To his surprise, he noticed another student sitting in the common room. He did not remember seeing her when he had passed through with Jia. Mayhap she had come in only a moment ago—but then, mayhap he had missed her, for she sat quietly in the corner of the room and made no noise. Indeed, she did not even look up or appear to see him. Her hair was lank and black, her skin sallow, and dark bags hung beneath her eyes.
Slowly Ebon drew closer to her. Still she did not see him. She was holding something in her hands, and now he could see that it was a goblet of silver. Then, to Ebon’s amazement, her eyes glowed with an inner light, and she pulled her hands away—but the cup stayed there, floating in midair.
She is a mindmage, he thought.
As the girl twisted her hands, the goblet began to spin. First it turned end over end, in line with the girl’s nose. Then she concentrated, her nose twitching, and it began to twist in another direction at the same time. Her hands clenched, wiry muscles taut beneath the skin, and it spun in another direction entirely. It turned faster and faster, becoming a blur, and moving so fast now that Ebon thought it looked like a spinning silver globe, and not a cup at all.
Entrancement made him forget his fear, and now he walked eagerly over to her. He stopped just next to the arm of her chair, yet still she did not look at him. He waited a moment in silence, out of manners, and then gently cleared his throat.
“That is astonishing,” he said, fearing his voice was far too loud in the stillness of the room.
The girl said nothing. Now he felt sweat beading on the back of his neck, and he pulled at the collar of his robe.
“I … I am Ebon. I am only arrived to the Academy today. How long have you attended?”
At last she looked up, meeting his brown eyes with her own, darker ones, though they still glowed from the use of her magic. Then her hands constricted, like an eagle’s claws sinking into a rabbit’s neck. The goblet abruptly stopped spinning, and it crumpled into a tiny ball of metal with a terrible rending noise.
Ebon jumped and turned to scurry hastily away. He found a chair at the other end of the room, blocked from sight by the furniture in between, and tried to sink into the plush cushions.
It was a little while before his heart slowed and his breath came easier. As the fright finally died in his breast, his fingers began to tap on the armchair. He looked about the room but could see no one else, nor could he hear the sound of anyone passing in the hallway. He could only feel the presence of the girl, as though her eyes were boring into his soul, despite the fact she could not see him.
Mayhap he had better practice his own magic. Soon he would be expected to perform it, after all, and he had not tried to use it in many years. Whenever Tamen caught him playing at spells, his father heard of it immediately. And he had never been allowed to meet another wizard, much less an alchemist.
His only knowledge of his gift was the spell he had done as a boy, when the Academy’s examiner had come to see if he had the gift. Now he looked around and saw cups and a pitcher of water on a table nearby. Hastily he went and filled one, his movements quick, careful to keep his eyes from the corner of the room where the girl sat.
In his chair once more, he gently swished the water around in the cup before placing a forefinger into it. He stirred gently. It was neither cool nor warm, but the exact heat of the room itself. He closed his eyes and concentrated.
Hazy across the long years since he first heard them, the old wizard’s words returned to his mind: Feel the water. See it the way it truly is. And then change it.
Ebon concentrated with all his might. His eyes squeezed shut so tightly that they began to pain him. But nothing happened. He opened one eye, just a crack, to be sure. But the water still sat lukewarm against his finger. The back of his neck prickled, and his forehead beaded with sweat. He thought he could feel something … something within him, yearning to break free. He reached for it, but the harder he grasped, the more quickly it slipped away.
A long, slow breath escaped him. He stopped reaching, stopped trying to know the unknowable power that danced at the edge of his awareness. Instead he thought only of the water. It grew before his vision, the goblet swelling until it took up all the world. Now even his finger was forgotten, except as the bridge that connected him to the liquid.
His vision brightened.
Ebon felt his heart hammer in his chest, but he forced himself to concentrate. Slowly his finger stirred, swirling in little circles and causing the water to splash against the cup’s rim. But wherever he touched the water, it turned thick and soupy, until soon the cup was filled with an oil that resisted the turning of his finger.
With a gasp he sat back, leaning into the couch. His hand trembled as he lifted the cup again. Within, the water was a thick, oily soup.
He wanted to burst into laughter. It had worked. Years had passed since he had last dared to slip away from Tamen for long enough to try it. He thanked the sky above that he could still do it. What a bitter irony it would be to reach the Academy at last, only to find that he had lost his gift.
The door to the common room slammed open, and three students came storming in.
Ebon shot to his feet. Across the room, he saw the sallow-faced girl had gone. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized he still held the cup before him. Swiftly he turned to place it on the table beside his chair, and then he straightened and wiped his finger against his robe to rid it of the oil.
A girl led the other students who had entered, and her gaze fixed on Ebon. She paused for just a moment, brows drawing close, and then she came to him. Her skin was dark, and her thick hair was cut just below her ears and intricately braided to frame her face, making her light eyes all the more captivating. She stopped before Ebon and put her hands to her hips, sizing him up. Though Ebon stood half a head taller than she, he felt himself quail in her presence—an effect greatly enhanced by the girl and boy who stood behind her, both of them several fingers taller than Ebon was. Though the girl wore the same plain black robes as any other student, her stance and the look on her face spoke plainly: here was a girl from wealth and power.
