The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  For instance:

  Where did Grandmaster Forojen Dorgenja come from?

  It is a valid question—a question no longer asked at the college, but that is only because he has been around for so long. But there was a time when he was a newcomer—and although I am old, I can still recall the day he arrived well. Half a century ago, he was an outlander, or an outcast, I am unsure of which. When he showed up on the college doorsteps, he was already more skilled than perhaps anyone in the college grounds, in nearly every realm of study. He was even more skilled than most of the headmasters, although he was barely thirty, and had no references or qualifications to speak of.

  Which leads me to the inevitable question: Where did he learn what he knew? Certainly not everyone needs the college to achieve knowledge, but there still has to be a source somewhere: The wilderness? Isolation? Perhaps he comes from a wealthy family with a wide selection of libraries? Or perhaps an unknown place of learning? Faraway lands or kingdoms?

  And what’s more concerning:

  Even with his talents, how did he become Grandmaster of the Crystal College within a decade of his arrival—a feat that takes most the better part of their lives to even dream of accomplishing?

  Who exactly is Forojen Dorgenja?

  Answer that, and I perhaps my worries will be put at ease. But until then, I will never trust him with my creations. Nor will I encourage students to stay here. The opposite, even—particularly for Nandor. He may have enough raw potential to rival even Forojen, and a part of me certainly desires to take him under my wing as an apprentice, but he was never made for this place. The tallest trees grow in the wild, and the smartest wolves are lone survivors.

  He is far too good to stay trapped within the walls of the Crystal College.

  —The Journal of the Late Headmaster Wagfrost

  Nixie and Dobry walked to the college cantina. It was lively, even under the dark of night. Students and low level teachers gathered at tables to nervously chat among like company, much like birds huddled together to brace for a storm.

  There was much to discuss, and even more to fear. Would Froj fall? Was the grandmaster okay? Would Benjfrost become the lord of the city? When would the food supplies run out? Would studies ever resume?

  Nix had similar questions dwelling at the very back of her mind, but there were more pressing concerns plaguing her on that night.

  The cantina guards were reluctant to give her the supplies she demanded, but the note with Forojen’s inescapable signature along with having Dobry by her side gave validity to her request, and she soon received a sack filled with food, and a tent for sleeping outdoors.

  “You don’t really intend on going into the wilderness, do you?” Dobry asked.

  “I intend on doing whatever is required to find Nandor,” she replied.

  The scholar frowned, and looked uncomfortable. “I better fetch my rapier.”

  She wondered if he actually knew how to use it, but did not bother to ask as they retrieved it from his private quarters. Hopefully it would not be needed.

  “Anything else you can think of?” Nix asked. It was her first expedition to be in charge of. With any luck, it would be a short journey, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.

  “I think this will suffice,” Dobry said, patting his trusty weapon.

  She examined her companion and was struck by how childlike he looked. Even with the sword, he did not make for a strong sight. He was small, and very thin, and although his hands were long and clever, they did not look like hands that had been weathered by swordplay. More fit for writing, sketching, and turning pages than wielding steel. But there was a certain look about him—something in his eyes that said he had seen more than he let on, and there were one or two scars maiming his pale flesh that were unnoticeable at first, but telling upon further inspection. The college did not allow for weakness to last long.

  Perhaps grandmaster Forojen was right to place him by my side. Even if he wasn’t a good swordsman, he was honest at the least, and she did not fear treachery from him, which was more than she could say for most within the college’s crystal walls.

  The two began to make their way to the college gates, but a figure stopped them in their tracks. The figure wore long robes, shimmering blue in the starlight. Fine craftsmanship—perhaps even magically enchanted. The robes could only belong to one man, and when he spoke, Nix held her breath.

  “It is strange company you’re keeping, young master Dobry.” The figure said, eyeing the back of his fingernails. “I would have expected more of you,” he slowly peered downwards.

  Dobry tightened his stance as they approached, and Nix huddled a little closer. “Headmaster Sagger? What ails you?” the scholar asked.

