“Ebon,” he said, voice quivering. “It is Ebon, is it not? I have such a terrible mind for names.”
“It is,” said Ebon. “What should I do?”
“Ah, yes, well,” said Credell, fingers drumming on the table. “I was told you were never trained in transmutation, though I know that cannot be true, eh? A smart young boy like you.” He chuckled and patted Ebon’s shoulder. Ebon thought he could feel the sweat on the man’s palms through the cloth.
“You were told the truth,” said Ebon. “I know only the testing spell to turn a cup of water into oil.”
“Oh, I am certain that is what you told everyone, eh?” said Credell, tapping his nose with a wink. “But I know what a curious mind can do. Worry not, for I will spread no tales of any spell I see you cast in this room.”
Ebon blinked. “I think you misunderstand me. I could not practice any spells, even if I knew any, even in secret. My father kept a careful watch over me, and if I were to try …”
“Ah, well then,” said Credell, shaking his head with a soft smile. “If you wish to keep up the pretense, I shall do the same. Anything for your honorable family.”
“Instructor, I am not telling a tale. I want to learn. What must I do?”
Ebon felt his hackles rising as Credell gave him yet another broad wink. “Well, if you say you know nothing but the testing spell, then you had best practice it, eh? I will fetch you a cup of water.”
He leaped from the bench as though stung by a bee and ran for the front of the room, soon returning with a wooden cup of water. This he placed before Ebon, and then stood hesitantly for a moment, looking down at him.
“Go on, then. I am sure you will make short work of it.”
Ebon sighed and took the cup. He placed his finger within the water, trying to focus. Nothing happened. He frowned and concentrated, trying to reach for his gift as he had tried in the common room the day before. But now he could feel Credell’s eyes upon him, as well as the eyes of every student in the room. They were all watching him, and he could feel their wonder at seeing this older boy try to perform the simplest of spells. He tried to force such thoughts from his mind, but they crowded back in until he could think of nothing else.
He slammed the cup down in frustration. Some of the water splashed out and onto his hand, and he shook it away angrily. “I told you, I never learned any spells. I was not even permitted to practice this one.”
Credell shook his head with a kindly smile. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, the classroom door flew open. In strode the dean. He waddled in briskly and came down the aisle towards them, twisting to keep his belly from knocking over the students’ cups upon the tables to either side. The other students froze the moment they saw him and drew away in fright as he passed by. Credell seemed to wilt like a flower thrown into a flame, shrinking into himself until he was as small and insignificant as possible. His watery eyes trembled until Ebon thought he might burst into tears. But the dean seemed to ignore the instructor utterly, his eyes fixed on Ebon.
“Ebon, my dear cousin!” he said, puffing mightily as he came to a stop before the desk. “How are you settling in here on your first day? My apologies—your second, I suppose.” He chortled, thick jowls bouncing up and down as though he had made the wittiest of jokes. Beside Ebon, Credell tittered uncertainly.
Ebon tried to look anywhere else but at the dean. “I am well. Thank you for your concern.”
“Of course, of course,” said the dean, waving a hand magnanimously. From his tone, Ebon thought that in truth he could care less how Ebon fared. Most likely he was there only as a favor to Halab, but Ebon feared his presence would only make Credell behave even worse.
As though to put proof to the thought, the dean leaned over to look with interest at the cup that sat before Ebon on the table. His eyes narrowed, face twisting in a scowl.
“The testing spell?” he snapped. “Surely your time is not being wasted on so insignificant a thing. What is the meaning of this, Instructor Credell?”
He rounded on the poor man. Despite his frustration, Ebon felt only pity for the instructor. Credell retreated even further into himself, backing up until he stood against the wall, and his hands flew together to clutch each other at his breast.
“He—he said—he only knows the testing—” Credell tried to stammer.
“Only knows the testing spell? How preposterous!” blustered the dean. “I will not have you wasting my cousin’s time on such tripe!”
Ebon spoke up quickly. “He tells the truth. I never learned anything but the testing spell. My father—”
The dean cut him off with a wave of his hand. “You need not trouble yourself to defend him, Ebon. Now listen here, whelp.” He pressed forwards, and though he and Credell were of a height, the instructor had cowered so completely that he stood a head shorter than the dean. “I will not have you wasting Ebon’s time. You will see to it that he learns his studies as quickly as he can, not squander his hours here endlessly repeating a spell that can be done by any child aged six summers!”
He turned on his heel and stalked to the front of the room, where he flew through the door in a rush and slammed it behind him. The crash of the door made Credell collapse at last, and he sank to the bench with a whimper. There he rested for only a moment before he seemed to realize that Ebon was still there. Then he leaped to his feet with a cry and rushed to the front of the room, where he cowered behind his lectern, refusing to meet the eyes of any of his students.
Every child in the room had turned their gazes upon Ebon, and he could nearly feel the terror radiating from them. It seemed the dean was not well-liked within the Academy walls, at least not by the students—and, if his behavior toward Credell was any indication, not by the instructors, either. Vaguely he remembered Jia’s snide words about the dean the day before.
