Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists)

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  The singing sounded louder in his room than it had on the floor of the Temple bowl: acoustics at work. The sound penetrated Doc Theo’s soul, and he shut his eyes, feeling it move him as it always had. A dozen singers in four-part harmony, changing the world with their very voices. Doc Theo recognized the song as the one that heated air. With that many singers, the song was capable of evaporating clouds or stopping rainfall. Seeing that the sky was already clear, Doc Theo realized they must simply be practicing. Endlessly, endlessly practicing. That was the beauty and the pain of returning to the Temple. He loved the sound of the human voice raised in song, yet the curse of his tone deafness forever separated him from the magic living within him.

  His lips twisted in wry sorrow. They had given him this excellent listening room on purpose. You are not worthy, were the music’s true lyrics. Doc Theo sat on the bed and unpacked his few possessions. Enough years traveling the road from place to place, and one never forgot how to pack light. He set his extra shoes and clothes on the small shelves next to the bed, then added his small pouch of crystals to the top shelf. He wouldn’t need them here. The Temple Chantery, where he had trained once the altons realized that he would never be a singer, no doubt had hundreds of crystals and a dozen chanters on staff.

  He patted the pouch. Ironically, chanters produced the best crystals. A result of purer rhythm, he’d always privately assumed. One undiluted by multiple tones. But no one acknowledged that. Chanters truly were the ragtag stepchildren of the glorious singers.

  Doc Theo, a disobedient stepchild, had finally been sent home. He could only wait and see what his penalty would be. If only he knew what he had done wrong.

  Clandestine Maneuvers

  The campus librarian, an older woman with a perpetual forward bend to her spine, looked over at her new arrivals as they stepped into the warm lamp light. “What can I help you with today, duelists?”

  Though she addressed both Bayan and Kiwani, her eyes fixed on Bayan. He was so much shorter than the Waarden librarian that she could still easily meet his gaze, and from his previous visits to the library, he knew that pleased her. He leaned on the counter separating the lobby from the bookshelves and met the librarian’s light blue eyes. “We’re interested in some history. What are the oldest books you have?”

  “You can’t touch them,” the librarian warned, though her eyes twinkled. “They’re four and a half centuries old, and off-limits to handling. Can’t have them falling apart, can we? No indeed. This library has lost more than its fair share of books and scrolls in the two Tuathi Wars. We need to preserve what we have left.”

  Hard to make use of the knowledge if you never read it, Bayan thought, but he merely said, “Can you just tell us if a certain book is here in the library?”

  The woman’s plump lips puckered in thought, then she gave Bayan a favorable glance and nodded. “You have a title? Can you describe the book?”

  Bayan recited as as much detail as he could recall. Kiwani added a couple that he forgot.

  The librarian frowned, her eyes shifting as if viewing a mental gallery of book covers. “You know, I don’t think we have that one. Where did you hear of it, again?”

  Bayan’s stomach clenched. “Please, it’s very important. Can you go check for sure that it’s not here in the library?”

  Mumbling about pestiferous students and their constant desire to learn new things, the librarian shot Bayan a mock-severe look and shuffled back among the dozens of shelves behind the counter. Bayan turned his back to the counter and gave Kiwani a worried look. She returned a helpless shrug. After a long while, the librarian returned and reported in a laconic tone she’d no doubt honed over decades that there was no such book in the library. Bayan’s expression must’ve been one of abject desolation, for the woman patted his hand and asked in a gentle tone if she could help him find anything else. He declined, and he and Kiwani left with polite haste. Outside in the frosty air of evening, he scrubbed at his scalp in helpless frustration.

  Kiwani glared back at the library building as if blaming it for lacking the book they needed. “Now what?”

  Bayan stared up at the cloudy night sky. “If the book still exists, it must be older than four and a half centuries. Which means it’s not here on campus.”

  “That does complicate our search. Maybe I can ask a few family friends in Akkeraad if they know of ancient libraries or book collectors.”

