Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1)

by Chris Mccready

“As long as she shows up,” said Cleary.

  They made their way up to their new home, the four of them sweating to lug the two trunks up to the top floor. The room was currently occupied by tables and stacks of chairs. Dropping off their belongings, Donovan led them down to the hall in the basement where Mama B was serving supper.

  They were the last to arrive and many tables sat empty, their owners already retired to their rooms. The smells in the room reminded Kort of supper at home, simple dishes, expertly prepared.

  “Why don’t you go grab some grub and find a table, while I tell Mama B about our living arrangements?” said Donovan, sliding his way between busy tables and disappearing through the doors into the kitchen.

  They dished up at the serving stations near the kitchen and claimed a table. Even Caddaric had to admit that the food was good enough for the royal table.

  Three kids occupied the long table that they had sat down at, meals in various stages of consumption. They all introduced themselves to each other.

  Clyde, shifty eyed and rat faced, was blaring out a story for all to hear, spittle flying, as they sat down.

  Thurl glanced at the tapestries hanging around the room in awe, mouth open, his meal cooling in front of him. His handshake could crush iron.

  Clyde introduced them to Bodhi, head resting on the table, emitting soft snores.

  Clyde entertained them for the duration of their meal, regaling them with tales about his parent’s travels around the world. They were merchants, the greatest ever according to Clyde, and once he finished his training, he would surpass even them.

  Donovan and Kort excused themselves early to help assemble the room where they’d be living. Ravyn and Caddaric seemed quite content to remain behind until the heavy lifting was done.

  Caddaric patiently waited until the end of the meal, after Clyde had told them a tale of how his parents had daringly bluffed their way into the wedding between the Duke of Wain’s daughter and a noble from one of the lesser houses in Beric, to reveal his royal heritage. Clyde nearly choked on his drink, trying to swallow and apologize at the same time. Having received the desired effect, he stood, gave a slight bow, and retired to his room.

  Kort and Donovan were positioning the final cot when Caddaric returned to the room. Mama B was tucking a sheet around a thin mattress.

  “Give me a hand making the beds,” said Mama B, tossing a sheet at Caddaric.

  “Make a bed?” said Caddaric, with a smirk, “I’m a prince.”

  “Good, then you’ve seen it done properly.” She dropped a stack of linen in his arms before heading out.

  “So, what did his face look like?” asked Kort, taking a sheet from Caddaric and draping it over a bed.

  “Whose face?” asked Caddaric.

  “Clyde’s, when you told him who you are.”

  “I thought his eyes were going to leave his head,” said Caddaric, dumping the linen on an already made bed.

  “I wish I could have stayed to see it, but when there’s work to do,” said Kort, with a shrug.

  They joked about Cylde’s stories the whole time, while they finished making the beds. Mama B returned, with a bundle in her arms, to examine their work. She gave them a slight approving nod.

  “I have your schedules here, dears,” she said handing out sheets of paper to each of them.

  Kort set his down without even looking at it. Taking a rope from on top of the bundle in Mama B’s arms, he climbed onto a bed and tied an end to a hook on the wall.

  “Literacy at eight, put me to sleep now,” said Caddaric, reading his schedule. “What are your schedules like?”

  Kort pointing at the pages he’d set down, but continued to string the rope across the room to separate the girls beds from the rest of the room.

  “We’ve got the same schedule, farm boy. You, Donovan?”

  “I suspect mines a little bit lighter,” said Donovan, helping Kort drape a heavy blanket over top of the rope stretched across the room.

  “Lucky you. I didn’t want to be stuck in most of the classes, but Mother was worried that I’d miss something, so I’m taking a full load.”

  “I wish I had that option,” said Kort, “but I didn’t have the choice. What about you, Donovan? You’ve been awfully quiet about your background.”

  Donovan was saved from answering when Ravyn entered the room with a waif of a girl holding her hand. The girl’s clothing was filthy, her hair mussed up and full of grass. Seeing the others in the room, she tried to hide behind Ravyn’s legs.

