The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  He shouldered Nix a little lower to ease his rising blood, but the action only encouraged her, and she practically climbed up his arm.

  “Act or not—keep it up!” The bot encouraged as they approached their destination. “I’m mostly metal and I feel a lustful fire burning in me. If Gevor sees you two, he’ll be practically rabid!”

  “That’s the plan…” Nandor muttered, wishing it was as easy said as done. In his experience, things rarely actually went according to plan. Plans are only things men do to prepare and calm their minds. But in the end, every action happens in the moment.

  He closed his eyes as he walked, allowing himself a brief second of inner peace. It had been too long since he had the time to meditate, and he would take what little he could. It felt like only yesterday that he had been mortally wounded during his duel with Lord Viken. Am I really going to duel again so soon?

  Inwardly, he shrugged. His body was certainly ready. He felt stronger than ever—like there was a new kind of energy pulsing through his veins, but mentally he was less sure. Certainly Dobry deserved to be avenged—but was killing the best way to go about it?

  Instinctually, he felt his mind drift to Marr for wisdom, but where there had once been light, there was only emptiness. Perhaps that’s all there had ever been. Marr was a liar. There was no guidance—only chaos, and balances of conflicting forces.

  If chaos was the ultimate truth, then death made much more sense. It was not any plan from god, nor a cruel act of mankind—death was simply the ending of an energy, like snuffing out a flame. “Gevor,” he growled, allowing anger to pulse through his blood. “Remind me what he did.”

  Nix could feel his body changing—preparing for battle, and so she said what she knew he needed to hear. “He killed Dobry. Then he hit me, and tried to tie me and I think he intended to rape me.”

  He tried to rape her! The image hit him harder than any punch.

  Some flames were raging fires—not providers of warmth, but destructive forces that deserved to be snuffed out. His anger grew, and he drew her closer. “How did you escape?”

  “A man rescued me. An old friend of yours—said his name was Barhall,” She broke character for a moment, and said softer, “I said you would repay him for his help.”

  “And so I will.” They arrived before the cantina. The folds of the tent covering the building were tied to stakes in the ground, but the mammoth skin still shook uneasily in the wind, allowing glimpses of warmth and light to exit from the inside. “But first, we kill.”

  Dorin held the heavy tent flap open, and they entered the lunchtime arena.

  Chapter 21: Conflicting Views

  What is meditation? Is it simply the process of closing your eyes and letting your mind aimlessly wonder? If so, what is the point? Is it the practicing of patience and oneness? Is it worthwhile for a free-thinking man, or is it just another waste of time?

  There was a time in my life when I was skeptical of meditating, to be sure. At first glance, it seems like a practice better suited to old men and doddering women rather than people of action. But the more I have practiced, the more I have learned to curb my skepticism.

  But what exactly is it? What is the purpose of it?

  In my experience, meditation isn’t deep deliberation, nor is it pondering or reflecting or contemplation—it is letting your mind wonder, falling into a dream-like state of inner peace, and then, slowly, gradually, asking questions, and finding answers by letting parts of the subconscious mind take root, and wordlessly voicing queries into the ethereal realms of transcendence. If that sounds ridiculous, I understand. In my youth, I might have laughed at it too, but there is a power to it, and I have experienced it on more than one occasion.

  To those who only use meditation as a means of relaxation only utilize half of the potential. There is so much more to it than developing a sense of empathy and oneness. There is also the path to enlightenment—the path of questing and questioning outwards. The path of knowledge and whole understanding. Both parts, oneness and discovery, are equally important.

  For my path in particular—the path of human betterment, understanding and creating a way forward for all of mankind, into the morphic ice and the great beyond, questioning and searching shall remain an integral part of my meditation.

  For I don’t merely seek to be a “good person”, nor to be the peaceful loving pacifist who does no harm. No, I seek understanding above all else. And through that understanding, I will act, and create the best possible version of both myself, and the world.

