The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2)

by Sethlen, Aron

  Pard leans forward as they’re distracted by Nero. He’s almost within arms reach of the book.

  Blaine quickly turns around and sees Pard’s hand hovering in front of him, and he backs away. “Pretty sneaky there, Wenerly, bet you wish you would’ve had a few more seconds and then you might’ve been able to snag mommy’s book.” Teasing him, he holds the Rue book in front of Pard and sways it back and forth.

  The cat hisses, and Nox grunts with a stream of spittle toward Nero’s face. “I say we go up to the fourth floor and toss kitty and the book out the window at the same time and see which one hits the ground first.”

  Blaine puckers his lips and nods, taking the suggestion seriously. “Might be fun, unfortunately launching the cat could be problematic for our arrangement, and this book is far to valuable to destroy. So after we makeover Pardo’s face, I’ll sell the book in town. Bet I can get twenty or even thirty gold for it at Franch’s Books in Greysin.”

  “No shit?” Sully says.

  “No shit,” Blaine says.

  “Can we get a cut of that?”

  “You wouldn’t!” Pard says, forgetting his fear and standing up straight. “That’s my book, it’s been in my family for generations. You can’t steal it from me and sell it.”

  “The heck we can’t, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “So how about a cut?” Sully says.

  Blaine snorts.

  The cat squirms in Nox’s arms and it digs its claws into his skin. “What should we do with the cat?”

  Blaine throws back his head in disbelief and stares at the ceiling. He sighs. “Just put it down and walk away, idiot. I swear, sometimes you and your brother are as dumb as bricks.”

  “So no launch from the fourth floor?” Nox says disappointed as the cat continues to dig its claws deeper into his skin which doesn’t seem to affect him, even though thin streaks of blood roll down his thick forearms.

  Blaine rolls his eyes. “No launch, Nox, now put the cat down, give Wenerly a black eye, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Nox sneers.

  Blaine smiles as he eyes the book, and he skulks away backward.

  “But my book,” Pard says.

  “Wrong—it’s my book.”

  Anger swells deep inside of Pard, and he can’t control his thoughts or emotions. That book of the Rue is one of the last items he has of his mother. He clinches his fist and grits his teeth. Energy surges through his veins and his arms and fingers tingle. A faint aqua-blue light flashes over Pard’s pupils.

  Blaine winks at Pard. “Thanks for the score, Wenerly. I’m sure your mother would be proud to know it’s in a real man’s hands now.” He chuckles and nods toward Sully. “You can have a ten percent cut.”

  Sully grins. “Nice, thanks, boss.”

  “No!” Pard says as his arms shoot forward and blinding blue spurts of electricity spit out of his fingertips.

  “What the crap is that?” Sully says as his eyes widen in disbelief.

  Nox steps away, still gripping Nero tight.

  The cat hisses and bats Nox’s face with its claws, leaving three scratches under his eye.

  Nox curses and extends the cat away from his body as blood trickles down his cheek.

  The cat squirms and hisses again.

  Blaine turns around and his smug face fades into something between fear and anger as he watches the blue electricity spitting and dripping out of Pard’s fingers. His arm holding the book slowly lowers to his side as his mouth drops. The blue droplets of light ping off the shiny wooden floor, pool, and then disappear.

  “That’s my book!” Pard says, and an arc of blue light webs around his entire body.

  “O-okay, P-Pard,” Blaine says, bending over to set the book on the floor. “No hard feelings, let’s forget this ever happened, and I didn’t really mean what I said about your mother, all-all right?”

  “But thirty gold,” Sully says, tilting his head to the side, oblivious.

  Blaine sternly points at Sully. “Shut up!”

  “But thirty gold!”

  Pard’s body flinches at the sound of Sully’s annoying voice, and the arc of light shoots out of his chest and strikes Nero still in Nox’s arms.

  “Ah!” Nox says as he let’s go of the feline and Nero hovers in midair, suspended unnaturally in front of him, attached to the bright-blue light fluttering out and away from Pard’s chest.