  “This is Delaney Cearo,” said Ravyn, trying to twist away from the girl with little success. “She’s a little shy.”

  They all came over to greet her, but she cowered like a scared rabbit, and let out a quiet, high pitched whine.

  “Come on,” said Ravyn, smiling reassuringly. “Let’s put your stuff on your bed.”

  The two of them slowly crept past the boys and disappeared behind the curtain.

  It took them some time to organize their clothing and stow it in chests at the end of their beds. Deciding that they had some free space in the room, Kort and Donovan nicked off to acquire a table and chairs to setup a small study area.

  “Does everybody have Literacy at eight tomorrow?” asked Ravyn.

  “Yeah,” said Kort and Caddaric as one.

  “I don’t,” admitted Donovan. “I have some other things to focus on.”

  “Like what?” asked Ravyn.

  Turning a chair to face them, he took a seat before answering. “I have lost a large chunk of my memory,” he said slowly. “I need to regain what was lost to me.” He went on to tell them about the events of the past few days, but didn’t reveal the carving on his chest, nor anything relating to the Shem.

  ***

  Donovan woke late the next day, his first class didn’t start until half past nine. He made his way down to the hall while most of the students were preparing to head to class. Caddaric sat in the middle of a crowded table, everybody hanging on his every word.

  Grabbing a couple pieces of toast and a few sausages from the serving tray, Donovan retraced his steps out of the hall, and climbed the stairs to the main level. Leaving through the back door, he went to find a bench in the grassy area behind the buildings.

  Chewing on a sausage, he followed the path past some thick, shaggy bushes until he noticed Osmont on the far side of the willow in the center of the quad.

  He stood there shirtless, lean and sleek as a jungle cat. He performed an elaborate stretch, limbs making careful shapes and patterns in the air, muscles shifting under his skin with an animal grace. Each movement deliberate, and consciously planned, yet had the grace of a dance to which only he could hear the music. It looked like he was fighting an invisible attacker while underwater. He was sweating despite the morning chill. Donovan couldn’t help but pick out the thin, pale scars covering his back, arms and chest, sweat pooling and flowing along their puckered surface.

  Realizing that he was staring, Donovan looked down and focused on his breakfast, but his eyes kept drifting upwards, enthralled by the exquisite dance. Finishing his breakfast, Donovan walked across the grass, the morning dew glistening on his boots.

  Osmont showed no signs of noticing his presence. He sidled up until he had no doubt that Osmont could see him in his peripheral vision, but still he was ignored.

  “Good morning, Osmont,” said Donovan cheerfully.

  “And to you,” said Osmont, not pausing in his routine.

  “Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. This is an exercise routine that I picked up in my travels. It helps keep my old bones limber.”

  Donovan smirked a little too broadly.

  Osmont reached out and clapped the side of Donovan’s head with the flat of his hand.

  Donovan heard the slap land, before he began to feel the burning in his ear. He shook his head to clear it. The blow was more startling than painful. Osmont was just standing there,
arms relaxed, and then had struck so fast that Donovan’s mind hadn’t even registered the motion. It definitely got Donovan’s attention.

  “And it keeps my reflexes sharp,” continued Osmont, face neutral.

  Donovan stood there, slacked jawed, face burning. “You can’t hit me. I’m a student.”

  “I just did and must I remind you that I am not a teacher.”

  Though he was expecting it, the second slap still hit him in the side of the head before he could react.

  “You’re a teacher, whether you’re employed here or not,” said Donovan, finally causing Osmont to smile.

  “Just as you will always be a nuisance, regardless of where you go.”

  Donovan tried to copy Osmont, arms and legs delayed by a fraction of a second as he tried to follow the patterns. He quickly became aware of how complicated it was: keeping the hands cupped just so and the feet correctly positioned. Tensing certain muscles, while others moved freely. Despite the fact that he moved with an almost glacial slowness, he found it impossible to imitate Osmont’s smooth grace. He kept over extending himself and had to flail his arms to regain his balance. Despite its casual grace, it was exhausting, and Donovan was glad when it was over.

