much grace as I had.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he kept muttering, and I saw him run a hand down the handle of his broom as if he was trying to calm it somehow.
I laughed. “It’s weird isn’t it. Reminds me of a flying motocross bike, but you can also feel that the broomstick has some personality. Like a horse, sort of.”
Damien nodded, not taking his eyes from his broom as he hung, wobbling, in the air next to me. “Yeah. Like, your mind is telling you that you’re essentially riding something inanimate that you could use to sweep the floor, but then your gut tells you that you don’t want to speak ill of it, you know?”
I nodded. Then I cocked my head and pointed downward at Rick. He was looking up at us with frank skepticism written all over his craggy, honest face.
“I’ll bet you three shots of that Green Fairy shit that Rick is going to drop like a bag of rocks,” I said.
“Pfft,” Damien said, waving his hand at me. “There’s no way I’m taking that bet. That’s a sucker’s bet. He’s gonna eat shit for sure.”
“Come on, Rick,” Nigel was saying patiently. “You just envision the pace at which you would like to go and then pull the nose of the broom up to gain the altitude you desire. Simple.”
“God, I wish that cellphones could survive the magical vibrations of this place,” I muttered to Damien.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a YouTube moment,” I said.
Rick was a big guy and dwarfed the broomstick upon which he sat. It was his current resemblance to a clown on one of those tiny motorbikes that made what happened next all the funnier. The broomstick looked as if it shouldn’t be able to lift him at all, let alone carry him at a speed that would have had Travis Pastrana’s eyes watering. Nevertheless, he took off like a man riding the lightning, leaving only a short scream of, “Fuuuck!” in his wake.
“Wow,” I said.
Rick shot across the poolside patio area like greased weasel shit. Going about fifty miles per hour at an altitude of about four feet, his toes must have been an inch from the ground. He shot past the bar, his dreadlocks streaming out behind him like the tail of a comet, and knocked over every one of the bar stools with his elbow. One of those stools had a female gnome sitting in it, who was pouring out her heart to the nymph behind the bar about how she had recently come a cropper at the hands of a fuckboy. It must have made the little gnome’s day when she was catapulted over the bar by the passing Rick and landed in a sink full of dirty water.
Somehow, Rick managed to steer his way through most of the poolside furniture, though it seemed that gaining height was something that he couldn’t quite manage right now. Most likely because a wet towel had suddenly slapped across his face as he whizzed past a pair of ice mages that were just toweling off.
The gang and
I heard him roaring with frustration and terror as he clawed at the towel covering his face. He shot left, out over the water of the massive, lake-sized swimming pool that was the pièce de résistance of the Mazirian Academy. It was only sheer wonder that stopped me from falling off my broom in paroxysms of laughter.
“Big finish!” Damien crowed as Rick managed to free himself from the clutches of the towel and flung it away. Unfortunately, the action of him tossing the dastardly piece of absorbent cloth meant that he upset the delicate harmony between himself and the broom. With a suddenness that had onlookers spontaneously applauding, the broomstick flipped Rick over so that he was flying upside down and half underwater. He shot through the swimming pool like some enormous, bizarre, inverted torpedo.
“C’mon, Rick,” Nigel said, his eyes shining as he gnawed at his fingernails. “Remember that upside down you have to push on the nose of the broom to go up! Do it quick, the edge of the pool is coming!”
And, just before Rick would have laminated himself across the inside of the pool, his brain kicked into gear, and he made his move. He burst out of the water and shot into the sky, trailing misty silver droplets of water behind him. His enormous sandals dropped down from on high and into the water.
The gathered crowd, quite unaware that there had been entertainment scheduled for that afternoon, burst into applause and cheers.
“Nigel,” I said, keeping my eye on the dwindling speck that was the Earth Elemental islander, “you grab Rick’s sandals. The rest of you, let’s go and see if the ridiculous bastard is all right.”
Bradley, Damien, and I caught up with Rick about five-hundred feet above the Mazirian Academy, where he had managed to rein in his broomstick. The big man was clutching his broom tight, still hanging from it upside down like a giant sloth that some joker had strategically shaved. He was muttering to himself in a way that did not inspire confidence.
Nigel flew up to cajole Rick into loosening his grip on the Solarphine Stick before he broke it into firewood. While Nigel started to re-instruct Rick on how to fly the thing, the rest of us circled below and tried to pretend that we might have a chance of catching the big Earth Elemental if he was to fall.