Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series

by Vaiya Books

  As they did this, a burly man clothed entirely in leather and possessing a hardy, unflinching demeanor, came out of the woods. Though he was trailing behind the twenty, his confident face and authoritative aura made him seem the leader of this forlorn group. Something about the way he could still be so happy while those he commanded looked so miserable made Jimmy uneasy.

  Standing there, wondering what to do next, he was met by two of the young men who’d left their group and had decided to chat to him. Unfortunately, however, as they began talking to him, with curious expressions on their faces, their words fell vainly upon his ears. He couldn’t understand a word they said.

  Feeling very uncomfortable, he tried to ask them questions, but they only pointed at him and whispered among themselves, as if he were an idiot. And right now, he certainly felt like one.

  Not wanting to stay any longer in this awful situation, he quickly moved away from all the action, and began trotting down a long marble pathway towards a spacious silver manor nearly half a mile away. Even from this vantage point though, he could tell that the manor was beautiful and far more majestic than any structure he’d ever seen in person.

  As he drew nearer to it, his interest piqued, he noticed dozens of star-shaped windows staring down at him, many silver-tiled balconies decked with gold chairs and circular wood tables hanging out from each one of the four stories of the edifice, and various neatly trimmed trees scattered around the grounds of the manor.

  Ever the nature lover, Jimmy couldn’t help but gaze in fascination at the different colored leaves on the trees. Some leaves were golden, some sapphire-green, some bright yellow, some light silver, and some a bright red.

  Thrilled that the outside of the manor had such lovely scenery, he grew all the more eager to check out the inside of it, knowing that it could only be more magnificent.

  However, as he ran towards the gate, he was stopped by four fierce-looking guards wearing dark silver helmets and silver battle armor. Two-edged light-purple swords were in their hands and a two-foot diameter circular silver shield in the other. The weight from carrying all that silver didn’t seem to faze them in the slightest.

  “Halt in the name of King Ralin!” one of them shouted to him.

  Not understanding their speech, he dug his feet into the ground anyway and came to a quick standstill. His lips trembled, his heart pounding inside him, as he stepped backwards, eying them with extreme caution. Better not to say anything.

  As he stood there in silence, the eldest looking guard with fine white hair and a knotted gray beard studded with pearls, pulled a small sketch out of his pocket and examined it intently, sharing it with his comrades.

  As they gazed at it for about a minute, glancing occasionally at Jimmy, the eldest spoke up, apologizing, “Forgive us for not recognizing you sooner, Ferinor, but we didn’t think you northerners had such foreign apparel.” As Jimmy hesitated, the guard gave him a quizzical look. “Come on in, Ferinor. No need to be as bashful as a shepherdess. The master has been greatly looking forward to your arrival.”

  However, no matter how much they talked, nothing made any sense to him. Obviously, English wasn’t their specialty. Maybe another language would work. Racking his brain for a good French phrase, he quickly found one. He worked on his best accent as he mustered, “Je ne comprends pas.”

  But it was obvious that they didn’t understand his words enough to know that he was telling them he didn’t understand them. Instead, the two guards gave him a frown that one would give to a child who’d just stuck an ice cream cone up his sister’s nose, as they came alongside him, one on each side, and then pushed on his back, nearly tripping him. “Hurry up, Ferinor, and stop blathering nonsense. Do not keep the master waiting any longer; he has already waited a ship’s voyage.”

  Irritated by their rude behavior, Jimmy bit his lip and remained quiet, his mind a whirl of confusion, as the other two guards pulled the lever and opened up the gate. Nothing made any sense to him; he couldn’t even understand one word they spoke. For all he knew, they might as well have been speaking Arabic.

  Yielding reluctantly to the two guards as they escorted him the rest of the short way down the marble pathway, Jimmy breathed in the thick fragrances of maple syrup and sugar cane that wafted from the seven-petaled cherry red and three-petaled green flowers that lined the path. Their sweet aromas comforted him and gave his puzzled mind some relief; it didn’t last long though.

  As they reached a silver door, streaked with gold dust, the two guards uttered a strange farewell to him and then marched back down the marble path towards the gate, leaving him all alone.

