by CM Raymond
If what Eve had said was right, and he expected it was, the new narrative that was being played out should have been of no surprise.
Rewriting history allowed those in power to keep their power and increase it. Adrien was always smart, but Ezekiel had believed that Adrien was also virtuous.
It had been the main reason why he was confident leaving Arcadia in his able hands. He thought that he had trained Adrien in both magic and morality, but he was clearly mistaken.
So damned mistaken!
As the guide continued to back down the hallway telling more history of the University he stopped before a massive marble statue. Ezekiel recognized him immediately. It was the form of his old student, Adrien, representing him in his youth. The figure almost looked like what Ezekiel remembered of him. Except it was a little more beautiful. The features were more angular, and his body had a shape built in a gymnasium.
The guy looked up at the statue in awe. "And here he is. The founder of the Academy."
Mothers gawked at the striking image of the Chancellor in his youth as their kids shifted in boredom. They already knew that the way to prestige flowed through the Academy. A tour with all the boring history wasn’t necessary to convince them to apply.
“He really was quite striking,” the guide added with a smile. “And most would say he has matured just as well. Let me assure you, as a student who is just about to finish his final term, he is as kind and benevolent as you have heard. All our instructors are fabulous, but the one course the students really look forward to is Chancellor Adrien’s ‘Magic in the World’ class. It’s the capstone. A way for us to have our final formation around what magic is really for. I’m in it right now.”
“What are you learning?” the bravest and most interested kid asked.
A smile cracked across the guide’s face. “The question is, what aren’t we learning? We began the term with the Chancellor explaining what happened in the days before the Academy. Of course, we had this in our ‘History of Magic’ course with Professor Burns, but it is good to focus in on it. Before the founding of the Academy, people ran around doing anything they wanted with magic. As you can imagine, there were times when pure chaos would break out in the streets of Arcadia. Particularly on Queen Bitch… um… Queen Boulevard.
“Adrien realized that magic in the hands of unworthy people is the worst thing for the future of the city. So, he did something about it. Now, the arts, as you know, can only be learned here. The academy trains magicians and licenses its use in the world. But what people don’t talk about is the proper application of magic. We’re taught that magic used on street level is really magic wasted.”
Ezekiel could hold back no longer. “Wasted?”
The guide, for the first time, turned his attention to the old man. “Yes, sir. Wasted. It’s like this: There’s only so many magicians admitted to the school. One’s magic is limited due to how it wears the caster out. So, it only makes sense that there is a sum limited amount of magic to be dispensed in the world today at any given time.
“That magic can be used doing silly little things like mending a neighbor’s fence. Or, it could be used for the sake of the city at large. That’s what magic is for, to fortify the city and to work for its prospering. Because—”
“Pardon me, son,” Ezekiel interrupted. It took effort to keep his anger hidden from his voice. “But did you say mending a neighbor’s fence is silly?”
“Yes, you see there is only so much magic—”
“How about using your magic to save a family, or, say, a child from evil men?” Ezekiel pressed
The guide laughed uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. Because there is only so much magic in the—”
“If you were being eaten alive by some unknown disease that was treating your body like a rancid piece of meat, and I… or someone used their magic to save your life, would that be silly?”
The guide, not used to people asking questions, let alone challenging the status quo he was taught to spew upon the noble visitors, was clearly flustered. Ezekiel, though cool on the outside, was reaching his own limit.
“Adrien… the Chancellor says that magic used on the weak is hopeless. Magic’s place is for the city and for the strong. When we flourish, the city flourishes.”
“Well, the Chancellor is a damned fool!” Ezekiel ground out, his eyes turning pure crimson as he released the sheer frustration and anger he held within.
Ezekiel cupped his hands in front of his chest. The eyes of the visitors went wide as a pebble appeared floating over his palms. It quickly grew into a massive boulder, hovering in front of the old man.
The on-lookers took steps away from him. Turning his palms out, Ezekiel pushed out the object, sending the giant rock careening toward the statue. With a loud VROOM BANG! Marble shattered in every direction.
The guide and his guests all hit the ground, covering their heads as pieces of rock shattered and bounced off the walls.