Even here, with his father halfway across the nine lands and drawing farther away each day, Ebon could not escape his family’s name. He let his head sink until it rested on the desk and, closing his eyes, he wished he were back in his bed.
IT SEEMED AN ETERNITY BEFORE a bell pealed and Credell called out that the students were excused for their midday meal. Almost before he finished speaking the words, the instructor was out the door like an arrow. The other students moved to flee just as quickly, but not faster than Ebon. In mere moments he was out the door and into the hallway. But the place was soon filled with bodies, students emerging from their classes all in a mass until he could hardly move through the press.
He spotted a door of white wood and remembered that those were the doors leading outside. The thought of open air, free from the crowd and the crushing weight of his embarrassment, suddenly seemed the greatest of luxuries. He shoved past several students to reach the door. Soon he was alone on the grassy lawn outside. Neither students nor instructors were there to disturb him, all having gone inside for their meal, and for a while Ebon simply walked through the gardens, closing his eyes and trying to forget the morning’s disappointment.
He wished he had not come. For years he had thought the Academy would be a place of magic and wonder, where he could finally learn to harness the gifts that some fate had seen fit to bestow upon him. Yet thus far, if anything, the place seemed worse than Idris. At least in his family’s manor he had Albi to visit and commiserate with. Here he had no one. And while the Academy itself was a beautiful place, and the High King’s Seat rich in splendor and history, he found himself, for the first time, feeling a homesickness for the arid deserts of home. Were the sand dunes and the dry air really so bad? At least they were familiar. And at least there, though he was beneath his father’s notice, still he was a child of wealth and power. Here he was nothing—or mayhap less than even that.
There was a stone bench nearby, and he slumped down onto it with a sigh. He hung his head so low that it nearly touched his knees, elbows grating against the rough fabric of his robes.
Could he still leave? Mayhap it was not too late. His paren
ts would have left the island already, and mayhap Halab would have done the same by now. But he had some coin, mayhap enough to secure passage back home.
He thought of returning. In his mind’s eye he saw himself walking through the broad front doors of his family’s home, into the entry hall where Tamen would be waiting, no doubt wide-eyed with shock at seeing his master’s return. And he thought of Albi’s delight to see him, and his mother’s warm embrace.
But the thought ran further, and he saw his father at the head of the dinner table, looking at him across a meal of meat pies and figs, silently gloating at his son’s failure.
Ebon’s hands balled to fists in his lap, shaking for a moment before he managed to still them. He felt the muscles in his jaw jerking as he ground his teeth together.
He would not return. That would mean that Father had won, and he could not bear such a thought. And he saw, too, the disappointment in his aunt’s eyes when she found out. She had arranged all of this; certainly she had been the one to persuade his father to change his judgement. Always she had shown him nothing but kindness and compassion. He would not repay her by spurning her gift, by fleeing from his studies before they had truly begun.
Without meaning to, he shot to his feet. Mayhap he would fail in his training. Mayhap the Academy would throw him out on his ear, there to find passage home however he could. But he would not leave until then. Darkness take Credell, and darkness take the dean. Here, at least, he could practice his spells without rancor, at least if he kept himself from Lilith’s sight. If the Academy could not teach him, then he would teach himself—or find someone else to do it. His heart burned at the thought, and it seemed for a moment as if he could cast a spell right then.
But his stomach rumbled loud in his belly, until he thought they might hear it inside the Academy’s granite walls.
Ebon smirked to himself. He had skipped the morning’s meal, and had not even had dinner the night before. If he wished to become a great alchemist, he would first have to eat.
He made his way back to the white door. Inside, the passageway was now empty. But Ebon could hear voices, drifting to him along the stone hallway, and he followed the sound. Soon he found the wide doors that led into the dining hall. The room was large, larger than he had anticipated, with a low ceiling and many benches laid out in rows. At the back was the food, served by attendants into simple dishes made of wood. Ebon did not see any sense of order to how the other students sat, except that students of the same age seemed to sit together. But there were many empty tables spread about the place. Quickly he made his way between the benches, thankful that everyone ignored him as he went. An attendant filled a bowl with stew and gave him the end of a bread loaf, and he made his way to one of the empty tables.
He ate voraciously, stomach gurgling in appreciation with every bite. Though it lacked the fine spices of the food he was used to, still after his long fast it seemed one of the better meals he had had in a long time.
When his bowl was empty he leaned back, sighing with relief. Idly he tore a piece of bread away and scraped at the leavings. His eyes fell upon his cup of water.
Mayhap he could practice. He looked around quickly. Though he saw no students using magic anywhere, he had heard no rule that it was forbidden. And he would need all the practice he could get, since Credell seemed too frightened of his family name to be of much help.
He took the cup and dipped his finger within. Slowly he stilled his mind, closing his eyes and trying to envision the water for what it truly was. He opened his eyes again and focused. Something tickled at the back of his mind. But the water remained water. Ebon stirred it with its finger, but nothing happened.
Ebon slammed the cup down, and it clacked against the table. Even the testing spell seemed out of his reach.
It is fine, he told himself. You only need practice. Ten years you have been kept from your magic. You cannot expect to learn it in a day.
