The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  He channeled the very storm? Nandor’s shock grew. “I thought that I was the only one at the college who could channel elements directly without a conductor. I thought that was why you hired me.”

  Forojen swept his hands and a wayward window opened. A great gale of air rushed around them, and brushed the bodies off the table into a pile by the door. With another wave of his hand, the window closed again, as the outside storm continued to rage on. “I know one or two things that I keep to myself. I find it helpful to never reveal the full scale of my power to those who may one day become my enemies. When I heard that you have learned the same ability on your own, it impressed me, and I thought it might be high time my college learned a thing or two. But not from me—you will be the better teacher, of that I am still confident.”

  “I have never harnessed the wind,” Nandor watched the grandmaster’s actions in trepidation.

  “That’s not surprising,” Forojen shrugged, grunting as he eased into his large crystalline chair. “Air is one of the hardest elements to channel—took me many, many years to learn it. Many more to master it. You’re young yet. You’ve still got time.”

  Nandor found a seat, but not too close. Nix shared his chair, and Dorin remained standing. “I take it the storm helps?”

  Forojen nodded in approval. “You’re a fast learner. The worst time to attack a true elementalist is during a storm—it is when we are most powerful. But on a calm day, the air is as useless to harness as the flames of a flickering candle. It’s all about knowing one’s surroundings, and utilizing it to one’s advantage.”

  “But what you did to Lareja…” he let his words fall into emptiness. His frank horror was apparent.

  “That, was more within the realms of mystic powers,” The grandmaster winked at Nix. “With practice, planting mental seeds of insanity becomes a most effectual form of defense, as you saw.” He placed his hands firmly on the table, “But enough of all that. As terrible as Sagger’s treachery was, there are more pressing matters to attend to. I am glad you have all come. Just today I received a letter from Lady Mikja—she finally answered my queries, and agreed to a negotiation.”

  Nandor’s brows shot up. “Really? What made her change her mind?”

  The grandmaster met his eyes, “You. She heard wind of your unlikely survival, apparently, and is most fascinated.”

  He frowned, “Fascinated enough to give back Froj its portion of the Green Forest? I find that unlikely.”

  “Me as well,” Forojen agreed. “But it is the best chance at a negotiation I’ve been able to secure since the war. Her curiosity will get her to the table, but we’ll have to leverage something else to our advantage.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “I have a few,” he replied, “Nothing definite. The meeting is to be held tomorrow afternoon, and she specifically requests your presence. I’ll be working on a ploy to secure at least a portion of the forest for us all night.” He thumped the table, “But you understand what this means, don’t you? If we can even get just a small portion of the Green Forest, the college will, at least, be able to continue feeding its students without starving. Perhaps we can save some of Froj as well. This is an opportunity we can’t allow to slip away from us.”

  “I agree,” Nandor said, looking around the room. The colors had adjusted to more gentle shades, and the wind Forojen had summoned did a fair job of stacking the bodies out of sight, but he still felt unnerved. “So tomorrow, we go to negotiate for our portion of the Green Forest. I will be the center attraction, and you will handle the talks. That about right?”

  “I believe so.”

  “In that case,” Nandor scooted his chair away, and Nix stood up with him, “I wish you well in your plotting, but I need some rest, for it has been a long day, and I find I function best after a good night’s sleep.”

  Forojen laughed, “You are a simple man, Nandor, and I appreciate it. Meet me at the college gates early in the morning—for it is a long trip we have ahead of us.”

  “I will. And I’ll being Nixie and Dorin with me, that is, if you wish to come?” He glanced at the girl, already guessing the bot’s response.

  “This is what we set out to do, Nandor. It’s part of why I worked so hard to bring you back. To save the city. I will go,” she said.

  “Thank you. I find I’m only half as useful without you by my side.”

  “No worries! I’ll be with you too, sir!” the bot declared.

