by Duncan Pile
Gaspi grimaced. The girls were not going to take this very well at all. “They won’t like that,” he mumbled.
“Then you’d best tell them as soon as possible,” Hephistole said with a sympathetic smile.
“I suppose,” Gaspi said, starting to rise from his chair. “Are we done here then?” he asked as an afterthought, pausing half-way up.
“Yes that’s all for today I think,” Hephistole said, and Gaspi stood all the way up. “Good luck,” he said as Gaspi headed for the transporter.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “See you later,” he added, and with that he stepped on the transporter. He turned back to face the chancellor, but Hephistole had already pulled several sheets of parchment back across the desk and was leafing through them intently. “Atrium,” he said, and the chancellor’s study disappeared from his sight.
…
“What do you mean we can’t come?” Emea asked furiously, hands on her hips. Lilly sat up in her lap and chattered at Gaspi angrily. He winced at Emea’s tone. This was definitely not going to be an easy conversation. He’d found them with Rimulth in Lydia’s room, and neither girl looked pleased at the news.
“Hephistole said…”
“I don’t care what Hephistole said,” Emea snapped so vehemently that Loreill jumped in shock, shooting down from his usual place on Gaspi’s shoulders and running under the bed. “I’m not letting you go off to fight without me there to heal your wounds.” He was about to object but stopped in his tracks as what Emea had said hit home.
“I’m not staying here either!” Lydia said with equal ferocity. The fire spirit uncurled from where it lay in the corner of the room and rose into the air with three noisy flaps of its wings. It hovered three feet above the ground, smoke curling from its nostrils as it regarded him with coal-bright eyes.
“I don’t know what Hephistole thinks he’s doing but it’s a bad idea,” she added with feeling.
“I don’t want to be left behind either,” Rimulth said, and just then, there was a loud tapping noise at the window. It was the air spirit, pecking at the glass, wanting to be let in. Rimulth got up and opened the window, and the spirit flew to his shoulder, its attention riveted to Gaspi as it found its balance.
“Hold on, hold on,” Gaspi said, raising a hand, looking at the two furious girls, the determined tribesman, the fierce looking hawk, the flapping dragon and an angry Lilly, standing on her hind legs and chittering at him in a continual stream of irritated noise. “That’s a good point Emmy. We’ll definitely need a healer.” Lydia looked so angry that he half-expected smoke to start streaming from her nostrils too! “And you of course Lydia, because, er…” he was desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her even more angry.
“I’m coming,” she said flatly, and Gaspi didn’t think that even Hephistole could stop her. When Lydia had made her mind up she was a force of nature.
“Me too,” Rimulth said firmly.
“Okay,” he said, “you’re coming, but only if you can persuade Hephistole. Come on!” He turned and walked out of the door.
“What, right now?” Emea asked, sounding much less certain.
“Right now,” Gaspi answered without even slowing, and they followed him along the corridor towards the transporters, trailed by their elemental companions. Loreill joined the other spirits, conferring noisily with them as they went. They transported down to the atrium and asked Dorys to let Hephistole know they wanted to see him. He waited impatiently while she wrote their names down on a piece of parchment and placed it in the enchanted box. When the lid popped open and they were given permission, he marched them over to the transporter and whisked them up to the Observatory.
As soon as they arrived, he stepped off to the side and ushered them forward. It was much more likely that they, with their obvious passion, would be able to persuade the chancellor of the importance of their presence at the Measure.
Hephistole shot him a glance of mild reproach and then gave his attention to Rimulth and the two girls. “Good day to you,” he said graciously. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We want to go to the Measure,” Emea blurted, surprising Gaspi. He’d expected her to let Lydia do the talking.
“I’m really sorry,” Hephistole said with a sigh, clearly unhappy at having to upset them any further. “I already explained to Gaspi that we can’t put you at any more risk than is absolutely necessary. There’s just no reason for you to go.”
“There is a reason!” Emea insisted.
