The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The Zero Equation

  (The Zero Enigma, Book III)

  Christopher G. Nuttall

  http://www.chrishanger.net

  http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

  http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

  Cover by Brad Fraunfelter

  www.BFillustration.com

  All Comments and Reviews Welcome!

  Cover Blurb for TZE

  Caitlyn Aguirre is no magician ...

  ... But she’s still at the centre of the storm.

  Caitlyn and her friends have returned to Jude’s Sorcerous Academy, but all is not well in the school. The Great Houses of Shallot are on the verge of going to war and the conflict is spilling into the school, while - in the background - powerful and secretive forces prepare to finally reveal their plans to reshape the world. Caught in the middle, torn between her family and her friends - and burdened with a secret she dares not share - Cat must unlock the secret of the Zero Equation ...

  ... Or watch helplessly as her family, friends and school are destroyed by war.

  Author’s Note

  If you liked this book, please review it. It helps promote the entire series.

  Prologue I

  I was nine when I touched the Family Sword for the first time.

  It wasn't something I was supposed to do. My parents had made it clear to us that my sisters and I were not supposed to enter the Great Hall without an escort, let alone touch one of our family’s most priceless heirlooms. But ... well, I suppose I should start at the beginning.

  My sisters and I had been studying magic for two years. We were home-schooled, of course; we weren't sent to primary school for another year. My family’s tutors saw to it that we were fed a diet of magical theory, ancient languages, magical runes and, of course, practical studies. My sisters had moved ahead in leaps and bounds, while I ... I had yet to cast a single spell. I could see the disappointment on my father’s face, even though he tried to hide it; I could see the scorn and contempt on my sisters’ faces when they realised I lacked any spark of magic. My potions were perfectly brewed, my runic diagrams and magical calculations were perfectly drawn ...

  ... And it didn't matter. I couldn't perform even the simplest spell.

  One cold winter evening, I stumbled out of the schoolroom feeling as though my head was on fire. It had been a long session, with a doddering old great-great-uncle for a tutor ... he wasn't a bad sort, not really, but he had a habit of addressing us by names that belonged to our older relatives. And he’d made me draw out a basic diagram again and again, as if simple repetition would finally lead to magic flowing out of my fingers and into the design. My head hurt, my fingers hurt ... all I wanted was to catch an hour or two of sleep before dinner. I could hear my sisters and cousins playing in the snow outside as I reached the top of the stairs, the sound mocking me. They were animating snowmen and using them to have snowball fights, but ... what could I do? There was no way I could join them. The best I could hope for was being turned into a snowman myself.

  I was alone. It hurt, more than I cared to admit.

  The sound behind me caught me by surprise. I started to duck, too late. The spell slammed into my back and my entire body froze. I was utterly unable to move, unable to save myself as I tumbled over and over, falling down the stairs. My body crashed into the banisters, the sound echoing though the stairwell as an unseen force pushed me further and further down. I caught a glimpse of Alana standing above me, posing dramatically on the top of the stairs. Her dark face was alight with glee.

  I prayed to all the ancestors that her spell wouldn't snap until I reached the bottom, praying with a desperation I rarely felt. The freeze spell saved me from feeling any pain, but if it gave out while I was still falling I’d crash straight into the banisters and that would do real damage. My body kept flipping over and over - Alana must have combined her hex with a locomotion spell - until I crashed into the Great Hall and rolled over the marble floor. I hit the statue of Aguirre Primus and stopped dead, looking up at the stone face. My distant ancestor’s statue seemed to be glowering down at me in disapproval. How could one of his bloodline be so weak?

  The spell held me firmly, keeping me still as Alana inched her way down the stairs. I could hear her footsteps tap-tapping on the stone, pausing every so often to make sure no one was coming. Alana might be the favoured of the family, the one deemed most likely to succeed my father as Aguirre Matriarch, but even she would be in trouble if she was caught in the Great Hall. Dad would be angry, and Mum would be furious. The Great Hall was for impressing guests, not a play-area for little girls. I tensed inwardly as I heard her walking over towards me, bracing myself for another cruel hex - or worse. And then she leaned over and glared at me.

  “You are pathetic,” she said, nastily. A faint mark on her dark cheek glimmered with an unearthly light. She’d had a potions accident and the remnants of the brew had yet to wear off. It wasn't dangerous, but it made her look silly. “You can't even cancel a simple spell.”

  I wanted to snap out a response, but I couldn't move a muscle. She was right. I knew she was right. The freeze spell we’d been taught was among the simplest of hexes, the easiest to cast - and to cancel, if you knew how to focus your magic. I’d watched from the upper levels as the extended family romped around in the snow, freezing each other with complete abandon. And I’d wanted to join them, even though I knew I couldn't ...

  Alana leaned forward, as if she had something important to share. “You want to know a secret? You’re not our sister.”

