The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2)

by Sethlen, Aron

  “Short on details, Professor Wenerly. I expected more from you after I dragged your butt all the way out here.”

  “Sorry, it’s not like an elaborate translated text, and if I understood a few of these En symbols, which I don’t recognize and they probably relate to legends of ancestors, it would give me more information. I just don’t know what they mean. This drives me so crazy sometimes. Why couldn’t I have learned more before my mother died. If she was here, I bet she could read it easy.”

  “No worries, I understand,” Miles says.

  Pard forces a smile. “But it’s still brilliant, though. Thanks a lot for showing me, I mean it.”

  Miles nods as he points at one of the figures holding a spear. “He even looks like you, sorta skinny, and with all kinds of messed up hair, I bet he’s your long lost great grandfather like a hundred generations back.”

  Pard laughs. “Maybe, who knows, though he’d be at least a thousand years old.”

  Miles pats Pard on the back. “Speaking of years old, I have something else for you.”

  “Boy, the surprises just keep coming from you, Lord Marlow. So what now?”

  Miles winks at Pard, and he slips behind a small boulder and returns with both of his hands held behind his back.

  Pard raises one eyebrow as he suspiciously eyes Miles. “All right, so what is it? Should I guess?”

  “This.” Miles presents a new dark-brown leather backpack. A backpack so fancy it must have cost twenty times more than Pard’s old backpack. “Happy birthday.”

  Pard’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

  “Of course, I can’t have you walking through the halls of Fairstone next to me carrying that ridiculous stack of books and unruly papers raining in your wake. I’m Lord Miles Marlow, I have a reputation to uphold, you know, for appearances, a certain standard I need to keep with those who I hang out with.”

  Pard’s eyes narrow. “Who do you hang out with? Now that I think about it—”

  Miles shakes his head and waves off Pard. “Never mind that. What matters is that right now I’m hanging out with you, and you need a backpack, so here you go, happy birthday, professor.” Miles tosses Pard the bag and it slams into Pard’s chest.

  Pard inspects the fine-crafted leather. “This is really nice, like really really nice.”

  “Of course it is, I wouldn’t know how to buy something that isn’t nice.”

  Pard chuckles. “Right. What was I thinking, I forgot.”

  “Glad you like it, come on, you’ve still got Hiney’s thingy to tutor me on tonight. Let’s head back to the castle.”

  “You know, I think this is the best birthday present anyone’s ever given me.”

  “Lucky for you you met me.” Miles ducks out of the cave.

  Pard stops for a split second, staring at the open crevice. And for the first time, without question, he fully agrees with Miles. Yeah, I think so, I am lucky to have met you, Lord Miles Marlow.

  A NEW LIGHT

  Sunday crawls by at a snails pace as Pard waits for his date in the library with Selby, about the only good thing he’s got going for him in his life at the moment. Pard does his best to keep his mind focused on his studies, but the upcoming trial and the thought of his mother’s locket inside of Yitch’s office way on him. Then Pard dwells on Alexa and Eeva, their faces and movements and intimidating demeanor. Could they really be interested in what’s best for me and take me to a better place and life? Or is it a ploy? One where Yitch pays bounty hunters to dispose of me once and for all one way or the other? Alexa and Eeva sure appear the part, to a point, but Yitch must’ve paid up big time because they sure aren’t any old ordinary street thugs. They give off an air of superiority, purpose, skill, and mission that seems a little more than meets the eye for just getting paid some petty coin to dispose of a boy from a rich school. After no answer comes to Pard, he gives up and lies flat on his bed as he stares at the ceiling. Every few minutes he glances to the side to his wooden clock ticking, the seconds moving no faster for his mental efforts.

  Seven finally arrives and a knock rattles Pard’s door.

  “Miles.” Pard bounces off his bed and races to the door. He opens it. “Professor Videl.”

  “Pard,” the professor says in a gentlemanly way with a slight head bow.

  “Come in, professor.”