“Which is?” Hephistole asked, raising an eyebrow.
“They’ll need a healer in case they get injured!”
“Ah I see,” Hephistole responded. “I must apologise. The miscommunication is my fault. I didn’t think to mention this to Gaspi but there will be a team of fully trained healers at the Measure. Rest assured, your friends will be well looked after.”
“Oh!” Emea said, chagrined by the news. “But…” she began, but didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.
“There’s another reason,” Lydia said from behind her, stepping forward to stand next to her friend. Rimulth stepped forward too, taking his place on her other side.
“Oh? Please go on,” Hephistole enquired, placing the tips of his fingers together and looking at Lydia with what appeared to be infinite patience.
“We are all meant to be in this together,” she said. “It’s obvious if you think about it. Martha, the seer in Emea’s village, saw it from the very beginning. Gaspi, Emea and Taurnil are a team, three sides of a triangle, and I don’t think it’s wise to question wisdom received by magic.”
Hephistole buried his chin deep into his robes as he thought about what she was saying.
“Not only that, but the fire spirit chose me and the air spirit chose Rimulth; I don’t think you should be splitting any of us up if it can be helped.” Her voice was gaining in strength and conviction by the moment. “I don’t know how I know this but I just know it. The five of us are meant to be together come what may, or everything we’re trying to do will come to nothing.”
Silence hung heavily in the air following Lydia’s pronouncement. The hairs on the back of Gaspi’s neck stood on end, prickling with some unknown energy. Emea stared at her friend in amazement as Lilly left her side and lay down on Lydia’s feet. Loreill scampered across the room to join Lilly, the air spirit hopped onto her shoulder, and the fire spirit flapped lazily to her side. Hephistole stared in wonder at the four spirits, pinning him in place with their unblinking gaze; green, blue, storm grey and burning amber.
He looked back at Lydia, and his shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “There is no way in the world I am going to ignore so clear a message,” he said. “You are quite right Lydia. I was trying to protect you, but I’m not foolish enough to question the combined wisdom of a gifted seer and four immortal spirits, however mysterious the source of their knowledge. You may accompany Gaspi and Taurnil to the Measure.”
“That’s great,” Emmy said enthusiastically, giving Lydia a hug, and then hugging Rimulth too.
“Thanks Heppy,” Gaspi said, relieved that they were all in agreement.
“No, thank you! Especially you Lydia,” he said. “I don’t often get such startling surprises, and it’s nice to be wrong sometimes.”
“Eh?” Gaspi said.
“Humility is good for the soul!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“If you say so,” Gaspi said, smiling. Heppy was a bit weird sometimes, but in a very likeable way.
“Good day to you all,” the chancellor called after them as they stepped onto the transporter.
“See you,” Gaspi said cheerfully, looking around to check that everyone was safely on board. “Atrium!” he said, and they transported out of the Observatory.
…
“That was brilliant Lydia,” Emmy said as they left the Atrium. “Does that mean your sight is working again?”
“I think so,” Lydia said, practically glowin
g with satisfaction. “Rimulth you were right! It was just biding its time, waiting for the right moment.”
“Looks that way,” Rimulth said, smiling in quiet satisfaction.
Gaspi watched the exaggerated strut Lydia adopted, one that made her hips and her hair sway from side to side as she walked, and thought that he’d never seen her looking so much like a gypsy as she did in that moment.
“I’m going to see Taurnil,” she said, and if anything her gait grew more exaggerated as she walked. “I’ll see you later,” she called back without looking, and strutted off through the campus, the fire spirit flapping along lazily behind her.
“I’ve going to find Talmo,” Rimulth said. “He’ll want to know what’s going on.”
“Okay, see you later,” Gaspi said as the tribesman walked away, the air spirit still perched on his shoulder.
Emmy sidled up to Gaspi, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Gaspi put his arm around her and she snuggled in under it.
“I’m so glad we’re all going,” she said.
“Me too.”
“I’d have hated being apart from you again,” she murmured.