“How go the spells, jester?”
His gut curdled at the sound of Lilith’s voice. He turned to see her standing behind him, still accompanied by the two students he had seen in the common room next to the dormitories. The three of them held their meals in their hands, but the bowls were half-empty; they had been eating already, and had stopped to come torment him.
“Leave me alone,” said Ebon. “I am in no mood for games.”
“Oh, but what else are jesters for?” Lilith stepped forwards to sit beside him on the bench. The boy with her sat on her other side, while the other girl sat on Ebon’s left. They shuffled slightly, pressing up against him, Lilith leaning close. “Are you finding your lessons difficult? How do you enjoy the other infants in your class? They must be keeping you good company, for I think you are of a mind with them.”
Ebon ground his teeth together. Well he remembered Jia’s warning that fighting among students was not tolerated. No doubt Lilith was thinking of this as well, and sought to anger him in order to get him in trouble. He would not give her the satisfaction.
Seeing his restraint, she leaned closer still, and her voice became silky smooth. “You know, do you not, that in truth your ignorance is no great loss? You would only be a transmuter, and what value are they? All know that elementalism is the strongest of the four branches. Mentalism is a close second, and therianthropy at least has some uses. But transmutation? What will you do, if you learn your magic? Will you become some nobleman’s plaything in the outland kingdoms, turning water into wine for his court?”
The other two snickered loudly, drawing gazes from students at the tables nearby. Ebon felt his skin darkening as they looked at him, looked at Lilith, and then quickly looked away. He knew that look from too many years spent in his father’s company: he was a mouse, and the favorite plaything of a tomcat, and they would keep their distance lest they get scratched.
I will show them who is a mouse, he thought wildly. His hands balled into fists on the table. Rules be damned, he would knock Lilith to the floor. Let her jeer at him then.
“What is going on here, Lilith?”
Ebon looked up to see Jia standing at the table. Her eyes were sharp and narrow, but they were looking at Lilith, not at him. Lilith and her friend shuffled slightly away from Ebon on the bench.
“Nothing, Jia,” said Lilith, her voice light, unconcerned. “We are only welcoming the Academy’s newest student.”
Jia’s voice took a quality Ebon had not heard from her before, and it bit like sharpened steel. “That is Instructor Jia to you, student. And I have no doubt how welcoming you can be. Take your greetings and yourselves and move them elsewhere, or I will see you scrubbing the dormitory floors.”
Lilith ducked her head in acquiescence and made to rise. Her lackeys did the same. But as she made to stand, still bent over and facing away from Jia, she leaned close one last time to hiss at Ebon. “Keep your eyes open, little jester. You and I shall have such fun together.”
Ebon swallowed hard as they left. Jia stayed put for a moment, watching them go. When she was satisfied, she looked back at Ebon. Still his fists were clenched on the tabletop, and now they were quivering. Shaking her head, Jia made to sit down—but Ebon leaped up in a rush, leaving his bowl and cup behind him as he fled the dining hall.
EBON RAN THROUGH PASSAGEWAY AFTER passageway, and soon he was hopelessly lost. He saw white doors and brown, rooms he thought were instructors’ offices and rooms he was sure were classrooms. But he feared to pass through any of them, for he knew he would look like a fool. He had had quite enough of that for one day.
It was a long while yet before he must go to the library for his afternoon lessons. He slowed to a walk and let his steps wander, trying to get some sort of bearing on the halls and the manner in which they were laid out. Slowly he came to realize that the doors themselves were a sort of code. White wooden doors led outside to the training grounds and gardens. Doors with iron bands were classrooms. Double doors led to large rooms of special significance such as the dining hall or the library
. When he saw some instructors disappearing into their studies, he paused and searched the doors for some identifying marks. Then he realized that their lack of ornamentation was their marker: a door of plain brown wood, undecorated, led to a study. All but the dean’s door, of course, which had been made of iron. Ebon wondered why that was.
He found a staircase and took it up, looking for similar signals in the upper floors. But it seemed to him that the dormitory doors looked just like the doors to the studies, unless there was some other identifying mark he could not see. And every so often he came upon a door of ebony, or some other black wood. But all of the black doors were locked, and he had no faintest idea what might lie behind them.
Ebon froze in the hallway. He had entirely lost track of time, and now it seemed to him more than an hour must have passed. The afternoon classes had surely already begun.
He ran down the first stairwell he found and pounded through the hallways on the first floor. Now that he knew which doors led where, he was not quite so hopelessly lost as he had been. But still he did not know how to make his way deeper into the Academy, for he had no sense of direction. The halls were empty, so there were no students to follow or instructors to ask for direction.
At last he found a short hallway ending at two doors that looked very familiar. The library, or so he hoped. When he ran and threw the doors open, he nearly dropped to the floor in relief. Before him and above him the library stretched, vast and dusty and filled with the orange glow of the amber-colored glass in the ceiling far above.
Then he realized that he had come storming through in a rush, and much louder than he had meant to. The gaze of every student for thirty paces was fixed on him, all of them frozen in shock. And in the center of them all was Jia, one brow raised as she regarded him.
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 8