  I had to fight to stay calm. I wanted to scream. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that I could really be the daughter of Joaquin and Sofia Aguirre. My parents were amongst the most powerful magicians in the kingdom, perhaps even the world. But I didn't have any magic at all.

  “Dad just wanted to claim he had triplets,” Alana added, in a sweet tone that didn't fool me for a second. “He took a foundling girl and ...”

  The spell snapped. I started upwards, too late. Alana leapt back with commendable speed, one hand raised and ready to cast a spell. She knew better than to be within arm’s reach. Forging had made me strong for my age. I wanted to lunge at her, to break her nose for the second time, but ... she’d get me before I managed to strike. I dreaded the thought of what she’d be like after she went to school. She was quite bad enough now, with only a handful of spells at her disposal.

  “I look like Dad,” I said. It was true. My face was solidly feminine, but I looked more like my father than my mother. “I ...”

  “There are glamours that can change a person permanently,” Alana reminded me. “Given time, they soak into the skin.”

  I bunched my fists, feeling hot tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. She was lying. She had to be lying. And yet, there was a quiet nagging doubt at the back of my mind. What if ... what if she wasn't? A foundling girl would be defenceless. She’d have no family to come to her aid. No one would care if someone took her into their family and wrapped her in a glamour ... no one would question her bloodline, if she was formally adopted. My father could have done that to me ...

  “That’s why you have no magic,” Alana said. She tried to sound regretful and failed utterly. “You’re not one of us.”

  I tried to think, even though I wanted to cry. What if ... what if ... a thought struck me and I turned, looking for the Family Sword. It was embedded in a stone anvil, the visible part of the blade glowing faintly with a pearly white light. My father’s family had owned the sword since we’d joined the Thousand-Year Empire. We - those who shared a bloodline that dated back nearly two thousand years - were the only ones
who could lift it.

  “I’ll show you,” I said.

  I heard her gasp as I walked towards the glowing sword, half-expecting to run into a protective spell. Dad would be furious if he knew I’d touched the blade. I’d be grounded for life or sent to bed without supper or ... maybe he’d take one of Great Aunt Stregheria’s particularly unpleasant child-rearing suggestions. Her children didn't exist and I still felt sorry for them. No magic snapped at me as I clambered onto the anvil, no ward held me in place while summoning the master of the house; I wrapped my dark fingers around the hilt and pulled. It came out of the stone easily.

  Alana gasped a word that Mum would have washed her mouth out with soap merely for thinking, let alone saying. I almost echoed her. The sword was huge, taller than I, yet I had no trouble holding it upright. It felt as light as a feather. The blade glowed brightly in my hands. I jumped down, holding the sword upright. It seemed to hum as I waved it through the air.

  “You’re going to be in big trouble,” Alana said.

  She jabbed a finger at me, casting a spell. A brilliant hex flashed through the air ... and exploded harmlessly against the blade. The sword had moved in my hands, cutting the spell out of the air. I could feel it twisting, readying itself to deflect another spell. A trickle of unease ran through me as my body shifted, not entirely as I wished. The sword seemed to be controlling me, not the other way around. It felt as if it was going to slash out at Alana ... no matter what I wanted. I was no longer in control.

  Alana took a step backwards, fear flickering over her face. “I think you should put the sword back,” she managed, her voice quivering. “Cat ...”

  My legs moved forward of their own accord. The sword hummed louder, pulling me onwards. I tried desperately to let go, but my fingers seemed to be sinking into the hilt ... it felt as though the sword was becoming part of me. The horror stories I’d been told about the dangers of Objects of Power suddenly felt terrifyingly real. I’d made a horrific mistake.

  “Stop,” Dad’s voice said. He was behind me. The sword froze in my hands. “Put the blade down.”

  I obeyed. The sword no longer felt like it was a part of me. Its light dimmed the moment I let go of the hilt. And then I swung around and hugged my father, desperately. I knew he was going to be angry, I knew I was going to be punished, but ... I wanted to hold him. I wanted to know it was going to be alright. I wanted ...

  “That was unwise,” Dad said, lifting me into his arms. “You’re nowhere near ready to touch the sword.”

  “But I could touch the sword,” I said, plaintively. Alana had been wrong. I was my father’s daughter. “I’m one of the family. Right?”

  “Oh, Caitlyn,” Dad said. He held me tightly. I heard a faint choke in his voice. “Was that ever in doubt?”

  I couldn't answer. Not then. But we both knew the truth.

  Prologue II

  The night I returned to the school, after the kidnapping and our escape, I dreamed of the dragons.

  Not the nasty beasts that inhabit the Desolation, the dull creatures we hunt for potions and alchemical supplies, but the Great Drakes of legend. Giant golden creatures, wings shining in the sun as they flew. I dreamed I flew beside them, sharing the ancient wisdom in their eyes. I knew I was dreaming. And yet, it felt so real.

