by Den Patrick
Shirinov made a strangled noise behind his mask as Felgenhauer departed for Academy Voda. She paused to spare a look over her shoulder.
‘Marozvolk. Stay here with your soldiers. Ensure no one goes down to Temnet Cove.’ The wolf-masked Vigilant nodded once and took up a position by the gatehouse, the soldiers with axes falling in beside her.
‘I don’t want anyone smuggling themselves off the island.’ The angular mask turned to Steiner. ‘Anyone.’
‘I thought the soldiers were going to attack each other,’ whispered Steiner when they had reached the Matriarch-Commissar’s office. Silverdust had followed them to the doors of Academy Voda, a ghostly yet silent presence. He waited in the vestibule and dismissed the soldiers on duty with a nod.
‘It’s not the soldiers you have to worry about,’ said Felgenhauer, closing the door to her office. ‘Shirinov is very powerful, and Khigir is tricky. The outcome was anything but assured had Marozvolk and I tried to stop them.’
Steiner swallowed, trying to imagine the scale of arcane destruction as they climbed the stairs to the next floor.
‘Would Silverdust have helped you?’ he asked when they had reached Felgenhauer’s office.
‘Difficult to know,’ replied Felgenhauer, after a pause. ‘He’s his own master in a lot of ways, never actively disobedient, just … he sees the world differently to you and I.’
‘How old is Silverdust?’
‘What?’ Felgenhauer closed the door to her office. ‘Why would you want to know that?’
‘I was just curious,’ said Steiner, thinking of Silverdust’s secret.
‘I have no idea. Vigilants rarely share much personal information with each other. He has been on Vladibogdan since before I arrived. That would make him fairly old, I suppose. Why is his age important?’
‘Just idle curiosity,’ said Steiner as they both dried themselves in front of the fire.
‘I’m not going to have you being idly curious, or idle at all,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘And I don’t intend to sit here until that crooked oaf comes whining.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Steiner. For a moment he hoped they might leave with Romola, leave the island and all its tensions, but what would happen to Tief, Taiga, Sundra and Kimi?
‘We’re going to inspect the schools. At times like this the soldiers need to be reminded who is in charge.’
They set off down the stairs, Steiner hurrying behind the long strides of the Matriarch-Commissar.
‘Where are we going first?’
‘To Academy Zemlya, of course. It’s where Shirinov teaches, and most of the Vigilants opposed to me reside there.’
The building was identical in every way to Academy Voda as far as Steiner could determine but the students were more stocky than their counterparts in the other schools.
‘An element of the arcane manifests in the physical forms of the student as usage increases,’ said the Matriarch-Commissar, as if reciting from a book.
‘And what does that mean?’ whispered Steiner as they exited one classroom and proceeded along the corridor to another.
‘At first, nothing more than a darkening of the skin. Some suffer a deeper discolouration, becoming grey and rough.’
The next class consisted of older children who glowered at Steiner, sullen and sneering. Steiner looked past their expressions for traces of witchsign. All looked dirty, some were the pale brown of a field in drought, others bore an unhealthy hue, pale grey making them sickly. Steiner’s mouth became dry as he remembered Matthias Zhirov.
‘Matriarch-Commissar, you grace us with your presence,’ said a novice, rising from his seat and performing a neat bow.
‘And you grace the Empire with your learning, Konstantin,’ replied the Matriarch-Commissar, before nodding to the teacher. The Vigilant wore a mask of pitted black metal bearing a grim expression, though the effect was undone by his rounded shoulders as he cowered in the corner.
‘He’s one of Shirinov’s supporters?’ said Steiner when they were in the corridor again.
‘Ordinary Evtohov. And Konstantin too,’ said Felgenhauer, each syllable dripping with scorn.
‘What powers do the children have here?’
‘A worthy question,’ said Felgenhauer, as she stood outside another classroom, listening to the lesson being taught through the door. ‘Those born with the power of earth are rarely lost, they always know true north. If trained correctly they can call on great strength and transmute themselves into living rock, as you already know.
Steiner nodded and said nothing.