  Intimidated, hoping that the occupant of the mansion was friendly and bilingual, with the second language being English, Jimmy knocked hesitantly on the door.

  To his surprise, the door immediately swung open and an elderly gray-bearded and gray-haired man, who reminded him of Saruman from Lord of the Rings, stood in front of him, gazing at him. The tall man, wearing an azure blue cloak that stretched down to his sturdy knees, wore pine green sandals and clutched a cherry wood staff with his right hand.

  In complete awe, feeling extremely intimidated, Jimmy listened as the man spoke in the same harsh abrupt language as the guards had earlier. Trying to discern the syllables, where each word began, and what each word might mean, Jimmy spoke several sentences to the man in English, before a wave of energy struck his body. Trembling from the force of energy, he felt a rough hand on his shoulder, as wise jet black eyes peered down at him.

  “I’ve been expecting you for some time now, Ferinor,” said the bearded man, nodding his head calmly, as he paced back and forth in the enormous library, a few students nearby sitting down on a bench and temporarily disbanding their studies of a large silvery blue book to look up at Jimmy. “I must say though, you’re not as old as I’ve been led to believe. And your Sarithian language skills are much worse than I’d expected.” He paused, massaging the dolphin sculpted head of the staff with his fingers as he peered at Jimmy’s blue jeans and torn shirt.

  Finally given the chance to speak, Jimmy eyed the wizard-man with bewilderment, surprised that he actually understood him now. “Who are you, sir?” he asked in Sarithian, mouthing the words to his astonishment.

  “Who am I?” Smoldering crossness spread over his already dark countenance as his gray bushy eyebrows tinged with white sunk into his eyes. “I’m Master Zenari, chief sage of Sarith, son of Methril and Valicia Aevin. Of all the things I’d expected you to ask me upon your arrival, this was the last.”

  “Of course, Master.” Jimmy gazed at him nervously, sheepishly, before letting out a weak chuckle. “I was merely joking, though.”

  The master’s eyes immediately flamed, as he leaned his face forward in rage. “I will not tolerate any more nonsense, Ferinor. This whole time I’ve been expecting a well-educated, articulate noble, and instead I get an ignorant, babbling peasant who spins childish jokes in king’s palaces. If your mother didn’t establish your high character in her missives, you wouldn’t even be standing here right now. Such tardiness is completely intolerable.” Silence. Then some more.

  Though Jimmy found it slightly amusing that they both shared a common dislike for tardiness, the bad situation squeezed out any mirth from him. Finally, the punishing silence was too much to handle. “So you’ve been expecting me, Master?” he managed to ask.

  “Yes, for about a week.” Shooting daggered looks at Jimmy, he threw out three statements in angry monotone. “You will need new clothes. You are a week behind in your studies. You are already on my bad side.” His mouth’s sharp curves could have sliced open a trout. “Is that clear enough, or do you want me to give you more trivial information about things you should’ve already understood?”

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed, glassing over; he stole a quick breath. It finally struck him--just who was he impersonating? And why wasn’t this person here already?

  Before he’d thought too long about it, though, Zenari threw out a
nother insult. “You have the same rude disposition that your mother warned me about, Ferinor. This will not be tolerated for long.” He paused, seizing his gray beard, and shook it around. “Follow me; you have much to learn.”

  Stomach a sailor’s knot, he followed the sage to a classroom, three other students, all dressed in identical silver robes, trailing behind him, whispering to each other. The room was filled with weird globes--for he didn’t recognize any of the countries--test tubes, thick ornate books, colorful maps, bizarre flowers, myriads of weeds, dozens of different shaped roots, unusual symbols and many other nature-related things. Many other students were already there, and there were just enough chairs for the four of them to sit down.

  As Jimmy took a seat in a bronze chair next to a young man with straight blond hair, everyone arose reverently from their seats and bowed three times to the sage, the sort of deep bow that bends your back completely flat. It felt like he was in Japan.

  Bending his back to levels he didn’t think he could reach, Jimmy completed his bows and then sat painfully back down on his chair. For the remainder of the session, he copied the blond-haired man’s every movement. It seemed to work.

