The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “I was asked to lead you to your next evaluation.”

  “Hello.” He smiled, trying to be engaging. “I’m Brock. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  She glanced down at his extended hand before turning to walk away. Still holding his hand out, Brock hesitated a moment before he gathered his wits and followed.

  They left the Ecclesiast Wing, crossing the main hallway that cut through the center of the school. Without pausing or turning, she continued down the opposite wing. After passing a number of doors, the hallway ended with two massive doors in the wall before them. A man-sized door was cut into one of the two larger doors. She opened that door and waved Brock inside.

  Once he was through, the girl said, “Welcome to the Foundry. Master Nindlerod is waiting for you.”

  She closed the door, leaving him alone. Brock turned to examine the sight before him, trying to work it out in his head.

  Dozens of pipes ran along the walls, twisting and turning in layers down the length of the building. Large vats boiled and bubbled. Fire burned in hot forges. A machine was pumping out steam while gears spun and rods swung up and down. Large tools leaned against the walls, and others were strewn upon workbenches. It seemed a mess but a glorious mess.

  Brock began walking the floor, searching for the master engineer. He saw two boys looking at plans spread out on a workbench. Another was pounding a hot orange lump of metal, fresh from a nearby forge. A girl was blowing through a tube at a tiny piece of glass held over a flame. Two other students were connecting a heavy rope and hook to a pulley hanging from the ceiling. It all seemed quite amazing.

  Brock spotted a man in a purple cloak working in a far corner. The master had a receding hairline surrounded by curly gray hair. A pair of metal tubes with glass lenses were strapped over his eyes, the strange spectacles making him look like an oversized bug. The man’s hand gripped metal tongs, holding a small copper tube over a flame.

  Brock approached, about to address him when the man spoke.

  “Don’t just stand there; use those tweezers to grab that ball from the casting.”

  Brock grabbed the shiny metal tweezers and looked at the metal block. A tiny metal ball lay half-buried in a small hole within the block. He carefully grabbed the ball with the tweezers and held it up.

  “Good,” the master said. “Now insert the ball into the heated end of this tube. Be gentle now because half of the ball must remain sticking out when we’re done.”

  Brock held the metal ball to the hot end of the copper tube, still over the flame. He attempted to push the ball in, but the hole was a bit small. He pushed harder, and the ball slid into the tube until half was sticking out.

  Master Nindlerod removed the tube from the flame and began blowing on it.

  “Okay.” The master gestured to his side. “Now pick up that glass tube for me.”

  Brock grabbed the tube, holding it toward Nindlerod, who slipped the copper tube inside the glass tube. The taper at the bottom of the glass tube stopped the copper tube from going all the way through, leaving the metal ball sticking out the bottom.

  Nindelrod removed the strange spectacles, replacing them with common round spectacles. “There it is. Isn’t it exquisite?”

  Brock nodded.

  Nindlerod eyed him. “You don’t know what it is, do you?”

  Brock shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it, sir.”

  “Of course you haven’t, you ninny,” Nindelrod replied. “I’ve only just invented it.” He held it closer for Brock to inspect. “Even though you haven’t seen it before, perhaps you can guess what it does?”

  Brock looked at the glass tube. It appeared to be a holder for the copper tube. He wet his finger in case the metal was still hot, using it to test the metal ball. It spun in the tube. In his mind, he tried to imagine it working. What if liquid was in the tube? he thought. The ball might block the end and prevent the liquid from leaking, especially if it was a thick liquid. However, a small bit would still coat the ball when rotated.

  Brock smiled. “I think this is an amazing invention. It’ll be wonderful!”

  Nindlerod smiled. “Thank you. I have the same feeling myself. Sometimes the smallest inventions yield the best….Wait! You still haven’t told me what you think it is.”

  Still smiling, Brock said, “It’s a new kind of pen. A pen that holds ink and lets a little out at a time. No need to dip into the ink well any longer.”