  “You are always appreciated as well.” He aimed to give the bot a smile, but upon seeing its bloodstained gears he shivered instead. I don’t think I’m ever going to get that out of my mind.

  Forojen saw them to the door, “Take your rest, and clean yourselves. Bring with you your swords and weapons as well, as a formality out of respect, if nothing else. If everything goes well, perhaps we can make Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone see the error in their ways.”

  “That is optimistic,” Nandor muttered. “Last time I negotiated with them and we came to an agreement, they had a sudden change of heart. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to betray me again.”

  “I’ll be working on my plan,” the grandmaster assured him, and opened the door. The raging storm was dying down, but cold wind still blew harshly as they exited his home. “You might want to sleep with one eye open, just in case. I think that we’ve successfully fended off Sagger’s little rebellion, but you never know where one more rat might be hiding in the shadows. Be cautious.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them, sir. One of the advantages of being a bot—I don’t need to close my eyes.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you at dawn,” he called as they left.

  Nandor remained silent, sharing Nixie’s warmth as they made their way to her dorm. There was much on his mind.

  Dobry was avenged, as well as the unnamed student who had been cast into the snow—but there were still those who had earned his rage, and tomorrow he would face them. He wondered if he could kill Lady Mikja if he got close enough, or if there would be too many guards. He wondered even further if that was the best course of action. Perhaps she did have a change of heart, but somehow he found that highly unlikely.

  The grandmaster’s powerful magic also haunted his thoughts as they walked. It was unnerving what he could do with a flick of his hand—but more so, it meant that Forojen was a secretive man, as he suspected. Was he involved in Wagfrost’s death?

  That amount of mystic power—to drive a man into suicide with a mere touch. And who knows what else he’s hiding?

  At his side, Nix was as restless as he was. “You aren’t sure if we can trust him, are you?” she whispered.

  He nodded downwards. “You saw how powerful he is. He made my magic look tame in comparison.”

  “Just because he’s powerful, doesn’t mean he’s untrustworthy. Or wrong,” Dorin said.

  “It’s not his power that scares me—it’s the way he used it that I find the most frightening,” Nandor muttered. “How many ways could he have killed Lareja? Yet he chose to make her painfully slam her head against the wall, killing herself. You saw how twisted and deformed those other bodies were—does that seem like the method of a good man to you?”

  “I rather enjoyed it. He just has a good sense of justice. And usefulness. Like me.”

  Nandor eyed the mechanical creature. Not for the first time, he found himself inwardly questioning his companion’s morals. “It was brutal.”

  “So was what you did to Sagger,” The bot met his eye. “Violence is violence. When there are those who are unreasonable, they must be put to an end, or the cycle will never stop. Those with power, like us, are the most fit to handle the metaphorical scales, and tilt them to our advantage. It’s for the best, really.”

  “You are hardly one to be preaching about justice, Dorin,” Nix said.

  “Indeed?” It looked down on her, as if daring her to say more. “I believe I am the perfect one to speak of such things. You humans get too bogged down in p
etty beliefs such as good and evil. I take a more objectivist approach. What is ultimately for the best of the world, and what is ultimately for the worst? That is the only question that matters.”

  Nandor struggled to wrap his head around Dorin’s philosophy, then gave up. “Regardless of what we think of him, we have to work with him, at least for the moment. As you said earlier,” he looked to Nix, “I may not like him, but Forojen is the best chance we have of setting things right in the city. In times like these, stranger alliances have been made before. Tomorrow, we will meet with Mikja and Grimbone once again, and we will do what we must. Agreed?”

  Nix and Dorin nodded.

  “Good. Now where is your dorm? It feels like I haven’t slept in years.”