  He was being tactful, Nixie noted. Not addressing the insult, but still, not outright ignoring it either. She was grateful that he was speaking, because for her part, she was too scared to act.

  Sagger was technically her primary teacher—the headmaster of all mystics. He was not a beloved man, even by those who got along with him. He was shrewd, practical, and knew how to hold a grudge. Nix had never had any direct quarrels with him, but times had changed, and she didn’t have to guess to know how she had gained his disfavor. Being Nandor’s companion, even for a short amount of time, had wrought her many enemies.

  “What ails me?” the headmaster repeated, and snickered. “Nothing, nothing. It is you I’m concerned for, and your future at the college. I’ve always known you to be a sound man, yet you keep with you a white-haired harlot of deceit. Do you know who that girl is by your side? What she has done?”

  “I do,” Dobry replied firmly.

  “Then you’ll know that she is more than just a pretty face. There lies a foulness under her simple guise. She was the one aiding Nandor Kir, who murdered our lord. She is, at least in part, responsible for this mess we’re in. If you were wise, you would leave her company before something… distasteful happens to you both.” Sagger’s red eyes pierced through the darkness, and Nix felt him reaching outwards with mystic powers.

  He is reading our minds, she realized. Or attempting to at the least. She made a conscious effort to guard her thoughts, and hoped that Dobry was wise enough to do the same.

  “I appreciate the warning, Headmaster,” Dobry responded indifferently.

  Sagger’s smile grew, highlighting a scar just above his lips. “It was no warning, Dobry,” he released a bitter laugh, and walked out of their path. “But I see you’ve made your choice already. Poor fool bewitched by a pretty woman. Not the first…”

  The headmaster’s words lingered in the dark as he walked away. Nix and Dobry exchanged a glance of uneasy nerves.

  “Are you sure you want to be with me?” Nix asked.

  Dobry did not reply immediately, but to his credit, he sounded certain when he did. “Yes.”

  And so they walked out of the safety of the college’s crystal walls, and into the crumbling city of Froj

  ***

  Formerly, Froj was largely considered to be the first or second most powerful city in the Crystal South, but in a matter of days, all that had changed. It was now the underdog. All the wealthy had fled, and the opportunists had robbed and burgled to their content.

  Those who remained, were too poor or too entrenched to leave. There were guards still patrolling the streets, but they were scarce, and traveled in packs to be safe. Nix and Dobry made a strange sight in the streets. Two young, small, and bright looking college residents, with wide eyes and guarded steps.

  Everyone else from the college was wise enough to stay behind the walls during the troubled times, and so they attracted unwanted eyes from wayward souls who recognized their unmistakable blue bows, but Dobry kept his rapier held close, and no one so far had been bold enough to risk approach.

  They made their way to the healer’s house without incident. There were a few cries, and strange hoots and yells that they heard on occasion, echoing throughout the city, but whoever the unfort
unate victims were, they would have to rely on someone else’s help. Nix and Dobry knew they would be lucky just to be left in peace, and they could not afford to risk adding to their problems.

  The healer’s home was not far from the college, and it stood like a fortress before their gaze. The door was solid, the only windows on the upper levels had been barred, and keep out was written in blood over the wooden panels. A nice touch, Nix thought.

  “This is the healer’s home?” Dobry was skeptical. It did not look like a place of healing. Not anymore.

  “He is a morbidly practical man,” Nix explained. “He probably used Nandor’s blood to write the sign. Clearly he wants to dissuade unwanted guests.”

  “Should we knock?”

  “Go ahead. It can’t hurt to ask. Perhaps he’s seen something.” Nix secured Forojen’s aura detecting goggles over her eyes, and bit her lip as she peered around the house, looking for Nandor’s blue life force.

  It was difficult. Like the grandmaster had said, the auras did not seem to last long with his goggles. She saw faint flickers of colors from where people had walked throughout the day, but nothing discernable. No definite line to follow, just a blur of wavering pigments.