“Who are you?” she said. “I have not seen you before.”
Ebon tried to speak, but coughed instead as spit caught in his gullet. He cleared his throat hard. “I—I am Ebon,” he croaked. “I have only just arrived at the Academy today.”
“Where did you train before? You cannot be sponsored by some lord. You are far too old. Did your family hire you some tutor?”
Ebon felt a burning all along his skin and knew his face must be dark as a well-cooked roast. “I have never trained before.”
She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth open slightly. He could see in her face that she did not believe him. Behind her, the other students looked at each other askance. But then the girl’s eyes darted past Ebon, to the wooden cup that sat on the side table. He tried to shift to the side, to block her view with his body. But her lips twisted in a cruel smirk, and she pushed past him to grasp the cup. Lifting it before her face, she dipped a finger into the crude oil.
“The trial spell?” she laughed. “That cannot be the only magic you know.”
“It is,” said Ebon, still flushed with shame. But now annoyance was blossoming to anger in his breast, and he spoke without thinking. “My father never wanted me to train, and if he caught me trying magic—”
The girl stopped him with a loud laugh, the others behind her snickering along. Then her eyes glowed white, and she snapped her fingers. A spark sprang from her hand and landed on Ebon’s sleeve. He felt the heat of it immediately, and with a cry of dismay he tried to beat it out.
“Oh, does my flame bother you?” said the girl, laughing harder. “Here, mayhap this will help.”
She threw the cup of oil on his sleeve. It doused the spark, but it also splashed across his whole body, soaking through until the cloth clung to his skin, cold and clammy.
“I have not seen a greater waste in all my years
here,” she said. “But I suppose I am grateful. We have a jester back home, and I have missed having someone to amuse me. I am Lilith of the family Yerrin, jester, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Lilith dropped the cup and strode off through one of the dormitory doors—not the one that led to Ebon’s room, he noted with relief. Ebon sat back down in the chair, not caring that his wet robe would soak into the cushions, and hung his head. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, he could not stop a tear of shame from escaping to run down his cheek.
WHEN HE HAD COMPOSED HIMSELF, Ebon retreated to his own dormitory and changed into a clean robe. Then he thought better of it and removed the robe, and once in his underclothes he climbed beneath the covers of his bed. He had no wish to meet any other students, especially not now. He had imagined the Academy would be better than his home. Here he thought to free himself from family obligation, from the infighting and politics that had surrounded him since he was old enough to understand them. But it seemed instead that he would face a whole new host of problems—or mayhap just Lilith, but she seemed trouble enough to last a lifetime.
Mayhap she will forget about me soon—especially once I begin to learn my magic, he thought.
You are a fool, came another thought. And for that, he had no retort.
Classes must have just ended, for soon other students came in from the common room, bustling with noise and conversation. Ebon ignored them all, and when they drew too close he pretended to be asleep. It was late in the afternoon, but still hours from nightfall, and Ebon spent them all in bed, curled up and pretending not to exist. It was a long time before he finally drifted off into a restless slumber.
When he woke, the dim grey shining through the window told him that dawn had not yet broken. He rose quietly, thankful that no one else had risen yet, and donned his robes. Then he made his way out of the dormitory, through the common room, where fires burned in both hearths, and down the stairs to the first floor.
The Academy was quiet and empty. Ebon felt as though everything around him had taken on a magical quality, otherworldly and not quiet real. It was easy to imagine, at least for the moment, that all the world had gone, and he alone was left to explore it. It made his feet itch to run about, his eyes seeking for cracks and corners.
Silently he padded down the passage to the entrance hall, afraid to make any noise too loud and break the spell. Though torches burned in sconces, and must have been lit by attendants, the place was empty so far as he could see. When he reached the hall he stood and, for the first time, looked freely upon the place.
The windows far above were just beginning to glow with dawn, and the staircase shone in the colored sunlight that came floating down. The bronze banisters glinted in his eyes, and he reached out for them. The metal was warm, though the rest of the air clung to night’s chill. The stone steps were worn smooth from centuries of students’ passing shoes.
He stepped away and went to the iron front door. It was still too dim to see well, so he pressed his nose quite close to the small symbols inscribed all over it. Now he saw that they were similar to regular letters, and yet somehow different. They were harsher, more angular, with no curves to be seen anywhere. Yet he could not read them, for the words were strange and ancient, and the more he studied them the more his head began to hurt.
“What are you doing?”
Ebon leaped half a pace in the air and came crashing down hard upon the marble floor. He scrambled backwards on all fours—and then stopped as he saw Mellie quivering above him. Her white eye was thrice its normal size, and the other one was squinted, a scowl warping her lips.
“Sky above,” he muttered. “You frightened me.”
“Next time do not bury your nose in an iron door,” she screeched. “What in the nine lands were you looking at?”
Ebon shook his head and got to his feet, brushing dust from the seat of his robes. “The symbols on the door. Why? What does it matter?”
Mellie turned and put her own eye up to the door, looking for all the world as though she was noticing the symbols for the first time. Then she looked back to Ebon, blinked once, and stalked away. He sighed.
