Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1)

by Chris Mccready

  “There’s more,” said Donovan quietly. The look that Osmont gave him made Donovan wish he hadn’t said anything, but it was too late now. “During my struggle, I ripped this off the neck of the other man.” He slowly held out his hand, the necklace of the dagger wrapped in lightning dangling below.

  “Is that a—” started Cleary.

  “It’s nothing,” snapped Osmont, snatching the necklace out of Donovan’s hand. “Professor Cleary and I need to talk. Give the translations to Professor Cleary when they’re done.”

  Donovan meekly retreated from the room.

  Chapter 12

  Notices were posted on the doors of all the dorms a couple of days before classes were scheduled to resume. The notices told the students that classes would be canceled on Wednesday and the students were to meet in the main hall at eight ‘o clock in the morning for an announcement.

  A buzz immediately engulfed the dorms, spreading to each new student when they returned from their break. Classes were a complete write off on Monday and Tuesday as the professors attempted to review all of the information that the students had managed to forget, while the students spent most of their time gossiping about the notice and not listening to the professors.

  Everyone made their way down to the hall early on Wednesday to eat a restless breakfast before waiting for the announcement. Donavan took a seat beside Kort, across from Delaney and Ravyn, his plate piled high with sausages and eggs. The other three ate a few pieces of toast but were too nervous to manage any more.

  “Why are you all so worried?” said Donovan, between bites of sausage. “Whatever is going to happen will happen, so why worry about it?”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” said Ravyn. “I just told my parents that I’m near the top of all my classes. I can’t afford for anything to happen.”

  “Maybe Professor Severn’s been sacked,” mumbled Donovan.

  “That’d be great,” said Kort, and Delaney nodded her agreement.

  “They wouldn’t have him teaching classes this week if they were going to let him go,” said Ravyn.

  “Spoilsport,” said Kort.

  “Think positive thoughts,” said Donovan cheerfully, his tone not matching his thoughts since his conversation with Osmont and Professor Cleary. He wanted answers, but he knew that this announcement wouldn’t provide any.

  Just before eight ‘o clock, Headmaster Marrok, Osmont, and Professors Cleary and Moncha entered the hall. A hush spread before them, engulfing the entire room. The four of them had a quick, quiet conversation before Headmaster Marrok stepped forward to address the assembly.

  “Good morning,” said Marrok, in a quiet voice which travelled to the far corners of the room. “I trust that everybody is here.” He paused for a moment to survey the room before continuing. “You will all leave here in several short months and become representatives of Haven for the rest of your lives. Wizards have suffered from many centuries of persecution, so we take our reputation very seriously. Each year we give all of our students an assessment to help us to understand how a student may react in a different environment. We use the results to determine if any students require special attention, specifically related to losing control of your Gift and becoming a danger to those around you.” As Headmaster Marrok finished, he stepped back in line to let Professor Moncha take over.

  “Everybody quiet down,” said Professor Moncha, and she waited patiently until every side conversation had stopped. “The process that we will be using will appear simple, but I assure you that it is not. We have carefully constructed the world where the simulation will take place, and imbued it into a magical artifact. We will use this item to cast a glamour on you. You will temporarily fall into a deep sleep while your mind processes the simulation. The world that you will find yourself in is not complete and your own minds will fill in many of the details of what you experience. The four of us will be linked to your mind and we will experience every detail as you live it. Everything will work the same as real life except for one significant difference. You will not be yourself. Rather you will be an idealized version of yourself and you will have all of the abilities that come with it. If you envision yourself as a powerful War Wizard, then you will instinctively be able to wield powerful magic and can use any weapon. The only limitations are the ones which your mind places on itself. It may take you a while to get used to it, but if you follow your instincts and don’t fight what’s happening, then your mind will quickly adapt.”

  “While it’s only a simulation, it will seem completely real and you may even forget that it’s not real,” said Osmont to the annoyance of Professor Moncha. “Everything will only exist in your minds but it can still have consequences once you leave. In rare cases students have carried scars from the test with them for their entire life, so you’d better take it seriously.”

  “We will be calling students one at a time,” said Moncha. “While the test will feel like it takes many hours, it will be over quickly. Everyone is to stay in this room until we call you for your test. If you need to leave for any reason then you must let a responsible student know your whereabouts. When we call your name, please come with us quickly so we can move on with our days.” She consulted a list in her hand. “Brutus Bassett, please come with us.”

  Chapter 13

  Kort whipped his head around. The air was hazy and smelled rancid, worse than when the Rance’s hog farm had burnt to the ground. Screams of terror filled the air, reminding him of a group of kids after someone stepped on a hornets nest. Looking around he saw that he was standing on the upper level of a tall building, a large bell hung from the ceiling behind him. Peering out the small, arched window he saw that he was in a foreign city, larger than where he grew up but nowhere near the size of Kendra. A large section of the city was on fire, and he could see flurries of activity in an open square to his right.

  “Help me!” came the scream of a young boy running down the street below him, interrupting his examination of his surroundings.