‘A fully trained Vigilant can lift objects from the ground with their mind,’ said the Matriarch-Commissar.
‘As Shirinov did with Maxim.’
Felgenhauer nodded. ‘The most powerful of us can petrify flesh with a look.’
Two soldiers stood guard at the end of the corridor and Felgenhauer appraised each in turn. The Matriarch-Commissar reeled off a string of words in Solska, the volume and tone indicating her displeasure.
‘What was that about?’ asked Steiner as they exited the academy.
‘I told them to polish their boots, wash their cloaks, and bathe more frequently. If they can’t be loyal to me they can at least look like soldiers.’
Academy Plamya was no different, providing one had no sense of smell.
‘What is that?’
‘Sulphur,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘Children born with the power of fire often bear unfortunate odours. I once knew a man who smelled faintly of woodsmoke …’ The Matriarch-Commissar tailed off and Steiner looked around.
‘Are you unwell?’
‘What?’ asked Felgenhauer. ‘No. Fine. As I was saying, unfortunate. Most smell of sulphur, I believe they call it brimstone in Khlystburg.’
Felgenhauer was less interested in the classes here, and her attention focused on the soldiers, delivering stern rebukes.
‘What powers do these children have?’ asked Steiner as they climbed another flight of stairs.
‘See for yourself,’ replied Felgenhauer, gesturing to a wide room bereft of furnishings. With good reason as it turned out. Three children of about fourteen stood side by side, breathing fire in unison, just as Aurelian had.
‘I think we should leave,’ said Steiner, mouth dry and pulse hammering in his veins.
‘Not yet,’ countered Felgenhauer. Another child in the corner of the room stood before the novices, naked yet oblivious to embarrassment.
‘What in Frejna’s name is going on—’
Felgenhauer held up a finger to the angular mask’s mouth. ‘Watch.’
The naked novice bloomed into a living tongue of fire, a swirl of orange and red flame.
‘That’s terrifying,’ whispered Steiner.
‘Fire is the greatest of the dragon’s gifts. The ability to summon it and breathe it, to command choking clouds of smoke, to cast flame as if it were a javelin. And to be immune to it. When the Emperor orders these children to march on Shanisrond it will be as if the dragons themselves have returned.’
Felgenhauer turned away and descended the stairs, leaving Steiner to grow increasingly uncomfortable under the smouldering gazes of the novices.
‘I suppose you heard about Zhirov too,’ he muttered.
The Matriarch-Commissar was waiting outside Academy Vozdukha when Steiner caught up with her. She stood before the door, hands clasped in the small of her back, chin raised.
‘You’re not going in?’
‘No point.’ Felgenhauer regarded the natural rock far above Academy Square. ‘The Vigilants take the novices up to the cliffs unless the rain is fierce. They say they can’t teach the wind if they can’t feel it on their faces. I say they’re all far gone with drink and madness.’
‘Is this where Silverdust lives?’
‘Not exactly. Silverdust doesn’t teach, and he channels the powers of both wind and fire. No one knows where Silverdust lives, he just exists.’ Felgenhauer started off before Steiner had a chance to voice his que
stions.
‘What does Voda mean?’ he called out to her as she crossed the threshold of the last academy.
She turned slowly as he mounted the steps. ‘It’s the Solska word for water.’
‘But the arcane power for the water school doesn’t come from dragons.’ Steiner felt strangely proud of this tiny fleck of knowledge.
‘Quite the expert,’ said Felgenhauer, her tone unimpressed. ‘Knowing such things will get you killed in the Empire. Unless you’re a Vigilant.’
‘I, ah, I must have overheard that somewhere. Can’t remember where.’ Steiner forced a smile and shrugged.
‘Academy Voda is where they send children born with the power of water,’ said Felgenhauer in a quiet voice. ‘The Empire’s style of teaching does not suit the novices. We encourage them to use other powers, other disciplines.’
‘It’s not like we need Vigilants summoning rain, is it?’ said Steiner, looking to the skies.
‘Very few of the water novices graduate,’ replied Felgenhauer.
‘Why?’
‘Because very few of the water novices survive the first year.’