  —The Journal of Nandor, Pre-Clockwork War

  Dorin walked behind his companions, hiding its secret smile. Nandor and Nix were as serious as sleeting snow, looking for their foe to fell, but the bot was whimsically delighting in every moment.

  And why shouldn’t it?

  Everything was going even better than it had planned. Nandor was alive, they were together again, and soon, they would be claiming the lives of the unworthy.

  What a treat! To watch Nandor fight again, but up close!

  “Do you see him?” Nandor asked Nix.

  She shook her head, “No—this place is too crowded.”

  As the dark snow storm on the outside rolled into Froj, more people were seeking refuge within the mammoth tent cantina. The chefs and servants were having a hard time keeping up with demand. Nandor guided them to the serving table, and tossed the nearest cook two silvers. “Food. Please,” he said.

  The cook’s eyes widened, and quickly obeyed, giving Nix and Nandor two separate sandwiches. Few people paid for food at the college cantina, since the grandmaster insisted that it remain free to all students and teachers. Two silvers was more than enough to pay for the food, even during shortages. The cook would enjoy a hefty tip.

  “What wages are they paying you, sir? For becoming a headmaster, I mean,” Dorin wondered.

  Nandor shrugged, “No idea. Never asked. I’ve only been a headmaster for a few weeks, and much of that time I’ve been mortally wounded, or there’s been general chaos. So I haven’t had any time to teach or get paid.” He pointed to an empty table in the far corner of the cantina, and began to walk towards it. “I imagine that I’ll get paid decently. From what I’ve seen of the other headmasters they always dress nice and act with an air of arrogance that comes from wealth, so I’m not too concerned about my coin, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Dorin clinched on to his arm, and pulled him over. “Sir, remember our task?”

  He halted, “Yes, so?”

  The mechanical creature waved from the far table to a more centralized one. “We want to attract attention. If we go to that table in the corner, nobody will see Nixie fawning over you,” it explained. “I understand that you have a natural tendency to seek out a defensive position with a good vantage point, but in this case, you would be harming our objective in doing so.”

  Nix clung onto his other arm, and nodded her cheeks up and down his shoulder. “The bot’s right. We need to be in the center. If we can’t find Gevor, then Gevor needs to find us.”

  Nandor hesitated, uneasy as he stood in the noisy tent. “I-I don’t like that. There will be many eyes. What if everyone gets the wrong idea about us?”

  “I thought that was the plan, sir?”

  Nix eased him down towards the nearest table, “It is. And I’m fine if other people jump to conclusions. If we can rope Gevor into our grip, and kill him for what he’s done, then let the people talk as they will. I don’t care.”

  He still appeared uncomfortable, but he found a seat. The table they sat at was not in the dead center of the room, but it was still close to the commotion. At some tables teachers sat, at other tables higher level students, and lower level students. They appeared to be organized into separate little cliques, the popular students at one table, and unpopular students near the edges, where Nandor had intended on siting.

  Dorin smiled, glad that he had dissuaded him from his course of action. Thanks to its suggestion
, they sat with the teacher’s table to their left, and the popular students to their right. Anyone who was anyone would be watching them. All they needed to do was cause a big enough stir.

  Student-teacher relationships were not banned at the college, but they were unusual.

  But even without Nix rubbing up against him, Nandor already made for a strange sight—not as strange of a sight as he did before the war, when he was still scarred, worn, and grizzled, but even with his soft skin and shaven face there was still a distinct difference that sat him apart from other students and teachers at the college. He was larger than most, both of presence and of muscle, and he dressed far differently from the college professors. Headmaster Sagger and Benjfrost, for instance, always wore fine, long-sleeved dress jackets with intricate designs and glimmering patterns. Their shoes were soft and glistening, and their pants close-fitting with shining buckles.

