Wings on my Back

by Alex Sapegin

  To say that Andy’s new style made a rousing impression on everyone when he appeared in his study group the next day would be an understatement. Even the “Icicles” lost their cool. The Rauu could guess what the half-blood needed the braid for.

  The conversation he’d had with the rector that day really knocked him sideways. After a conversation like that, not only could your shoes come untied, your head could roll off, and you wouldn’t notice. You wanted out, dummy…. The rector, without overthinking it, pointed out the way to freedom. The light in the darkness turned into the mouth of the anglerfish who dwells in the depths of the ocean.

  “What happened?” (Silence. His friend’s eyes just squinted strangely.) “Kerr, what’s wrong?” Rigaud once again harped on. He was seriously concerned. He had never before seen his friend so keyed up. Something pretty serious must have happened to make imperturbable Kerr lose track of reality. He didn’t even notice him, although the sound of his footsteps was like a herd of horses. Rigaud observed his pensive gaze, wind-swept ash-colored hair, and monotonous zombie walk. He could have walked into a wall and not noticed it.

  “I talked to the rector,” Andy said. “A heart-to-heart chat. She really chewed me up and spit me out in the process!”

  “I can see that. Looking at your ‘blossoming’ face, I assume she hocked an extra loogie on you when she was done. What’d you do to tick her off?”

  “What ticked her off, you ask?” Andy gritted his teeth, and wrath flashed in his eyes. “The fact that I didn’t want to dig through garbage dumps and that I returned my guild’s badge!”

  “Did anyone drop you on your head as a kid, by any chance?” The news service was recording a new informational video, and now was thinking of whether to air it or not. The client was now being assessed as a source of other news. “Did you really think about it first? Refusing to be a member of the Guild! What didn’t you like about working in the archives?”

  “It was an ax that might caress my little neck or poison in my glass instead of an aperitif. I can’t say anything more. I’m not allowed.”

  The client had shared his information. The person who was both the senior editor and the news anchor decided not to release the news to the masses. It wasn’t such a big story that he might get beheaded or poisoned, but what if someone took a whip to his backside for spilling the beans? Rigaud peered at his friend, who was a living example of the fact that knowing too much can sometimes bring giant problems, and decided for himself right then and there never to have anything to do with the archives. It wasn’t just Kerr’s reaction to it: there were rats down there….

  “You’re in it, Kerr, like plankton caught in a scallop. What are you gonna do? The rector can’t be messed with. Don’t get in her way—she’ll tear you up like a piece of paper.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve gotta think… put my brain to good use. The rector suggested I take a break from work; I’m thinking of taking her up on that. Maybe something useful will come to mind, but I need to get out of my work in the archives.” Andy calmed down quickly. Once in a blue moon, Rigaud was right. The rector was not to be messed with. Making hot-headed decisions was folly. He needed to think, soberly. It was completely pointless to get chewed up like a gazelle caught by a hungry lion. He remembered Miduel. The ancient guy could have told him a lot. No, it wasn’t worth it to trade his personal freedom for knowledge the elf could give him. It wasn’t an equal exchange. Tomorrow would be his last visit to the archives. He had promised to bring the kran with his memories and he needed to keep that promise. A dragon’s word was as good as gold.

  “I have a surprise for you!” Rigaud smiled blindingly and winked conspiratorially. He couldn’t wait to share the news. “But I can’t tell you what it is!”

  “Alright then, I’m not asking. You’re the one who’s bursting at the seams like an overfilled water balloon!”

  “You’re mean. I was truly happy for you, and you… oh, you don’t have any compassion. You’re the unfeeling and ungrateful type. Tell me, universe, what in the world Frida saw in you? That girl’s interested in you, and you don’t even notice her. Watch out, or I might just go back on my word and get after her. She asked if she could come workout with us. Meaning with you,” Rigaud said, to Andy’s utter amazement. That was a surprise! It’s like snow in June: snuck up when you least expected it. Rigaud reveled in the effect he’d produced.

