Restriction: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (The Rise of Magic Book 1)

by CM Raymond

  Beauty was important, but they believed that virtue came with a modicum of humility, so they constructed the walls, houses, and shops with such a philosophy in mind. It was obvious that their framework had been jettisoned after Ezekiel had left decades ago.

  Two wings stretched out in either direction. Each identical to the other. They met in the middle in a massive hall with an entryway held up with arches reminiscent of the great buildings that existed before the Age of Madness.

  In the center of the building, a tower reached toward the sky, marking the highest point in all of Arcadia—an image of the ascendancy of magic.

  Students littered the lawn in front of the Academy—all of them sons and daughters of nobles. Some leaned over books and scribbled in leather-bound pads. Others stood in small circles practicing the spells assigned to them in the classroom.

  Ezekiel could feel the power coming from the students, which paled in comparison to the sheer force that lay within the walls of the building. He couldn’t help but smile.

  Part of his dream was to build this place. A school for all to study—somewhere that young adults could take time with no other cares than to learn the arts. It would have cost a lot, and they had discussed that. But they all knew that supporting a university of magic would be worth the sums, making Arcadia into the paradise he had dreamed of.

  He stepped up the wide, block staircase leading to a set of oversized doors. Before he could reach for them, they hummed and swung open, welcoming his presence.

  Clever, the old man thought.

  One of the advances that Adrien made was his application of the magical arts to tools, both common and spectacular.

  Magitech doors undoubtedly impressed the nobles. Just a little incentive to help loosen their grip on the piles of coins that would procure a spot for their children.

  Thinking of the market and the Queen’s Boulevard, Ezekiel knew that the magic in the doors could have been put to use elsewhere to ease the life of the brokenhearted and the down and out. Injustice ruled in Arcadia—sometimes it came in packages as innocuous as a set of doors.

  “May I help you, sir,” a young man, most certainly a student, dressed in official academy formal wear, asked.

  Ezekiel nodded. “Yes, I was hoping to get a tour,” he answered and then stood there, quietly waiting for an answer.

  The young man looked Ezekiel up and down taking in his mundane cloak. It wasn’t customary to give commoners tours of the Academy, which wasn’t hard to enforce.

  People in the lower classes never bothered asking. He looked over his shoulder at a crowd of nobles gathered at a reception desk sitting under a magnificent rotunda.

  “OK, well, tours are by appointment only. If you would like to schedule a time—”

  The old man tapped his staff on the marble floor. Its tone echoed through the hollowed-out space. “Looks like there’s a group ready for you now.” He grinned at the young man. “I’ll stay in the back.”

  The guy flushed and looked back again at his group. In Chancellor Adrien’s Academy, rules were made to be followed. “I’m very sorry sir, but—”

  Ezekiel stopped listening to the man. He closed his eyes and found his center. When he opened them, his eyes were fire red, but hidden from others. “It would mean very much to me to see your school. I expect you will oblige me.”

  The guide paused as if lost in thought. Then, he said, “Of course, sir. Luckily, there is a tour only now about to begin.”

  Ezekiel’s eyes faded back to their normal steely gray as his face broke into a grin. “Fabulous! I’m glad that reason still has a place in Arcadia.”

  As promised, Ezekiel stayed in the back, shuffling along behind the group of noble parents and their snotty children. Although the prospective students were on the doorstep of adulthood—all of them eighteen to twenty years old—they nevertheless looked like children to the old man. He wondered at the fact that he was not much older than them when he set off to make a new land—to build Arcadia. The difference was that these kids had grown in privilege.

  Ezekiel and his companions had aged quickly by the trials and toils of the world groaning for redemption in the years after the Age of Madness.

  Mothers doted over the kids and fathers joked to one another about how good the kids had it there. Ezekiel thought it might do the noblemen good to spend a day in the QBB to see just how good they had it with their government jobs and businesses running on the backs of the poor.

  Things had certainly changed in Arcadia, and this ship needed to be righted. His annoyance was fanning into the flame of being royally pissed off.

  The guide stopped in the middle of a long hall. Artwork from the days before the Age of Madness hung on either side of him. Everything glistened as though it were just made.

  “The Academy was founded only a few years after the last block was laid on the southern wall. The construction began before the Capitol. I’m always impressed by the fact that higher learning was in the mind of our founders from the very beginning of our city—a true testament to the fact that magic is the bedrock for the flourishing of Arcadia.”

  He took careful steps backward, recounting the history—or at least the “official” history of the Academy with each step.

  “Several magicians were here, of course, when the construction of Arcadia began. They were all powerful for their time, but magic conceived in those days was certainly different than it is now. It was learned in the woods and throughout the wreckage of the old world. As you can imagine, it wasn’t elegant as it’s taught here in the Academy—but nevertheless, it was quite effective.”

