The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  As a safeguard against lean times, most families that can afford it, create and grow gardens of their own in their homes and back yards. As strange and insignificant as it may seem, within the walls of the clockwork cities is actually one of the best places to grow food. The temperatures are normally considerably warmer up on the mountain cities, thanks to the pressurized steam and grinding gears, and milting snow to water seems to irrigate the plants better than any ice field. Indeed, resourceful families dedicate their entire yard to growing wholesome food, and then sell it all at the marketplace to buy more of the less nutritious food grown in ice fields. This way, the wealthy may consume the best food for the higher price, while the commoners eat more of the common crops they can buy with the money they’ve made.

  —Common Knowledge Volume II

  Nix spent the following day questioning everyone at the college. She wasn’t making any progress in her search, and it seemed more hopeless than ever.

  If only she had Nandor’s aura detecting spectacle, it would have been an easy task. She could have simply followed his brilliant blue sparkling light all the way to wherever he was. But his bag had disappeared with his body, making the priceless spectacle as lost as him.

  Only half of the students were still on college grounds. The rest had fled to their families or to the other two cities. The students that were around, were worried, on edge, and knew far less than Nix. Most dismissed her questioning with anxious questions of their own.

  Eventually, she gave up. Nobody had seen anything, least of all the students. Shut-ins and scholarly bores tend to lie low and clam-up fast.

  Nix could understand. She wasn’t too different herself.

  She grabbed a meal from the college cantina and sat near the central grounds. The day had warmed considerably throughout the evening. In the Crystal South days were rarely above freezing, even during the warm season, but inside the city it could get quite toasty, from time to time. When the gears beneath the streets were working hard or the clouds of steam created an especially dense fog of insulation, the city was almost warm enough for underclothes.

  Even the wind was peaceful, allowing more fog and more insulation to build over the city.

  Nix took off her coat and leaned against a pine tree as she ate. It was a mammoth-meat sandwich. Not tasty, but during hard times mammoth meat from the woolly mammoth farms was the cheapest and most readily available option. Food wasn’t scarce in Froj yet, but she knew it would be soon. The cantina was already cutting rations, and she was grateful to have what little she had.

  The college grounds consisted of fourteen main buildings. Six crystalline towers were the headmasters from each realm of studies were allowed to reside, and hold private lessons in their individual expertise. Elementalists, mystics, enchanters, engineers, electricians, and scholars. Healers too—a sub-building attached along the scholar’s tower. Four main buildings, built primarily with stone, where the teachers and the main classes were held, two housing buildings, one up near the gardens, home to the wealthy students. The lower housing building was closer to the gates, where most students stayed. Then there was the museum, the library, and the cantina.

  It was a beautiful place to be, even in uncertain times. There were plenty of trees and open grounds where students could relax, and glowing moon-stone lampposts and rumbling fountains to simulate tiny rivers.

  The main gate was still shut tight, and Nix found herself waiting on the grandmaster’s return. Perhaps she could plead some information from him. Nandor had never called the grandmaster a friend, but she knew they at least had gotten along before the war. He had even been offered a position as headmaster, and accepted, but now…

  She shuddered as she recalled his wounds. Somehow it will be okay… somehow… She tried to reassure herself.

  Nandor’s words came to her mind, and with them, a bittersweet smile: Chase the positive thoughts, dear girl. Chase them to the ends of the world, and never let them go. The negative thoughts will die if you merely neglect them.

  It was easier said than done. Especially now that the man who had said them was gone. What would Nandor do, in her place?

  He would continue searching, undoubtedly. He had always followed his gut, although he had called it the will of Marr. She would do the same, to whichever end it meant.

  Her life as a student had never been fulfilling. It wasn’t until Nandor had found her that her life made any measure of sense at all. The least she could do was continue his teachings. She would never have his strength, nor his will, which was sometimes more of a crippling crutch than an advantage, but she would do what she could in his place. She owed him that much.

  “Who gave you that food?” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She looked upwards and saw Gevor. He was a classmate. A fellow mystic in training. Near the top of the class. Not handsome, but not ugly either. She couldn’t interpret his tone as hostile or otherwise, so she answered slowly and cautiously. “From the cantina. It’s half-ration.”

  “You got it for free? What a waste. The cook should know better than to provide handouts. Especially now.” Gevor straightened his jacket, and eyed her. She felt uncomfortable before his gaze, and pulled up her jacket to block his view. He did not look pleased.

  “Grandmaster Forojen has always provided basic food for any student, rich or poor,” she countered, but was not sure why she felt inclined to defend herself. Gevor did not come from a wealthy family either, but he had learned to cozy up to the right people, and somehow he always had funds and insults to spare. But petty rivalries don’t mean much after losing a war, do they? Wouldn’t it be better to band together in this time of struggle than to try to fight?