  It was plain even to Dorin that Nandor dressed nothing like them. He wore wolf-fur clothing that he quickly slid to the side along with his backpack, and his hard leather boots, worn from many days of use, were kicked aside with a satisfied grunt. Nothing was for show—every item from his coat to his belt served a practical function for a man living in the wild.

  He peeled off two layers of clothing in favor of his underclothes, a simple wool shirt that showed off his strong arms, and leggings that hung loosely around his torso. His mannerisms echoed his informal garb. He drank in large, noisy gulps that sent stray droplets down his chin, and he ate in equally large bites, chewing viciously at the rabbit meat and goat cheese as if each bite might be his last. He would have fitted in better with a barbarian tribe gathering than the college cantina.

  Even Nix appeared a little unsettled. “I’ve seen you eat before, and it was never elegant, but my! It’s like you’ve never even tried to have manners!”

  He swallowed through a red face, glancing at the astonished faces surrounding him. “I’m just hungry. Give me a break. My body needs its energy. I don’t want to fight on an empty stomach.”

  “I suppose you are still recovering, in a sense,” she agreed. She scooted closer in her chair so that she could attempt to lean on him, “But you’re making it very hard for me to pose with you, eating so fast…” she mumbled her complaint.

  “Ah,” he began to chew slower, and casually wrapped an arm around her. “I see your point. I’ll try to restrain myself.”

  “That’s better.” The bot nodded its approval. It sat opposite of them, observing their act with a painter’s gaze. Nixie’s head fell softly on Nandor’s shoulder, and he hugged her tightly with his left arm as he ate with his right. They look very much like a couple indeed! Dorin thought with delight. Perhaps this deception will work.

  The bot hadn’t noticed it, at first, but the surrounding tables had grown quieter as they ate. Glances, or outright stares from students were constant. Everyone wanted to know the story behind the metal bot, the barbarian man, and the pretty girl snuggled up on his shoulder.

  “How well-known are you, Nandor?” the bot asked.

  “Before the war?” He shrugged, “A few people from the college knew of me, or my deeds, at the least. I recovered many artifacts and books, but mostly, by common students and citizens I was unknown.”

  “Do you think people will recognize you from your duel, though?”

  Nix answered for him, “Not necessarily. He looks too young now, and he’s shaved. I doubt if many warriors on the plateau would have had a good enough view to recognize the man from the duel and identify him as the man on my side.”

  “But what about when the grandmaster appointed you as the headmaster of elemental studies? Surely people would recognize you from that?”

  This time, Nandor spoke for himself. “I doubt it. It was a small meeting, and I did not have the time to stay for any formal introduction to the teachers and students.”

  “Then as far as most of these people know, you’re just a stranger who showed up with a pretty girl and a Jack-Bot?” it asked.

  “That’s about right. Probably why the guards were so confused when I first appeared at the gates, claiming to be a headmaster.”

  “So how are we going to draw more attention?”

  “More attention than we already have?” Nandor spoke softly. His ears were red, and his eyes darted around at the many glances he received. “If we aren’t a big enough target by now, then nothing will do it.”

  Dorin disagreed. There were many ways to cause a scene, and it was well-versed in them all. Its life as a servant for the wealthy Larnorjs family taught it many things—most of it was detestable, but bits and pieces of the lessons had become somewhat valuable.

  “You two could start kissing,” it suggested. Nandor and Nix exchanged an uneasy glance. “What? It’d just be a little icing on the cake, so to speak. You already have attracted many eyes, but become more scandalous and even more eyes will follow. I guarantee it.”

  “Wait, wait,” Nandor held up his hand to stop Nix from acting on the bot’s unsolicited advice. “Before any of us does anything that anyone is going to regret, why don’t we take another moment to look around the room, and see if we can’t see Gevor for ourselves?”

  The bot’s shoulders fell. It had wanted a show. “Very well,” it sighed, “scanning for Gevor.”