  Ezekiel followed along and smiled as he remembered those early days in Arcadia. The guide didn't quite have everything right, but it was close enough. Certainly, he and the others were scrappy magicians in those days.

  They learned on the run and under pressure. Their magic didn't come without discipline and training—without a cost.

  The young man continued. "But even in those days, there was one magician who stood out from them all during the founding of Arcadia. He was more skilled and powerful than the others. But thankfully, that man didn't hold his power as something to hold over the rest, instead, he understood his gift as one which held great responsibility. Our Chancellor, Adrien, was that man. And where you stand right now, is the dream that Adrien had."

  A chill spread over Ezekiel’s spine as he listened to the revisionist history.

  If what Eve had said was right, and he expected it was, the new narrative that was being played out should have been of no surprise.

  Rewriting history allowed those in power to keep their power and increase it. Adrien was always smart, but Ezekiel had believed that Adrien was also virtuous.

  It had been the main reason why he was confident leaving Arcadia in his able hands. He thought that he had trained Adrien in both magic and morality, but he was clearly mistaken.

  So damned mistaken!

  As the guide continued to back down the hallway telling more history of the University he stopped before a massive marble statue. Ezekiel recognized him immediately. It was the form of his old student, Adrien, representing him in his youth. The figure almost looked like what Ezekiel remembered of him. Except it was a little more beautiful. The features were more angular, and his body had a shape built in a gymnasium.

  The guy looked up at the statue in awe. "And here he is. The founder of the Academy."

  Mothers gawked at the striking image of the Chancellor in his youth as their kids shifted in boredom. They already knew that the way to prestige flowed through the Academy. A tour with all the boring history wasn’t necessary to convince them to apply.

  “He really was quite striking,” the guide added with a smile. “And most would say he has matured just as well. Let me assure you, as a student who is just about to finish his final term, he is as kind and benevolent as you have heard. All our instructors are fabulous, but the one course the students really look forward to is Chancellor Adrien�
�s ‘Magic in the World’ class. It’s the capstone. A way for us to have our final formation around what magic is really for. I’m in it right now.”

  “What are you learning?” the bravest and most interested kid asked.

  A smile cracked across the guide’s face. “The question is, what aren’t we learning? We began the term with the Chancellor explaining what happened in the days before the Academy. Of course, we had this in our ‘History of Magic’ course with Professor Burns, but it is good to focus in on it. Before the founding of the Academy, people ran around doing anything they wanted with magic. As you can imagine, there were times when pure chaos would break out in the streets of Arcadia. Particularly on Queen Bitch… um… Queen Boulevard.

  “Adrien realized that magic in the hands of unworthy people is the worst thing for the future of the city. So, he did something about it. Now, the arts, as you know, can only be learned here. The academy trains magicians and licenses its use in the world. But what people don’t talk about is the proper application of magic. We’re taught that magic used on street level is really magic wasted.”

  Ezekiel could hold back no longer. “Wasted?”

  The guide, for the first time, turned his attention to the old man. “Yes, sir. Wasted. It’s like this: There’s only so many magicians admitted to the school. One’s magic is limited due to how it wears the caster out. So, it only makes sense that there is a sum limited amount of magic to be dispensed in the world today at any given time.

  “That magic can be used doing silly little things like mending a neighbor’s fence. Or, it could be used for the sake of the city at large. That’s what magic is for, to fortify the city and to work for its prospering. Because—”

  “Pardon me, son,” Ezekiel interrupted. It took effort to keep his anger hidden from his voice. “But did you say mending a neighbor’s fence is silly?”

  “Yes, you see there is only so much magic—”

  “How about using your magic to save a family, or, say, a child from evil men?” Ezekiel pressed

  The guide laughed uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. Because there is only so much magic in the—”

  “If you were being eaten alive by some unknown disease that was treating your body like a rancid piece of meat, and I… or someone used their magic to save your life, would that be silly?”

  The guide, not used to people asking questions, let alone challenging the status quo he was taught to spew upon the noble visitors, was clearly flustered. Ezekiel, though cool on the outside, was reaching his own limit.

  “Adrien… the Chancellor says that magic used on the weak is hopeless. Magic’s place is for the city and for the strong. When we flourish, the city flourishes.”

  “Well, the Chancellor is a damned fool!” Ezekiel ground out, his eyes turning pure crimson as he released the sheer frustration and anger he held within.

  Ezekiel cupped his hands in front of his chest. The eyes of the visitors went wide as a pebble appeared floating over his palms. It quickly grew into a massive boulder, hovering in front of the old man.