  “Hey, Wenerly,” Blaine says to Pard with a quiver in his voice and outstretched, shaky arms, “no hard feelings, just relax.” Hunched over, Blaine backs away from the book on the floor. “I didn’t mean anything by it and your mother.”

  Pard’s body vibrates and his mind suddenly realizes what is happening, a light is arcing away from his body and energy throbs, building in his chest. His eyes fix on Nero, frozen in space like an ungrounded statue. He panics and jerks his body to the side, wanting to flee. The light pulsates with a blinding flash, and Pard collapses to his knees.

  Nero screeches as the jolt of lightning propels the tabby up toward the ceiling.

  As if in slow motion, Blaine’s, Nox’s, and Sully’s eyes track the cats flight, all three of them, watching with mouths open as Nero suspends for a second below the ceiling then descends like a dead weight toward the ground. Singed and smoking, Nero plops dead in front of Sully with a thud. Burnt cat hair fills the corridor.

  Sully smacks his hand over his mouth and nose to block out the rank smell. “I’m so out of here.” Sully spins away from the others and sprints away down the hallway.

  Nox’s boots squeak as he does the same. “Me too, screw this crazy shit.”

  Blaine pops off the floor and eyes Pard gasping for air, huddled over on all fours. He scowls and takes off running away after Sully and Nox.

  “What the heck was that light?” Pard says. He slowly shakes his head as he regains his senses. He lifts his gaze, and it first falls onto his mother’s Rue book and then onto Nero, Headmaster Yitch’s cat. “What did I do?” His breathing intensifies as the panic builds. Oh no, not again. Am I going to blow up? Where did that lightning come from this time? Frantic, Pard springs to his feet and spins in a circle, looking for the source of the light. He glances back at the cat. “Sorry, Nero. I don’t know what happened.” He sighs. “Great, just what I need.”

  “Nero, Nero, where are you?” Yitch’s voice echoes from the end of the hallway. “I have your dinner, it’s your favorite, tasty, succulent liver.”

  Pard sucks in a breath. “Oh no.” He rushes over to his papers and books and scoops them into a sloppy pile.

  “Nero, here kitty kitty, Nero. I got your liver, snuggly wuggly.”

  “Not good, so not good.” Pard, crawling around on the floor gathering his things, peeks back down the corridor. The flickering shadow of Yitch approaches and his hard tipped shoes tap on the hardwood floors.

  Pard collects up the books and papers within arms reach and races up the stairs to his room.

  THREE MORE YEARS

  Pard darts through a dark hallway, passing flickering gas lanterns atop small stone ledges jutting away from the walls. He skids to a stop at a dead end. He pants heavy, tired and out of breath, he turns toward a black-faded wooden door. Pard leans his body forward and rests his forehead against the smooth wood as he gathers himself. “What was that light? I thought it was a dream or an accident the last time it happened. But I’m definitely awake now, and Nero is definitely dead.” Pard’s body shakes, his mind fixates on the blue light shooting out of his fingers and the immense energy pulsating in his chest. The last time it happened, over a year ago in late summer as he was lying in the long grass at the edge of the forest surrounding the Fairstone grounds. He was half-asleep and day-dreaming while gazing up at the sky. When two Kingfishers flew over head, something strange happened underneath his body. A warm, prickly sensation, and then a lightning bolt arced straight out of his chest and struck a bird out of the sky, dead. Panicked, Pard scrambled to his feet and looked
to the ground and sky for the origin of the lightning bolt. There was barely a cloud in the sky, and it was nothing more than a calm sunny day. He chalked it up to a freak accidental weather occurrence, which he convinced himself was normal for this region of Bastin. Though ever since that day, Yitch has been even more on Pard’s case. As Pard was looking for the origin of the light, his eyes fell upon Yitch perched outside on his iron rod balcony on the third floor of the castle, the landing the boy’s at the school refer to as the condor’s nest.

