Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1)

by Chris Mccready

  He hadn’t realized that he was hungry until he stared down at the table and his stomach growled to remind him. There was a soup with potatoes and carrots, thick slices of bread with honey and butter, and a few slices of roast beef.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Betha,” he said, sitting down on a plain wooden stool.

  “Mama B,” she said. “The students call me Mama B.”

  “Thank you, Mama B,” he said, amidst a mouthful of bread.

  “Take your time eating,” she said, “I’ll start drying your clothes while you eat.” Emptying out his pack, she spread everything out to dry.

  Donovan didn’t heed her advice. He burnt the roof of his mouth while shoveling hot soup into his mouth, but even that didn’t stop him. The food may have looked simple, but its flavor was immense. When he finished eating, he headed over to watch her work the dough. Ripping it into little chunks, which she rolled into balls that would be baked into buns. She arranged them on a metal tray. Once the tray was full, she placed it in one of the ovens, before turning her attention to Donovan.

  “How was the food?” she asked.

  “Amazing.”

  “Glad to hear that I’ve still got it,” she said. “Now let’s take a look at those cuts.” She brought over a bucket of warm water and a rag. She gently began to scrub away the dried blood on his chest. “Someone sure did a number to you. What kind of a monster would do this to a boy?”

  Donovan sat stoically as she finished cleaning the wound. Drying it off, she wrapped several bandages around his chest.

  “Now don’t pick at it.”

  Donovan headed over to his clothes and gingerly put on a shirt, while Mama B cleaned up the table. Donovan let out an involuntary yawn. The meal was already making him sleepy.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I could really use some rest.”

  “Of course, my dear. The dorms are all torn apart while we’re getting them ready for the new students. I’ll make you a spot in here if you promise not to get into any mischief. It’s not perfect but at least it’s warm and dry.”

  “It’ll be brilliant,” said Donovan. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, dear. Just have a seat and I’ll be back in a jiff.”

  She left and came back several minutes later, arms full of blankets. With a practiced efficiency, she quickly made a bed in the corner of the room.

  “Now you go settle down while I finish up a few things.” She gave him a big hug. “Remember, if you ever need anything, you come see Mama B.”

  It felt like he’d just put his head down to sleep when something woke him. With bleary eyes and a heavy brain, he tried to figure out what had happened. The storm outside had passed, and pale moonlight filtered through the small windows.

  He lay still, concentrating, when he realized that he could feel a slight vibration in the ground. Building in intensity, the movement grew stronger and stronger. A pot, precariously place on the edge of a shelf under a table, slowly vibrated over the edge. Donovan stared at it, transfixed, until it hit the ground with a loud clang, jolting him into action. While organized, there was a lot of clutter in the kitchen, from knives to pots to glass jars sitting on shelves. He threw aside his covers and began crawling towards the door. The pounding continued to grow stronger, with more and more objects clattering to the ground, adding their own notes to the growing din. The constant vibration made it impossible for his eyes to focus. Shutting them, he felt his way to the door. He reached up to open it and escaped into the hall.

  Briefly opening his eyes, he oriented himself to the nearest table, and headed in its general direction. He banged his head on the overturned bench beside the table. Scrambling over it, he ducked down under the table, arms wrapped tightly over his head. The pounding grew weaker and weaker, except for the pounding of his heart.

  Afraid to leave the confines of the table, he lay there waiting.

  He thought that he heard a soft pounding noise. Closing his eyes again, afraid of what was about to happen, he curled up into a tight ball.

  A hand wrapped itself around his shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Donovan?” asked Mama B, her voice heavy with concern.

  It took several seconds for his mind to register what she had said. Unfurling himself, he rolled onto his back and gave her a frightened smile.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said.

  She helped him out from under the table, and after several minutes of poking and prodding agreed that he was unhurt.

  The kitchen was another story. Walking through the doors, they were assaulted by the mess. Pans lay dented on the floor, and a gooey mess from all of the broken jars seeped out of the pantry.

  “My word,” she said, mouth hanging open as she assessed the room. It took her a moment to remember that Donovan was by her side. “There’s no use worrying about the mess. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”

  “Is there anything that I can help you with?” asked Donovan.

  “No, dear. The sun will be up in an hour or so. Try to get some rest while you can.” She turned and abruptly left the room without another word.

  Doubting that he’d be able to fall asleep after what had happened, Donovan ignored her advice, and started collecting items off of the floor onto one of the tables. He was still hard at work when Osmont stopped by. Glancing up from his work, he saw a faint pink glow through the windows.

  “I see you survived the night,” said Osmont, without preamble.

  “It felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. Does that happen often?”

  “That’s the first earthquake in a couple of years and the biggest one I’ve experience,” said Osmont, crossing the room to help Donovan stack the last few pots.

  “I hope we don’t experience another for a long time,” said Donovan, wiping his hands on a towel, and looking at the congealed mess in the pantry.

  “You and me both,” said Osmont, also staring at the mess. “I think that Mrs. Betha is going to be busy cleaning this place up, so we’ll have to make do with a light breakfast.” Tearing off a half dozen of the buns that Mama B had baked last night, he tossed half of them to Donovan before exiting the kitchen.

