Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1)

by Chris Mccready

“Excellent question. As you practice with your magic you will learn what effects it has on your body. Generally you’ll feel cold or weak, a headache may develop and you’ll have trouble focusing your thoughts. These are all warning signs. As strange as it may sound, your physical body will tell you when you’re overexerting yourself. If you ignore these warning signs and keep using your magic then you risk permanent consequences like a debilitating cough, holes in your memory, falling into a coma or even death.”

  With these sobering thoughts still bouncing around in his mind, Donovan headed to the library after lunch. He found a book which mentioned the creation of Clachwards which he had been putting off reading for a while because it read like a two hundred page long recipe on their creation.

  He took the book over to one of the small tables under the blue glowing light and started skimming through the pages. Twenty minutes later, he realized that he hadn’t retained anything that he had been reading and, with a groan, flipped back to the first page. Taking out a piece of paper from his pack, he forced himself to take notes to make sure that he was actually paying attention to what he was reading.

  The first thirty pages gave intricate instructions on how to identify the proper bowl to mix the ingredients in, and how to clean the bowl before beginning to mix them. He marked the page he was on, and flipped through the book hoping to find a summary or at least a glossary, but had no luck.

  A dull ache grew behind his eyes as he read his way through the next chapter discussing historical changes to various measuring systems and how to convert from each one to the system used in the book.

  Finally he reached a point in the book where it outlined how to gather and identify the necessary components for constructing a Clachward. Donovan didn’t recognize many of the components but felt it unnecessary to take the time to look up each one individually at this time. He did find one entry of interest. Each Clachward required a crushed diamond. Ignoring a complicated looking diagram of a contraption used to check the clarity of the diamond, he read about how large of a diamond was required depending upon its shape. After staring at a formula which included the temperature and buoyancy of room temperature water in the location where you were measuring the diamond, he closed the book in frustration and returned it to the shelf. The one thing that he had learned was how complicated and expensive it must be to create a Clachward, let alone an army of them. With that in mind, he waited until he was doing the Vanora with Osmont the next morning to broach the subject.

  They stood out in the courtyard which they scraped free of snow at the start of every one of Professor Severn’s classes. Osmont was finally satisfied with Donovan’s technique and graduated him to an intermediary Vanora. They both held a long, uneven stick in their hand, which threw off his balance during every movement.

  “I was reading a book in the library about the creation of Clachwards,” said Donovan. “Are you familiar with their creation?”

  “Not in any great detail,” said Osmont, making a quarter turn while stabbing downwards with the stick at a relaxed pace. “I know that it’s complicated and expensive to create one.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking about. Who has the resources and time to create so many of them?”

  “The question you should be asking is why they were created. Some of the older students have been sent to patrol the forest at night as part of their training. I’ve lost track of the number that they’ve managed to eliminate. You could buy most of the country for what it must have cost to create them and yet we still haven’t figured out their purpose.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “No more than when they head out into the real world. There were a couple of broken bones during the first Downfall, but the Clachwards are docile otherwise.”

  “Unless you’re me.”

  “Unless you’re you.”

  They focused on their movements for the next minute. They were doing a series of short stutter steps while blocking attacks from both sides which would take a few seconds at a normal speed, but took a full minute to complete.

  “This is going to sound arrogant,” said Donovan, “but could someone have created them to attack me.”

  “I can think of many easier ways to kidnap a young boy, but I can’t deny that they seem to have a connection to you.”

  “If they attack me again, how should I defend myself?”

  “Run.”

  “Very funny.”

  “You won’t be able to kill one. It takes an intense light to destroy one. I’d be lucky to be able to kill a dozen of them before I had to rest and regain my strength. If you can’t run away, then you need to create as much light as possible. Sunlight works best. A rich, white magical light works almost as well, but firelight will work in a pinch.”

  ***

  The next few months passed routinely. As Kort became comfortable with reading, he started coming to the library with Ravyn and Donovan on Saturday nights. He found a book on helping sick animals which he planned to finish reading by the time he went home to his family’s farm. He signed the book out of the library and carried it with him everywhere he went, and regaled them with the medicinal properties of various herbs and plants that he could find around the farm.

  Professor Cleary’s class finally reached modern times and they learnt about how Richard Kelvin had won the throne during a rebellion some three hundred years ago, ushering in the most peaceful reign in the history of Rourke as the crown continued to be passed down to his descendants. Caddaric basked in the attention that the other students gave him, and never missed an opportunity to tell a story about his ancestors.

  It took Ravyn awhile to learn the fundamentals of Arithmetic, but once she did, she quickly became one of the top students in the class. Kort started asking her for help with his homework, which freed up more of Donovan’s time which he spent down in the library.