  After the one and a half hour lecture ended, a lecture about the history of the Chardin Academy, many notable Chardins whose deeds were recited, and the principles of anti-magic which was the most confusing part as it combined math, philosophy, biology, chemistry, and a little bit of music to try to develop the ten laws of the Chardins, the twenty students, including him, stood up again and bowed three times to Master Zenari. The sage then ushered them out of the room, likely in order of rank, leaving him alone with the master.

  “You’re not interested in becoming a Chardin, are you?” he asked Jimmy, once everyone had left, his eyes aflame, his dark eyes scouring Jimmy’s soul.

  “Sure I am.” He stifled a yawn, a serious look in his eyes. “I loved everything, especially the part about the Laws of Perin.” As soon as he spoke it, he knew he’d said something wrong.

  The sage struck his staff against the stone tiles. “The Laws of Tarin!” His eyes ignited with unholy madness, the like Jimmy had never seen. “Of all that I taught, this was by far the most important, for it was Tarin who established this academy and the ten rules of the Chardins.”

  Jimmy cringed at the sage’s fury and his own horrible blunder. “Sorry, Master. I-I forgot.”

  A stinging slap on the cheek brought him to reality. “Don’t lie to me, Ferinor. If you don’t want to be here, get out! I don’t waste time teaching people like you when a thousand others are more willing to learn.” He scowled, then added, “Your mother told me you were of a different breed.”

  “I understand.” He bowed to the master ceremoniously, his mental capacities exhausted, his pride wounded. “Forgive me.”

  But the sage stood there, unmoved, staring harshly at him, while swatting his right hand back and forth. “Go along then; move on to your next class.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Item crafting with Haxien, room swordfish.” He muttered something under his breath before giving Jimmy a truly embalming scowl. “Get to the mountains, and get a brain in that fuzzy head of yours.” Before Jimmy had left the room, the sage stuffed a thin parchment into his hands. “And read your schedule. It’s clear you haven’t the faintest notion what you’re doing.”

  “I’ll do that and more, Master,” he replied, clicking his tongue uneasily.

  “You’d better, Ferinor. You’d better.”

  With that solemn warning weighing heavily upon him, Jimmy left the room and spent the next five minutes in search of the mysterious swordfish room. Finally, he saw a symbol on a door that resembled the aforementioned animal, and he rapped on it twice before opening it.

  As the door fell open, a timeworn face, creased with severity and hardened with the worst sorts of callousness, turned his way. He froze.

  “Ferinor Eldred,” spoke the professor, his droll, icy voice capable of turning all listeners into statues. “We welcome you to class.”

  There were no empty chairs. No empty spots. Nineteen students, some male, some female, wearing school uniforms consisting of silver robes, a unique silver emblem on top of their hair, and ornate wooden sandals, stared back at him with either pity or anger, as he struggled with what to do. Tardiness aside, with his blue jeans and ragged black t-shirt he stuck out like a sore thumb. Why didn’t he get new clothes? Was it because he was late? And why hadn’t he noticed this disparity in his last class?

  After five more burning seconds of agony, his eyes shifting from the olive green cape and fine black hair of the professor, to the exquisitely designed iron, bronze, and copper artifacts, painted in wondrous hues of royal purple, azure blue, rose pink, lemon yellow, and others, that were sitting on a circular walnut table, he’d made up his mind what to say. “Professor Haxien, where should I sit? There’s no--”

  “You won’t be sitting,” interrupted Haxien, his narrowed eyes capturing the very image of hatred.

  “Then where--?”

  “You’ll be my assistant.” With his chin, he gestured to an empty chair around the artifact-laden table. “Next time perhaps, you won’t be late.” Closing his eyes and humming to himself, he waited until Jimmy had seated himself on the one lone chair facing the rest of the class, before continuing. Picking up a heavy bluish metallic belt from the table, he held it out to the class. “Now as I was saying, the Zaljah belt acts as a strong repellent and neutralizer to most magic.” Pausing, letting the information sink in, he asked, “Talia, what one can it not repulse?”