  They crossed the hall, traversed the hallway, and climbed the stairs. Once outside, Osmont slowed his pace as he led them around the building.

  “I talked to Alden this morning about testing your abilities. Lucky for you, he’s an early riser and didn’t have anything planned for this morning.”

  “What’s the test like?” asked Donovan, as they rounded the back corner of the building.

  They followed a paved path which led to a grassy quad surrounded by trees. It was a warm fall morning, and Donovan enjoyed the fresh mountain air after smelling the sickly sweet mess pooled on the floor in the kitchen for the last hour. Ignoring the ample supply of tables and benches, Osmont plopped himself down under a large willow in the middle of the quad. He finished off a bun before answering.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, swallowing the last remnants. “It’s a simple aptitude test. If you possess the Gift then your body will instinctively respond.”

  “And then what?” asked Donovan, starting on one of the buns.

  “If nothing happens, then the test is over. If you do have it, then he’ll ask you about your knowledge in others subjects; reading, arithmetic, and such.”

  “Why would he care about that?”

  “Most kids come here for a year to learn how to control their Gift, so they are not a risk to the people around them. After that, they head back to their normal lives. Everyone comes here hoping to become one of the wizards that they hear about in stories, but most end up living ordinary lives, so the first year’s curriculum is focused on preparing them for the real world.”

  “That doesn’t sound too exciting.”

  “It’s not supposed to be. Look, I’m heading into town this afternoon and you’re welcome to join me after your test.”

  “Yeah, okay. If I possess the Gift will I be allow
ed to study here?”

  “That’s not my call. I left a note for the Headmaster explaining your situation. We’ll stop by when we’re back and he’ll make his decision.”

  They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence. After stopping by a well on the edge of the quad for a drink, they headed for the second building.

  “The building which you were in, is where the students live and attend class,” said Osmont. “This building is where the teachers live and have their offices.”

  “Is this the entire place?” asked Donovan.

  “Not even close,” laughed Osmont. “This is where the first years live and where the public comes to meet with the administrators. Haven extends deep into the mountains, in secluded valleys as well as tunnels dug deep into the earth.”

  “Can I see the rest of it?”

  “Only if you come back next year.”

  Entering the door, they climbed up to the top floor. Halfway down the hallway, Osmont led them through an open door into Professor Alden Cleary’s office.

  The office was a cluttered mess. While the earthquake had tossed things around, it gave the impression that it wasn’t any neater on an average day. An entire wall was devoted to bookshelves, each crammed full with books, folders and more than a few loose papers. His desk could barely be seen under the thick stacks of papers coating its surface. A variety of statuettes and talismans peeked out between the papers on shelves around the room. The room smelled of dust and old paper.

  Professor Cleary stepped around his desk, where he had been hidden behind the piles of paper, to greet them. He was a mole of a man. His pale skin reflected the sunrise out the window. He had a stooped posture, wore thick glasses, and had long, dirty nails.

  “Osmont, it’s good to see you again,” he said in a high pitched voice. “You must be Donovan.” He reached out with his clawed hand. “I’m Professor Cleary.”

  “Pleasure,” said Donovan, briefly shaking his hand.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” said Osmont, disappearing into the hallway.

  “Sorry about the mess,” said Professor Cleary. “That was a big one. The Osi tribesmen would be freaking out, thinking that the world was about to end.”

  “Who are they, sir?”

  “Don’t mind me. I spend most of my time alone, studying prophecy, and have developed a habit of talking to myself.”

  “Must be exciting,” said Donovan, clearing off a chair so that he could sit down.

  Professor Cleary moved a few piles of paper onto the floor beside his desk so that he could see Donovan across the desk.

  “Interesting ... yes, but rarely exciting. I’m actually quite a boring man, and despite all of these cultures predicting cataclysmic events, they rarely come true, but that’s not why we’re here.”

  He pulled a small white box out of his desk and set it on top. Opening the lid, he withdrew a sphere, about the size of his palm, one half was jet black, the other a transparent milky white color.

  “This is how we test everyone’s potential,” said Cleary, pointing at the sphere. “We have teams roaming the country all summer testing the sixteen year olds. I’m surprised that you slipped through the cracks, but according to Osmont, you know nothing about that.”

  “Why do you go through such effort to test all those kids every summer? Wouldn’t it be easier to have the interested kids come here to be tested?”

  “According to our records, it was instituted thousands of years ago. Tensions were high between the wizards and King Adwr at that time. Apparently his son had the Gift, but never received any training. One day, in a fit of anger, he lost control and horribly maimed himself. The Healers managed to repair the damage but the King decreed that it would never happen again. An accord was reached which mandated that we test every child of a certain age and provide them training in how to control their Gift. In return, the King granted Haven many freedoms which we hadn’t had before. I have a book about it around here somewhere, if you’re interested.”

  He rolled the sphere across the desk. Donovan picked it up, and began rolling it between his palms. Almost immediately it began to faintly glow.

