Now the gate was rusted and locked. Instead of trying to force it, he climbed over the fence. The grounds were the worst he’d ever seen them. Totally neglected. The grass was long, weeds were everywhere, yet among the chaos was a simple blue flower. He picked it.
He remembered putting Sierra’s flower on his stand in his dormitory after she’d gone. He’d kept it there for days and had meant to keep it forever, or until he could see her again, but another boy had stolen it and tore it up. He never found out who it was.
Now he held a flower just like it in his hand. Like clutching a memory. He turned it, looking at it. Reliving a few choice moments. Then he closed his eyes and let go. Moving on.
The path to the tower was broken and overtaken with weeds. It passed an old pavilion. He stopped there and stood under its white roof. Spread his hands across the splintery wooden surface of a table. Recalled sitting here waiting, excited and eager, as a brand new student. He watched the other children come through the gate. They were so small and young, just like he was, and they intimidated him. They each had dreams and high expectations and none of them knew the world that awaited them inside this dark tower.
He remembered thinking he was already the exception and would never fit in. Partially because he’d never had a family or friend before, other than Sierra. But mostly because he’d already summoned a tiny spark of magic. All by himself. Without anyone teaching him how.
They shuffled closer, being led by one of the masters. Some were being hushed. There was a lot of laughter and playful pushing. How quickly they all seemed to be making friends. He was glad to have Sierra with him that first day. Now that they’d left the orphanage behind, things could only get better. He looked at her sitting next to him and she smiled. New places were supposed to be scary but when they were together nothing could frighten them.
A blond boy yelled to get everyone’s attention. He had several scratches, probably from climbing a tree and falling, but he was both confident and independent. He announced to everyone that he could do magic already. And to prove it, he formed a few drops of water on his palm and let them fall to the ground. He was squinting with pain, but making a great show of being tough enough to take it. Everyone cheered, except Antares who frowned, realizing he wasn't as unique as he’d thought. The others clustered around the blond boy with cries of, “Again! Again!” But Antares kept his distance.
Shaking the memory away, he left the pavilion and returned to the overrun path. In the courtyard, there had once been gardens on either side. Now the mulch was old and overflowing with junk plants and too many insects—it was eerie seeing it this way. Once it had been extraordinarily beautiful and students used to come here between classes. Some of the older students would read, but the younger ones would run and play.
He had many memories here and they spanned several years. He thought of one of the oldest.
He was a young initiate. Classes were over for the day and he was outside running, his fingers cocked like a handgun. He ran up to other children yelling “bang, bang you’re dead.” Some of them pretended to fight back—insisting they were not dead, he was the one who was dead—but the girls were no fun. They would tell him to go away or else ignore him. He was halfway into a battle with another boy when he spotted Sierra out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t with the other girls, she was with Merak, the blond boy who could do magic already.
Antares looked at them, he didn’t like Merak, they always competed at everything. Merak made it hard to be the best. Now Antares watched his rival push Sierra and pull her hair, really hard. She started to cry. That was all it took.
Antares bolted over and knocked Merak to the ground without warning. He felt so much anger, it fueled him as he punched and kicked. Merak fought back and tried to wiggle away, the other children gathered around and chanted.
Merak was slippery and hard to keep pinned, but Antares held him down. And while Merak’s arms flailed about madly, Antares thought about his punches, tried to aim them. Wanted them to hurt. His tiny fists slammed down repeatedly as Merak squealed like a girl.
One voice pierced the noise, “Don’t hurt him,” said Sierra. But Antares couldn’t stop, he just kept railing on him, making him bleed. A second later, a firm hand ripped him from the ground and held his arms back. Another master caught Merak who jumped up, fists curled. He had a black eye and a bleeding nose and one of his teeth were missing but he made a big show about wanting to keep fighting. In his eyes, though, Antares saw his submission. They were filled with tears. Both Antares and Merak were dragged away for punishment and he never forgot that look in Merak’s eyes.
It had all happened about here, Antares stared at the spot in the moonlight. His eyes darted from where Sierra had stood to the place he and Merak had tangled. He shook his head. For some reason, after their fight, he and Merak respected each other. They even became best friends.
His eyes darted to one of the windows of the tower. The dormitory of the fourth-years. Older boys. They had thrown eggs out that window at Antares and Merak, and the rest of their class. He recalled sneaking into their room and vandalizing it. He and Merak had pulled mattresses onto the floor, overturned chairs, soaked their homework in water, and—most pointedly of all—smeared eggs all over so they’d know who’d done it. And they could never tattletale without admitting they’d thrown eggs in the first place.
It didn’t matter to Antares and Merak that they’d declared war on older students, together they felt unstoppable. Invincible. And, now that Antares thought back on it, there had been another person with them. A third, quieter member of the gang. Rigil. The shy, white-haired boy. The silent outcast. Their friend because nobody else would take him. He was the slowest at magic and never seemed happy, but he tagged along and cooperated with all of their schemes and pranks.
How young and stupid we were...