  Nindlerod nodded. “Good. Very good.”

  The master grabbed a dropper filled with black ink. He carefully squirted the ink into the copper tube and capped it with a small piece of cork. He then turned to a piece of paper on the workbench, eager to test his new toy.

  The pen rolled across the paper, but left no ink trail. Back and forth, he swept the pen until black streaks began trailing the pen’s path.

  Nindlerod looked up with a grin. “Outstanding. Pretencia will have to eat his shoe now.”

  Brock grinned back. He didn’t like Pretencia much. “Eat his shoe, sir?”

  Nindlerod nodded emphatically. “Yes. He bet me that I couldn’t come up with an invention that would make writing less tedious. He said he would eat his own shoe when I had an invention that did so.” The man’s head bobbed up and down as he cackled.

  Brock smiled again. He liked this man.

  Nindlerod waved him off. “You’re done here. Go get some lunch and then return to the admissions office.” He turned and walked to a nearby desk, cackling with laughter the whole way.

  CHAPTER 35

  The bell rang as Brock stepped out of the Foundry. Doors opened, and students poured into the hallway, all flowing the same direction. Like a feather caught in the wind, Brock was swept away with the crowd.

  As the mob of students neared the Main Hall, they slowed to funnel through sets of double doors. He followed along, soon realizing he was in the dining hall.

  Long rows of tables stretched the length of the hall. Not knowing what else to do, Brock worked his way across the room until he found an open seat. He felt self-conscious in his tan shirt, surrounded by a sea of blue cloaks.

  “Are you following me?”

  Brock stopped surveying the crowd and turned toward the voice. Intense blue eyes stared back at him. He smiled, recognizing the girl who had escorted him to the Foundry.

  “Um…no,” Brock said. “I just kind of ended up here. I was told to get lunch before I return to the admissions office, so I followed everyone and…here I am.”

  “Well, that’s okay I guess,” she said.

  He pulled his hand from beneath the table, extending it toward the girl. “We didn’t get a formal introduction earlier. I’m Brock. And you are…”

  She glared at his hand, as if contemplating her options. Finally, she shook his hand. “I’m Ashland.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ashland.”

  He glanced side to side before asking her a question.

  “Where did you get your food?”

  “Well, see those students coming out that door?” She pointed across the room. “Those are the novices. Their job is to serve meals to the upper-level students before they eat.”

  He noticed that the students carrying trays of food wore cloaks that were slightly different. The blue cloaks of the older students had white piping around the edges. The novice cloaks were just solid blue. However, Ashland’s cloak had no white piping.

  “What about you? You’re a novice too, right?”

  Ashland nodded. “I was here early and already served two others before I grabbed my own tray.”

  He leaned back as a student set a wooden tray before him. The wonderful smell of lamb and potatoes wafted up from the plate. As he began eating, Brock glanced toward Ashland, who was focused on her meal. She was quite pretty. Wanting to get to know her better, he decided to ask a question.

  “So, what do you learn in Ecclesiastics?”

  Ashland stopped chewing, her bright eyes flicking to Brock then back do
wn to her plate. She swallowed before responding.

  “I understand that you’re applying for admission. Since you’re being evaluated, I assume you don’t have a writ.” She looked serious. “If and when you are admitted, I will be happy to answer questions regarding the Academy. However, students are not allowed to divulge what occurs here to outsiders. I’m sorry if I sound rude, but my path in life depends on my success here, and I won’t risk that for you nor anyone else.”

  She looked down at her plate and resumed eating as if she was alone in the room.

  CHAPTER 36

  Brock winced at the loud voices coming from Ackerson’s office. The thick walls and heavy door muffled the words, making them not quite clear enough to understand. What began as a heated debate seemed to have devolved into an outright shouting match. At least, that’s how it sounded from where he sat outside the door.