  While Kiwani tried to keep their hopes alive, Bayan refrained from saying the obvious: the book might not have any remaining copies in existence. If that were the case, the sint had just sent them on a jujufish chase, and they’d never find the answers they sought. He wondered if sints, being eternal beings, had any concept of the passage of time. Would Sint Koos even care whether any copies of the book survived, or had he simply given Bayan the answer to his question and faded off into his happy little slice of forever?

  If only the sints were a little more human.

  ~~~

  To Apothecary Diogenes Essendorp,

  Greetings from Kiwani.

  Kiwani stared at her letter, unable to bring herself to add her adoptive parents’ noble last name. Odjin would know who she was. Her letter might be the only one he’d received since being potioneered. She paused, green ink poised in the nib of her pen, as she considered how to word her next bit of news. Finally, she opted for simplicity.

  I took your concern to Sint Koos. He showed me an ancient book with the mark of the elemental seal on the cover. I checked the Academy library, but the book is likely older than the Academy’s founding on the mountain. I don’t know what the book says about your situation—sints’ answers aren’t known for their clarity. But I’m confident that it holds the answers. I will make inquiries among the nobility—some of them collect fine and ancient books—and with the larger scholarly university libraries across the empire. It may be Low Solstice before I have any answers for you, but please believe that I will keep looking until I find that book. The sint wouldn’t have shown it to me if it didn’t still exist.

  Be well. We all miss you.

  Kiwani sealed her message inside an envelope and tucked it into her pocket. One of the boys could give it to Kah for her later. Her eyes heated and stung as two warring images of Odjin vied for supremacy in her memory. Should she remember the laughing, driven Odjin of a year past? Or should she force herself to see him as he was at present: dirty, angry, alone?

  A hot tear splashed onto her hand, startling her. Her slight flinch was all the impetus she needed. She ripped her envelope open, unfolded her letter and wrote again. “I haven’t forgotten you, Odjin. And I’ll prove it.”

  ~~~

  The sun was bright, but the air was biting as Bayan finished up his chores with Gerrolt the groundskeeper. He dumped the last of the rhizome plants’ trimmings in the burn barrel and bade the grizzled old fellow farewell. Despite jogging across campus to stay warm, Bayan was nearly late for Shock class in the windswept arena at the edge of campus. Instructor Ithrakis gave him a frown as he passed her to join his hexmates and Taban.

  As he puffed to a stop, he overheard Calder and Taban speaking in urgent tones. “What’s going on?”

  A look passed between the two, then Calder said, “Instructor Jurgen just got booted. For smuggling potions.”

  Bayan gave him an incredulous look, nearly forgetting to keep his voice as low as Calder’s. “Potions? To duelists?”

  Calder’s expression was dire. “Aye, I know.”

  “I don’t envy Rina and Greer trying to teach the imperially mandated waves of newniks without him. But there’s more.” Taban glanced over at the rest of Bayan’s hex, where Kiwani and Tarin ganged up on Eward, tugging at his curly hair with tiny Wind spells. “I hear those potions may have ultimately been responsible for Kiwani’s… uncharacteristic behavior when you found her.”

  Bayan squinted hard, as if the gesture would assist in containing his sudden rage. Instructor Jurgen had dosed her? He felt like a fool for thin
king she’d merely been shaken up. Dosed a duelist, as if that weren’t the quickest way to get everyone nearby killed.

  “Easy there, Bayan.” Calder laid a restraining hand on Bayan’s shoulder. “Master witten Oost took care of it. The smuggler’s gotten his due. Jurgen’s got a wicked future ahead, trying to find any respectable work that doesn’t end the day in a hard beating.”

  Bayan let his anger swirl. Its energy helped him piece together a few of the missing pieces in the full puzzle of Kiwani’s kidnapping. Without Kiwani’s memories of the week before she’d arrived on campus, there was no way to tell why someone would kidnap her. Bayan had a hard time picturing Jurgen as a cold-blooded snatcher, but there probably wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to protect his smuggling business. Maybe Kiwani witnessed something, an exchange or deal. It wouldn’t be the first time a student tried to get ahead in classes with an illegal shortcut. Bayan winced as he recalled Braam’s desperate dosing last year and how it had ultimately cost him and Bayan’s hexmate Odjin their budding duelist careers.

