Birthright (The Technomage Archive, Book 1)

by B.J. Keeton

  ***

  The previous headmaster of Ennd’s Academy had taken ill quite suddenly over the summer and the Board of Regents had replaced him with Gilbert Squalt. There were rumors that it was temporary, but there were also rumors of its permanence. Suffice it to say that no one really knew what was going on with the headmaster's job at Ennd's. In either case, Headmaster Squalt was making himself quite comfortable with his accommodations at Ennd's.

  His office was huge, with an incredibly high, domed ceiling and round walls that were covered in bookshelves and display cases. On the shelves and in the cases, there rested a rather eclectic collection of sports memorabilia, weaponry, books, and holovid screens. It was, to Ceril, as though whoever owned the office couldn’t decide what his favorite pastime should be, so he indulged in them all. One rather large screen was directly opposite the headmaster's desk. It was being retracted as Ceril and Professor Nephil entered the room.

  Ceril felt another wet, tingling sensation upon entering the headmaster's office. His eyes were drawn to seating area to his left, where Squalt had a couch, chairs, and tables set up like a small living room in the middle of his office. They looked comfortable.

  “Ceril!” the headmaster said. He rose from his desk and stood with his arms spread like he wanted to give the young man a hug. “So glad you are here. I've been looking forward to having this conversation since they told me I would be taking over the headmaster's position here.”

  Ceril couldn’t help but notice how large the man's lips were; they made his grin go petty much from ear to ear. Is this really the same man from Presentation?

  “Make yourself at home,” the headmaster said. He gestured to the seating area Ceril had noticed. “We really should be comfortable for this talk.” His eyes darted to Professor Nephil and then back to Ceril. He was addressing the professor as much as he was the student. Squalt was the first to sit, which signaled to Ceril and Nephil that it was okay to do the same.

  Ceril fidgeted as he sat. As comfortable as the couch looked, he could find no position that suited him. The atmosphere should have been much more relaxed in here than it was at Presentation, but it really wasn’t, at least not for him. Professor Nephil, who had been so rigid and stern on their way in, now leaned comfortably in the soft chair. Headmaster Squalt reached over his head for something that was resting behind his chair.

  His sword. The orange-brown glow was gone, but the gold blade shined brightly in the sunlight shining through the large windows. The headmaster settled into his spot and smiled at Ceril.

  As though on cue, the headmaster’s sword began to glow once again. Squalt sat holding the sword by the hilt with his left hand, while the blade lay across his lap. The aura around the blade looked like fire, and it got brighter the longer the headmaster sat there. It couldn’t have been fire, though, because his clothes were not being burned off his body, nor was there any indication that he felt the unpleasant sensation of the sword burning its way through his legs. That’s how Gramps talked about the Flameblades, Ceril thought.

  “Tell me, Ceril. What do you know about the Charons?” Squalt asked.

  Ceril’s eyes never left the blade. “Not a lot, sir,” he said. He knew that he had to be very careful to not let what he and Gramps talked about spill into what he told the new headmaster.

  “Why don’t you indulge me?” The grin had not left his face.

  Ceril shuffled in his seat a little. “Well, they lived a long time ago,” he said. “I think I remember that some people looked up to them like, umm, like they were gods. That’s where the myths came from. We read the one about Vennar in history last year, three versions, I think. Professor Winters said there might be a few poems written about them that say that Charon was just…just another name for the technomages, but that not everyone believes that. P-professor Winters said some of the legends said the Charons used actual magic, and not science like the mages,” Ceril said. He stopped and looked down, then added, “That they weren’t pretending.”

  He had always loved the idea of technomages, that there were things on Erlon that only the best or smartest people could understand and use. He had loved reading about technomages since he was young. But now that he was talking about them out loud, he felt childish and silly.

  “I see,” Squalt said. He bounced his leg up and down as he looked at Ceril. “That’s it?”

  “I think so, sir,” said Ceril. “Like I said, most of what we studied was that one myth. It was only a part of the unit.”

  “Did you happen to learn about their weapons?”

  “N-no, sir,” Ceril lied. “Not really.”

  “Then,” said Headmaster Squalt, “I take it that you had no idea that this,” he stood up and pointed the sword at Ceril’s chest, “is a Charon's sword? Or that the one you’re holding—” Squalt stopped midsentence when he saw that Ceril wasn’t holding onto his sword any longer. “Where is your sword, Ceril?”