  “Thank you.” Professor Videl limps into the room and shuts the door.

  “What can I do for you, professor?”

  The professor slowly lowers his body and sits in the desk chair. “The question is, my boy, what can I do for you?”

  “I don’t follow your meaning, professor.”

  “You realize your hearing is coming up in less than two days?”

  Pard sighs and glances away. “Yes, sir, I know, Yitch told me yesterday.”

  “Headmaster Yitch,” the professor corrects.

  “Yeah, him,” Pard says in a gruff tone.

  “I have to admit, sitting on the hearing council I’m privy to all the evidence prior to the trial, and it doesn’t look good in your favor.”

  “I know, sir, Yitch told me.”

  “Headmaster Yitch,” the professor reminds Pard again, this time raising his arthritic finger.

  “Yeah, him.”

  “I promised your parents if anything was to happen to them I would look after you.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “For years I’ve made sure you had your own private quarters, and food and books and supplies, and your spot secure here at Fairstone.”

  Pard lowers his head in shame. “I know, sir, and I’m grateful.”

  “I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”

  Pard looks the professor in his eyes, unsure of what to say; Pard can see the disappointment etched on the professor’s face. Pard doesn’t say anything. He did it, to say anything other than the truth would be lying. Pard already lied once, but he can’t continue to lie to Professor Videl, Pard wouldn’t be able to look at his own reflection in the mirror, so he keeps his mouth shut, silent.

  “I’m not sure where you’ll go if you can’t stay here at the school. I’m still working that out, but I have some savings—”

  Pard’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “No, sir, you’ve already done enough for me. If the worst happens, I’ll figure something out on my own. I don’t want you to get into any trouble or any of the blame on my behalf.”

  “You’re but fifteen, almost a man, but not quite yet.” The professor smiles. “Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?”

  Pard’s insides lighten. He remembered. Because he did think the professor forgot.

  “It’s not much, but its unique and I hope you’ll like it.” The professor extends a small, elongated wooden box toward Pard. The fancy box has a red glossy sheen, and appears to be new and about as long as a pen. Holding the box shut, a silver latch and a wrapping of twine tied into a bow.

  “For me?” Pard says. Pard’s mouth turns into a giant grin.

  “Yes, for you, go on, take it, these old bones in my arm can’t stay outstretched forever.”

  Pard leaps forward and takes the package. In awe, he eyes the elegant box as it lies peacefully in the palms of his hands.

  “Open it, it won’t open itself. It’s what’s inside that’s important.”

  In a flurry, Pard unties the twine, unlatches the silver hook, and opens the box. Pard pats a vermillion silk cloth, and then he feels the present inside the soft wrapping, a smooth metal object. He plucks it out of the box and removes the silk, and resting in the center of his palm, he stares. What is it? Pard holds it in front of his face, the appearance of a large silver pen, but it’s not a pen, or at least Pard doesn’t think it’s a pen.

  “So do you like it?” the professor says, kind smile on his grandfatherly face.

  Pard, still no idea what it is, twirls it over and over, then nods. “Yeah, it’s, er, great.”

  “Ha, my dear boy, you really need to lighten up sometimes, of cours
e I know you don’t know what it is. Most people don’t.”

  Pard continues to inspect and turn the silver elongated object which is as long as his hand. “It’s heavy. What is it?”

  “That there is a light stick. At least that’s what my old friend Marcus called it. He was an inventor in Ardinia. Marcus attended and walked these same halls as you do right now, ha, though that was almost sixty years ago.”

  “I love it, you say light stick?”

  “That’s one of the names he was thinking of calling it before he died last month. There are only three of those in existence in the entire world. Marcus was working on it for twenty years; and finally making a few that worked, he gave one to me for a birthday present a few months ago. But what would I have a need for a light stick at my age? By the time it’s dark and I can use it, I’m ready for sleep. So I’m passing it on to you, and may you get many years of use out of it in your late night studies.”