  She heard Dobry knock on the door, but she kept her eyes on the ground, searching as close as she could. “You seeing anything?” the scholar asked as he waited on the healer to answer.

  She shook her head, “Nothing definite. Too much has faded…” She frowned, and looked closer at the door of the house. There was an unexpected shimmer. Perhaps blue?

  But it wasn’t Nandor’s blue—it was mixed and mingled. Steel-cut grey twisted with a faint silver—a silver that might once have been blue, but had faded, or mixed. Perhaps that is what his aura looked like as he was dying…

  “I think I’ve found it,” she told Dobry, but she did not sound happy. It’s so lifeless… so broken and faded… even if the goggles are crude and obscuring the full presence, this aura is little like the one I knew when I looked at him before…

  The door opened up, and the healer met them both with his electric sword. “Nix? What are you doing back here? Are you okay?” he waved them inside.

  Nix looked from the ground, and embedded the color of the aura deep inside her mind. Then she fitted her goggles into her tangled hair. “I’m okay, still searching for Nandor.”

  Cajorn shut the door behind them and barred it up tight. He looked at them with a thoughtful gaze. “You’ve got a new companion I see. You must be making some progress.”

  “I’m Dobry, graduate scholar and administrative assistant at the Crystal College.” He offered his hand.

  The healer looked doubtful, but shook it. “Do titles and markings mean so much now?” he asked no one. “Very well, if we’re going to do this proper: I’m Cajorn Runson, believer in the God of Marr, graduate healer from the Crystal College, and a somewhat renowned practicing healer in the city of Froj,” he made a vague gesture towards the outside, “Not that I’m practicing currently, mind you.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Yes, sure, as you say,” the healer waved aside Dobry’s politeness. “Can I offer you some tea? Or perhaps something stronger?”

  “Tea,” said Dobry.

  “Something stronger,” said Nix.

  Cajorn laughed, “The girl’s got the right idea, Dobry. If you have joined her in her quest, you’ll need something real to warm your bellies. I don’t know what awaits you, but I do know this: Anything involving Nandor means a tough road ahead.”

  “So I’ve gathered…” Dobry muttered to himself.

  They took a seat at the dining table as the healer made their drinks. “So no sign of Nandor yet, I take it?” he asked as he worked.

  Nix removed the goggles from her head, and held them up. “I think I saw his aura. Or something like it. It was faded, but still strong… and it was changed, Cajorn. It was as if his life had faded from it.”

  Cajorn turned, and rubbed his brows. “As far as I know, even a dead man has the same aura as when he was alive, at least, for a time. Do you know what might have changed it?”

  “I’m not even sure of if it’s his. But it was near your door, and it seemed to trail down the city. If I can’t see anything better, then it is the only thing I have to follow.”

  Cajorn returned to the table with three large mugs. The one filled with tea, he gave to Dobry. The two others smelled different, like heavy alcohol mixed with exotic herbs. He gave one to Nix, and kept the other for himself. “Do you see the same aura in the room, by the operation table?” he asked, taking a sip of his peculiar beverage.

  She secured the goggles up to her eyes, and looked around. It was… the same. There was a steely grey, and soft peddles of rose-like waves, she turned and realized that the rose color was coming from Cajorn—that much made sense, at least, but the other colors were different. The silver-blue was all over the operation table, flickering faintly, shimmering as if through a dulled haze of cloudy glass. It must belong to Nandor, she knew, but it did not seem right.

  After a moment, she nodded. “It is the same. It must be his, but I can’t understand why it changed color… his aura was so pretty before. So brilliant and blue. This… this color is—it is as if it is only half of him. And then that other half was tainted with something… foul.”

  “Perhaps the goggles just can’t detect the colors as well as Nandor’s spectacle could?” Dobry offered.

  “Perhaps,” Nix agreed, peeling them off with a frown. She grasped the mug before her and gave it a curious sniff. “What is it?”