  Most bots have poor eyes. Tinker-Bots have their lenses calibrated to be ideal for short distance viewing, and working on machinery, but they are rendered almost universally near-sighted as a result. Clank-Bots, on the other hand, are large and protective hunks of metal, built to be royal guards and imposing, but little thought was put into their lenses, and they are often blurred with scratches or dust, making them useless as scouts.

  But Jack-Bot’s were different, both in design and in function. They were dubbed Jack-Bot for a series of reasons—first, they required a human soul. So, as the saying goes, they are as useful as any ‘ol Jack. Second, they have a distinctly humanoid appearance, which makes them appear like any ‘ol Jack. Whereas Clank-Bots are large and obtrusive, and built for battle, and Tinker-Bots are small with delicate hands built for repair, Jack-Bots are mostly scaled to a human size. Dorin was smaller than most—when it kept its legs coiled it was barely five feet tall, but its eyes were marvelous. They glowed brightly with burning energy from the human soul it had entrapped upon its creation, and by turning a gear just under its ear-holes, it could shuffle between a series of lenses that worked as well as a magnifying glass or a binocular, depending on the setting.

  So as the creature searched for Gevor, it twisted around in its chair, adjusting the lenses to focus its gaze. “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s a little tall, but thin. Strong for a skinny man, and his face is gaunt but not narrow—almost elegant and prideful. His skin is darker than most in Froj—he may have some foreign lineage from northern lands, but that’s just a guess. His hair is a shade of brown despite his dark skin, and his eyes have an edge of green in them. He dresses formally—even outside of lesson hours he wears the tunic of the Crystal College, with the blue crystal embroidery and a phoenix-symbol upon his breast, granted to him by Sagger and marking him as more than just a student, but a full-on apprentice with a powerful master. He is very proud of the phoenix marking, and it glows with a faint white enchantment that repels light snowfall, and keeps his garments clean.”

  “Repels snowfall?” Nandor’s eyebrows raised. “A useful enchantment. He must be wealthy.”

  Nix shook her head. “It was gifted to him, I think. He doesn’t come from money, but he has managed to get on the good side of Sagger, who treats him as his most valued apprentice.”

  “A phoenix marking should be distinctive…” The bot thought as it searched the crowd.

  “Yes,” Nix agreed. “Only headmasters and apprentices of headmasters are allowed to wear them. There should be less than fifty in the entire college.”

  “I don’t see a single one here,” Dorin sighed, allowing steam to hiss from his mouth. “Perh
aps he’s dressed differently?”

  “Perhaps,” Nix said, “But I doubt it. More likely he isn’t here at all.”

  “If that’s the case,” Nandor shook his shoulder, prying Nix away, “there’s no sense in keeping up this act.”

  “Hey!” she protested, “I was cozy there!”

  “You’re sweating up my shoulder!” he said back.

  “Wait!” Dorin hissed, “Quiet! I might have something…” It narrowed its gaze. It had seen a flicker of orange and red that looked like it might be a phoenix marking. Nearby the serving table, in the heat of the crowd trying to get food, a figure bobbed its head down, darting away as if it didn’t want to be seen. But the clothes the figure wore—they were exactly as Nix had described them. Formal, yet practical for studies. Black with crystal blue, and a phoenix marking upon the breast. The figure’s face was hidden behind a hood, and it kept to the edges of the crowd, as if it feared going too close. “Nix…” the bot spoke slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle. “…Gevor isn’t the bashful type, is he?”

  “Ha!” She laughed without humor. “I wish, but no. He’s bold and ambitious. Why do you ask?”

  “I ask because I see a man who fits the garb of Gevor, but I can’t make out his face. It’s hidden behind a hood—as if he’s ashamed of himself.”

  “Where?” Nandor and Nix asked in unison.

  “Towards the edge of the gathering, by the serving table,” the bot said, and pointed as discreetly as it was able.

  Nandor turned in the direction that the bot’s finger faced, “I don’t see him,” he frowned.