Steiner rolled over in bed, kicking at sheets that clung to his legs.
Zhirov.
He slipped from the bed, hissing as the flagstones chilled his naked feet.
‘I didn’t ask him to come down to the furnaces,’ mumbled Steiner, blinking awake in the darkened room. He stepped onto the sheepskin and fetched the poker to stir the fire. The door handle rattled and he straightened up slowly, grip tightening on the poker as if it were a sword.
‘Who’s there?’ he whispered.
No answer, the handle rattled again but he’d locked the door and didn’t care to open it. A sliver of parchment slid through the gap at the bottom. Steiner’s heart beat loud in his chest but his curiosity outweighed his fear. He snatched up the note, knowing even as he raised it to his eyes the words would make no sense. The loops and whorls of ink performed a lazy dance on the parchment and Steiner growled in frustration.
‘What in Frøya’s name is this?’
Britches were pulled on, his boots left unlaced. He was still clutching the poker when he unlocked the door and emerged into the corridor.
‘Hoy there,’ muttered one of the soldiers from a few feet away.
‘Hoy,’ replied Steiner and set the poker down in his room lest his intentions be misunderstood. He didn’t trust the soldier, but he didn’t need to start a fight.
‘Did you see who came by here?’
The soldier shook his head. ‘We just changed shifts, though I saw Ordinary Marozvolk just a moment ago.’ Steiner breathed with relief that the soldier knew Nordspråk. He regarded the note and the swirls of script so unclear to him.
‘What does it say?’ pressed the soldier.
Steiner held it out to him. ‘I can’t …’ said Steiner. ‘I can’t read.’
‘It is from the Matriarch-Commissar,’ said the soldier after a brief glance. ‘It says you are to gather your things and go to Temnet Cove and depart with the privateer.’
‘What? That’s impossible.’ Steiner frowned. All his hopes for escape had been answered in one simple note, stuffed under his door in the dead of night. ‘When?’
‘Tonight,’ said the soldier.
‘I should … I should say goodbye to Felgenhauer.’
‘She is not here,’ said the soldier. ‘She had some business with Silverdust. I’d go this very minute if I were you. The pirate will not wait long.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Steiner
While novices rarely form a bond with the Vigilants that train them, they do cultivate lifelong allies with novices of similar ages. This should not be mistaken for friendship. A Vigilant cannot enjoy such a luxury. There are only comrades in the eyes of the Empire. Even family comes second to the will of the Emperor.
– From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
Steiner felt no loss for Academy Voda as he exited the double doors, pausing only to pick up a lantern. He descended the steps to Academy Square, gaze drawn to the darkened alley leading to the furnaces. It would take many minutes to descend to where Kimi and Tief slumbered. He lost a moment in the gloom, breath steaming on the air, thinking of Taiga and Sundra and how badly he wanted to say goodbye to them. The roiling fire of the dragon statue set Steiner’s shadow writhing across the cobbles, flickering uncertainly in one direction and then another. It would be just his luck for Romola to cast off without him while he said his farewells, he decided.
Soldiers appeared out of the gloom, startling him into action. He bowed his head against the rain and trudged across the square to the gatehouse and the black steps beyond. Marozvolk had retired for the night. The soldiers on duty bore maces, not the axes he’d seen earlier.
‘I have a letter from the Matriarch-Commissar,’ he said, holding up the parchment that had wilted in the rain. The soldiers grunted at him in Solska. One of them nodded he should pass.
Steiner stared from one soldier to the other, expecting either of them to stop him. He couldn’t believe he was headed for Cinderfell, couldn’t believe he’d be home with his father and Kjellrunn.
The soldiers jerked a thumb over their shoulders towards the ship and Steiner slunk beneath the arch, picking his way down the many steps. The bleak rock of Temnet Cove was darker than the night itself. The Watcher’s Wait nestled against the pier, the water around it dappled with a halo of gold lantern light.