  Professor Severn’s class became almost bearable as the weather warmed up. After spending months having to scrape the snow off the courtyard before they could begin their lessons, and then alternating between performing intense activities which left them covered in sweat and shivering from the cold while he slowly explained what everybody was doing wrong, the warm weather was a blessing. They had finished their basic training with the staff and had moved on to learning how to work together as a single unit. He had scheduled a tournament for early March, where the students would spar with each other to determine who was best in the class. Ravyn and Caddaric were excited since they were the favorites to win the tournament, but Donovan dreaded being shown up as one of the worst in the class.

  The school had also scheduled a ball for early March. As wizards, many of them would spend considerable time with society’s elite and would find themselves in a variety of social gatherings. Students were required to attend classes taught by Mama B on the weekends to learn about etiquette in various social functions.

  On the afternoon of the tournament, Donovan headed to the library while the rest went to Professor Higgin’s Arithmetic class. Despite all the time that he’d spent in the library, he’d only read a small fraction of the books. With no detailed reference system to guide him, it was difficult to find books on a specific topic. He had found nothing on Blood magic, not that he had really expected to find any in a library accessible to first year students, but he had looked nonetheless. He had spent a considerable amount of time trying to find anything related to the odd ways that his Gift worked, or didn’t work as the case may be. He also learned about the creation and use of Clachwards, and could not find any reason why they seemed to be attracted to him, unless someone was building them specifically to find him and bring him to a specific location.

  The weakness of his power was nothing extraordinary, but he hadn’t found any mentions of a wizard scrambling up a shear wall, nor resisting another’s healing.

  The books consistently talked about how magic has an outward focus. The books described how the Brothers had created magic, along with t
he rest of the world, to allow its inhabitants to continue their endeavors. It could be used to create or alter the world around you, but wouldn’t effect yourself, nor could it be used to unmake anything. You could lift somebody else off of the ground, but never yourself, not even if you tried pushing against the ground below you.

  Healing worked the same way. A healer could close up a serious wound on another person, but couldn’t heal even a shallow cut on themselves.

  Taking a break from his normal routine, he walked over to a small section of the history books which focused on famous wizards. A red leather book with a golden dragon on the spine caught his eye. The title on the front said Fantastic Tales of Famous Wizards. Hoping for an enjoyable read, he retired to his usual table. Opening the cover, he skimmed through the table of contents and decided to read about Geoffrey the Glutton, hoping that it was a humorous tale. Flipping to the appropriate page he began to read about Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey had a hard life growing up in a town called Gallant until one day he found out that he could become a wizard. Heading to Haven to study, he quickly found that he was the worst wizard in the class. He couldn’t do any complicated spells and even the simple ones had a tendency to fizzle out on him. All the other students made fun of him, but he continued to approach each day with an unbridled enthusiasm because he knew that this day would be different from the previous ones.

  The one thing that Geoffrey couldn’t stand was bullies. So one day, he came across Harold, who was the best wizard in the class, making fun of a poor waif of a boy. Geoffrey intervened and told him to stop, and Harold pushed Geoffrey to the ground. The book went on to explain in great detail, how Geoffrey kept standing back up only to be knocked down again in a different way by Harold, sometimes with his fists, but usually using magic. Each time Geoffrey would pause while he was on the ground, and his wounds would miraculously heal, before standing up again.

  Donovan read the story a couple of times hoping that there was some clue about how Geoffrey could heal himself, but there wasn’t.

  He read a story about a monkey boy who could climb anything. It started out innocently enough, but by the end of the story, the boy could run upside down from the ceiling.

  The author had written a short note at the end of the book claiming that all of the stories were true, but Donovan had his doubts. Whether they were true or not, Donovan enjoyed the distraction and became absorbed in the book, until he suddenly thought to check the time. Professor Severn’s class had started ten minutes ago. With a jolt, he remembered that today was the tournament, and he rushed out of the library without bothering to put the book away.

  Rushing outside, he saw Kort facing off with Bodhi. With everyone focused on the two of them, he slowed down and snuck into the crowd of onlookers.

  Kort had drawn a good matchup. Bodhi was long and lanky, and one of the least coordinated in the class. They cautiously circled each other, exchanging the occasional blow until Bodhi nearly tripped over his own feet, and Kort pounced and won the match. Donovan clapped along with the rest of the class.

  “Nice of you to join us,” said Severn from behind Donovan.

  “Professor Severn,” said Donovan, slowly turning around. “I—”

  “Am late,” finished Severn. “I’ve already set the matchups for the students who show up to class on time. You’re going to have to sit and watch, and I assure you that this will have an impact on your final grade.”

  The class had fallen silent and were intently listening to the conversation.

  “But ... I ... isn’t there any—”

  “None. You might as well head back inside where it’s warm.”

  “Excuse me, Professor,” said Caddaric walking up beside them. “I think that Donovan should be given a chance.” He gave Donovan a predatory grin before continuing, “You should let him face the winner.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” said Severn. “I suggest you study your competition closely.” He patted Donovan on the back before walking away.

  “Thanks,” deadpanned Donovan.

  “Just trying to help,” said Caddaric.