He let go of the memory and continued along the path until it touched the edge of a small woods. Tucked away, in the corner of the courtyard, was a thicket of trees surrounding a little stream. It had dried up now but he could still hear it flowing in his memory. A short fence used to exist along the side of the woods, meant to keep some of the unwanted fauna out of the courtyard. He was sitting there again, in his mind, side by side with Ariana. Their hands clasped together. It was so blissful. She’d come to visit him here and had brightened everything.
She had cousins in this city and was allowed by her parents to stay with her aunt and uncle to attend school in Skyhaven. She’d done it for Antares, he knew that. And he had been so certain that they would be together forever. Had believed that, ever since his first glimpse of her that fateful night at the dance hall. Life without her seemed empty. He lived for her.
On this occasion they were talking about everything, the weather, the future, what they wanted from life, when suddenly something hard smacked Antares in the back of the head. He yelped and gingerly uncurled himself from Ariana, turning just in time to catch another pebble in the chin.
He lit his hand afire for a second, as a warning, and stormed into the woods—where he found his attacker standing next to the tree where he’d carved “Antares + Ariana Forever.” Merak stood smiling, another pebble in his hand.
“Oh, now you’re going to get it,” said Antares. But another pair of arms seized him around his chest and Merak rushed him, grabbed his legs. He stiffened and wrestled viciously to break free while they dragged him toward the stream. Just as he was sure they would throw him in, they let go and began laughing.
“You should have seen the look on your face, lover boy,” said Merak, his eyes watering. Rigil too was getting a kick out of this prank.
“Is that so?” Antares snapped a branch off the nearest tree and swatted Merak with it. Before long they all were fighting with sticks and laughing. They practiced some of the techniques they’d learned in school, but in no time Antares and Merak had to join forces to keep Rigil at bay. They’d been among the top of their class but somehow Rigil’s sword
mastery had far exceeded theirs, and everyone else’s. Antares and Merak were forced to surrender after taking several scratches and bruises.
“We give up, already,” said Merak, barely able to speak around his own laughter. Rigil looked pleased with himself.
“You boys never grow up,” they turned to see Ariana. She was shaking her head and pretending to be annoyed, but Antares knew better. The hint of a smile on her curled lips and the dancing in her eyes confirmed that she'd been in on this birthday surprise all along.
Antares ran to her and, without warning, lifted her off the ground, spinning once. She laughed and he set her down gently. “Why would I ever want to grow up?” He looked into her sparkling eyes. “When I can stay young with you forever.”
Seeing Ariana’s smile again, its warmth, youth, and energy all focused on him. It was a very pleasant memory, and it made him wonder, not for the first time, what might have been.
That birthday, on that warm afternoon, had been the last time he and Ariana had seen each other without some kind of awkwardness or tension between them.
His mind returned to the desolate present and he looked at the overrun woods, they were spooky now. He found the spot where he’d carved their names. They’d been crossed out since. A thick “X” had been cut into the tree. How fitting. He sighed, kicking the dirt.
It was a warm memory, but distant. Like reaching out for happiness but being blocked by the invisible, impenetrable glass of time.
He and Ariana had grown apart after that. No, he realized, he’d been the one who’d grown apart. He’d chosen to dive into his studies, and as the masters gave him more and more attention, he gave her less and less. He’d become obsessed with fulfilling everyone's expectations. All that had been on his mind in those days was the upcoming trials—especially the Crucible. So he rarely made time for Ariana.
He was at the paramount of his training, the defining moment where the young champion-elect would get offers from all four Combines. High positions, captaincy, maybe even the role of a junior overseer. He would have it all. And some sad part of him was convinced he was doing it for her. Believed that this was what Ariana wanted. That she liked him because of his success, not in spite of it.
It had been his first and last thought every day. And once nothing else mattered, he lost everything.
He recalled too easily how many times he hadn’t put her first, hadn’t listened to her, had avoided telling her the whole truth, or hadn't confided in her. He even forgot dinners together, walks in the woods, had stopped making light conversation, and wouldn’t set time aside every day just to be with her. Those things had been trivial to him, but they added up over time. Forgetting to do all of those little things had seemed so insignificant, yet ended up as one of the greatest mistakes of his life.
Too late for regrets now. He looked away from the carving and left the woods. He reached the base of the old tower and climbed the short staircase leading to the door. As he conquered it one step at a time, he felt a splash of anguish course through him. The last time he’d ascended these stairs it was with a sword in his hand and Rigil at his side. Allowing absolutely nothing to get in their way.
This night, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He pulled the metal handle and the gate creaked open, letting the moonlight spill silver into the murky blackness. He slipped inside.
A dark, deathly chill crept along his spine as he remembered why he and Rigil had come here together, for what was meant to be the last time. And his eyes stung all over again with tears he just couldn't cry. Sierra had been the reason he led Rigil with weapons drawn. He recalled marching across this marble floor, ignoring the glances of confusion from his peers. He shoved people out of the way. Motivated by a single overarching purpose.
Tonight the tower, much like the grounds, was unkempt and abandoned. It hadn’t been in use since that fateful night when he’d razed Andar. He stared into the ominous darkness and lit his hand ablaze, using it as a torch. As he walked farther inside, he remembered it as it used to be.