  “We’re getting closer,” Nix assured him. “Just a little further down the streets…”

  Chapter 26: New Tidings

  In my experience, people do not want to listen to someone who preaches the truth. People want to listen to someone who tickles their ear. They want to listen to a soft speaker, who says pretty words of worthless lies. They want to masturbate to their own suffering. They don’t want to move forward. They don’t want to listen to the man who says embrace your life, take responsibility, and work for what you want. They would rather play therapist. They would rather have a sympathetic ear. They would rather revel in misery than strive for more. They would rather listen to evil words handsomely said than true words from a grizzled face. It is frustrating. It is as if packaging matters more than principle, or symptom matters more than root cause. If only I was a better communicator, perhaps I could get this point across, and more would heed my words…

  —The Journal of Nandor, Pre-Clockwork War

  As it often does, the morning came far too quickly. Nandor found himself waking just before the sun. He was lying next to Nix, who was snoring rather unladylike.

  He pushed her awake. “Sorry, we don’t have much time,” he told her.

  Dorin was already running the water-crank. “You’re not going to bathe, sir?”

  “I’ll just do the fast version,” he replied, climbing to his feet and splashing his face. “It’s not as if I’m known for being a cleanly man. I have no reputation to uphold.”

  “Your clothes have been washed and dried,” the bot pointed to the small steamer. “Took me a while to get all the blood out.”

  “Thank you,” Nandor replied, climbing into his wolf-fur pants and coat. He turned back to the nest. “Nix? You up?”

  She grunted in reply, fumbling out of the nesting.

  “Make your bath fast, and dress warm.” He turned to the bot, “Dorin? A word outside if you will?”

  The bot nodded, and they both stepped outside of the crowded dorm. “Are you ever going to get a place of your own, sir? Or have you decided on living with the girl?” it asked as they leaned against the outside wall. So unexpected was the bot’s sudden question, that Nandor found himself at a loss for words. It saw his puzzlement, and continued, “You are a headmaster—shouldn’t you have a home of your own at the college? Sharing a tiny dorm with a student,” it waved to the door, and chuckled. “It’s a little beneath you, isn’t it sir? Don’t get me wrong—I’m sure you find her attractive, and I understand that. Back in my human days I imagine I would have had a similar lust, but the thing is, you don’t even appear to be pursuing her. It’s obvious you like her, and if I had to bet she likes you back, but yet you keep your distance, as if you’re afraid of what you might feel. You have to understand—it’s a very confusing relationship for me to witness. Am I wrong in my analysis, sir? Or do you have motives of your own?”

  Nandor found his gaze going to the sky. It had cleared from the storm—a good day for travel. At his side, the bot was still waiting expectantly on his response. He sighed. He had intended on discussing something altogether different, but it would have to wait. Dorin’s thoughts were scarily human, and he did not know how to respond. Did he like Nix? Certainly as a friend. A pretty friend. With flowing white hair and lovely eyes and an impeccable sense of cute style. She was loyal and talented and strangely unrepelled by his odd lifestyle—but did that automatically make for a recipe of attraction?

  He had never imagined himself as a man to get tangled up in love. His work was too volatile. Who would want to be with a homeless nomad?

  Of course, that was no longer who he was, either. He was a headmaster of the Crystal College—specializing in elemental conduction. Perhaps his new life did allow for love?

  His brows furrowed deeper in confusion. He had no experience with true love—would he even recognize it if it hit him square in the jaw? Was that why he never acted on his feelings? Was he uncertain of them, or scared of them? What kind of life could he provide for a romantic partner? A warm, safe home? Children?

  Did he want those things?

  He had no answer. Neither for himself, nor the bot.

  At last, he managed a strange sort of mumble in response, followed by a few reluctant words. “I certainly like Nix, as any man who spent time in her company might. But I am unsure of if it would be wise to act on my feelings. Relationships can get complicated, Dorin. I’ve seen enough to know that. I am not sure if I should tangle her up in my troubles…”

  It snorted, “Bah! She’s already made her choice. Why do you think she sticks by your side? Why do you think she so casually opens her bed to you? Do you think these things happen by accident? Do you truly think that she is just being practical? That she stays with you only to help the city, and shares her nest only for the added warmth? There is more to it than that, Nandor, and you are dense if you think otherwise.”