  At the lunch hour in the dining hall, Master witten Oost stood and gave a short announcement on the subject of Jurgen’s abrupt dismissal and punishment. “I have addressed the situation as fully as I am able. And at this time, I believe the matter closed. In the future, I ask that all of you maintain a high level of diligence, be aware of your surroundings, and as always, if you have any concerns, you may feel free to bring them to my attention at any time, day or night. I shall continue to act decisively on your behalf, as it is my proud duty to stand for you in the eyes of the empire.”

  ~~~

  That night, Bayan and Eward begged for leftovers at the back door of the kitchens. They’d done this often enough as newniks that the kitchen staff hadn’t noticed the uptick in their requests over the last score of days. One of the prettier cooks brought them a plate heaped with leftover potato mash and two entire turkey legs dripping with caramelized honey sauce.

  Eward followed Bayan across campus toward the path leading up to the isolated cold houses where Treinfhir hid. “I think we should tell him. If he joins our hex and we don’t tell him, he may fail the exam. And he may be the only one who does. How do you think that’ll make all of us feel, not to mention him?”

  “That’s my point,” Bayan said. “He’s not a member of our hex yet. And until he is, I see only bad things happening if we tell him about our Savantism practice. He has absolutely no vested interest in protecting our secrets while he belongs to another hex. No matter that he already knows it’s going to be split up.”

  “He’ll formally ask to join. Even Tarin knows it’s a good move for all of us.”

  Bayan’s reply was cut short by a woman’s ringing laugh. It emanated from a nearby garden, tucked into the hollow center of a U-shaped building. A man’s voice replied in a light, teasing tone.

  Eward came to a sudden halt. “Isn’t that Master witten Oost?”

  Bayan nodded, easing back into the shadows of the building. The shortest path to the edge of campus lay in plain view of the master and his guest. Bayan eased back around the building the long way, not wanting to disturb what sounded like a romantic conversation. Who’d have thought Master witten Oost capable of love? Bayan suffered a small pang in his chest as he remembered how in love he’d once been. Imee. She had been his world. Now, he had the Waarden Empire. Not nearly as attractive, but somehow more fulfilling.

  The pair made it around the building and resumed their original course. Bayan glanced back to see if anyone was watching and saw Master witten Oost strolling away from the garden alone.

  Curiosity struck hard. Bayan held the full plate out to Eward. He pointed to himself, then the garden.

  Eward frowned and nodded. He accepted the plate and headed up toward the steep valley to the cold houses. Bayan waited until the master was out of sight, then dashed to the edge of the building and peered around the corner into the garden. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell if anyone was still there. He took a step back from the corner, then performed a quick Wind spell. His narrow, snakelike tube of air whispered into the garden, but Bayan couldn’t hear any human sounds through its hollow center.

  Where had Master witten Oost’s companion gone? Who was she?

  As he left the garden, intending to catch up with Eward, Bayan saw a figure sneaking across the broad path in the gloom. Though the man tried to be stealthy, Bayan could identify him from his thick torso and shrubby hair. After all, he’d done chores for him earlier that day.

  Gerrolt was usually a forthright fellow. Patently transparent in his actions and opinions, even. Why was he sneaking around campus like a thief? Suspecting trouble, Bayan jogged after the man, finally catching up with him beside Master witten Oost’s classroom. Bayan found Gerrolt holding a pair of sharp trimmers against the stalk of a dark red flower.

  “Gerrolt?” Bayan whispered into the man’s ear.

  The man jumped, lopping off the tall flower head in surprise.

  Bayan looked at Gerrolt’s loppers, then the row of mysteriously intact flowers. “What are you doing? Was it you who snapped off all the flower heads before?”

  Gerrolt let the pointy end of his trimmers rest against his thigh. He shook his grizzled head. “Yes, son, that was me. But let me explain. Something ain’t right here, and I think it’s got everything to do with the recent takeover on this campus.”

  “But, why the flowers?”