  “Illusory Visage,” answered a young lady after a respectful pause, her green eyes sparkling with intellect beyond her years.

  “And why not?”

  “The belt cannot detect the magic and therefore cannot repel it.”

  Haxien smiled as he set the belt down with a clang. “Very good.” He turned to Jimmy. “Now it’s your turn.” Another smile, this one laced with wickedness. “Put on the belt.”

  “I’m not sure how,” said Jimmy nervously, as he looked at the weighty belt. There’s no way it would fit in the loops on his blue jeans. With all the clasps, holes, and metal pieces on it, he’d rather take his shot at untying the Gordian knot.

  “As I expected.” Haxien wrote something down on a parchment before continuing. “Ferinor, a notch has been struck from your knowledge. Lose another three notches in this category and you will read the Tome of Alahart every free moment you have. Understand?”

  “Yes, Professor,” replied Jimmy, veins of self-pity coursing through him at this unfair treatment, and ashamed that every student in the room was witness to this. From the nervous expressions of his classmates, the Tome of Alahart was no cakewalk.

  “Good.” He grinned evilly, reinforcing Jimmy’s disdain for the man, and then resumed his lecture about elven magic and how to resist it by natural means and by special items, every so often letting Jimmy do some menial task like rearranging the items on the desk, holding up a wickedly heavy item for over ten minutes, sharing his “knowledge” with the class, or answering a pointed question.

  Throughout it all, Jimmy was thoroughly miserable, and he wished more than anything that he would have simply denied that he was Ferinor from the start. Then none of this would’ve happened, and he could’ve saved himself from potentially worse trouble. For if the real Ferinor showed up, it would undoubtedly only get worse for him. Who knew how badly impersonators were treated in this country? Since Master Zenari so easily assumed he was the right guy, it seemed the punishment for faking an identity must be very grave indeed, so that no one would try it. No one except him, that is. How dumb could he be?

  Within the first few minutes of the lecture, he’d already had two notches taken off from propriety because he’d accidentally slouched--twice; a notch taken off from compliance with academy rules, for brushing against the professor; and three more notches taken off from knowledge, for failing at every question thrown at him.r />
  Right now, reading the Tome of Alahart was only the least of his concerns. He’d also been sentenced to a week’s study with Professor Kahna, the only female professor, and the academy’s miss perfect. Manners, etiquette, posture, and language, were only a few of the subjects she specialized in. When students were done with her, they were barely recognizable. Rumor had it, from a young man named Mesari, who’d kindly informed him of his punishments, that they became like hollow subservient dolls, which she controlled at her bidding. A truly terrifying thought.

  Yet worse even than this was the dreaded jog with Professor Warlon, the leather-clad wilderness man, which would occur precisely in twelve shakes of a stick, whatever that meant. Whisperings and such, told him that this was not just an everyday run and that “things happened” to those unfortunate enough to go on such a journey. He wasn’t sure if this was just a scare tactic, but still, whatever this jog consisted of, he knew it wasn’t just a walk in the park.

  Sitting all alone in the empty classroom, his delayed penalty for accidentally interrupting one of the professor’s more “stirring” monologues by slouching, he stared at the empty desks as a sick laughter took hold of him. The situation was so awful it was almost comical. In such a short time, he’d received more punishments than he knew what to do with.

  Back at his high school, he’d never even received detention once, and only twice did one of his teachers actually scold him for something. Yet now, he sat in an unknown world, being dealt a punishment for practically anything he said or didn’t say. Clearly, he wasn’t cut out for such higher-level learning. If this were what college was going to be like, he’d rather live out on the streets. Then again, perhaps he was being a bit too dramatic....

  The door to the empty classroom flew open, and with the swish of garments, Master Zenari swept towards him like a dust devil or a swirling hurricane.

  “Ferinor, by the Ancient Ghosk, what have you done?” he began, his hot temper flaring. “When I accepted you into this academy I expected you to be aware of the rudimentary customs and laws of our land; but from what we’ve seen, you are more like a boy from storybook land eating roasted tumpa nuts.”