“Me too!”
Emmy punched him playfully in the side. “Is that all you’re going to do? Just agree with what I say?”
“Yes,” Gaspi responded with a straight face.
“That’s very lazy you know!” she said pulling away from him. “You should have some thoughts of your own!”
“I agree.”
“You’re infuriating!” she said in mock irritation.
“Yes I am,” he said.
She looked cross for a moment before bursting out laughing. “This is a stupid game. Let’s do something fun.”
“Like what? Go get some food?” he asked.
“You’re as bad as Taurnil!”
Forty-Two
Ferast summoned a mind shield, deflecting the pain strike Sestin threw at him. The very first time Sestin had used it against him, he’d curled into a ball, twitching in torment as his master tortured his vulnerable mind. After exposing him to brain-peeling agony for what seemed to be an unnecessary length of time, Sestin had released him from the spell and explained how a pain strike worked. It was a complex neuromantic spell designed to make the target think and feel they were in pain. No injury was actually done to them but because they were convinced they were in agony, it became a reality. It was a hard and unforgiving compulsion that left the target writhing in unbelievable pain.
Sestin also taught him how to defend against such a strike, but the defence was as complicated as the attack. He had to create a counter compulsion, a sense of certainty that he was not in pain. It was similar to the technique Emelda had once taught him to use on injured animals while tending to their wounds, except this time he had to cast it on himself. When the attack came, the conviction that he was not in pain needed to be stronger than the suggestion that he was.
The problem was that Sestin was very convincing, and the first few times he’d tried to create a mind shield, Sestin had smashed through his meagre defences, leaving him subject to his not-so-tender mercies. Even when he began to turn the strikes aside, he suspected that Sestin could easily have overpowered him if he wanted to. It would have been disheartening if not for the fact that they didn’t teach this kind of attack at the college, and the pain strike would be a formidable weapon at his disposal that his enemies wouldn’t have any defence against.
In that moment, however, all that he could think about was the need to defend himself. Knowing that the pain was illusory didn’t make it any easier to endure, and just thinking about what he would feel if he failed to summon an adequate defence himself made him break out in a sweat. He deflected another strike, putting all his strength into the counter-illusion, and the suggestion of unbearable suffering shattered against his shield. He ducked behind a pillar, relieved that he’d avoided another dose of agony. Breathing heavily, he looked from side to side, trying to get a glimpse of where Sestin might be approaching from. His heart beat fast and hard in his chest, his pulse throbbing in his ears as he tried to calm his laboured breathing.
He gathered his magical strength, forming his own pain strike. Sestin had allowed him to retain his Darkgems, and he drew deeply on the one he had in his breast pocket, conjuring the most powerful strike he could manage until he could barely contain its surging strength. He focussed that power into his hand until it filled with a globe of misty darkness that made his vision blur and his head hurt if he tried to focus on its shifting, inconstant substance. He looked around the pillar again, casting his vision around the huge auditorium. It must once have been a theatre, with a wide stage and rows of tiered seats stretching away into the darkness. The roof was held up by enormous pillars spaced evenly around the room, one of which was acting as his protection even now.
A movement deep in the shadows of the theatre caught his eye. He peered intently into the gloom, trying to see what had caught his attention, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out Sestin’s outline, facing in the other direction. His heart beat even faster as he saw his opportunity to finally best his master.
Despite the concentration required to hold onto the pain strike, he was had just enough strength left to conjure an illusion. He drew together a crude image of himself, placing it far enough within the darkness that its flaws would be hidden by the gathering shadows. Sestin’s head snapped up as he saw the conjuring. Ferast waited until he started forwards, stalking stealthily towards the illusion, before slipping it behind a pillar and allowing the magic to disperse.
Heart in his throat, he stepped out from his hiding place and paced towards Sestin on the balls of his feet. With every step he expected the renegade to sense his presence and launch an attack. If that happened he would be caught out in the open, and he was under no illusions that his master would go easy on him. But Sestin didn’t turn around, and although the renegade was also moving, Ferast was moving much more quickly, and with every step he drew nearer to striking distance.
