The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

  They had come upon a class of firemages, who bent flame and lightning in their hands before flinging them at iron figures set in the ground many paces away. One sent an infernal ball flying through the air to engulf one of these targets in flame. A short distance away, a girl Ebon’s age drew water from a bowl, twisting it into swirls in the air before sending it shooting into the ground. Ebon thought that was the end of it, until a moment later the water burst from the soil again, erupting with a stream of earth to slam into an iron dummy’s stomach.

  “This is where the elementalists practice,” said Cyrus, as though they needed the explanation. Ebon found himself rooted to the spot and scarcely able to hear the dean’s words. “Let us move on to the mentalists—my branch, as it happens.”

  Halab had to prod Ebon’s elbow before he moved, and then he quickly followed Cyrus. He saw now that they walked between two of the great wings of the Academy, and were moving from one to the other. As they went, Ebon could not take his eyes from the elementalists casting their spells. Each seemed more wondrous than the last.

  There was another white wooden door set in the wall before them. Cyrus opened it to a short passage that cut straight through the wing and out the other side. Ebon stepped into the passage with a final, regretful look at the wizards behind him. But when they came out the other side, he found himself dumbfounded again—for here were mentalists, and if their magic was not so wondrous at first sight, when he looked closer he was even more overawed. For they raised plates of metal and heavy chairs with only their magic, so that it looked like some spirit caused the objects to move. Then the mentalists would drag them back and forth through the air, or make them spin. As Cyrus hurried them along, Ebon saw some students engaged in what looked like simple duels. They would throw things at each other—soft, straw-filled balls of cloth, not the iron weights he had seen at first—and the other student would try to halt the attack with their own magic. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes not; Ebon saw one student struck in the midriff by an attack, and she doubled over. It seemed the missiles were somewhat weightier than they looked.

  They passed through another wing into another training area, and there he saw weremages. Some changed only the color of their skin, or the shapes of their faces, but Ebon saw some who turned into animals and back, as quickly and as naturally as he could change his own clothing. But Cyrus was moving faster now, and they stepped through one final passage into the last training area.

  This one was smaller than all the rest, and looking up, Ebon saw that they were tucked in between the Academy’s northwestern wing, the citadel’s main entrance, and the wall. But Cyrus turned to them with a smile and gestured at the students gathered there, giving Halab a little half-bow.

  “Here, I think, you will find something to hold your nephew’s attention. Here is where the transmuters practice their craft.”

  Ebon looked at them in wonder. Some students sat cross-legged upon the ground, their palms pressed into the earth. Beneath them the grass roiled and shifted, turning now to wood, now to stone, and then back to turf, so smoothly that he could barely tell it was changing before it finished. There were iron dummies in rows, just like before, only now the students took the dummies into their hands and turned the metal soft, malleable, twisting them into different shapes, or posing them so that they looked like warriors in combat. Still other students dueled, like he had seen the mindmages doing before. Only these students would throw the cloth balls at each other with their hands, and the other student met the missile with palms open. The balls would turn to water at a touch, splashing harmlessly across the student’s skin, or mayhap vanish in a puff of smoke.

  Then Ebon saw one instructor standing far off to the side, with a student standing several paces away. The instructor held a bow and arrow in her hand, and the student watched intently.

  Slowly the instructor raised the bow and drew, until the fletching rested against her ear, and then released the shaft.

  Ebon cried out in alarm—but the student raised a hand as if to catch the arrow. When it struck her palm, it vanished in a puff of smoke, just like the cloth balls the other students used for their practice.

  Ebon glanced at Halab. Even her brows had raised at that. Cyrus’ smile widened. “A powerful bit of transmutation, that. Not one in a hundred transmuters can achieve such skill.”

  “Powerful indeed,” said Halab. She turned to Ebon with a small smile. “So, my nephew? Are you glad to have seen this place?”

  Ebon swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Of course, dear Aunt. It is a wonderful sight. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  But in truth, his heart quailed. His steps came heavy and hard as he followed Cyrus back inside the Academy. He had seen the place he had always dreamed of, and he knew he would never forget it. Yet his dreams did not matter, for he would travel home all the same, back with his parents to Idris, likely never to see the High King’s Seat again for decades, if ever.

  Something of his mood must have shown in his face, for Halab stopped and turned to him. “Why, what is the matter, Ebon? You do not seem happy at all. Are you not glad to have come?”

  “Oh, I am,” said Ebon. He had no wish to seem ungrateful when Halab had done so much. “Only …”

  She pursed her lips and patted his arm. “I think I understand your mind, dear nephew. Do not let yourself fall into despair. Not all paths are laid clear before us, and our fate is never set in stone.”

  “Of course not,” he mumbled. But her words gave him little comfort.

  WHEN HE RETURNED TO THE family manor, Ebon learned from Tamen that his parents had at last gained their audience with the High King, and thus the purpose for their visit was fulfilled. So it was that the next morning he was in his room, despondent, while Tamen packed his things in preparation for the journey home.

  “I wish you would cheer up,” said Tamen. “You make for horrible company.”

  “Do you think it is that simple?” said Ebon. He picked at a loose thread in his pant leg, refusing to look up. “The place was glorious. I did not know that half the things I saw there were possible.”