  The tournament played out as Donovan had expected. Delaney had already lost before he came out. It took Ravyn less than a dozen seconds to defeat Kort in the second round with a sweep that he never saw coming. Caddaric and Ravyn mechanically bested their competition and Donovan fully expected that he’d be facing one of them.

  Donovan walked over to the practice weapon rack, picked up a wooden sword and lost himself in a Vanora. He’d sparred with both of them many times during the year, and been soundly defeated each time. Emptying himself of emotion, he pondered how he could compete with either of them. He’d tried to follow Professor Severn’s instruction all year, but the movements never felt natural. By the time he finished the Vanora, he’d decided what he was going to do.

  He waited for the inevitable showdown between them. They attacked each other like a couple of jungle cats, neither backing down. They kept up the flurry of blows, equally matched, waiting for the slightest mistake. A tendril of Caddaric’s hair fell in front of his eyes. A flip of the head moved it out of the way, but gave Ravyn all the advantage she needed. A backhanded blow caught Caddaric on the temple and ended the match. There was a quiet applause after Cadddaric’s loss, but Donovan couldn’t hear it over the blood pounding in his ears.

  Ravyn was given several minutes to catch her breath before Professor Severn summoned them to the middle of the circle formed by their classmates. He stepped in between the two of them and addressed them quietly so the rest of the class couldn’t hear.

  “Try not to embarrass yourself too much, Donovan. It reflects poorly on me.”

  With that said, he retreated to the circle of students.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” said Ravyn.

  “Don’t hold back or you might get hurt,” said Donovan.

  Ravyn nearly broke out into laughter, but she forced her face back into an expressionless mask when Severn ordered them to start.

  Ravyn squared herself to Donovan and took a cautious step forward. Donovan circled to his right. They traded a few tentative blows, but Donovan refused to engage. The longer that this went on the more frustrated Ravyn got. Her eyes narrowed and bloodless lips pressed firmly together.

  Donovan took two quick steps backwards and switched his stance. Staff held in only his right hand, arm cocked above his head. He looked more like a fisherman waiting to spear a fish than a warrior in the middle of a duel.

  “What are you doing?” snapped Ravyn, eyes widening in surprise.

  Donovan continued to circle, refusing to engage. He could hear his classmates calling him all kinds of names, but ignored them, waiting for his opportunity. Frustration growing, Ravyn overreached with a lunge and Donovan stabbed downwards with his staff, crushing the top of her foot.

  Ravyn cried out in pain and hobbled backwards. Professor Severn pushed his way in between them.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped. “Only strikes to the torso count.”

  “I know,” said Donovan. “I didn’t think it was against the rules to strike anywhere else.”

  “It isn’t,” said Severn.

  “Then why did you stop it.”

  His glare answered the question. He looked at Ravyn who gave a nod, before retreating out of their way.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” said Donovan.

  Ravyn went into attack mode and came right at him. Donovan twisted to the side and stabbed her knee with the end of the staff. Her knee let out a sickening crunch and she collapsed to the ground. Donovan tapped her in the sternum with his staff to win the match, before dropping to her side.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, “are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  “You look beautiful. The throbbing vein in your forehead really complements the hatred in your eyes.”

  Professor Severn shoved him out of the way, and clasped her knee between his hands. A mome
nt later, the pain left her face and she relaxed. Kort help her to stand up and guided her inside.

  “That was dirty,” said Severn.

  “I know,” said Donovan with a shrug, “but it worked. So, can I expect a high grade?”

  “There’s a few things that I’d like to give you.”

  “That almost sounded like a threat.”

  “I don’t threaten students, but I might make an exception for you.”

  “I see how it is,” said Donovan. “I’m the top of the class and you’re worried that you’ve gotten old and can’t keep up anymore. If you want to fight me then, quit being coy about it, and challenge me like a man.”

  “You’re in for a world of hurt boy, but I’ll be nice and let you keep all of your teeth until after the ball.”

  Donovan tossed his staff to Professor Severn, before heading inside with the rest of the students.

  Chapter 19

  He found Ravyn and Kort already in their room when he entered.

  “I’m sorry,” said Donovan. “I know that it was a shameful way to fight, but there’s no way that I could beat you in a fair fight.”

  “Darn right it was despicable,” said Kort. Kort casually stood up and walked into Donovan, who stood his ground. Their foreheads were touching when he continued. “What if there wasn’t anyone around to help her?”

  “You should listen to what you’re saying,” said Donovan. “The only reason we were sparring was because of the class, otherwise I wouldn’t have had to fight her.”

  The two of them stared each other down, and neither took a step back.

  “That’s enough,” said Ravyn. “You didn’t break any rules. Did you see the look on Professor Severn’s face? Now he has to award you a top mark in the class. That’ll gnaw a hole through his stomach.”

  “That’s not the only thing he wants to give me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “We’re going to have our own little sparring match.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Awfully convenient. I’ve been wanting to release my frustrations for a while, and now I have the perfect excuse.”