Young initiates walked up and down the staircase to get to their studies or dormitories. The older students wandered the main hall, studying out of ancient books. All of them carried the fear that they’d be punished. It silenced their joy and shackled their free spirits.
Antares once believed he loved this place. But now, as the images of fear and frustration came back, and the faces of his fellow students seemed to pass him like spirits in the darkness, he realized how bitter his academy years had been. And that too had made it easy for him to do what he’d chosen to do, that last time he’d come.
He arrived outside a plain brown door. There were no windows, it was simply another room. One of a dozen he’d passed. But this one was different. The etched stone above it read Master Quintus. And the image of a tall man with long brown hair and a dark blue cloak came to mind. His grey beard was well kept and his eyes seemed wise and infallible.
This man had taken Antares as a young apprentice and taught him the crafts of magic, swordsmanship, and other scholarly disciplines. He’d shown Antares all four cities of the world, taught him the importance of culture and philosophy, and Antares had idolized him. Admired him with enthusiasm that was even stronger than his fear of punishment. And, for a brief moment of his youth, his greatest aspiration was to become a master. Exactly like Master Quintus. Be everything he was.
How distant those thoughts had been the last time he’d come, when he’d stormed into this office unannounced and uninvited. Throwing the door aside, practically ripping it from its hinges. Antares recalled marching up to Master Quintus, hate in his eyes as he thought of what his old mentor had done.
He blinked back to the present and stepped into the black, dusty office. It was filled with shadows because of his firelight but was empty. The bare walls were charred black, and, like an echo, he remembered torching them that way.
Saw again Quintus’ strange yellow eyes as Antares threw him into the wall. Heard the crunch of bone. Antares screamed at him with hate for what he’d done. Demanded to know if this place, his office, had been where he’d done the deed. It took everything not to let his imagination run wild. He didn’t want to think of how it had been when Master Quintus had taken Sierra against her will.
“I KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Antares had yelled down at him. And there wasn’t a doubt. Quintus had always had eyes for Sierra, and had allowed her to return to the academy and work, despite having been expelled many years before. Antares had been grateful then and had no idea what Quintus’s true motives had been. Sierra had come, just as Antares requested. Had he never had the idea, she never would have been here. Never would have become a victim. So, in some strange way, Antares blamed himself. Had it not been for him, this would never have happened, and she would still be alive. It was this guilty feeling, mixed with his furious wrath, that’d guided his next actions.
He recalled blasting the room with fire. Drowning it. Scorching it to its barest stone. Torching everything inside it. Master Quintus screamed in agony and died, leaving behind less than a skeleton. Even after Quintus had expired, Antares continued roasting the room for several more seconds, his mind racing as he thought of how, to hide the deed, Quintus had killed Sierra. Had strangled her to death. She’d been buried in a closed casket before Antares could return from abroad, and Skyhaven’s police had chosen not to investigate the murder. They didn’t pursue the case because the prime suspect was an academy master. His reputation, and that of the enforcers, and the academy—around which the entire city had been based—needed to be protected. But Antares didn’t care about that. All he knew was that his first, greatest, and most valuable connection to the world had been tortured, killed, and cast aside. It gave him more hate than he could have imagined, it was boundless, untempered, and had no limit.
When his fire ceased, he rejoined Rigil in the hall. Believing that to be the end of it. His sister had been avenged and some small, inadequate measure of justice—the justice of a brother— h
ad been fulfilled.
He remembered the masters swooping in. Descending on them. Pouring out from their offices, quarters, and other rooms. Closing in on him and Rigil. Swords lit bright, magic flowing from their palms. Determined to strike him down for murdering Quintus. And they feared for their own lives. He and Rigil stood against them. Not forgetting all the torture and agony they’d heaped upon others. Not forgiving them for their other dark deeds and closeted skeletons. And not willing to die in this place.
Antares’ magic, which was unmatched, bathed the tower in fire. And Rigil’s brilliant swordsmanship held even the best masters at bay. It was pure and total chaos. But even together they couldn’t have hoped to prevail. Not alone.
Other students joined the fray. Unleashed their own hate upon the masters who’d tormented and mistreated them. Who’d punished them in cruel ways for minor infractions. The masters who’d forced upon them an atmosphere of terror and unquestioning submission. They lashed back, together, and the masters began to fall.
Then Orion came. And many of the students who’d joined in cowered back, afraid for their lives. Before them was one of the strongest masters, and believed to be the greatest swordsman who’d ever lived. He cleaved through some of the students, even ones who hadn’t taken part in the fight, and ordered the rest to stand down and accept punishment. Antares refused but it had been Rigil who’d stepped forward and answered Orion’s challenge.
Antares feared for Rigil. Believing that once he fell—and he was certain to—Orion would kill the rest of them. And Antares could not scorch him to death, because Orion, like Antares, was impervious to fire.
Rigil and Orion crossed blades, clashing with speed and commitment never before seen. And, to everyone’s surprise, the battle was over within seconds. Orion’s helmet rolled down the hall, his head inside it. Rigil stood triumphant, sword raised. The students flocked to him, like a rallying cry, and threw their blades and magics against the masters with increased vigor.
Secrets of Silverwind Page 22