  “That was exhausting,” said Donovan, rubbing his heavy arms.

  “It gets easier,” said Osmont, showing no signs of fatigue. “I do it every morning, and you are welcome to join me, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your classes.”

  “It’s either that or sleep in.”

  “So there’s no real choice.” Osmont took a series of slow, deep breaths before beginning the routine a second time.

  Donovan tried to follow him again, but it was much harder this time. The muscles in his arms and legs already felt like lead, and wouldn’t respond how he wanted them to.

  Donovan gave up halfway through the routine before he fell and hurt himself. He slowly paced around, with his hands on his hips, sucking in the cold mountain air, as he let his body slowly cool off.

  A half hour before his class started, History with Professor Cleary, he bid Osmont adieu, and headed to his room to change into dry clothes.

  Arriving at the History classroom ten minutes before class, Donovan wandered around until everyone else showed up.

  The room was large and simply adorned. Tables dominated most of the floor. A small desk, covered in papers, but more organized than the one in Professor Cleary’s office, sat at the front of the room. Large, rolled up maps and diagrams sat in a series of divided shelves, resembling a wine rack, near the front of the room. A bookshelf full of leather bound books sat behind Professor Cleary’s desk.

  Skimming through the titles, Donovan saw that most were focused on ancient myths and legends, as well as the early history of the world. Hearing footsteps coming down the hallway, Donovan claimed a table at the back corner of the room.

  Caddaric entered the room, deep in conversation with a large entourage of students. Taking a seat near the middle of the room, the others quickly surrounded him, still hanging on his every word.

  The rest of the class entered a few moments later. Catching Kort’s eye, he motioned for Kort to join him.

  “How was your first class?” asked Donovan.

  “Horrible,” said Kort. “Do you know how many different letters there are, and how many words they can form?”

  “It will seem like a lot less once you learn the basics.”

  Kort’s reply was cut off when Professor Cleary entered and the class fell silent. Scanning the room, they found Ravyn and Delaney sitting at a table in the front row, closest to the door. Ravyn sat there, straight-backed with her hands folded in her lap, ready to learn. Delaney was curled in a tight ball on her chair, her eyes just barely poked over the top of the table.

  “Good morning, class,” said Cleary, writing his name on a blackboard at the front of the room. “My name is Professor Cleary and I’m here to teach you about history. We obviously do not have enough time to cover all of history.” He let out a laugh which wasn’t reciprocated by the class.

  He began to pace back and forth at the front of the room, a slight frown on his face. Stopping, he looked into Ravyn’s eager face. “This is a survey class, covering many points of history, but none in any great detail. You have all come here from various walks of life, so when I’m teaching, I’ll do my best to assume that you all know nothing.”

  That caused many in the class to smirk or let out a few chuckles. Donovan let out a sigh, knowing that he truly remembered nothing about history and would not be at a disadvantage in the class.

  “Right, so who can tell me the myth of how the world was created?” asked Cleary.

  Hands shot up around the room, Donovan and Delaney were the only two who kept their hands hidden.

  “Yes?” he said looking at Ravyn.

  “Ravyn Thaliard. The twelve Brothers set out to create the world based on a reflection that they’d seen in the Father’s eyes before he left them.”

  Caddaric left out a laugh. “I don’t know what they teach you in the provinces, but there were thirteen brothers,” said Caddaric.

  “True,” said Ravyn, “but only twelve of them actively attempted to create the world.”

  “And who are you to judge the actions of your betters?”

  “Yes, yes. Very good,” said Cleary absently. He was looking through the shelf at the front of the room. Unrolling a large sheet of paper, he attached it to a stand in the corner. The top of the sheet showed a close up of a face, the pupils of the eyes replaced with the representation of their world.