  Pard clinches his eyes shut trying to push away the visions of the Kingfisher and Nero. He finally forgot about the bird since his nightmares of the light ended a few months ago, but now all the images flash through his mind. Slowly twisting the doorknob, he sighs, and pushes forward, entering his chilly living quarters at the farthest end of the castle, a corner room on the fourth floor, on the same floor where the servants reside, and is well away from the boy’s dormitory for the less ‘privileged’ on the second floor and the private apartments for the more ‘privileged’ on the third floor. The radiator, as usual, announces its presence with a hiss and hard knock as it attempts to push out what little heat it can muster. Pard thinks it’s alive and knows when he’s in the room and awakens to torment him. He sets his books on his desk next to an apple and a piece of crusty bread wrapped in cloth he saved from lunch. Pard grabs his belly as it growls again, and he snatches up the bread, unwraps the cloth, and bites into the crust. He strolls toward a small window surrounded by brick. The brick is worn and crumbling, and is more reminiscent of a jail window than one of the windows of the finest school in Bastin, though Pard doesn’t mind, it’s a good view and it overlooks the sleepy resort town of Greysin. Snow continues to fall outside as Pard peers through the glass, and the faint lights of the town glow orange and brighter than normal for this time of night as they reflect off the blanket of white covering the streets and rooftops and fields. He shifts his gaze to the right and stares at a giant ice-covered lake dotted with small tree-filled islands. A thick forest of evergreens spans to the horizon and beyond the frozen waters. The faint hint of train steam, which its tracks travel through the heart of the forest, rises through the thick canopy. Pard imagines the summer when he can easily escape the school grounds and lose himself in the pines along the water’s edge. He forgets the light and Nero and Blaine and Nox and remembers that sunny day the first time he saw her in a rowboat with her father, sweet Selby Barrow. That silky brunette hair fluttering in the breeze, her brown eyes, that bright smile, oh that smile.

  Pard turns away from the window and moves to his bed, plops down hard on the end, and springs off the vocal mattress back onto his feet. He moves to the far end of the room to a portrait of a young man and woman hanging on the wall above a small knotty pine bench. Pard grazes his finger over a brass plaque attached to the base of the wooden frame, Peter and Dora Wenerly. Taken suddenly by a strange sensation burning on Pard’s back, he cringes and wiggles his shoulders. Pard reaches around and scratches the base of his neck and then glances at his reflection in a tiny copper-framed mirror hanging on the wall by his desk. “Not again—this damned mark.” The west wing reenters his thoughts and images flood his mind. “What the heck was that light?” He wiggles his shoulders again as his back continues to itch rubbing against his wool sweater. He moves closer to the mirror and leans in while massaging his temples with his fingertips, a dull ache pulses, though it is fading with every passing minute. “Not this stupid mark, again.” He groans and strips off his Fairstone robe and then his grey wool sweater. He angles his back toward the mirror, a black circle with six dashes and the fifth dash raised above the rest is singed at the base of his neck. Pard’s eyes narrow with anger as he is reminded of the mark he first noticed over a year ago during the summer the lightning shot down the Kingfisher. A mark he’s done everything in his power to deny its existence, but as it continues to burn and itch, firmly becoming part of him at the present, it is unbearable to ignore. He shakes his head in frustration. “How the heck did I get this stupid mark anyway? What the hell is wrong with me—”

  Knock knock—

  Pard’s head flinches toward the door.

  Knock knock—

  He scrambles to put on his sweater.

  “Pard, are you in there?” a man says with a calm voice.

  “Coming now, Professor Videl, one sec.” Pard sweeps his hand over his disheveled hair to straighten it though all he accomplishes is to mess it up more.

  “Are you going to let me in? What are you doing in there?”

  “Nothing—coming.” Pard opens the door with a hard pull. “Professor,” he says, looking at an older gentleman, gaunt and with medium-length, fluffy, pure white hair and a just as white and fluffy beard. His oversized purple robe drapes over his rounded shoulders and emaciated body.

  “There you are,” the professor says.

  “Yup—right here.” Pard, still with the light fixed on his mind, stands in the middle of the door, motionless and staring at the professor.

  “Are you going to invite me in, or am I going to stand in the hallway? These old bones can’t keep upright like they used too.”

  “Right, sorry.” Pard steps out of the doorway, and Professor Videl limps into the room.

  Pard closes the door, and the professor groans as he lowers his body, sitting in the desk chair.