  “It’s not just that,” Nandor shook his head. “I am not totally naive to her feelings. But she is a good girl. Young, pretty, talented—in time, when she decides that she wants children and a safe home and all those things that go with it, she will see that her current fancy is nothing more than a passing phase, and so it would be wrong of me to take advantage of her folly.”

  After a moment, Dorin loudly chuckled. “Your still too noble, Nandor. And you think one step too far ahead. I believe most humans would say: ‘At times, you just need to live in the moment. Act on your feelings. Have no regrets,’ or something like that.” It rolled its flaming eyes, “Of course, that advice sounds like a load of mammoth-piss to me, but who knows? Perhaps you should take it.” It gave him a playful nudge with a metal elbow. “Might do you some good. A girl like her might never come again. Even if the relationship doesn’t last, it could be good for the both of you.”

  He raised a brow. “Since when did you suddenly start appreciating Nix? I thought you said she was thick?”

  “Oh, phish-posh,” it waved a hand, dispelling its former words. “She and I have our little disagreements, but she’s still a good woman, with a strong will. A healthy specimen, one might say. You could do far worse for a mate.”

  “That’s…” he grunted uncomfortably, “an odd way of putting it.”

  Just then, the dorm room door burst open, revealing the topic of their discussion. She smelled of washed cotton and citrus pine, and her pale cheeks turned rosy from the cold. Nandor felt heat flush to his own, and hid his gaze.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “No—nothing.” Nandor stammered, “Let’s go to the gates. We don’t need to keep the grandmaster waiting.”

  They gathered their skis and belongings, and walked swiftly to the edge of the college. “What do you expect to happen from the meeting?” Nix wondered.

  Nandor shrugged, “A wise man once said, ‘the most likely thing to happen, is the same thing that’s always happened before.’”

  She mauled on his statement for a moment, then asked, “And what’s always happened before?”

  “Those in power seek to stay in power, and those without it continue to suffer. Unless Lady Mikja has developed a sudden pressing desire to do good, I expect her to try to keep holding on to every portion of the Green Forest she owns. Her city will gr
ow, Froj will continue to wither, and likely, the only reason she is even allowing the negotiation to commence is because she thinks there is some way it might benefit her.”

  “That’s awfully skeptical,” Nix muttered.

  “It’s realistic,” the bot chirped in approval. “Hopefully Forojen has thought of a way to leverage the negotiation to our advantage.”

  “That is what I hope as well,” he nodded, and they continued their journey.

  The college gates were not far. Nixie’s dorm was in the lower housing with the other poor students, and it stood nearby the walls just north of the main gate. They saw a few students as they walked, but not many. The mystic tower in the distance had a hoard of people around it. Perhaps it was some sort of ceremony for Sagger’s death.

  The bot noted it as well. “I’m surprised there are people who morn Sagger’s passing.”

  “He was never well-loved,” Nix explained, “but there were those who swore by his teachings. He had several apprentices too—Gevor was not the only one. Plus, the teachers who worked under him have to put on a show of caring, at the very least.” She grinned, “Actually, what I’m most surprised of is that they are able to recognize his charred corpse.”

  She sounded proud of their accomplishment, but the memory caused Nandor to shudder. He took no pride in Sagger’s death—he had only done what had to be done, or so he told himself.

  Near the gates, there was another small crowd of people. Grandmaster Forojen was in the middle, speaking softly to those nearest. Nandor used his size to make a path through the onlookers, brushing aside students and teachers indiscriminately. “Make way, make way. Headmaster of elemental studies coming through,” he grunted.

  Several people gasped as he came forward, and he found more eyes growing on him than anyone else. Has word already spread so fast? Do they know who I am? What I’ve done?

  Forojen met him with a nod, “Nandor. I am glad you made it. Are you ready to travel?”