  Ceril held his palms face up and looked at them. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He had come in with the sword, and he was sure he had never let go of it. Yet, it was not in his hand, nor was it beside his chair or at his feet. The young man hopped up and looked all around the chairs and couch. “I really have no idea, sir.”

  Ceril looked at Professor Nephil, who had a slight grin on his face, as though he thought the whole situation was mildly amusing, but not actually funny enough to laugh at.

  “Interesting,” Squalt said. The headmaster didn't say what about it was interesting, though. Instead, he moved directly in front of Professor Nephil and handed him the orange sword. The aura immediately shifted colors, from the orange-brown it had been, to a bright blue laced with a silver swirl that constantly rotated from hilt to tip. The headmaster took the sword back and the color became the subdued orange-brown once again.

  He then held it out for Ceril to take, but the young man would not take it.

  “It's okay, Ceril,” Professor Nephil said. “Just hold it for a second.” It was the first thing that Professor Nephil had said since they had been in the office. The smirk on his face was almost reassuring enough for Ceril to believe him. Almost.

  “I-I…” Ceril said. “No, no, thank you.”

  “It’s okay, Ceril,” Squalt said. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I just want to test something out with my sword, since we’ve already seen how yours reacts to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Ceril asked. “It’s not my sword. I-I…” His voice trailed off.

  “Take it,” the headmaster said. He offered him the sword again. “Please.”

  Ceril hesitated, but eventually reached out and took hold of the sword’s hilt. Again, the blade shifted color. This time, the blade glowed with the bright green and purple that the now-vanished one had at Presentation. The aura was larger and brighter than it was when either Squalt or Nephil had held it. Ceril shoved it back toward the headmaster, but fumbled and dropped it on the floor instead. The glow immediately faded. The blade glinted gold, but nothing else. Ceril wanted to ask what was going on, but the words were stuck in his throat. He just stared at the sword instead.

  The headmaster bent down and picked up the sword. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room and secured the sword in the empty spot on the wall behind his desk. He then sat down, leaned forward, and steepled his fingers. ”Ceril, you're a very special young man, do you know that?”

  Ceril was silent.

  “I am afraid, however, that you will not be able to study agriculture at Ennd's during Phase II.”

  That news was enough to break Ceril’s silence. “But…” he muttered. “But…Gramps…”

  “Instead,” Headmaster Squalt said, rising from his seat, “you will train as a Charon. You seem to have an innate connection with Flameblades that I haven’t seen in years, if not decades or longer. Have you, Lim?”

  “No,” Professor Nephil said. “Not in a great, long time.”

  “I can’t say if that
connection will be enough to get you through the training, Ceril, but it is likely to give you an advantage over other Recruits.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about, sir,” Ceril said.

  “Has your grandfather told you nothing about Ennd’s, young man? About what is expected of you?”

  “I—umm—he—” Ceril stammered. He recalled the stories Gramps had told him the week before. If there were Instances here, how many of those other legends had connections to Ennd’s?

  “Well, either way,” the headmaster interrupted, “your grandfather should have told you this was coming. He, of all people, should know that you weren’t going to be able to study,” the headmaster laughed, “agriculture.”

  “You know Gramps?” he asked. Ceril’s day was getting odder and odder.

  “I used to. I'll tell you about it sometime,” the headmaster said. “As far as the Charons and your training and all of this, I’ll give you the short version right now. Once you get into Orientation, Roman will bore you with the longer, more detailed history. The man takes a special delight in just that, it seems.” Squalt motioned for Ceril to sit back down then continued, “There was a civil war, a long time ago, between two factions within the Charons. Ennd's Academy was set up as a last ditch effort by one side, not just to keep their technology around and influence maintained, but to keep their ranks filled. To find new members of their order. They wanted to make sure that their research continued. Ennd's is just a front for us, Ceril. It is an elaborate recruitment tool that your grandfather—Gramps, you called him?—disapproved of. He said that the school would eventually shut down from—what did he say now? Lim?”

  “I believe the phrase he used was negligence and ignorance,” Professor Nephil said.