When the dust cleared, people coughing and a couple of women crying, the old man was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Living with a drunk all of your life teaches you to walk silently and to always have your guard up. Hannah had mastered navigating her father’s perpetual binge. The worn-out boards didn’t make a peep as she snuck past her comatose father sleeping in the dining room and into the room she shared with her brother.
Hearing the door, William rolled over onto his side. He had always been small for his age, with a boyish face. But that day, the sixteen-year-old looked like a child, his face was ashen.
“Happened again?” Hannah asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, the old mattress barely better than a hard board.
He looked up and replied, “I’m fine.”
She didn’t push him. Didn’t have to.
Most days, Hannah was sure she knew her brother better than she knew herself. He wouldn’t give her any extra opportunities to feel badly for him. And he knew that he was the reason she even still lived in the house in Queen’s Boulevard. If it weren’t for William, Hannah would have been miles away—maybe even in another walled city, if that were a possibility.
“I visited Miranda today. She gave me something for my face,” she told him as she reached up and touched her cheek.
“Finally. I was wondering if we could do something about your ugly mug.” William laughed.
Hannah landed a soft, playful punch of her brother’s arm before reaching into her pocket. “Gave me these too.” She rattled the bottle of pills. “Says they could help with the tremors.”
Her brother looked down. “Hannah, you shouldn’t have—”
“Of course, I should have,” Hannah argued.
“No,” a burly, slurred voice from behind her said. “You should listen to your brother. You shouldn’t have.”
Arnold, Hannah’s father, loomed in the doorway, looking like he hadn’t shaved or bathed in months. They used to talk about their dad going on a bender, but a bender implies that there were also sober days.
“Where’s the rest?” her father asked.
“Rest of what?” she asked.
“The rest of the damned money. You go out there every day, the two of you, and you’re supposed to come home with something to show for it. So, where is it?”
Hannah could feel her throat tighten and her body tingled with electricity as it had in the market. “I have food and medicine to show for it. That’s why I work—to take care of this family. Not to buy your damned fire water!”
She froze. Staying out of her father’s way was always the wiser decision, and now Hannah had kicked the bees nest—and kicked it hard.
Arnold’s face turned a brighter red, adding contour to his puffy, drunken eyes. “Well, I guess you might turn out to be like your mother after all—an ungrateful little bitch.”
Her dad strode into the room pulled back a fist to add to Hannah’s already battered face. She flinched as the roundhouse came in her direction, but her father’s massive fist froze inches from h
er. Not just his hand, but his entire body was still as a statue.
Hannah, clinched, expecting to get hit, but then opened when the blow failed to land.
The hell?
“What’s your name, sir,” a clear voice called from the hall behind her father.
A robed man with white hair and a beard to match stepped into the small room. A staff was steadied in his hand. His eyes glowed fire red.
“Arnold,” her father answered. The two youth, mouth’s open, looked between this newcomer and her father.
“Arnold, I want you to listen very carefully. You will never lay a hand on your son and daughter again. From this moment on, you will let your children be. I want you to leave this house immediately, and don’t return until you have found work. Because you’re a drunken louse, and because it’s nighttime in the Boulevard, I don’t imagine you’ll have luck anytime soon. Nevertheless, this is now your number one priority. Nod if you understand me.”
Arnold nodded. Hannah couldn't believe her eyes.
“Good. Now leave us you poor excuse for a seed donor.” The old man waved his hand negligently, “I need to speak with your daughter. And one more thing,” the man said. “From this day forward, any booze that passes your lips will taste like donkey piss. Do you understand?”
Her father nodded and slowly left the room, stepping around the old man. The strange old man’s face softened as he turned to face Hannah and William.
“Now that that is taken care of, let’s get down to the important stuff, shall we?”
Hannah’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Who are you?” She looked to the door, where she heard the front door slam behind her father then back to the old man who was waiting on her.
“What the hell just happened?”
****
For most, eating alone night after night would be lonely, even at the long majestic table in the Chancellor’s Mansion, but Adrien wouldn’t want it any other way. His days were spent running the Academy and, for all intents and purposes, the city of Arcadia.
The Governor would be lost without him, which makes sense since Adrien basically made the toothless bureaucrat who he was. The Governor didn’t do shit in his position, and that was precisely what the Chancellor expected from him.
Dinner was prepared by an executive chef, who was available around the clock, but that night, Adrien hardly took notice of the quality of the choice cut.