The entry hall was much brighter now. Soon the other students would come down from the dormitories to break their fast. Ebon had no great wish to be there when they did—especially since Lilith would be among their number. He thought he remembered where Jia had showed him the dining hall, but he went the other direction towards the classrooms. Your morning classes will be in the first room on the left with an iron band on the door, Jia had told him.
He found the door and opened it. The room was empty, and he paused on the threshold. A sigh escaped him as he thought of his frightened little mouse of a teacher, Credell.
Mayhap it will not be so bad as it seems, he thought hopefully. But he did not believe it.
Shutting the door behind him, he went to one of the benches at the rear. They were arranged in rows, all facing the front of the classroom, and each had a long table in front of it. He slid down the bench until he was in the farthest corner, where he could lean against the wall. There he sat, waiting for the start of the day, and his first class as a wizard of the Academy.
Somehow, it no longer excited him as much as he once thought it would.
Thankfully he did not have to wait as long as he feared. It was mayhap half an hour until the first other student arrived. She was a small, sharp girl with wild hair that stuck out all about her head like a halo. When she entered the room, she saw Ebon and stopped. For a moment she studied him, face pale, eyes darting about every so often. Then she leaned out the door and looked up and down the hallway before stepping back inside once more. Back and forth she rocked on her feet, from tiptoes to heels, mouth working as she tried to summon the courage to speak.
“I … I think you have come to the wrong room,” she squeaked.
“I do not blame you for thinking so,” said Ebon. “But this is where I am meant to be, though it pains me to say so.”
The girl did not seem to have a ready answer for that. Once more she looked out into the hall, as though making sure she was not the one in the wrong place. Finally she came in and closed the door behind her, going to the opposite corner of the room from Ebon and sliding all the way down the bench, until she was as far from him as she could be. Ebon slouched against the wall. With every passing moment, it was harder to resist an urge to flee the Academy forever and catch the first ship back home to Idris.
Slowly the room filled up, students arriving one by one and filling the benches. Most of them looked to be eleven or twelve years old at the most—Ebon saw one who he thought might have been thirteen, but mayhap the boy was just tall. Each one stopped for a moment when they spotted Ebon. Many of them looked about the classroom as the first girl had, ensuring that they were in the right place. Soon most of the other benches in the room had been filled—but no one came to Ebon’s table, or even to the other bench in his row, though it was across an aisle.
The time passed with intolerable slowness, until Ebon felt that half the day must be gone. At last the door creaked timidly open, and Instructor Credell entered. Once he had stepped inside he stopped, looking around the room with wide eyes as though he was surprised to find himself there. He did not seem to notice Ebon. After a moment’s awkward pause, he gave a little jerk and scuttled to his lectern, gripping it for support. Again he stopped, this time looking across the students before him.
His eyes fell upon Ebon. He gave a little jump and a yelp, and his knuckles went white. His throat wobbled a bit, and a weak smile crawled across his lips as though it had been dragged there screaming.
“Ah!” he said. “Ah, yes. Er. Class, we have a new student. Greet our Ebon, of the family Drayden, will you?”
He waved a hand generally in Ebon’s direction. Slowly the other students turned to look at him. Ebon withered, though he felt ridiculous at his embarrassment. These were only children. But in many of their eyes he saw fe
ar, and knew it was fear of his family’s name. He tried to smile, but was sure he summoned only a grimace.
“Ah,” said Credell. “Yes. Well, we shall … ahem. We shall begin the day’s lessons, then. Yes. You may all resume practice of your spells. I shall be around presently to instruct you. If you require help, raise your hand for assistance.”
Awkward silence hung on the air for a moment, and no student moved. Then Credell flapped his hands, as though shooing a cat from the room, and the students broke into muted activity. Some went to retrieve wooden rods from a cabinet in the corner of the room, while others took hold of cups of water that already waited on the tables before them. Credell left his lectern and began to putter about the room, going from table to table and asking the students questions in hushed voices. Ebon could not help but feel that the instructor was very deliberately avoiding his gaze.
He shifted on his bench, unsure of what to do. All the other students seemed to know their business already. Ebon saw some of the children stirring the water in their cups and thought they must be practicing the testing spell. Others gripped their wooden rods, faces twisting as they concentrated. But he had no cup nearby to practice with, and he did not know what spell to cast upon the wooden rod, and so he stayed in his seat.
Credell moved through the room slowly, and seemed to move still slower the closer he drew to the back of the room where Ebon waited. Still Ebon forced himself to sit still; he had no wish to make a nuisance of himself on his first day. But when Credell finished with the table across the aisle, he spun and made for the front of the room. Ebon sat forwards in surprise. Quickly he leaned out into the aisle and thrust his hand in the air.
“Instructor Credell?”
The man leaped half a pace in the air and looked over his shoulder, face twisted as though in pain. “Ah. Er. Yes. Quite right.”
He turned reluctantly and came back, each step as slow as though he was moving through water. But when he reached Ebon’s table, a wide smile was plastered upon his face, looking as unnatural there as a mouse in a suit of armor. Ebon scooted aside to make room for him as he took the bench.
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 7