  Two men wearing dark vests, with a piece of red cloth tied around their right bicep, and armed with scimitars chased after the boy. Glancing down he saw that he was dressed in a military uniform different from the men below, but didn’t have a weapon strapped to his belt.

  Seeing a ledge a level below the window, he threw himself out without a second thought. Landing softer than he’d expected, he dropped the final story to the hard packed dirt below. Landing in a crouch, he looked up at the surprised faces of the two armed men.

  “Leave the boy alone,” he bellowed.

  “What are you going to do about it?” asked the man on the left.

  They spread out, intent to surround him, and he let them. At the last possible instant, he dove out of the way of their attack. A gust of wind from his hands knocked them off balance. A kick to the gut doubled over the first one. A punch to the temple knocked the second one out. Turning around he saw the first man staggering off the way he had come.

  “Boy, where are you?” he asked. A small boy, of perhaps twelve summers, poked his head around the corner of a building. “It’s safe to come out.”

  “That was amazing, sir,” said the boy. “I didn’t see them until it was too late. The Sibt are sneaky. They were over the walls before we were ready.”

  “Then I should help with the defense,” said Kort.

  “No, you can’t. There was a fire and I was sent to find people to help get the orphans out.”

  “Stopping the attack will save many people’s lives.”

  “You’re going to let my friends die,” said the boy, tears streaming down his face.

  Kort’s heart broke and he changed his mind. He couldn’t let a bunch of kids die without trying to help them. “Alright,” said Kort, “I’ll help the kids before joining the fighting.” He ruffled the boy’s hair before picking him up and tossing him onto his back. “Which way.”

  The boy pointed and he took off in that direction.

  He ran through the un
familiar streets, following the boy’s directions. Smoke hung thick in the air, burning his eyes. They passed many terrified people hiding in any secluded spot that they could find. The cries of terror and clash of metal followed him wherever he went.

  The boy directed him to a city block on fire, the first two buildings had collapsed and the next three were engulfed in flames. A line of bodies lined the street, most burnt beyond recognition, but by their size, many were children.

  “There,” said the boy, pointing at the farthest building, two stories tall, outside rapidly turning black as the fire progressed to the second floor.

  “What’s happening?” he asked the group of people huddled in front of the building, covered in soot, one little boy doubled over vomiting.

  “They’re trapped,” shrieked an older woman, her hair badly burnt.

  “How many?”

  “They’re so young. You must help them. Please help them.”

  He grabbed the woman by her shoulders until her gaze focused on him. “Who is left in the building, and where do you think they are?” he asked slowly.

  “Three, we think. Two boys and a girl. They were on the second floor, but the stairs were on fire. I tried to get them, but—”

  “I’ll do my best.” He removed the boy from his shoulders and rushed inside.

  Plunging through the open doorway, he was met with walls of flame and endless heat. He immediately began dissipating the heat out of his body before it seared his lungs. He had no idea how he did it, nor where the heat went.

  He ran across the dirt floor, doing his best to avoid the burning wall and searched for the stairs. The house was so full of smoke that he could barely see. He projected a wall of wind in front of him, but it only caused the smoke to swirl around the room.

  Where were the stairs? Despite his magic, he knew that he couldn’t last in the house for long, and the kids may have already perished. Banishing that thought from his mind, he worked his way from room to room until he found the staircase.

  A straight staircase, maybe fifteen steps long, ran up to the second floor. The steps themselves were burnt through in places and he doubted that they could support his weight. The walls appeared to have caught fire only a short time ago.

  He’d played many times on the stairs at home on the farm with his brothers and sister. They’d came up with many creative ways to travel to the second floor without touching the stairs. The banisters didn’t look like they could support his weight, so he’d have to use the walls. Placing his hands against one of the walls, his palms immediately beginning to blister, he walked his legs up the other wall, the soles of his sandals sticking to the wall. Suspending above the stairs, staring down into the inferno, he sidestepped his way up the stairs. Despite his urgency, he carefully moved one hand or foot at a time until he reached the upper steps which looked strong enough to hold him. Dropping down to the steps, he climbed to the second level.

  “Hey, is there anybody up here!” he yelled, but couldn’t hear a response over the crackling fire.

  He looked down at his hands and feet, both covered in red, peeling blisters. He closed his eyes and tried to heal them, but nothing happened. He tried again with the same result. Remembering that in the stories the neighbor boys used to tell back home, wizards could only heal others, but never themselves, he gave up his attempts.

  Kort bent over in a coughing spell, eyes blurry from the smoke, and thought to himself that this was taking too long, when he thought he heard a high pitched noise from his left. He kicked open the first door and saw a small bedroom with both cots on fire, but he didn’t see anybody.

  He threw his shoulder into the door across the hall and came sprawling into the room. Two little boys were curled up in the far corner, choking on the smoke. He saw that they were both badly burnt and he hesitated before touching one’s shoulder, trying to keep his composure. Neither moved when he shook them, so he resorted to using his Gift. He was careful to heal only what was necessary, because he already felt tired from keeping himself moving through the burning building.