His mind couldn’t shake the report that Jasper and the other Hunters gave about the demon-magician in the market. Ezekiel, his mentor, had mentioned such magic before he left Arcadia for the last time, but it was impossible that his mentor could be back. Everyone knew he was gone—gone for good.
Magic is powerful, but the dead don’t return. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and he dabbed at it with the cloth napkin.
If the master had returned, Adrien would have to be ready for him. The man would certainly not agree with the direction that the Chancellor had steered the city. But what did he know? Adrien’s teacher lived in a world of imaginary ideals; he knew nothing of real politics—let alone real education.
“Cynthia!” Adrien yelled, his fear tainting his yell as frustration.
Footsteps clattered down the hall toward the dining room. A beautiful woman in maid’s garb quickly stepped out of the hall and stopped across the table from Adrien. “Yes, Chancellor, what can I do for you?”
“Horace, he’s the manager of Queen’s Boulevard, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. He is.”
“Send one of the boys to tell him I need to see him, one hour from now in my private office.”
The woman offered something between a bow and a curtsy before shuffling out of the room—relieved to be leaving.
****
Hannah watched her dad leave the room in shock. No one told the drunk what to do, not in his own house. She spun back to the old man, who was standing in the middle of their bedroom.
“Let me see that, son,” he said to William.
The boy reached out the bottle of pills with a quivering hand. After giving it a little shake, the man opened the bottle and sniffed its contents. Pulling a pill out, he held it up to the light and inspected it.
“Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to the room’s residents.
Hannah watched him break the pill open and pour the contents into his left hand as he pushed the contents around with his right. He raised his right eyebrow and looked over to the young man, “Where did you get this?” he asked.
Without a word, William’s eyes cut to his sister, then back to the man.
Ezekiel turned. “Young lady?”
If a kid learned anything growing up in Queen’s Boulevard, it was not to be a snitch. Sure, the guy saved her from certain death, but she still didn’t trust him.
Her lips remained tightly pursed.
“Ah, a woman of principle. I see.” The man smiled, and his eyes glimmered. They were a steely gray when they weren’t glowing red. “Let’s play it this way: Whatever you do, don’t think of the alchemist’s name right now.”
Naturally, the first thing to flash through her head was Miranda’s name and an image of her sitting across the table from her in the little basement room. As she thought it, the magician’s eyes flashed red and then back to gray.
“Miranda?” he murmured.
Hannah narrowed her eyes, annoyed, “How did you…”
He cocked his head to the side. “Really? Are you so surprised? Well, I expect I don’t know her, but this Miranda has made a very good mix for the boy. I’m sure it may have worked after some time. A few days, a little more a little less. Alchemy is such an imprecise science.”
“I recognize you,” Hannah pointed at him, “even without the green skin and horns.” Her anger could take her only so far before her question came out, but it was now a simple question, no frustration left in her voice, “But who the hell are you?”
The man laughed again, each time he laughed was more comforting for Hannah than the last. “That is the burning question, isn’t it young one?”
Untying the lash around his neck, in one swift move, the man pushed his arms back, allowing the brown cloak to drop to the floor. Underneath were stunning white robes.
His transformation occurred before her eyes.
While his hair and beard were still white, he looked decades younger and stronger. Standing up straight, he seemed to have grown six inches. The entire thing made Hannah step back and fall onto the bed with William. She grabbed for her brother’s leg.
“Whoa,” William said in almost a whisper.
“No shit,” Hannah replied.
“Ah,” the transformed man said. “This is a bit more like me. But I couldn’t be out there without something of a disguise.” He rolled his neck as if working out some kinks. “I am the one that people here call the Founder. My given name is Ezekiel.”
“Whoa,” William said again.
“Horseshit,” Hannah said, climbing off the bed, standing up and pointing at the man. “There is no such thing as the Founder. It’s like wood nymphs or… or…” she threw her hands up in the air, “I don’t know, something else that isn’t real.”
She turned, getting hot and heavy into her argument, “The Founder is a story told by some to manipulate others to comfort. Like the Prophet.” She stabbed a finger at Ezekiel, “That guy is a cultist! Drawing everybody in with stories and then feeding off their admiration and attention. And his disciples?”