by Wade Ebeling
The silence was what Marcus noticed first. There were twenty-five permanent pupils at the school of varying ranks and, unless class was in session, at least one of them could be found lounging in the common room. As odd as it was to have this part of structure to himself, it was not so abnormal that it raised alarms. His heart wanted to take the first passage towards the kitchen and baths, both heated from the same underfloor hypocaust. His mind, though, knew to choose the middle tunnel that led to the classrooms and his master’s chambers. It was then that Marcus realized no sounds came from the last passage, either, which was truly a rare occurrence due to it leading back to the dormitories and practice range. At this hour, a steady murmur would usually be heard coming down this hall, students winding down from a long day’s work.
It was in the common room, alone and unwelcomed, that Marcus knew something was amiss. Sore muscles and empty stomach were all but forgotten. He moved forward slowly, touching the bunched fingers of his hands together. Pulling them apart produced a sling made of braided hemp, its leather cradle loaded with a dense chunk of black, volcanic obsidian. The almond-shaped projectile was chiseled so that numerous sharpened spikes ringed around it, giving it the appearance of an alarmed puffer fish. His right hand held the long straps while his left applied tension.
Marcus made his way into the vaulted hall of the school where eight solid, iron-banded doors stood in ornamented recesses. Dedicated to classrooms, this is where four of the main tenants of magic were taught. Alchemy and charms, two of the tenants, were on the right. Application, which included mathematics, languages, draftsmanship and elemental manipulation, was on the left. Metallurgy, the fifth tenant, was taught hands-on huddled around the hot forge that Marcus passed earlier.
The towering space felt airy and open to the elements, despite being eighty feet underground. Light from cracks in the ceiling poured down, like sunlight breaking from cloud cover, supporting year-round cultivation of alchemical fungi and vegetation within multi-tiered planters. Marcus usually found the area cheerful and comforting. Today, walking its columned length without cover, it dawned on him just how many blind spots it held. His pace quickened, making it to the library staircase at the far end without a sound, his or otherwise.
Taking a left at the split in the stairway put Marcus on the upper level of the voluminous library, slipping between private alcoves and tall shelves packed with aged tomes. By going down a much wider set of stairs found on the far side, two at a time, a very nervous Marcus entered the foyer proper. A finely-carved archway dominated the cube-shaped room, its heavy stone portcullis down and braced. In all his time here, Marcus had never seen the crude weight closed before. The implications of this were truly staggering. War had come to the Builders, or rather, to put it more aptly, war had spread to the Colonies.
Panic threatened to seize Marcus, his normally kind brown eyes darted around in search of threats unseen. Tentative breaths caught in his throat as his feet now refused to move forward. While fighting the Camaraderie, Marcus had faced down death numerous times over the past few months. This was something different altogether. This was his home. If the Deacons could enter here, if they could kill everyone he knew, was anywhere truly safe? All the dreadful concerns that he had been struggling to keep at bay, namely those of abandonment, of imprisonment and of being tortured, gurgled up from the hidden recesses of his mind.
CHAPTER 2
~ A Mission Unforeseen ~
Helplessness was replaced by hope, once Marcus caught a sight most welcome. A short ramp dipped away from the side of the foyer. This is where the headmaster’s studio door stood slightly ajar, deep blue firelight spilling from a narrow slit. It was not only the light made its way out into the tomb-like stillness. As he edged closer, Grenaldt Thressor’s deep voice could be heard, low and calm. A weak smile crooked Marcus’ face. Never could he have imaged being quite so happy to hear his master’s timbre. Forgetting himself, Marcus Prathorn, having only recently graduated, barged into the private chambers without announcement.
“By God’s bones! I thought we had lost you, lad!” Grenaldt cheered, right as the travel-worn Marcus stepped in. Standing up, the broad-shouldered man tucked his scraggly gray hair around his ear before moving forward. “Where have you been these past days? Never mind that … Come in and join us. Come on. Not there, boy … Over here, by the fire.”
Marcus was ushered to the back of the cozy room by the arm. Being several stone lighter than the older man, Marcus only managed to utter a stunned syllable or two as he was hustled along, none of which formed an actual word of gratitude. It was still obvious that, given his elder’s broad smile, the sentiment was understood. Grenaldt, who was still dressed in his work leathers and acting strangely accommodating, asked if Marcus needed a drink after good-naturedly shoving him down into a plush, high-backed chair. The bear pelt covered seat felt wonderful, having been warmed by the brazier full of burning cobalt.
“Sir,” Marcus began to say, once his voice had been found. He reflexively spun in the seat to properly address his master, stopping short when he noticed that there was another person in the room, one that made him lose his voice again.
Of all the people in the world that Marcus would have rather it been, Catherine Halsworth sat facing him with her long legs crossed under a peach-hued petticoat, white teeth showing in a broad smile. Sat in an identical chair on the far side of the fire, the harsh blue glare in an otherwise dim room had hid her from Marcus’ unadjusted eyes.