  Looking out the window, all he saw was a straight drop down to the ground. Hoisting the first boy into his arms, he walked over to the window and gently moved him through the opening. Enveloping the boy with his Gift, he let him slowly float down and away from the building to the ground below.

  He was getting ready to do the same to the second boy when his eyes fluttered open. “Milia,” he choked.

  “I can’t,” said Kort. “There’s no time.”

  The boy grabbed his arm and didn’t want to let go. “I’ll try,” said Kort, peeling the boy’s fingers off his arm. “Which room?”

  “End.”

  Kort tossed the boy through the window and carefully lowered him to the ground. With a solitary goal in mind, he raced to the end of the hall and forced his way into the room. Everything was on fire, including the little girl wearing a burning dress in the middle of the room. The fire raged so intently that he couldn’t even hear the girl’s screams despite being only a few feet from her.

  It was too late, he thought. She is already too badly burnt, even his Gift wouldn’t help him move through the towering inferno in front of him.

  The little girl looked up, momentarily calm, and stared straight at him. She looked just like his younger sister Eireen. He couldn’t leave her.

  Flinging himself through the flames, he felt like a piece of meat roasting over a fire and could hear the same sizzling noises as his juices seeped out of the cracks forming in his skin. Racing as fast as he could through the room, he wrapped an arm around her waist and continued towards the window. Diving through, he felt a moment of bliss as the cooler air hit him, but its caress quickly turned painful as he plummeted towards the ground. Nearing the ground, he tossed Milia into the air and used his Gift to slow her fall as best he could.

  His back hit the hard ground, and he was swallowed by soothing darkness.

  He awoke to arms picking him up by his arms and legs. He vainly tried to fight them off, before opening his eyes to see the old woman from in front of the orphanage among them. They set him down a short distance later, and someone pressed a clay cup to his lips. Slowly tilting it back, he nearly choked on the cool water, but gratefully drank it all down. A foul smelling ointment was smeared onto his hands and feet, before they were wrapped in strips of white cloth. His protests died in his mouth when the pain diminished a few moments later.

  He tried to thank them, but he was hoarse from breathing so much smoke. Climbing to his feet, he looked around and saw the little girl a few feet away, lying motionless on the ground. A woman bent over her, tears plummeting to the ground.

  He gently pressed his fingers against her burnt neck. He felt a faint pulse. Pieces of her burnt flesh stuck to his fingers when he pulled his hand away. He gently caressed her cheek.

  The hair was all wrong, but all that he could see was his sister. He’d been away from home for months now. Anything could have happened to them and he wouldn’t know. Eireen could be suffering right now, while he was playing around at wizard school. He had to go home to see them. His brothers would be fine, but his parents and sister were another matter. They’d all told him to go, and he’d selfishly done what he’d wanted. Deep down, he knew that they’d be disappointed if he didn’t stay at Haven and give it his best shot.

  Energy flowed through his hand and the girl took a ragged breath. He kept it up longer than he should, but he couldn’t let this girl suffer. He continued until her face looked pristine. She opened her eyes and he saw that they were the wrong color.

  Letting her go, he headed towards the sounds of fighting in the distance.

  “Where are you going?” asked the old woman.

  “The more invaders that I take down, the less who’ll need healing,” said Kort.

  “We need you here,” she shouted. “There are plenty of fools to fight, but very few people who can help the injured.”

  “Do what you can for them. I’ll return wh
en I can.”

  “There’s a vacant warehouse two blocks that way,” she said, pointing down the street. “Red brick building. An infirmary has been setup there. Have the wounded sent there and we’ll do what we can.”

  He headed in the direction of the square he’d saw from the building he’d first found himself in. The roaring of flames slowly diminished to be replaced by the clash of steel.

  The streets were narrow and the buildings loomed over him on both side. Discarded merchandise lay everywhere, doors opens, businesses hastily abandoned. From time to time he saw a looter ransacking a building, but they always ran when they saw him.

  Large lumps lay in the intersection ahead. As he neared, he saw that they were actually bodies, dressed in uniforms from both sides.

  One figure was slumped against the wall of a nearby building, hands pressed firmly to his stomach. He was in a sorry state. Greasy hair hung down over his ashen face. He barely moved when Kort knelt down in front of him.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” he wheezed, but refused to move his hands.

  “Just relax. It’ll be over quick.”

  “Knife ... belt.”

  “Knife?” said Kort, puzzled until it finally dawned on him. “No. It’s not like that. I’m going to help you.”

  He lay his hand on the man’s sweaty forehead, and began sealing his wounds.

  “Thank you, sir. I thought I was a goner.”

  “Sir? I’m not a sir. Help me check to see if anybody else is alive.”

  They found two other men clinging to life. After healing them, Kort paused to catch his breath. Looking down at his hands, he saw the white bandages were now stained red.

  “What’s going on with the defense of the city?” asked Kort.

  “Not good,” said the first man that he’d healed. “They have us outnumbered and had nearly overrun the square, last I’d heard. Unless the King quits sulking in his castle and adds his men to the fight, we’re doomed.”