  Gerrolt shrugged in the darkness, a shifting shadow. “I was angry. Doc Theo was my best friend, aside from certain trees on campus. To send him away, all sudden-like… it didn’t feel right. I smelled a secret, like a bloom left too long on the stem. I was hopin’ to get an answer, but I was goin’ about it all wrong.”

  “Then why are you doing the same thing again?”

  “The secret has to do with the flowers. I know it. Did you see how them blooms just popped back the next day? That was somethin’, wasn’t it? But it don’t feel right, somehow. I’m pretty sure there’s more to those flowers than Master witten Oost’s Master Duelism.”

  Bayan stepped further into the shadow and lowered his voice. “Like what?”

  Gerrolt glanced around. “We all saw his test. That was incredible magic. But how often do we see our lord an’ master use that magic anymore? His mastery of duelism always happens in secret anymore.”

  Bayan nodded. He always wanted to watch the hexmagic students hex various objects into existence—and remain past the duration of the magic that formed them—but they rarely did so. They said, teasingly it seemed, that they didn’t want to distract him from the things he needed to learn by making him drool in outright envy. Maybe Master witten Oost employed a similar consideration for the weaker duelists around him—which was everyone.

  “I want him to know that someone isn’t happy with his regime,” Gerrolt continued. “That’s why I’m doing this again. I want to see what he does about it.”

  “Gerrolt, be sensible,” Bayan said. “You have trimmers. You’re the Groundsmaster. He’s going to know it was you.”

  Gerrolt raised his chin. “If he’s all he says he is, he already knows that.”

  And to think I used to consider Gerrolt wise. “You could get booted from campus!”

  “Yes. Could happen. But I can’t sit here and let my best friend get shipped off like he done. It ain’t right. And if my booting is what it takes to expose witten Oost as a knee-jerk dictator, then so be it. I’m willin’ to take that risk.”

  Bayan was torn between his desire to support the campus leaders and his sympathy for Gerrolt’s frame of mind. What wouldn’t he do if he thought Calder had been wrongfully potioneered? Finally, he reached out for the tall flower stalk and held it still.

  “What are you doing, son?”

  “Helping you. If you get booted, you should leave knowing you have someone who supported you, just as you supported Doc.”

  Gerrolt frowned hard, as if swallowing back his feelings, then nodded sharply. “Best work quick
ly, then. Far be it from me to get the Hero of the Kheerzaal potioneered.”

  Bayan did not think they were spotted by anyone as they snipped off the flower heads. But the next morning, when Bayan and his hexmates showed up Avatar Tactics, he stopped short in surprise at the state of the flowerbeds surrounding the building.

  They were bare. Only the pale dirt remained.

  A Spell to Chase Away Hiccups

  The place where Tala’s hiccups normally lived swarmed with confused bees. She clutched at her stomach as she walked down an outbuilding corridor along the curve of the Temple’s bowl, hoping she wouldn’t throw up. Although, if she was going to spill her breakfast, the Temple Chantery was the place to do it.

  She wasn’t sure what to pray for: that her constant stage fright stopped producing panicked hiccups, leaving her more opportunities to perform terrified in public, or that the chanters told her the hiccups were a permanent mental block and that she would have no choice but to join their ranks. The suspense of not knowing her fate wore constantly on her mind, and Tala couldn’t decide whether to keep hoping for a miracle, or whether hope just hurt too much.

  As instructed, she approached the front counter inside the Chantery’s spacious foyer and presented herself as a temporary trainee to Choralist Pherenike, the kind-faced Akrestoi woman who oversaw the chanters’ duties. While she waited for the white-robed singer to bring her assigned chanter mentor, she gazed at the extensive crystal collection lining the foyer’s walls. The slender tools were grouped into three sections, one for each of the imperial citizens’ blood types. No doubt they’d been put on display primarily as a show of magical healing power. Tala knew that some of the crystals were also awarded to singers who achieved their solo and duet competencies. Tala despaired of ever holding one herself, or performing any of the duet magic which required one, let alone trio magic or the truly complex choir spells.