  Pard brings the silver stick close to his face, then points it right toward his eye. “Great, so what does it do?”

  “Press the end,” the professor says, “but—”

  Pard immediately presses the button and a blinding white light blasts out the tip.

  “Best to point it away from your face.”

  “Ah—shoot that’s bright.” Pard’s right eye flashes white, and he lowers his hand. “I can’t see, it blinded me.”

  “It’s all right, your vision will soon return, I promise. I did the same thing the first time with that darn thing.”

  Pard blinks with an exaggerated head movement. Shapes slowly reappear. He stares at the light stick then points it at the far wall, presses the button, and a circular spotlight of white shines on the surface.

  “It will light up a dark room real nice if you need.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Marcus never got around to explaining the particulars before he died. And he was real secretive too. I imagine he didn’t tell anyone before he passed.”

  “So this is one of a kind?”

  The professor rocks his head. “Three of a kind to be exact, but close enough.”

  “This is a great present, professor, I’m positive I’ll use it a lot.” Like in the Marlow Tunnel on a midnight Yitch hunt.

  “Enjoy it, Pard, I hope you get a lifetime of use.”

  Going forward, Pard repeats the words to himself. Then images flood Pard’s mind of him alone, wandering the streets in the dark, a wicked wind howling and blowing. He’s huddled over, arms almost crossed, and trudging through knee-deep snow, full pack on back and his shaky light stick in hand. Pard sighs and looks at the professor and forces a smile. “It’s great, professor, thanks a lot, I love it.”

  The professor slaps his knee then stands. The old man straitens his grey robe and makes for the door. “You bet, and no worries, son, I know you didn’t do it.”

  Pard forces another smile not saying a word.

  Bang, bang—

  The knocking rattles Pard’s rickety door and the loose, brass doorknob. Pard and the professor both stare startled by the unexpected interruption.

  Shoot, Miles.

  The professor reaches for the knob. “Expecting someone else tonight?”

  “Umm—”

  “Knock, knock,” Miles says in a goofy, playful voice. “Oh, lover lover boy, it’s time too—”

  The professor opens the door with a hard pull.

  Miles’s face freezes in surprise. “And—Professor Videl is here. So good to see you this lovely evening.”

  “Lord Marlow.” The professor peeks out the door as if expecting Pard’s room to fill with a hall full of rowdy students at any moment. “Lost, are you?”

  Miles looks down the hallway in both directions. “Umm—”

  “Lost for words, Lord Marlow? Now there’s a first.”

  Miles grins. “Ha ha, I know, right?”

  Pard steps next to the door. “He’s here to see me, professor. It’s okay, I’m tutoring him for the advanced mathematics term tomorrow.”

  Miles cranes his head out like a goose and gives Pard a dirty look.

  Pard shrugs.

  The professor nods. “Tutor, huh, great.” The old man limps through the door and past Miles. The professor glances back at him. “Good for you, Lord Marlow, it’s about time. For heavens sakes we all know you need it. Good for you, good for you.” The professor limps away and disappears down the corridor.

  Miles lunges into Pard’s room and slams the door shut. He opens his arms. “You told him you’re tutoring me.”

  Pard opens his arms back at Miles. “What?”

  “Why’d you tell him you were tutoring me?”

  “Because he isn’t an idiot, and you were about to say something stupid that would’ve gotten you in trouble.”

  In deep thought, Miles scratches his cheek. He shrugs. “What’s that you got in your hand?”

  “It’s cool, the professor gave it to me. It’s a light stick. Check it out.” Pard points it straight at Miles’s eye. “You watching?”

  “Yeah, so what’s it do?”

  “This—” Pard presses the button, and a blinding light flashes onto Miles’s face.

  Miles cringes and clinches his eyes shut and angles his body away. “Cool, but so not cool.”

  “It’s all right. You’ll be able to see in a few seconds.”

  “So it makes light?” Miles says, turning back toward Pard.