  “How are things going, Pard?” Professor Videl says with concern in his voice.

  “Fine, I guess.” Pard makes his way to the window and doesn’t look at the professor. He rests his hand on the rough bricks and peers at the ice-covered lake. Cool air seeps away from the glass and sends a chill into his face.

  “Fine isn’t exactly what I would characterize how things have been going for you lately, my boy.”

  Pard squints, unsure of the professor’s meaning. “I think things are going okay. I’m doing all right in my studies and have been keeping busy with my reading.”

  The professor sits up straight as he stares at Pard’s back toward him. “Detention three times this week—late for multiple classes—picking fights with some of the boys—and even your grades are slipping. What’s going on with you?”

  Pard clinches his teeth and imagines Blaine and Nox and Sully and Yitch on the surface of the glass and laughing at him. He turns around, and Professor Videl looks at him with kind eyes, his legs crossed and hands clasped resting in his lap, he patiently waits for Pard to respond.

  Pard peers into the professor’s green eyes, and doesn’t know what to say, but the old man has a way of calming him like no other. Pard imagines similar to a loving grandfather, even though Pard doesn’t have a grandfather, but if he did, Professor Videl would be perfect for the role. And in a way, the professor is the closest thing to a parent Pard has here at Fairstone School for Boys.

  Professor Videl glances at the portrait of Pard’s mother and father, and he sighs. “Your parents were two of the nicest and finest teachers I’ve ever met. It’s not fair they were taken from you or this school so young. You know I’ve known you ever since you were a baby and have watched you grow into a fine young man.” He smiles as he turns back toward Pard. “You have them in you. You’re smart, resourceful, and well-spoken, and they would be so so proud of you.”

  “Sir, about lately, it’s just, some of the boys here are always on my case because I’m not like them, and I don’t know what I can do to get on their good side.”

  The professor slowly shakes his head. “Boys will be boys, Pard, and you have to learn to deal with them. It will eventually get better the older you get. This is just a phase some of the more immature young men go through, it’s just unfortunate you’re on the other end of that phase.”

  “I deal with it the best I can, but the more I try the more they bully me, and the more I get in trouble. I ignore them and it keeps getting worse and worse. I didn’t do anything to them, and don’t even talk to them, but still they bully me everyday because they think it’s fun or because they don�
�t think I belong here.” Pard lowers his head and rubs his sore forehead. “I don’t understand, it’s not like they’re better than me, most of them are stupid and spoiled—privileged brats.”

  Professor Videl chuckles. “Yes, a few of them are, but most of them are far from stupid, so don’t exaggerate, it doesn’t become you.”

  Pard clinches his teeth. “And then there’s Yitch—”

  “Headmaster Yitch,” Professor Videl says, reminding Pard and raising his finger.

  “Right, him too, he seems to have it out for me. Everything I do makes him mad. Any other boy at this school that gets a detention or some other infraction he doesn’t care. But me? He threatens expulsion like every other day.”

  Professor Videl sighs. “Yes, speaking of that.”

  Pard’s eyes meet the professor’s, and he gulps. His breathing slows as he focuses on the professor’s lips, waiting for the words, you’ve been expelled, to seep out.

  “Something very disturbing occurred in Fairstone’s west wing tonight.”

  Pard envisions Blaine and the others threatening him, then telling Yitch, and then the light, and Nero smoldering on the floor, Pard gulps again, though nothing happens as his saliva suddenly disappears and his mouth is bone dry.

  “You know of the headmaster’s cat Nero?”

  Pard returns a shallow nod, not taking his eyes off Professor Videl.

  “Yes, well, it appears someone at this school set the poor animal on fire. Horrendous sight, disturbing, the smell is unbearable.”

  Pard, doing his best to play the part, twists his face in revulsion and gasps. He looks away and shakes his head in disgust. “Terrible.” He glances at the professor. “Who could do such a thing to that poor animal?”

  Professor Videl raises his finger and sways it in the air. “The investigation is already underway. But needless to say, whoever the culprit or culprits are, it won’t matter how well coined or connected they are, lord or not, they will no longer be attending Fairstone.”

  “So Yitch is mad?”