  Yeah, he needed to clear the air with Frida, and the sooner the better. Andy cared about the green-eyed vampire beauty, too. Not enough to fall in love, but still. She was as tall as he was, with a wavy black mane and adorable dimples on her cheeks. Frida yielded such feminine charm that a stone idol probably couldn’t remain indifferent. Andy was definitely not made of stone.

  Vampires. Yet another Earthly myth busted. The local fanged phantoms weren’t anything like Bram Stoker’s constantly blood-thirsty Dracula or other images of bloodsuckers created by the wicked fantasies of Hollywood screenwriters. Vampires differed from ordinary humans in their tall height, long fangs and combat transformational abilities…. Created by mages of the Empire of Alatar for war with the elves, they were fearsome warriors. In their combat forms, vampires’ faces got longer, fangs of a formidable length appeared in their mouths, their fingers got sharp inch-long claws, and their pupils turned red. Their instant reflexes, the insane speed at which they could get from one place to another, their magical talents, and their quick regeneration made vampires a threatening weapon. Only the fall of the empire halted the mages’ experiments in this area. The outbreak of civil war put the nails in the coffins of those mages; they burned with the fire of civil discord and took their secrets to the grave. The legions recalled from the north of the dying empire returned southward without the fanged army. Cohorts of vampires decided to stay. Three hundred years later, vampires had earned a reputation as the best hired hitmen and warriors. It became quite prestigious to have a vampire as a personal body guard or private guard. Now, about blood. They did drink blood; otherwise, they couldn’t be called vampires. But this was the blood of victims who had been tracked down by contract order of their clients. They considered drinking the victim’s blood and leaving a couple holes in his neck from fangs a sign of good quality, a job well done. Not a word on THIRST for blood, just a calling card designed to inspire mystery and horror. Although, the atmosphere and glory were maintained not only through the drinking of blood. Alatar vampires had created the concept of blood vengeance. With no regard to their own losses in doing so, they cut up and destroyed whole families, tribes, and clans who had the misfortune of defiling the fanged ones. Six hundred years ago, the Great Prince of Mesaniya, in a rage over the killing of one of his barons, sent troops to the northern clans. But the expedition ended as it had barely begun. The commander and his deputies fell asleep, and their heads ended up decorating stakes around the troops’ camp when they stopped for the night. The prince of Mesaniya found black lily in his bedroom the next morning, a unique warning of the fact that his head might decorate a stake of the fencing of the palace complex. The troops were withdrawn. Should the prince have exerted his will and continued his military operation, he would have utterly destroyed the northern fanged ones. Individuals with military prowess are useless against a unified regime, but the prince became frightened and thereby saved his own life. They feared, hated, and respected the vampires all at the same time. Besides blood vengeance, they also introduced the hired assassin’s code, the first line of which read, “We’re dying for your money.” Anyone who violated the code or betrayed a client or the vampires’ mentor was destroyed by the hired assassins themselves, and his death would be far from easy. Hundreds of years of cruel selection and rejection of sick or weak infants, as in ancient Sparta, led to an absence of small or ugly individuals….

  No one bat an eye when all the guys hit on the attractive girl. The surprising thing was that Frida chose the strange, weird-looking mix.

  He had something to think about: how could he explain his c
oldness to the girl? What was he afraid of? Not her—himself! The second morning after their memorable night together, Andy was awakened by the tip of a tail in his mouth. He was in dragon form. He hadn’t felt the change in form as he was sleeping. What Jaga had warned him about had come to pass—if he stayed in one form for a long time, his body would start to renew the balance between the two hypostases on its own. He was glad it was a large room with high ceilings. There was a lot of room for the young, curled-up dragon. The change in hypostasis happened again the next night, and three more times in the last two weeks. He needed to get out of the city, pronto, and spend a couple of days in his true hypostasis, but it wasn’t working out. What would happen and how would Frida react if she found an almost three-ton monster lying next to her the next morning? That is, if he hadn’t squished her to death in the night already? Now that was a real fix! Uncontrolled nocturnal changes from one hypostasis to another weren’t helping his stress level any and were piling another great weight on top of his irritation from working in the archives. Confound it all!