  The headmaster laughed. “That was it! He always did have a way with words. Anyway, Ceril, we use Phase II Presentation to vet students’ potential for joining the Charonic Archive. Having a Flameblade materialize at your feet kind of tipped us off to your potential. We had originally thought that you were not up for it, hence the welcome message I gave you yesterday.” He coughed. “I didn’t know what else to say, given your unique circumstances.”

  “What do you mean?” Ceril asked.

  “In due time, son. In due time. I’m sad to say that I have seen nothing in the past five years that makes you stand out, nothing that even remotely indicates you’re suitable for recruitment. However, your affinity to the Flameblade technology cannot be denied.” The headmaster eyed the golden sword on Ceril’s lap, frowned, and then clapped his hands together as he met the boy’s eyes once again. “So here we are. We’ll see how it all works out, yes?”

  Ceril just blinked. He was having a hard time soaking all this in. “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Very much so.”

  It was Professor Nephil's turn to speak now. “You will start tomorrow morning, Ceril. I suggest that you take what is left of the evening to get some dinner and rest up. Make sure your belongings are still packed away in your bags, too, though I doubt you’ve had time to do any unpacking just yet.” He rose from the chair and walked to the office's door. “Come along, Ceril. Let’s stop wasting the headmaster’s time discussing things you’ll be told soon enough.”

  Ceril got up to leave with Professor Nephil. He looked back at Headmaster Squalt, who sat smiling at him. With the early afternoon sunlight beaming through the window behind the couch, he almost had a halo around him. He said, “Do you have any questions before you go, Ceril?”

  “The sword…” Ceril said. “Where did it go, do you know? I didn’t mean to lose it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find it eventually,” the headmaster said. “These things have a way of turning up for people like you.” He clapped his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “I look forward to working with you, Ceril. Oh, and I almost forgot. I’m going to need you to keep your recruitment to yourself for the time being. We strive to keep this part of Ennd’s out of the public knowledge.”

  “Can I tell Gramps?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” said Squalt. After a brief pause, he added, “I’ll handle that, actually. It’s been a while since the two of us spoke, anyway.”

  “Okay…” Ceril said. He didn’t have much of a choice, it seemed. “Can I tell Swarley, though? He's my roommate. He’ll need to know what’s going on.”

  Professor Nephil said, “I would prefer that you keep all of this to yourself for the moment, if you would not mind. If and when the time comes for Mr. Dann to know about your training, we'll let you know.”

  “But he's my roommate! How is he not going to find out what I'm studying?” Ceril asked. He was honestly curious about how he was supposed to keep something like this a secret. “It’ll probably be pretty obvious that I'm not studying agriculture.”

  “I don’t think so,” the headmaster said. “Thank you, Ceril. Professor Nephil.”

  And with that, Nephil and Ceril passed through the doorway back into Ennd’s. Ceril's skin tingled again. The early afternoon light in the headmaster’s office was gone. The twin suns had long since set, as though the headmaster's office somehow kept up the illusion of daytime.

  “Is it night now, Professor?” Ceril asked.

  “It would appear so,” Nephil said, unperturbed.

  “But how?” Ceril said. After what they had just discussed, he thought it was okay to ask the professor about Instances now. “Was Headmaster Squalt’s office an Instance?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “But how can the sun still be up, even if it's an Instance? I thought that they…”

  Nephil interrupted him by saying, “The quick answer is that time is not necessarily the same everywhere, Ceril. Five minutes here may be two hours in some other Instance. An Instance’s location in space has very little bearing on its location in time, I’m afraid. I’m sure that's something that will be covered in your upcoming instruction. Suffice it to say, though, that the rumors that fill these halls about Instancing are…underwhelming.”

  “Oh, well, okay,” he said. “And Professor?”

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “Swarley showed me a holovid last night. These people in it, they had swords like the one the headmaster had.” Ceril gulped, unsure if he should continue. “Like the one that I—”

  Again, Nephil cut him off. “The incidents over the summer, Ceril, have nothing to do with the Charons. Or more accurately, they have nothing to do with the Charons as you will learn about them and become a part of. Do you remember how the headmaster mentioned the old civil war? The one that preceded the construction of this school?”

  Ceril nodded.

  “Well, the people who lost that war have apparently made their way back to Erlon. And they don’t really like the way we do things around here.”