  “Do you want to tell the story?” asked Ravyn icily.

  “I think I should, so that everybody can hear the correct story.”

  Caddaric continued to tell the tale, while Cleary pointed to the diagram and drew the occasional scene on the blackboard. Ravyn resigned herself to staring at the paper in front of her and taking notes while he spoke.

  “In the beginning there was the Father and his thirteen sons. He offered to give them names, but they refused, considering it vain to take a name. The only exception was the second oldest son who considered himself worthier than his brothers and named himself Zeren.”

  “One day the oldest son saw a reflection of a world, covered in blue seas and green landmasses, in the Father’s eyes. Soon after, the Father disappeared and the Brothers realized that he had shown them a glimpse into the future and the Father wouldn’t return until they built the world that had been seen in his eyes.”

  “Twelve of the Brothers began the construction of the world. Time had no meaning to them, as eternities would pass in a blink of their eye, so no one knows how long they toiled at their labors. First they created the continents before covering the world in water, and created the plants and animals which would inhabit their creation.”

  “Zeren sat back and mocked their labors, telling them that they would never achieve the perfection reflected in the Father’s eyes and he would therefore never return, no matter how long they labored. Soon he became bored and decided to add his unique personality to the world. He corrupted many beasts and serpents, growing them to gigantic sizes and instilling in them a hatred of all things living, and he placed them in the oceans. The oceans became a cautionary tale to the people that his brothers had created, and they quickly learned that some things were forbidden to them.”

  “The Brothers were distraught when they saw what Zeren had done, but they elected to focus on the creation of new things and left Zeren’s monstrosities alone, hoping that their mercy would convince him to use his gifts more productively, but they were wrong.”

  “Zeren continued to create new dangers. He corrupted many of the people of the lands; Human; Elf; Dwarf; Deogol or Onora, it didn’t matter. They were warped and disfigured and became known as the Shem, living alone in a wasteland on the southern continent.”

  “Zeren had finally gone too far. No matter where they banished him, he would ultimately return, so the twelve brothers agreed as one to c
ast Zeren out of their family. He would live an immortal life with mortal power on the world they were creating. His blood would run straight and true through the ages, and he would not be able to return to his brothers until one of his descendants, of their own free will, forgave his transgressions and returned him to prominence.”

  “Hearing their judgement, he created one final thing before they condemned him and blocked his power, so the people of the world would never forget him. He created what was called Zeren’s Downfall, but is now referred to simply as the Downfall. Deep, dark, billowing clouds would regularly cover the skies without warning or pattern, blocking the sun and the stars. Bright balls of light grew in intensity amid the clouds, like diamonds in the dirt, until they were too bright to look directly at and exploded into a flower of light, leaving behind the stench of sulfur. Bright flashes of sheet lightning would light the area like a noon day sun, followed by booming thunder which shook the ground. Animals have been known to act strangely during the Downfall, and people consider it an ill omen.”

  ***

  After an hour and a half of History, they gladly left their chairs to hurry to their first Arcana class. Excited chatter surrounded them as they travelled down the hallway, everybody bragging about what they would be able to do by the end of the year; call down lightning from cloudless skies; rip trees from the ground using only their mind; conjure winds to block a rain of arrows. They’d all heard stories about famous wizards since they were kids, and each and every one of them were going to be even greater than the heroes.

  Everything changed when they walked into Professor Moncha’s classroom. She stood in front of a blackboard full of rules, stern and strict, her mouth puckered and hair pulled back in a tight bun, she looked like she was sucking on a sour candy and surprised to find it in her mouth.

  Her room was neat and organized, with everything carefully locked behind glass doors in a series of cabinets along the wall.

  “Forget everything you heard in stories because we won’t be doing any of it in my class,” said Professor Moncha as an introduction to her class.

  She explained that they would not be doing anything complicated in her class. Instead the focus would be on learning to control their Gifts so they wouldn’t lose control in a state of emotional distress and hurt those around them.