  Suddenly, everything quieted. He leaned closer, straining to hear what was happening. He jumped when the door swung open and Master Pretencia stormed past. Brock could still hear the man’s footsteps fading down the hall when Ackerson called out to him.

  “Mr. Talenz, would you please join us?”

  Brock entered the room, closing the door behind him. The other three instructors he had met that morning sat at the table along with the master of admissions.

  Ackerson addressed Brock. “It appears that you do possess some potential after all. While clearly not a consensus, the majority of the evaluators believe that you would be a welcome addition to our school.”

  Brock scanned the faces in the room. Budakis sat with his bulging arms crossed, giving a firm nod as their eyes met. Varius gave him a warm smile. Nindlerod grinned and nodded, letting a small cackling giggle escape. Brock was stunned, realizing he had somehow won the support of these three masters.

  His gaze landed back on Ackerson, who continued speaking.

  “The current school year ends tomorrow, followed by summer break. Please be back with your belongings in thirty days.”

  Seeds of happiness bloomed into a smile on Brock’s face. It was happening. Then he thought about Tipper.

  “Sir, what about my servant? Can he stay with me?”

  Ackerson shook his head. “Sorry, son. Only students and masters can live at the Academy. Not even spouses of academy instructors are allowed to live here.”

  Realizing there was nothing to do about it, Brock just nodded.

  Ackerson stood and opened the door. “Congratulations young man. You are now a member of the Academy. What you do with this opportunity is up to you.”

  Brock turned toward the masters at the table. “Thank you all so much. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Minutes later, he was outside and on the road to Fallbrandt. Whistling as he walked, Brock’s spirits were high. Somehow, he had accomplished what had seemed like an impossible dream. Brock the Unchosen was a student at the Academy. It seemed unreal.

  Before he knew it, he was back at The Quiet Woman. In the lull between lunch and dinner, James was the only person in the dining room, restocking the shelves behind the bar. He waved and continued with his business.

  A high-pitched cry came from a room down the hallway. Brock followed the sound to find Tipper standing with his clothes soaking wet, water all over the floor. Libby was covering her mouth as she laughed. Tipper looked toward Brock, his eyes open wide. Slowly, his face broke into a grin.

  “What happened?” Brock asked.

  Tipper glanced toward Libby, who was still laughing. His smile widened as he turned back to Brock.

  “Well, I was trying to move a tub, and I guess my hands slipped. I stumbled backwards and fell into the other tub.”

  Libby’s laughter calmed. “You should’ve seen his face when he fell in. His arms were flailing around, splashing water.” She laughed again, mirth in her eyes. “It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Brock smiled. How could he not?

  Tipper grabbed a towel and began drying himself. “So how did things go at the Academy? Were you able to convince them to accept you?”

  Brock nodded. “Yes. You’re looking at the newest student of the Academy.”

  Tipper clapped Brock on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, Brock. Congratulations. When do you start?”

  “I’m to return there in thirty days for the start of the new school year.” As Brock said it, he remembered that Tipper wasn’t allowed to come with him.

  “Tip, I’m sorry but you can’t come with me. We need to figure out where you’ll stay.”

  Tipper glanced at Libby and then back to Brock. “I’ve got that figured out already. Dory guessed that might be the case. She said that she could use another set of hands to help around here. She offered me a job, working for room and board.”

  Relieved, Brock smiled. “That’s great, Tip.”

  Now recovered from her fit of laughter, Libby put her hands on her hips. “If you two are done congratulating each other, we have a mess to clean up here before the guests in room four come down for their bath.”

  Tipper nodded. “Right. Do you have a mop handy?”

  CHAPTER 37

  The days passed slowly. Brock was anxious to move into the Academy, and the wait seemed torturous.

  The extended stay at The Quiet Woman had cost him most of his remaining coin, but he wouldn’t need it once he was in the school anyway. The accumulated wealth had not lasted long, but it had gotten him the new life he desired.