  Without waiting for Andy to make a move, Frida decided to take the initiative…

  “Hey! - ?” Rigaud got tired of waiting for an answer.

  “Hay is for horses. It’ll be awesome training with Frida. Tell her I’ll talk to Berg for her,” Andy answered.

  “Tell her yourself. She’s planning on coming to the lesson today. It’s not just the rector who’s taking the bull by the horns. Frida’s planning on taking you by the nostrils.”

  “There you go….” (An exchange of local idioms followed.) Rigaud listened with delight; he practically recorded it. “We’ll meet at the School gates. I’ll get Frida myself.” Andy ended the conversation.

  “I wonder what Rector Etran’s thinking right now?” Rigaud asked changing the subject.

  “I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s probably about what I said, or about me.”

  Andy was correct…

  *****

  An illusion of Verona, a stout woman of an unclear age, glowed on the rector’s desk. She was the secretary to the head of the School of Magic.

  “Grall Etran, master Valett for you. Shall I allow him in?” Verona’s low voice sounded after the illusion appeared.

  “In three minutes,” Etran answered the secretary and threw herself backwards onto the chair back. She massaged her temples; it didn’t really help. What an awful day this had been. As if she didn’t have enough problems already? After such a weighty conversation as the one she’d had an hour ago with their temporary archivist, she could use a glass of wine or something a little stronger. The stupid boy! Her eyes once again fell on the archive folder with the pink ribbons. It was a pothole, as that young fellow said. Printing excerpts from this folder in newspapers would be splashing half of Tantre’s high society with smelly dirt. The Woodies would get a good splattering… a lot of people would, including herself. Such a high price would soon be put on her head that there’d be a long line of eager candidates to take it off her. But most of the materials remained outside the ribbons. No wonder the boy decided to break with his work in the archives.

  The rector’s train of thought turned to the freshman student. She picked up a small folder, Kerrovitarr Dragon’s personal file, tapped her finger on the cover and set it back down on the edge of the desk. Was he who he said he was? Kerrovitarr? He was a very clever seventeen-year-old. Too clever. He’d aroused her suspicions long ago. It was time to take certain measures. His latest announcement didn’t leave her any choice. Her office door opened to reveal master Valett’s bald head.

  “What did you call me for?” Valett asked from the hall instead of a greeting, closing the door behind himself. The head of the punishing mages definitely didn’t look his best. Headaches in connection with the delegation of Woodies had burdened him. His nose was sharper, his cheeks were drooping, and there were bags under his eyes. Only his eyes remained unchanged, just as sharp and observant. Valett noticed the rector’s condition immediately. “Nothing going right in your life? Problems keeping you awake at night? Migraine won’t go away even with healing spells? Call Valett! You can transfer all your troubles to his fragile shoulders and your headache will be gone! Now he’s the one with the headache! Did you know the Free Mages’ Guild has informed the School chancellery of its official protest against our actions of sending pupils to the eastern baronies? The School and the Kion Academy have hogged a nice piece of the pie. Be careful the Guild VIP’s don’t step on your throat and make the School raise its prices. You’re taking all their clients.” There wasn’t a sound in response to the tirade. Just a tired gaze as the rector watched Valett step from the doorway to the chair. “I get the feeling I’m talking to myself. Are you for real?”

  The rector waited for Valett to get comfortable in the chair opposite her desk and tossed him the archival folder.

  “What’s this?” the head of the “punishers” asked and, not waiting for an answer, untied the ribbons.

  “A big pile of manure. Very big. My protege really outdid himself. He dug this up in our backyard. Everything was there, just in different corners. Have a look and compare it to what your analysts gave you. You’ll see the difference.” The rector set her elbows on the desk and laid her chin on her palms watching a fly crawl on the window pane. Valett became deeply absorbed in reading. As he was absorbing the information, his bald head became red. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the beads of sweat that appeared on his crown.