Having always been very advanced at alchemy, Marcus had taken some of his classes with students up to three years his elder. Catherine, tall and thin with long, chestnut-colored hair and green eyes laden with golden flecks around the edge of the iris, was one of those students. Equal parts beautiful and kind, at least enough to be his lab partner for five semesters in a row, it was safe to say that Marcus was infatuated with her from the start. A full fourteen months older than him, it was something that meant quite a lot to the other students when they first met. It seemed a trivial thing now that they were locking gazes. During their time spent together, he did most of her classwork and she expertly dodged his crude, adolescent attempts at flirtation. Catherine left the Sanctuary over a year ago, shortly after completing her studies, after promising to write Marcus ‘all of the time’, of which she never did, not even once.
“What say you?” Grenaldt asked, made curious by the sudden sojourn.
“Err … I was … um … just wondering,” Marcus stuttered, trying desperately to ignore how disconcerted he was by Catherine’s wide smile. “Where has? Well, what has …?”
“Maybe you should put that away first?” Catherine whispered, cupping her mouth and pointing at his groin.
“What?” Marcus mouthed, confused and flustered.
Catherine let her eyes drop, settling on his lap.
She was talking about the sling that he still clenched like a warding charm. Marcus’s face flushed beet red with embarrassment before he hurriedly tucked the strap and stone back from where it had been summoned, a tailored slot in the pouch. Luckily, Grenaldt chose that moment to return, as Marcus was finding it difficult to look back up.
“Blackberry brandy, innit?” Grenaldt stated in question form, pushing a half-full pewter tankard into Marcus’ hand.
“Ah … yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Marcus replied, unsure as to why his master was being so cordial.
“What’s the matter with you, Prathorn?” Grenaldt asked suddenly, while pulling a third chair closer to the fire. “Usually can’t get ‘im to shut up, honestly.”
Catherine giggled, then said knowingly, “I remember.”
“Right you are. Almost forgot you two knows each other. Cohorts in potions and charms class, weren’t ya? You’re prob’ly wondering what happened to everyone, eh?”
“I saw that the … uh … gate was …,” Marcus managed to utter with some effort, taking a long pull of the brandy to indicate that he was done talking.
Grenaldt consi
dered him a moment. “You just tired or sumthin’?”
Catherine coughed to hide a laugh.
“I sent everyone up north this morning, of course. Figure they should be safe enough at the summer training grounds. S’long as they remember their lessons half as well as you. Ya? Had everyone packed up and shipped out within an hour of receiving word of what happened down in Boston. Word travels a bit faster by horseback, wouldn’t you say?” Grenaldt drawled, gauging his former pupil’s reaction. “I suppose it was wise for you to stay to the forest, in the end. You’d most likely be under the care of ol’ Deacon Blood by now had you not.”
“I … I tried, sir,” Marcus said honestly, the elaborate speech prepared for this occasion suddenly abandoned.
“Pish posh. I heard what happened. Sounded a bit sight more than that,” Grenaldt said, his voice attempting something that resembled warmth, putting Marcus at ease. “Heard you even managed to get a few of their powdered wigs safely out of town. Also heard that you’d have most likely been captured. No small feat getting away, I might add. What with the town crawlin’ with that many bloody crosses. Just a pity is all … ’bout the rest. And the temple? Was it really destroyed?”
“The ground shook. I felt the moment … well, when it collapsed. A massive explosion, it was,” Marcus said solemnly.
“The whole Assembly was there? Were they really in session at the time?” Catherine asked, leaning forward. Then, seeing the confused look on Marcus’s face as to how she knew this information, quickly added “Oh, I arrived shortly after the … um … messenger from Boston. Master Thressor filled me in … about what he said …”
Seizing the chance to fill in some of the missing history between them, Marcus held her gaze and asked, “I see. Exactly where was it that you came in from?”
Catherine began to speak but stopped herself, eyes narrowing, almost as if she were wondering whether Marcus was trustworthy or not.
Sensing another lull, and knowing full well the reason for this one, Grenaldt stepped in. “Catherine dear, I’ve just had a thought about … what we was talking about earlier,” he said, his bushy eyebrows raised up animatedly. “I think our answer has just walked in. Back from the dead, as it were.”
“Sir? Are you quite sure? I … I’m just concerned … It’s nothing against you, I mean,” Catherine said, looking at Marcus. She was obviously not happy about his being chosen for some yet unknown task. “How are just the two of us to get there? I just believed that a proper escort would be in order. Wouldn’t it? I mean to say … What about the ritual, then?” she blurted triumphantly, like saying this had won whatever cryptic conversation the two of them were having. With that, she crossed her arms and sat back in the chair, hiding her face back among the shadows.
Not accustomed to being in the dark about things, along with the rising of uncontrollable fury over some aspect of his character being called into question, Marcus roared, “Sir, am I not entitled to the truth? Have I not shown myself to be of value? Could you kindly inform … her … that I have performed all the rituals? Fought more than my share of Deacons, I have! I’ll show her that …” Something about Catherine’s presence was beginning to upset him. It was probably the way she acted like all he was due, after all this time, was that foolish smile of hers.