  To make the time pass faster, Brock helped Tipper prepare his new accommodations. Dory couldn’t afford to give up a guest room, needing those for income. Instead, the small storage room attached to the stable would become Tipper’s home. They spent the better part of two weeks clearing the room out, repairing holes in the wall and floor, repairing the roof, and giving it a good cleaning. After adding a bed, a table, and a small chest of drawers, it seemed livable.

  “What do you think, Tip?” Brock asked as they surveyed the fruits of their labor.

  Tipper nodded. “This will do.” A tear slid down his face. “My own room. I’ve never had a room of my own before.”

  Brock clapped his friend’s shoulder. In the five years he had known Tipper, the homeless boy had never complained about living on the streets.

  “You won’t even have to beg for food.” Brock smiled and added, “Although, the smell from the horses is likely to spoil your appetite anyway.”

  Tipper smiled as he wiped the tear away. “That ain’t nothin’. I’ve had to sleep with worse smells.” Tipper shrugged. “If I keep the stable clean, it won’t smell that bad in here anyway.”

  With Tipper moved out, Brock’s last days at the inn felt lonelier. The eve before he was to leave, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep as he anticipated starting his new life. When the sky began to lighten, he had already bathed, shaved, packed, and headed to the kitchen to grab a quick bite for the road.

  Saul, the Inn’s cook, was busy preparing breakfast. The portly man had a bald head and a short-cut black beard. More than anyone Brock had ever met; the man was an artist in the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Saul,” Brock said as the man glanced up at him.

  “You are up early, Brock,” the big man replied. “So, my young friend, today is the day you leave us then?”

  “Yes, Saul. I go to the Academy to be relegated to far inferior meals. My tongue and stomach will miss you dearly.”

  Saul nodded, as if it were a matter of fact. “Well then, let Saul make you a parting gift. If you give a few minutes, Saul will have something ready for you to eat as you walk.”

  “Thanks, Saul.” Brock walked out the back door of the kitchen.

  He crossed the yard and knocked on the door to the room attached to the stable. Moments later, the door cracked open. Tipper was shirtless, holding his trousers up with one hand. His blonde hair was a mess. He slid outside and pulled the door closed.

  “Tip, is someone in there?” Brock asked.

  Tipper grinned back.
>
  “Libby?” Brock asked.

  Tipper nodded.

  “Well, you seem to be doing well here.” Brock noted.

  “Yeah. I’ve never been happier,” Tipper said. “But I am going to miss you, Brock.”

  “I’ll miss you too. I know it’s early, but I wanted to see you before I left,” Brock said. “I’ll get every seventh day off, so I’ll come visit when I’m able.”

  Tipper leaned close and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Brock.” He let go, putting a hand on Brock’s shoulder. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been my best friend for five years. You healed me back to health and you brought me food every time you saw me. You gave me clothes, you gave me friendship, and you gave me hope. Now, you’ve taken me from a life of begging on the streets to this.” He gestured back at his room. “I have a roof and a room of my own. I’m fed amazing food every day. I found a beautiful girl who I might even love.” Tipper hugged him again. “You’re the best, Brock. You know that if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here to help.”

  Brock was overwhelmed. He wiped a tear from his eye. “You’ll always be my friend, Tip. This isn’t goodbye though. I’ll see you soon and often.”

  With a nod and a smile, Tipper slipped back into his room. Brock stared at the door for a moment before returning to the kitchen. When he entered, Saul handed him a tube-shaped pastry filled with red sauce and berries. Steam poured from the middle. It smelled delicious. Brock thanked him and left the kitchen, walking through the empty dining room and out the front door. His thoughts soon turned from sadness to anticipation.

  When the Academy came into view, the first rays of the sun were lighting the upper floors of the massive building that was his new home.

  PART IV: THE ACADEMY

  CHAPTER 38

  New students crowded the Main Hall, standing in four lines. Those lines slowly advanced toward the check-in tables at the back of the hall. Brock soon found himself at the front of his line.