Steiner took a deep breath. He was going home. Back to Kjellrunn and his father. Back to Verner. He’d embrace each of them, tell them that nothing mattered except being together. He’d tell them they’d been right to send him and not Kjell. He’d find a way of keeping his sister safe from Shirinov. They’d need to leave Cinderfell of course, that was a given. Not a soul in the drab grey town would speak to him after all that had happened. No one came back from an Invigilation; it would be as if he’d returned from the dead.
Steiner held the lantern higher and blinked into the darkness. Two statues flanked the bottom of the steps, sculptures of young men looking out to sea in heroic poses bearing spears. He thought briefly of Felgenhauer’s ability to turn people to stone but an unknown dread stilled his furtive steps. The statues had not been here when he arrived, of that he was sure.
The pier had a selection of crates dotted here and there. Steiner squinted past the limit of the light’s reach. The rain pattered down as he wondered if it was hope or naivety that had led him here. Had he really trusted his escape to a scrap of parchment he couldn’t read? Had Marozvolk delivered it as he’d hoped? Would Felgenhauer give him leave to escape the island, now that he knew all of the Empire’s secrets?
Steiner held up the sodden parchment to the lantern light, watching the ink spread across the page in blurry stains. The words, always so hard to read, were being washed away with all his hopes. The note fluttered from his grasp as he realized something was dreadfully wrong.
‘Shit,’ he whispered. A chill wind blew hard into the cove and shrieked past the gatehouse, taking the note with it. He looked back to the source of the sound, knowing he had to climb the many worn and slippery steps, knowing he had to sneak back to bed.
‘I should have known you’d be involved in this,’ said Steiner. Aurelian was standing halfway down the black steps, a look of sneering victory curling his lip.
‘I really thought I was going home, you little bastard,’ said Steiner, hands balling into fists.
‘No one goes home,’ replied Aurelian. ‘Not me, not you, not anyone.’ He descended the steps, unhurried and confident.
‘I’m not dying because of some jumped-up merchant’s son from Helwick.’
Steiner dared a quick look over his shoulder and had his suspicions confirmed. The two statues turned to face him, brandishing their spears, while another figure on the pier emerged from beneath a tarpaulin.
‘Can’t fault your thinking,’ said Steiner. ‘If three no
vices won’t work then best bring four.’
‘Did you leave your precious hammer somewhere?’ said Aurelian. Steiner cursed himself. The sledgehammer had been left by Kimi’s workstation and he’d not had a chance to retrieve it. ‘Such a shame,’ added the blond-haired boy. ‘Matthias Zhirov sends his regards.’
Aurelian spread his arms and splayed his fingers, breathing deep. Soon the glow of draconic fire would appear in his throat. Steiner ran down the steps and drew back his right arm, teeth gritted. The granite-skinned novice grinned, knowing he was impervious to flesh and bone; he had nothing to fear from Steiner’s fist. It was strange to hear the fearsome boy yelp as Steiner smashed the lantern into his face, the oil dowsing his nose and chin, igniting in a burst of orange.
Steiner suffered a moment of sharp pain in his hand, broken glass from the lantern he guessed. He had no time to check, dodging aside to avoid the savage thrust from the other spear-wielding boy. Steiner had no idea if the fire would harm his attacker, but the boy stumbled around all the same, clawing at his face, spear discarded on the stone steps. Steiner snatched up the weapon and swung on instinct, as if clutching his sledgehammer. The wooden shaft snapped in two as it met the granite neck of the other boy.
‘That was stupid,’ grunted Steiner. He scrambled backwards up a few steps before remembering Aurelian, turning just in time to see the torrent of fire rolling towards him. Steiner threw himself off the step and time slowed. Several sensations vied for his attention at once. The way his heart kicked fitfully in his chest; the wash of singeing heat across his back; the burning novice stumbling into his comrade. There was a strange jolt as Steiner found himself standing at the base of the steps, smock smoking in the night air.
Aurelian stared at him in disbelief. How he hadn’t broken an ankle was a mystery. Steiner threw up an obscene gesture and ran, tilting forward, arms pumping, eyes set on the Watcher’s Wait at the pier’s end, heedless of everything. Heedless of the cruel-eyed girl who stood between him and the ship, heedless of her high-pitched shriek.