  Gevor seemed to think differently. “Enjoy the scraps while you can, Nixie.” He took a step forward, and ruffled her hair. She wanted to strike him, but she knew it would have been unwise. To hit him would have been taken as a challenge, and duels were common in the college, and she was small even for a woman, and could not reasonably win. So Gevor was able to take what little liberties he pleased, and he smirked as she squirmed under his arm. Her fine white hair became a tasseled mess before she was able to wiggle away. It should not have been so hard, except she was still trying to keep her sandwich in her grip without it falling to the ground.

  Gevor laughed as she awkwardly stumbled out of reach. “I suspect the good nature of our grandmaster will die soon, when the crops become scarce as our farms are transferred to the other cities and the wealthy families who have moved there. And then the handouts will cease, and we will differentiate from those who work from those who leach.” He looked downwards with lustful eyes. “But you are a pretty leach, aren’t you? Might be wise to find a strong man to latch onto, little woman. Or else you might find yourself starving faster than you think.”

  “Piss off, Gevor,” Nix hissed, nearly pulling the dagger from her belt.

  Gevor laughed louder at her discomfort. “Give it time, give it time… doubt you’ll be so unwilling when the hunger starts to get to you.” He gestured downwards over his body. “I’m not a bad catch, you know. A girl like you would be lucky to be with a guy like me.” He brought a hand through his dark hair, greasing it back. “You know, some even say I’m being groomed to replace Headmaster Sagger. Can’t say the same for yourself. You would do well to stay on my good side.” He took a step forward and traced a finger along her mouth. She quivered under his touch.

  A few weeks ago, she might have cowered downwards, and simply hoped that he passed. But somehow, after facing a yeti, icy demon worshipers, and death, she found hidden courage rush to her head before she could think, and she spoke swiftly, swatting his hand away. “I said piss off!” She pushed Gevor angrily with both her arms, and then, something happened.

  A connection. She did not want it, but it happened anyway. There was a clash—she entered Gevor’s mind and they met in the otherworldly realms of existence. She saw his thoughts, his lusts, his passions and his ambitions.

 
; He was a twisted man. He wanted power, he wanted revenge for those who had wronged him, and he wanted wealth and status, and he was willing to do anything to achieve his desire.

  She shivered in his mind, wishing to be gone, but something clutched her, and it did not allow her to leave.

  It was Gevor. He had sensed her presence nearly as fast as she had entered.

  Girl, what are you trying to do in my mind? You think you have more power than me? You think you can assault my thoughts without me knowing it? Gevor swarmed around her, twisting like a snake.

  She tried to pry herself free from his grip, but it was uncanny. She had not intended on entering his mind. It was a mistake. She wanted to cry out, but somehow she knew it was unwise to show weakness. His grip tightened, and then he rushed into her own thoughts.

  Nandor? You put faith in a dead man? He saw the image of the wounded body and dug deeper inside, crawling through her mind with thoughtless fingers. She tried to block him out, but he was strong, and he knew what he was doing. Oh… More than faith. You LOVE him.

  With disgust, Gevor poured out from her thoughts, and then flung her from his mind. She was hurled outwards, and back into her body, and she hit the ground, temporarily stunned from the encounter.

  The slushy snow softened her fall, but the sandwich flew from her grip, causing her to curse angrily.

  Gevor was looming over her body, panting heavily. She pulled her dagger, clutching it with both hands. The sight caused Gevor to snicker. “Foolish girl. Next time you try to assault the mind of another mystic, you might read up on your studies first.”

  But his words lacked his former confidence, as did his laugh. Perhaps he was phased by the contact. Nix began to wonder if she had done damage when she had unintentionally crawled into his wretched thoughts. Certainly it was an accident, but the thought still pleased her.

  A mystic mind assault was a high level skill. Not even taught until the third year. She didn’t even know she was capable of it.

  “I—I didn’t mean too…” she stammered, hoping he would believe her.

  But Gevor had already turned to walk away. “You’ll pay for this.” He held a hand up to his temple, as if trying to shake a bad headache.

  Nix stayed sprawled on the ground, uncertain of what he meant. She was grateful when he walked out of view, and then she cursed again as she tried to clean the fallen sandwich. It was soggy and unrecoverable.

  Her stomach still growled.

  “Damned Gevor…” she cursed to the empty wind.

  Suddenly she remembered why she had hated college life so much.

  If Nandor was here, he would have strangled Gevor like the greasy roach he is.

  But Nandor wasn’t there. He was probably dead. She sheathed her dagger and crawled back to the tree. Her head was pounding with a terrible ache. It could have been from the mind assault, or the multiple head injuries she had recently suffered. Either way, it made her sway uneasily on her feet, and she had to lean heavily on the tree to stay standing.

  Across the courtyard, she heard the sound of the crystal gates opening in full. There were mutters and murmurs of excitement from nearby students.

  “What is it?” she asked, hoping someone would hear her. “Who’s arrived?”

  “It’s the grandmaster!” someone called back. “Grandmaster Forojen has returned!”

  At last, some good news… Nix thought, and gathered with the others to witness his arrival.

  Chapter 6: The Building Blocks of Life

  According to my observations, human life has been greatly overvalued. Why do we tolerate the weak? Why encourage the dumb? I am sure that if we continue on this trend, it will be to our downfall.