“No one is questioning your ability here, Marcus. Nor your loyalty, for that matter,” Grenaldt said with absolute authority, his voice booming in the small room. This forced attentive looks back onto the young wizard’s faces. The gravity of the situation overrode the underlying tension between them, at least for the moment. “These are trying times, indeed. My resources are more than limited, Catherine. I have just sent my entire staff and school body to go off and hide in the woods! Right now, at this very minute, the blasted Camaraderie, who are using this confounded uprising as a means to do us all in, are working out how best to get in here! No doubt Hell bent on destroying what I have spent the greater part of my life building! All those years of trying to restore a lasting peace between our two groups were all for naught! In a single act of depravity, no less!”
Collecting his thoughts for a moment, Grenaldt continued in a softer tone, “Now, I am sorry, but there is likely only one choice available to the both of you. If you want a chance at a decent, regular life, that is. One away from all … this! I’m not even sure that what I’m thinking is the best choice available. It most certainly will not be entirely safe … And yes, Catherine, it will most definitely be uncomfortable at times. I fear that you will not reach your ultimate destination for quite some months. British troops descend from the Canadian Providences, the direction you are to head, need I remind you. They will surely be on the lookout for any and all wizards what have escaped their cursed traps.”
Pulling his chair closer to the obstinate pair, the headmaster waited until they focused on him before continuing. “Listen well, you two. These so-called Americans stand little chance against the will of the Crown. The King would just assume burn the whole countryside down to nothing an’ start over fresh, rather than yield to some upstarts,” Grenaldt scoffed mockingly, pleasantries now all but forgotten. “Even if they do succeed, and that’s a big ‘if’, for any of our kind to make it out of this impending war alive, it will be by actively avoiding its horrors! What little influence we held over the colonies has slipped away. Our message of peace has been drummed out by the cruel intentions of a few. The colonists have even formed a laughable ‘Continental-Confederation Congress’ over in Philadelphia to deal with the King’s Coercive Acts and the blockade of Boston, without even so much as mentioning the Camaraderie’s intentions to slaughter our brethren! Hell fire, there isn’t even a single stone wizard left in the whole of that area who could represent us!”
The three of them sipped drinks and stared at the fire, each lost down a different mental path.
Sounding exasperated, Grenaldt started his lecture up again. “Have you heard what they are saying? They believe God binds himself to this nation and to its people. How do you reason with that? The legislators say that only ‘religious vitality’ can see them through the coming turmoil ... So, they abandon us despite all we have done. Those caught in this mental trap see this war as nothing but an ‘affliction’, believing that only their divine obedience can save the country. The Builders must become nothing but whispers and rumors once again. None of our known locations are safe anymore, from either side! Let them have their revolution! Test the will of man’s ignorance … see if I care! We have but a limited amount of time before the British come here as well, looking to destroy every privateer that sails from New London. Most certainly, their agents are already skulking about!”
“All of this craziness has been started by the so-call ‘Freemasons’, or have you forgotten that as well? You remember them, yes? The thieves who stole some of our ancient teachings and use them as simple parlor tricks to bolster their ranks? The monsters that would bastardize all religions in their pursuit of power? Theirs is not a message a unity and freely exchanged knowledge like ours, now is it? They do not share our view of the world and cherish those who inhabit it. They intend to horde that pilfered knowledge for themselves. Why? To divide us all, yet again. If only to control what is left standing after the smoke clears. Damn the consequences or the number of bodies they need to step over to get there!”
“History! Yes, history shows us our path forward … This isn’t exactly the first war we have endured, nor is it the first time the blasted Camaraderie have tried this. You would agree, yes? For over ten thousand years we have survived! Need I remind you of your classes? Shall I give you a refresher course of what happened to the Sumerians? Of Turkey and the facilities antiquity has buried there? What say you of the happenings in Egypt? Of the great purges that occurred in Asia or the vast losses of our kind in the southern Americas? Do you recall the stories that came out of Peru? Those of whole cities lost to the arrogance of power?”
Master Grenaldt was now pacing the room while using wild gest
iculations to punctuate each point, demanding their full attention and agreement.
“Where the people are divided, I am not. This talk of freedom, by those who seek to rule, is foolishness of the highest order! What is there to be gained? Instead of having your ruler an ocean away, you would rather have one across the street from you? They have the people all worked up into a frenzy over a silly tax and a few red coats taking a bit too much from the locals? Do they not see that they live freer than almost anyone else has? Not just now, mind you, throughout all of recorded history? Do they not see the Crown’s overreaction? Once the power to make your own decisions is lost, whether it has been taken or handed over willingly, that this will always be the natural order of things? Will these same dupes act surprised when their new leaders begin taxing them? When certain vices are made illegal? Will they wonder how it is that a new hand is upon their throats?”
Almost yelling at this point, Grenaldt was back to acting like himself, so his former students knew better than to interrupt the tirade.
“Hog wash that need not concern us anymore! … The masses will always be led to where others wanted them to be in the first place. Nothing ever changes. These agents of freedom will sidle right into their new roles as agents of the state. Our teachings show us example after example of this. If you want to live free, you need to get out of the river altogether, just as the Builders have always done. Fighting upstream, as you have been so admirably doing, Marcus, is no longer a viable option. As much as it pains me to say, we hold no sway over what is to come. Besides, the fact still remains that we are woefully outnumbered …”