  “If you want to live, don’t even think of publishing THIS in the papers. The elves here are up to their pointy ears in filth, and the rest, well, let’s say up to our nostrils in it. Hide it, or better yet, burn it—that’s my advice!” Valett pronounced his verdict and looked at his interlocutor with expectation. “You say a freshman dug that up? Interesting selection. Is he still alive? Should I help him disappear?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense!” The rector looked at her friend disapprovingly (at which the man’s baldness took on a scarlet color) and held out the thin folder containing Kerr’s personal file. “Then again, I’m not sure of anything any more. Read on.”

  After reading the bookworm’s personal file and a couple of messages contained in the folder, Valett sprang from his chair, paced back and forth across the front of the desk, slammed his hands on the top of the desk and leaned right over Etran.

  “I won’t ask how you managed to gather the materials—I want to know why I’m the last to know about this!”

  “Sit down! And don’t violate my personal space bubble!” Etran’s sharp admonition made the head of the secret service get a hold of himself. Sitting back in the chair, Valett ran his handkerchief over his perspiring skull and neck. “My head hurts enough already without your shenanigans.” Etran opened the top desk drawer and pulled a few sheets of paper with designs out of it. She set them before the “bloodhound-punisher.” Valett frowned:

  “So you’re going to keep giving me steady, prescribed doses of info? Perhaps you can be so kind as to enlighten me, poor wretch, with all the details? Otherwise, it seems your manner of conducting a conversation is a bit tiresome.” Getting more comfortable, he dug his shoulder blades deep into the leather padded back of the chair, crossed his legs and began to stare the rector down.

  “Alright, listen up. The first warning alarm went off on entrance day, but I was too busy to pay any attention. I just didn’t think much of it, you know?” Valett nodded in understanding. Entrance exam day was always a day of frayed nerves with a couple gallons of sweat. The word “busy” didn’t do justice to what took place at the School. It’s no wonder something escaped the rector’s attention. “The guy went into the masters’ lounge. That’s where I saw him for the first time. He’s an extraordinary young man. Very noticeable; I think it’s very unlikely we get students like him every year. Extraordinary. The second warning alarm sounded when Alo Troi’s widow met with me and asked me to convey her thanks to the young man, and her deceased husband’s personal r
ing, as a keepsake.”

  “His widow?” Valett raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, his widow, Valett. Our hero brought news of Alo Troi’s death and his last words to his family. This took the whole thing up a notch and made me think. But once again, I let it go after a while. I never gave him the ring, by the way. A week later, Grand grall Lird fanned the dying fire of interest in the young man.”

  “The former rector?” At that his brows vis-à-vis Rector Etran’s soared to a new height, and lingered there before returning to the place nature had intended for them. Etran glanced at the face with amusement and nodded. She went on:

  “That old man will outlive us, he’s still making mischief with all his might! Now there’s a real kicker! By chance I had the occasion to go see Grand and find out how he’s doing. It wasn’t that long ago he buried Marta, may the goddesses grant her a light afterlife, and he was a little out of sorts. Eighty years together is nothing to sneeze at. As it turned out, Grand is fine. To keep busy and unwind, he hired himself out as a tutor to the child of one of the visiting Vikings. You simply can’t imagine what sublime colors he used to paint a picture of his student. I think the nicest word he chose for you was ‘dolt,’ and to me the nicest thing he said was, ‘something decent might come of you if you pump some brains into that cabbage on your neck.’” Valett smiled a wide smile. Etran continued. “According to him, Myra, the girl he teaches, is the strongest and most promising Life mage he’s seen in the last hundred years! But I digress. Grand noticed strange markings in the girl’s aura during their first lesson, as if she’d undergone strong magical activity. In an effort to ascertain the origin of the markings, Grand carefully asked his pupil whether anything strange had happened to her recently. It turned out something had, and not only that, it happened on the day of the entrance exams.”