  “No one forced you to go.”

  Ebon snorted. “Do you think I could have refused? I suspect this was all an elaborate torture. He has brought me here only to show me that from which he has kept me all my life. And my dear aunt—she thought to help me, to cheer me, but she has only increased my pain tenfold.”

  Tamen frowned and shook his head. “Mayhap it is for the best. Not even the very wise can see all ends.”

  “I see only one end before me, and it is one I do not wish to face.”

  Outside the window, the sky was bright blue with a few wispy clouds. They passed in and out of sight, moving quickly with the wind. Soon that wind would carry Ebon away on a ship, across the Great Bay towards home.

  He had a thought and sat up, eyeing the door to his chamber nervously.

  What if he fled? He could vanish into the Seat. Surely Father would not waste much time looking for him. Mayhap the Academy would take him, and he could begin his training, late in his life though it was.

  But it was a flight of fancy. The Academy charged a tuition, and though he had some coin, he could not pay his way for long. Besides, if Shay did think to look for him, the Academy would be the first place to search. Ebon could well imagine his father’s cruel sneer as he was dragged from his classes, not to mention the punishment he would face at home.

  Soon all his things were packed, and Tamen summoned servants to carry them downstairs. Ebon forced himself to his feet and followed, moving slowly as though his shoes were made of iron. Many crates and bundles were stacked in the manor’s front room, ready to be loaded onto carriages and driven to the docks. It seemed to Ebon that they were leaving with even more possessions than they had arrived with, though he had not seen his parents buy anything new.

  He made his way out the front door and into the courtyard, and there he found a surprise: Halab had come to see them off. Beside
her stood Mako, and in the middle of the courtyard was the main carriage, in which he would ride with his parents to the docks. They were present already, Shay engaged in some conversation with Halab, while Hesta stood quietly nearby. Ebon could not hear the words, but his father looked angry, and made many sharp gestures with his hands. But as soon as he saw Ebon he stopped, his face going stony, and he turned away from his sister.

  Halab greeted Ebon with a smile. “Good morrow, my dear nephew. Did you rest well?”

  “I did, Aunt,” said Ebon. “I shall miss you dearly. The days will seem like years until you grace Idris with your presence again.”

  “Such manners,” said Halab, going to him and taking his kisses on her cheeks.

  “A silver tongue he has indeed,” said Mako, grinning at Ebon over Halab’s shoulder. Ebon tried to still a shiver of unease that ran down his spine. His aunt he would miss, but he was glad to be leaving Mako’s presence, at least.

  Then Halab drew back and looked past Ebon, to where Tamen held a satchel with some of his clothing in it. Her eyes widened, and her full lips parted slightly as she looked at Ebon again. “But Nephew, why does your retainer bring your possessions? You look as if you are making ready to leave.”

  Ebon stopped short, brow furrowing. “I am. Is our trip here not finished?”

  “You cannot tell me you thought you were going back to Idris. Surely your parents told you that you are staying here?”

  At first, Ebon could not put meaning to the words. He looked over Halab’s shoulder. Father’s face had darkened, his eyes drawn together in a squint while a vein throbbed in his forehead. But Mother had turned her face away from Shay, and upon her lips Ebon thought he saw a tiny smile trying to burst free.

  “I … I do not understand,” he said lamely.

  Halab gripped his wrists tighter. “My dear nephew. How plainly must I state it? You will be staying upon the High King’s Seat to attend the Academy.”

  His knees did not seem capable of holding him up, and he grasped for something to steady him. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his other hand tightened its grip on Halab’s arm until he loosened it, fearing he might hurt her. He opened his mouth to speak, but a lump in the back of his throat prevented him.

  It seemed Father had kept his peace as long as he could. He stepped forth angrily, spittle springing from his lips as he spoke. “If you think the Academy to be some lark, then you are an idiot. You are six years too late. You will look like an infant in a king’s finery there. And never will you be a great wizard, no matter your foolish dreams.”

  Ebon choked back furious words, biting his lip to keep them from spilling forth. Halab looked back at her brother, and a cool anger smoldered in her eyes. But when she turned back to him, her expression was kind, and she squeezed his arm in reassurance.

  “The choice is yours, of course. I would never dream of forcing you into such studies, if they are not what your heart truly desires.”

  “Show some wisdom for once in your life, and think ahead,” snarled Shay. “What do you think you can still learn, now that you are nearly full-grown?”

  Ebon looked at him and then back to Halab. His first instinct was to shout, with all his joy and fervor, that of course he would stay and attend the Academy. And yet, as they so often did, his father’s words wormed their way into his mind.

  What would it be like at the Academy? One thing was certain: he was here six years later than he should have been, and that would be plain to everyone if he attended.

  If?

  He had dreamed of nothing more for many years. Now that the gift was presented to him, would he shrink back from it? He had seen the Academy now and all that lay within its granite walls. And he knew he had never longed for anything so keenly.

  “I wish to attend the Academy,” he said, almost shouting it. Then he leaped forwards, forgetting all his courtesy, and squeezed Halab in so tight an embrace that he heard the air whoosh from her lungs. “Thank you, Aunt. Thank you. This is a gift greater than I could have dreamed.”