  I could see more than just dragons. I could see castles built of clouds and giant floating cities, so large that they plunged the land below into permanent darkness. I could see huge buildings reaching up to the skies, great machines glowing with power as they transformed the land. I could see giants and genies and sprites and elementals and so many other legendary creatures; I could see magicians, flying through the air as if they were light as birds. Wizards walked through the clouds, taking their ease; witches rode on brooms, laughing as they soared above the clouds.

  And I could see the magic.

  I’d often dreamed of having magic - and then awakened to stare down at my powerless fingers - but this was different. The magic pulsed like a living thing, wrapping the entire world in its embrace. Colourless light seemed to shimmer around me - around everyone, giving them power. It looked as if it would last forever ...

  And then it was gone.

  The genies and elementals winked out, as if someone had blown out a candle. They were gone before I quite realised what had happened. And then everyone - everything - was falling. The cloud-buildings dissolved into mist, their occupants falling to the ground far below; the flying cities plummeted, hitting the ground with terrifying force. Flying witches and wizards screamed as they fell, roaring and chanting spells in a desperate - and futile - attempt to save their lives. The magic was gone.

  I saw it all. The giants, suddenly collapsing under their own weight; the great machines, flickering and failing. The population panicking, looking around in numb horror, utterly unable to comprehend what had happened. The most powerful amongst them, the ones who had lived amongst the clouds, were already dead. And none of the survivors knew how to live without magic. They couldn't do anything without magic. I floated high above and watched their world die.

  And then I found myself beside the largest of the Great Drakes. It was lying on the ground, its wings flapping helplessly as it tried to return to the skies. But it was hopeless. A creature that size simply couldn’t survive, let alone fly, without magic. Its eyes stared at me pleadingly, as if it knew I was there, then finally started to close. Pity tore at my heart as it died. The creature had been majestic, a true being of magic. And yet, the age of magic was over.

  I awoke, screaming. Sweat ran down my forehead as I gasped for breath. It had been a dream, just a dream. I’d never had a True Dream in my life. The talent had been lost so long ago that some scholars believed it had never existed. And yet, I could still hear the screaming as I wiped sweat from my brow, still see the dead and the dying when I closed my eyes ...

  It felt so real.

  Chapter One

  I awoke, to a soft insistent tapping on the other side of my drapes.

  “Coming,” I said, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed. My watch said it was ten o’clock in the morning. Sandy had let us sleep in. “Sandy?”

  “Yeah,” Sandy said. Her voice sounded muffled. Rose had cast silencing charms on my drapes, but they hadn't lasted. “You’re wanted in the changing room down the corridor.”

  I winced. I’d been trying to forget that Rose and I had been summoned to Magus Court for the inquest into our kidnapping. It had been a week since we’d been returned to the city and it hadn't been easy getting back to school. But then, school hadn't been easy in the first place. Even now ...

  “Cat,” Rose said, from outside. She sounded as tired as I felt. “Can I come in?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, pulling a small bag from under the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Rotten,” Rose said, as she pushed the drapes aside and stepped in. “How are you?”

  I looked up and winced, again. Rose looked pale, so pale that her red hair was even more striking than usual. She’d been having nightmares, I knew; nightmares that left her feeling as though she hadn't had any sleep at all. I was surprised that Sandy hadn't insisted that Rose sleep somewhere else, if she wasn't going to take anything to help her rest. Or, perhaps, attend counselling with Magistra Haydon. My father had offered to let Rose speak with one of the family’s experts on mental health, but that would have to wait until after the hearing. I didn't think she’d enjoy it very much.

  But she might need it, I thought. I’d had problems with the shrinks - they’d assumed that I was deliberately repressing my magic, magic I didn't have - but Rose was a far simpler case. They might be able to help her.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder, then stepped through the drapes. The other beds were empty, suggesting that our dormmates had gone down to breakfast or found something else to do. Sandy might have chased them out, I supposed. Normally, weekends were lazy days ... even with exams coming up. But no one would argue with Sandy when she
was in a bad mood. I’d heard that she’d received a tongue-lashing for letting Rose, Akin and myself be kidnapped. It wasn't her fault, but I knew the staff were in desperate need of someone to blame.

  “They’re in the changing room,” Sandy said, jerking a finger towards the door. Her stern expression softened, just slightly. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I’d reassured Sandy that I didn’t blame her, but my word counted for nothing. “We’ll see you this evening.”

  Sandy shrugged, then lay back on her bed. I hesitated, trying to think of something to say, but none of the etiquette lessons Mum had forced me to take had covered this situation. Sandy hadn't made a fool of herself, unlike a few upperclassmen I could mention, nor had she been deliberately malicious ... and yet her future had been ruined anyway. No one would want to offer her an apprenticeship now. I wished there was something I could do for her, but nothing came to mind. My father was hardly likely to listen to my pleading on her behalf.