  “Yup, now when we sneak out at night or are in the tunnel we don’t need a torch. Speaking about the tunnel—when are we going for Yitch’s office again? I’m running out of time.”

  “How about tomorrow night after our first set of terms?” Miles says. “We have Tuesday off for your you know what.”

  Pard nods, armed with his light stick in hand, he gazes at it and smiles. “Tomorrow is good.” Pard tilts his head to the side as Miles’s confusing words hit him. “Tuesday off—since when?”

  “Yeah, you didn’t hear?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “I guess you don’t read the Chronicle.”

  “I thought you didn’t read the Chronicle either.”

  “Well, times are different now, and I have to keep up on what’s going on. Anyway, Tuesday’s terms were moved to Monday of the following week, and we have off so everyone can attend your trial.”

  “Seriously? Everyone?”

  “Yup, sorry, but you’re big news.”

  “Whatever, anyway, when we go for Yitch’s office, we can’t fail this time. I have to find something out before my trial, either to help me, or the truth before I’m banned from the school grounds forever.”

  “We got this, don’t worry.” Miles eyes Pard’s clock. “But don’t we have somewhere to be in thirty minutes?”

  “Right,” Pard says, and he slides the light stick into his front pocket and stuffs his Ruen book into his new pack. Then with the grace and energy of someone with a one-track purpose, Pard elegantly swings his cloak over his shoulders. “To the library.”

  EYES ON THE PRIZE

  They make their way through the Fairstone iron gate and onto the road leading away from the school.

  “So are you going to ask her to the dance tonight?” Miles says.

  “I guess so,” Pard says.

  “No victory for the meek. Best ask Selby before someone else asks her.”

  Pard’s face drops. “What if someone already asked her?”

  Miles slaps Pard on the back. “Don’t worry, no one has asked her yet. I was just saying.”

  “But how do you know if no one has asked her?”

  “Because guys like me know these things.”

  “What things?”

  “Secret things, the kinds of things that guys like you don’t know.” Miles shakes his head. “Look, keep your eyes on the prize and focus. You’re the Rue reading, light wielding, badass, and not just some other Greysin shlep that hasn’t asked Selby to the dance yet.”

  Pard walks slightly sideways
while looking at Miles holding his head high and confident.

  Miles doesn’t look at him, only ahead, fixed on the town’s lights approaching. “No other guy in the world has a chance with Selby other than you, it’s obvious.”

  “It is?”

  “Of course it is. If you weren’t so smart you’d see that.”

  Pard purses his lips.

  “Focus on teaching her the Rue stuff and act natural and it will all fall into place, I promise you. Hey, I can even sit at the table with you and be your wingman in case you get stuck.”

  “Thanks, you’d do that for me?”

  “Of course I would, what are friends for?”

  As they pass through the well-lit, quiet cobblestone streets of Greysin, the click-clack of their boots striking the snow-barren street echo off the quaint plastered-white shop facades lining the road.

  Miles continues on about how he knows the secret that Pard doesn’t, even though he doesn’t reveal anything in particular, though Pard still listens, intently waiting for the magical secret to slip from Lord Marlow’s silky tongue. But every now and again, something unsettles Pard. He focuses on Miles and Selby and Ruen, but then a sound, a sound as if another set of footsteps not matching his or Miles’s, or heavy breathing, or a rustle from a branch, makes its presence known behind him well out of sight, but close enough to feel.

  The library comes into view, illuminated with lanterns that reflect light of the white marble columns and gilded oak doors.

  Uneasy, Pard glances behind him again.

  “So I said to her—” Miles slaps Pard on the back. “‘The words whisper from your succulent lips like the warm spring breeze through a supple field of wheat;’ I think I read that somewhere; anyway, and then she giggled and gave me the wanting look and then it was all over from there, butter melting in my hands.” Miles laughs for a few seconds, but realizes Pard isn’t paying attention to him. Miles turns around to see what Pard is staring at. “What is it?”