  If we, as a society, wish to become smarter and stronger and wiser, wouldn’t it make more sense to purge the lowly and underserving?

  I beg you: Do not fear what I say.

  I am not an evil man. I am not a murderer. I am simply trying to tackle the bigger questions that most are too fearful to even ask. So do not dismiss my words because they might sound harsh—take them for what they are. For I am speaking about so much more than your precious feelings of tolerance and sympathy—the very fate of mankind lies in the balance, and to see it in any other light is to be delusional.

  We have two options—to let the weak and the dumb cripple us, and damn us into ruin, or to purge the filth and let the strong thrive.

  The choice, to me, seems obvious. If we are to survive the cold, the storms and the monsters in the light, we must let our compassion and our mercy die.

  We must grow strong.

  — Rorgjor’s Ancient Teachings

  It was a cozy little hovel that the bot found itself in. A tiny home built on the outskirts of the city, only midway up the mountain. There had been a small family living inside the small home… a mother, a father, a little boy… but their bodies were now part of the bot’s delicate work.

  It had not initially intended on adding them to its growing collection of organs, tools and mystic life stones, but they had insisted on fighting for their home, and the bot needed a place to work in discrete, so it did what it thought was right, and now three little bodies sloshed in a river of red at its feet.

  Nandor had stopped his breathing, but the bot did not pay it much mind.

  It was focused on many other tasks, and Nandor’s breathing was just one more problem on a vast pile it had to worry about. The liver transplant had gone… well… it was messy. The body did not like it, so it had to be removed, and replaced again with the sliced one, and it was around then that the breathing had stopped. And then, if possible, it got messier. Turns out fusing metal to bone doesn’t work so good, so the bot was forced to look for other options. Something that could translate the nerves in the spine and simulate strength and growth and flexibility as well as the endless amount of secondary tasks that bones perform.

  The bot had no idea human organs were so intricate. In another situation, it would have found the discoveries fascinating. But with Nandor dying on the table, it was nearing frustration. There weren’t many options. Mystic life stones milted down to molten rock and then encased with bone was the only option, but fusing and cutting the bone to fit the molds was still tricky. And it turns out that bones don’t milt, but instead, turn to ash, further complicating the molding. The bot had delicate hands built for wiring and clockwork mechanics, but that didn’t make the task any easier. It still needed a good mold for the living mystic stone to reside inside, and if bone wouldn’t work, kinetic steel was the only other option. But creating a kinetic steel casing and a mold to fit perfectly with Nandor’s damaged bones was difficult. It had to try several times, and then cut, snip, and replace parts that hadn’t worked quite right.

  Mystic life stones were strange, but when attached to the spine they seemed to understand their purpose. But only time would tell for sure. The bot had to kill several fleeing wealthy families in Froj to acquire the few mystic stones it had, and it certainly hoped that its efforts were not in vain.

  Now if only we could get that heart pumping again… and more blood… and something to spark it all into motion… and there’s still that broken liver to worry about… do humans really need livers?

  …Probably.

  The bot frowned at the many problems it faced. Engineering and repairing mechanics was far easier.

  Perhaps I should simply transfer him into a metal body like myself.

  It smiled at the thought, but knew that it was not a real option. There wasn’t a mystic alive that still knew how to perform the operation, and then there was the possibility that Nandor’s life force had already faded away entirely anyway. More energy was needed, in that case.

  “Damned squishy things! Like little bubbles so easily popped and drained!” the bot cursed.

  If only there was a way to cause Nandor’s body to regenerate of its own accord. Metal connections and transplanted organs did not seem to be working very well. In fact, objectively, the bot realized that it wa
s only making the situation worse.

  A traditional healer would have certainly proclaimed Nandor dead by now.

  But much to Nandor’s fortune, or perhaps, misfortune, the bot was anything other than a traditional healer.

  It thought of things that no healer would ever dare to consider.

  Mystic energy… souls… I need more parts to work with…

  It kicked at the bodies at its feet. Human organs were not working. Metal parts were not working. The only success the bot was having was with mystic life stones. Therefore, more mystic powers were needed. And perhaps some more additional organs, just to be safe.

  The bot whirled on the sawblade attached to its arm, and a lustful gleam smirked upon its coiled lips.

  Time to go hunting…

  Chapter 7: A Grandmaster Wizard

  When I visit the city of Froj below the college, I am always struck with how different I am from the average man. And it isn’t just that I am a foreigner with unusually crystal-colored eyes and skin. They all have family, familiarity, and a certain sense of simpleness that I lack. Where they look to their carriages and their little ones and find taverns to distract themselves at, I walk in isolating silence, my eyes watching the clouds and the movements of others. I don’t know where I am going, at this point in my life. Many would say I am damned to be alone. Many would say I am less than worthless—a dangerous young student, too eager for my time. While I always know my physical destination, metaphorically, I am somewhat lost. My place in the world, my guiding philosophies… Ever since I came to the Crystal College and fell into the resulting rut of general dissatisfaction, I’ve felt lost.