  “Interesting,” said Cleary, scribbling something down on a scrap piece of paper in front of him.

  “Is that good?” said Donovan, holding it still and peering through the transparent half of the sphere. He tried to figure out where the glow was coming from, but it seemed to emanate from the entire interior of the sphere.

  “That depends upon how you look at it. There’s no doubt that you have the Gift, although it’s quite weak.”

  He reached over and took the sphere from Donovan. He stared at it and it immediately burst into a bright light. He looked back at Donovan and the sphere went dark.

  “I’ve never seen it react like that before. Normally it takes a few minutes before lighting when handled by a kid, and I’ve never seen it light, yet shine so dimly before. The test is usually cut and dry, it either brightly lights up or it doesn’t light at all. Let’s try it again.”

  He passed it back across the desk and again it immediately shone with a faint light. They waited in silence for at least fifteen minutes, waiting for something to change, but nothing did.

  “Strange,” said Cleary, leaning forward to study the sphere. “I want you to focus on the sphere and tune everything else out. Now pass it from one hand to the other.”

  Donovan followed his instructions, but there were no changes to the sphere. He tossed it into the air and caught it again, set it on the other side of the desk, and Cleary even blocked it from his sight behind a book, yet it continued to faintly glow as long as he kept concentrating on it.

  “I’ve never met someone untrained who could even light it without touching it, let alone when it’s blocked from his line of sight,” said Cleary. “I don’t know how to classify your results. Your power seems extremely weak, yet your control is extraordinary for someone untrained. I wonder if you’ve received unauthorized training in your Gift.”

  Donovan sat there mutely, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’ve got one more test to try,” said Cleary. “We never bother when we do our normal tests, but maybe you’ll surprise me. It’s really quite simple. Pick it up and keep it lit.”

  “What’s different from last time?”

  “I’m going to snuff it out.”

  “What am I supposed to do?

  “Follow your instincts.”

  Donovan picked it up again, and stared across the desk at Professor Cleary. He felt a slight chill in the hand holding the sphere but continued to sit there calmly as if nothing had happened. Sweat slowly built up on Cleary’s brow before beginning to drip down his face. Donovan continued to relax and the sphere remained lit, albeit as faintly as before. Cleary let out a long exhale and leaned back in his chair.

  “You are an interesting specimen,” said Cleary. “I’ve never seen something like it before. I need to do some research before I talk to the Headmaster.”

  “Why? What happened?” asked Donovan, eyes widening in alarm.

  “You managed to resist me. I may not be the most powerful wizard in the world, but I should have no difficulty with someone your age. The Gift is present at birth but doesn’t begin to grow until near adulthood, when it quickly reaches its full potential. Even then, it should take several years of training to do what you just did.”

  He collected the sphere and placed it back in its case. Pulling a second piece of paper from his desk, he scribbled a series of almost illegible notes. Donovan studies a statuette sitting on a shelf beside the desk. The left half was made out of silver while the right was wood. The wooden half was clad in armor and held a sickle, while the other half was completely naked.

  “Alright,” said Cleary, looking up from his notes. “Assuming the Headmaster lets you enroll, which I expect he will, then it’s mandatory for you to spend a year here learning to control your Gift, which is offered for free at Haven ...”

  He continued his w
ell-rehearsed speech, but Donovan wasn’t paying any attention. Stifling a yawn, he pinched his arm to try and stay awake after getting little sleep the night before.

  “... In subsequent years you can apply to specialize in a variety of programs or continue on with a general education. Of course, certain programs require you to commit to the program for a number of years before you’re allowed to leave Haven, but you’ll have plenty of time to talk to people within the program before applying—”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted Donovan. “What specializations are offered?”

  “Most people dream of becoming a War Wizard, combining the martial with the arcane, like the heroes of legend. Since so many people apply, the entrance requirements are the highest of all the programs. Otherwise you could become a Healer, Illusionist or Artificer. In rare cases, we find someone with a strong second sight who can become a Seer. You could even become the first Zerenist in the last thousand years.” He let out a squeaky laugh.

  “What’s a Zerenist?”

  “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “I’ll take your word on it. Can I go?” Donovan raised himself halfway out of his chair.

  “Almost. I have a few more questions to ask, but they may take extra time in your case.”

  “What are you implying?” asked Donovan, slumping back into his chair.

  “Nothing. Let’s get started. Can you read?”

  “I ... I don’t know,” said Donovan.

  “Grab a piece of paper and read it to me.”

  Donovan picked up a piece of paper at random and began reading it aloud in a deep, echoing language. “Be split asunder, and the blood of the storm shall return to decide the world’s ultimate fate.” The writing consisted of distinct blocky letters evenly spaced across the page.

  “Very good, you speak Dwarvish,” said Cleary. “Try something in the common tongue.”

  Not recognizing the common tongue from the other languages in front of him, he grabbed another sheet at random. This one contained an intricate, flowing script. He again began to read it aloud, however this language was deep and guttural. “The blood of the Brother shall run true, and when it splits, so shall the world.”