He covered the last few yards, making sure the distance was right. He knew he’d only get one chance! When he was sure he was in as good a position as he was going to get, he raised his arm and launched the pain strike. It ripped through the air, crackling as it went, and just before it reached Sestin the renegade spun around, eyes widening at the sight of the globe of darkness bearing down on him. Ferast tensed, waiting for him to conjure a shield, but Sestin just opened his arms and let the strike hit him. For the briefest moment, he felt a surge of triumph, but when the strike passed right through the renegade that feeling faltered. Sestin smiled at him menacingly and faded away. Two realisations dawned on him at the same time; it was only an illusion, and he was in deep trouble. Spinning around, he drew on the Darkgem, desperately trying to gather enough force to form a mind shield, but before he had a chance to do much more than panic, a pain strike sizzled out of the darkness and caught him in its compulsive grip.
Agony lanced through him, wresting all control from his grasp. Falling to the floor, he twitched and writhed, a tortured cry escaping through gritted teeth. It was beyond enduring, the worst it had ever been, and he didn’t know how he was going to survive it. As his vision began to darken round the edges, he saw his tormentor approaching, stepping evenly towards him until all he could see was a pair of booted feet and the hem of a blood red robe. The pain ratcheted up another notch, every nerve ending in his body screaming as if aflame. Blackness filled his vision, and Ferast slumped into welcome oblivion.
…
When Ferast came around he was lying on his bed. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and had to rush to the chamber pot as nausea gripped him. He retched violently until he emptied what he thought must be the entire contents of his stomach, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve when the convulsions had stopped. Sitting back down on the bed, he placed his head in his hands and waited for the pounding in his head to pass. As it began to subside, he sent a thread
of magic through his body, searching for injuries. As expected, there were none, but he still felt raw from head to toe, as if he’d been scoured on the inside. Sestin must have tormented him into unconsciousness. The thought aroused a spark of anger in him. Sestin was supposed to be teaching him, not torturing him. He quickly subdued the rebellious thought. It was dangerous to entertain such things around the most powerful neuromancer that had ever lived.
In reality, Ferast had to admit to himself that he had no idea of the extent of Sestin’s powers. The strength of that last pain strike showed him that the renegade had just been toying with him previously, and there was no reason to think he had seen the extent of his strength even now. He urged himself to avoid any negative thoughts about him, even if the renegade tortured him night and day! There was too much at stake.
Over the weeks he’d spent in the Ruins of Elmera, he’d come to learn much that he hadn’t previously been aware of. For starters, he’d started to learn the basics of demonology, a subject that the college barely even acknowledged existed, and although summoning greater demons to do his bidding was still far too dangerous, Sestin assured him that he was nearly ready to summon a dJin. He remembered the vicious little creature Professor Worrick had once shown to the class, and found himself itching to have one under his control.
Control! That was the key to fulfilling his ambitions. He already had control over animals and ordinary people, but he wanted control over other magicians. If he had that kind of power Emea would never have rejected him. She’d be by his side as he knew she ought to be. He lay back on his bed, filled with longing and frustration at the memory of the only girl he’d ever had true feelings for. Why had she rejected him when they’d been so right for each other? He knew she’d felt it too - the closeness they had found in tutorials.
Emea was a perfect match for him. She understood healing the way he did, revelling in its precision, manipulating the weave of the flesh like a god. And there was that miraculous healing she’d performed on that worthless guard. What was his name? Toenail or something like that. He hadn’t been a worthy recipient but what she had done had been astounding. He hadn’t actually seen it happen - trials of brute strength didn’t interest him in the slightest, but everyone had been talking about it. If the stories were to be believed, he had been mortally wounded, stuck through with a dirty great pole, and Emea had healed him completely in a matter of moments. It was astounding. It broke all the rules. Yes, Emea was definitely special.