  The on-lookers took steps away from him. Turning his palms out, Ezekiel pushed out the object, sending the giant rock careening toward the statue. With a loud VROOM BANG! Marble shattered in every direction.

  The guide and his guests all hit the ground, covering their heads as pieces of rock shattered and bounced off the walls.

  When the dust cleared, people coughing and a couple of women crying, the old man was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Living with a drunk all of your life teaches you to walk silently and to always have your guard up. Hannah had mastered navigating her father’s perpetual binge. The worn-out boards didn’t make a peep as she snuck past her comatose father sleeping in the dining room and into the room she shared with her brother.

  Hearing the door, William rolled over onto his side. He had always been small for his age, with a boyish face. But that day, the sixteen-year-old looked like a child, his face was ashen.

  “Happened again?” Hannah asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, the old mattress barely better than a hard board.

  He looked up and replied, “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t push him. Didn’t have to.

  Most days, Hannah was sure she knew her brother better than she knew herself. He wouldn’t give her any extra opportunities to feel badly for him. And he knew that he was the reason she even still lived in the house in Queen’s Boulevard. If it weren’t for William, Hannah would have been miles away—maybe even in another walled city, if that were a possibility.

  “I visited Miranda today. She gave me something for my face,” she told him as she reached up and touched her cheek.

  “Finally. I was wondering if we could do something about your ugly mug.” William laughed.

  Hannah landed a soft, playful punch of her brother’s arm before reaching into her pocket. “Gave me these too.” She rattled the bottle of pills. “Says they could help with the tremors.”

  Her brother looked down. “Hannah, you shouldn’t have—”

  “Of course, I should have,” Hannah argued.

  “No,” a burly, slurred voice from behind her said. “You should listen to your brother. You shouldn’t have.”

  Arnold, Hannah’s father, loomed in the doorway, looking like he hadn’t shaved or bathed in months. They used to talk about their dad going on a bender, but a bender implies that there were also sober days.

  “Where’s the rest?” her father asked.

  “Rest of what?” she asked.

  “The rest of the damned money. You go out there every day, the two of you, and you’re supposed to come home with something to show for it. So, where is it?”

  Hannah could feel her throat tighten and her body tingled with electricity as it had in the market. “I have food and medicine to show for it. That’s why I work—to take care of this family. Not to buy your damned fire water!”

  She froze. Staying out of her father’s way was always the wiser decision, and now Hannah had kicked the bees nest—and kicked it hard.

  Arnold’s face turned a brighter red, adding contour to his puffy, drunken eyes. “Well, I guess you might turn out to be like your mother after all—an ungrateful little bitch.”

  Her dad strode into the room pulled back a fist to add to Hannah’s already battered face. She flinched as the roundhouse came in her direction, but her father’s massive fist froze inches from her. Not just his hand, but his entire body was still as a statue.

  Hannah, clinched, expecting to get hit, but then opened when the blow failed to land.

  The hell?

  “What’s your name, sir,” a clear voice called from the hall behind her father.

  A robed man with white hair and a beard to match stepped into the small room. A staff was steadied in his hand. His eyes glowed fire red.

  “Arnold,” her father answered. The two youth, mouth’s open, looked between this newcomer and her father.

  “Arnold, I want you to listen very carefully. You will never lay a hand on your son and daughter again. From this moment on, you will let your children be. I want you to leave this house immediately, and don’t return until you have found work. Because you’re a drunken louse, and because it’s nighttime in the Boulevard, I don’t imagine you’ll have luck anytime soon. Nevertheless, this is now your number one priority. Nod if you understand me.”

  Arnold nodded. Hannah couldn't believe her eyes.

  “Good. Now leave us you poor excuse for a seed donor.” The old man waved his hand negligently, “I need to speak with your daughter. And one more thing,” the man said. “From this day forward, any booze that passes your lips will taste like donkey piss. Do you understand?”

  Her father nodded and slowly left the room, stepping around the old man. The strange old man’s face softened as he turned to face Hannah and William.

  “Now that that is taken care of, let’s get down to the important stuff, shall we?”

  Hannah’s jaw dr
opped in disbelief. “Who are you?” She looked to the door, where she heard the front door slam behind her father then back to the old man who was waiting on her.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  ****

  For most, eating alone night after night would be lonely, even at the long majestic table in the Chancellor’s Mansion, but Adrien wouldn’t want it any other way. His days were spent running the Academy and, for all intents and purposes, the city of Arcadia.

  The Governor would be lost without him, which makes sense since Adrien basically made the toothless bureaucrat who he was. The Governor didn’t do shit in his position, and that was precisely what the Chancellor expected from him.