  “Brandy—strong brandy, with something of my own personal twist. A bit of rek-root and ice dust. Not much, mind you, but enough to liven your steps a pace.”

  “I suppose I’ll need it for the night I have ahead of me…” Nix murmured, and downed half of it through several noisy and eager gulps.

  “You don’t have to go. You can stay the night here, if you wish,” the healer offered. “It’ll be safer, and I’m sure that enough of the aura will still be around for you to follow in the morning. If it has stayed this long, I doubt it is going anywhere soon.”

  She considered his offer as she coddled her drink. Perhaps he was right. “Dobry?” She looked to her companion, “Would it be okay with you if we spent the night here?”

  The scholar nodded. If anything, he appeared relieved. “It is the smart thing to do. The streets will be safer in the morning.”

  They finished their drinks and discussed their plans into the night. Nix found herself rather foggy-headed by the time she found a bed, and was glad when rest consumed her.

  ***

  It was early morning when she awoke. She was in the upper guest room, a nice, cozy room constructed primarily with treated pine, and a coal-powered steam-generating warmer. She peered out the window between the cracks in the recently added bars, and saw that it was a grey day. Although the sun had already begun to dawn, it was still almost completely dark. It looked like it might snow.

  She did not treasure the thought. After utilizing the water crank to clean and refresh, she put on her clothes and walked slowly downstairs.

  The healer was already awake, and sitting by the table. Dobry was with him too. They were discussing something through hushed voices. Nix paused on the staircase, and kept her ears peeled to listen.

  “…you must understand, Dobry. She’s in denial. From what I gathered, she and Nandor became very close over the weeks they traveled together. She isn’t thinking straight. She has a head wound still in recovery, and her heart is broken in more ways than one. Like anyone that is enduring a great amount of suffering, I suspect her will to live is wavering. If you aren’t careful with her, if you don’t protect her and guide her, you might find yourself going on a suicide mission. I’m not saying you need to control her, but you will need to take charge, when necessary. She isn’t fit to lead any expedition right now, let alone something as dangerous as this might be. I don’t have to remind you that Nandor h
ad made many enemies, and any one of them might be responsible for his disappearance.”

  The healer finished his speech, and then there was the sound of sipping mugs. After a moment, Dobry replied. “I understand. I know what I signed up for. Nandor and I were never close, but I admired him from afar. If he is alive, the least I can do is help Nix search for him.”

  Cajorn sounded frustrated, “That’s all well and good, but that wasn’t my point.” He leaned closer, and lowered his tone so that his words would not be mistaken. “All I’m saying is don’t go getting yourself killed over it, boy. And make sure she doesn’t either. I know you both wish it to be otherwise, but I am a professional, and I know a dead man when I examine one. There is no way Nandor survived his wounds. They were far too great to be healed by any methods known to modern man. So understand: Your search isn’t a search for a missing man—your search is a search for a dead body, and a dead body isn’t worth more people dying over. Least of all two bright youths from the college.”

  Nix chose that moment to finish descending the stairs. She had heard enough. Dobry and Cajorn jumped as she approached, and their eyes darted away in momentary shame.

  The healer looked upwards, recovering from his shock quickly, “Girl—don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to be harsh, just realistic.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. She saw no use in lying to herself any longer. Nandor’s aura was twisted, and deathly, and his wounds were too terrible. The healer was right. “I understand that he is probably dead. But that doesn’t make my quest any less valid. Whoever took him from us during the night—they must pay. And he deserves a proper send-off, by those who love him.”

  Cajorn did not like her answer. “If you knew him as well as I, you’d understand that he wouldn’t care about such petty things. He was a man of Marr. He never cared about having a big grave, nor being avenged. In his own way, he was beyond such worldly concerns.”

  “Just because he would not wish it, does not mean he doesn’t deserve it,” she replied firmly, and sat beside Dobry. “Death or not, I’m going to do my best to find him, and do right by him. That is the mission. I understand if you think I’m mad.”