  “You are welcome, my dearest nephew,” she said, gently patting his back. At last he released her, and she stood back from him. “Now you are under one obligation only: to make your family proud to have sent you. Can you do this for me?”

  He refused to look at his father, and so kept his eyes on hers. “Yes. I give you my oath.”

  “I will remember it. Now quickly—say your farewells, for you should make your way to the Academy right away. I have sent word to Cyrus already, and they are waiting for you.”

  Ebon turned to look at Tamen. His retainer wore a befuddled look, as though he did not fully understand what had happened. He raised the satchel in his hand and lowered it again. But then a curious light shone in his eyes. He dropped the satchel and reached for Ebon’s hand.

  “I did not expect this.”

  Ebon clasped his wrist. “Nor did I. Are you happy for me?”

  “I find that I am.” His other hand came up to grip Ebon’s shoulder. “Fare well. I shall tell Albi.”

  “Please do. And thank you.” Ebon tilted his head, hoping the retainer heard the words he could not say. “For your years of service, and all you have done here on the Seat.”

  Tamen answered with a smile—and then they both jumped as a door slammed. Ebon turned to find the carriage door was shut, and his father was inside. But his mother waited for him by the carriage, arms wide, a pleased smile upon her face. He went and took her in his arms, breathing in the familiar smell of the perfumes she favored.

  “Go and make me proud, my son,” she said, scarcely speaking above a whisper. “I do not weep to see you go, for I know you are ready.”

  “Then you know more than I, Mother,” said Ebon. “But Father …”

  “Do not concern yourself over him,” she said quickly. “I know you cannot see it, but he, too, knows this is best. And mayhap the distance between you will mend what time never could.”

  Ebon doubted that very much, but he forced himself to smile as he gave her a final kiss on the cheek. At last he turned to Halab, who stood there beaming at him. Mako stood just behind her, but Ebon tried to ignore him.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” said Halab. “Go, or they shall mark you tardy on your first day.”

  “Do well, little goldbag,” said Mako. Ebon’s skin crawled at his crooked grin. “I know you will be of great service to the family.”

  Ebon tried to keep his smile up for his aunt. But at the last moment he turned towards the carriage. Its door had a window, and though a curtain was drawn across it, the sunlight showed his father’s silhouette inside. The shadow did not move, even as it grew silent outside the carriage, and the others looked at Ebon expectantly.

  Darkness take him, then, said Ebon.

  “Fare well,” he said, and though he spoke to Halab, he knew his words would carry inside the carriage. “The next time you see me, I shall be a wizard.”

  Then he turned and strode from the manor’s courtyard. He kept his pace measured until he was out of sight, but the moment he turned the first corner, he burst into a run.

  BY THE TIME EBON REACHED the Academy he was panting, and he had to double over to catch his breath. Sweat made his tunic stick to his back, and immediately he regretted his flight through the streets. He did not wish to appear for his first day a stinking slob. But it was too late for such worries now. He stepped forwards and rapped sharply on the front door.

  Unlike the day before, the response was immediate, and he cringed at the sharp cry of the door’s hatch sliding open. There was the old woman Mellie, ghostlike eyes glaring out at him. Before he could so much as open his mouth she screamed “The Drayden!” and slammed the hatch shut.

  Ebon cast a quick look over his shoulder. He had no wish for people to know his family name if there was any way he could help it.

  The door clanged open, and Mellie waved him in with sharp, almost frantic gestures. She seized his wrist as he crossed the threshold. Her fingers were bon
y and frigid, but surprisingly gentle as she drew him up the great staircase that dominated the hall. Behind him he heard the door slam shut with a heavy boom. When he turned, there was no one there who could have closed it. A shiver ran through his limbs.

  I am in the Academy now, he thought. It was a giddy prospect, and he fought the urge to burst out laughing.

  Mellie took the stairs quickly, despite her age. Once they reached the top she whisked him off to the right, stopping at the first room they came to. Within were many shelves, running from floor to ceiling and covering the walls, and all of them filled with folded black robes. Mellie ran along the shelves, brushing each one with her fingers as though she could see them by touch, glancing back often at Ebon.

  “How tall do you stand?” she snapped.

  “I—just under ten hands,” he said, squaring his shoulders.

  “Hah! I will give my good eye if you are more than half past nine.” Ebon barely kept himself from pointing out that if she already had an answer, there seemed little purpose in asking him the question.

  Mellie went to a shelf and took one of the robes from it, and then shoes from another shelf. Without ceremony she threw them into Ebon’s arms. He tried to catch them, but they came unfolded anyway, and one fell to the ground. He barely had a chance to scoop it up before Mellie had snatched his arm and drawn him out of the room again, screaming at him to Hurry! Hurry!

  They did not have far to go; she took him across the hall, where he found a simple brick room and a large bronze tub. It was filled with water, and steam rose languidly from its surface.

  “Clean yourself,” said Mellie, thrusting a gnarled finger at the tub.

  “I bathed just last night.”

  Mellie glowered and said nothing, only thrusting her finger at the tub again.