by Duncan Pile
Hephistole remained motionless for a few moments, staring deeply into space. Jonn was about to cough politely, when the Chancellor shook his head like a dog shedding water and returned his attention to Jonn. “Well, that’s quite a story,” he said with a snap of decisiveness in his tone, “and you’re absolutely right; we can’t leave your young friends out there unprotected.” Hephistole’s eyes unfocussed for a moment; he appeared to be concentrating on something.
His eyes refocused on Jonn. “I’ve called someone who can help,” he said, before springing to his feet and beginning to pace back and forth. Jonn didn’t know whether to sit or stand. Bringing his movement to a sudden halt, Hephistole turned back to Jonn. “We have noticed some strange signs in the last year. Stories of magicians going missing have reached our ears; and some stranger, darker tales too. We have one Mage out there in the north investigating the truth of the rumours, and your story makes it harder to deny. There may be a force out there intent on our destruction, and one with some power.” Hephistole’s expression lightened. “But I mustn’t burden you with my worries! Rest assured, we will bring all our knowledge to bear on this. And there is some good news, of course.”
“Good news?” Jonn asked.
“We have a Nature Mage! That is no small thing, Jonn.” Hephistole’s broad grin returned to his face. “And by your own account, we have a Seer and Healer on their way to us as we speak.”
The sound of a small gong being struck pervaded the room. “Ah, here is Voltan,” Hephistole said. The room pulsed with the quiet buzz of the transporter (a much less intrusive sensation than Jonn had felt when he was the one being transported), and suddenly a slender, dark-skinned man appeared on the glowing platform. Hephistole gestured towards the arrival, by means of introduction. “Jonn, this is Voltan. Voltan, this is the father of the young boy we have in our infirmary.”
Voltan smiled at Jonn, a slight uplifting of narrow lips set against a fine bone structure and tight, dusky skin. Voltan’s narrow nose was finely sculpted, delicate nostrils flaring under an aquiline bridge, his eyes dark and deep beneath an angular forehead. His hair formed a widow’s peak and was drawn back tightly across his head into a pony tail at the back, held by a leather thong. Jonn stood up and shook Voltan’s hand; the magician’s grip was firm, but not overly so.
Turning to Voltan, Hephistole briefed him on the situation. “We have three young friends of our guest here travelling with a family of gypsies, heading to us. They are in some danger, and need an escort of magicians capable of defending them against attacks.” Voltan’s gaze was intense, and he did not speak once while Hephistole described the attack Gaspi had turned aside, and the theory Jonn and Gaspi had concocted.
“Is there anything you want to add?” Voltan asked, once Hephistole had finished.
“No, that about sums it up,” Jonn answered.
“Well, it seems like fire works against them,” Voltan said thoughtfully. “We have no Nature Mages, of course, but there are other ways of using fire. I’ll go myself, and I’ll take another of the warriors. I’ll go straight away.” Turning to leave, he paused at the edge of the transporter. “It’s amazing your son survived the attack, and the use of his own magic, Jonn. He must have an unusual talent. I look forward to meeting him.” And with that he nodded once at Hephistole, stepped on the transporter, and was gone.
Hephistole smiled brightly at Jonn. “So let’s go and meet this young magician of yours!” he said enthusiastically, gesturing for Jonn to step onto the transporter.
“With all due respect, could I use the stairs?” Jonn asked, glancing with distrust at the plinth.
Hephistole’s eyes widened. “Stairs?” he asked incredulously. “But my dear man we don’t have any stairs here. Why would we need them when we can travel so much more efficiently using the transporters?”
“Of course….no stairs,” mumbled Jonn. “Can we at least fly down?” he asked, though without any obvious enthusiasm for this option either.
Hephistole scratched his beard. “Well, yes, if you’d prefer that. I can stretch the field of varying density around both of us and control the descent. But what’s wrong with the transporter?” he asked, in an injured tone.
“I would rather stay in one piece and float down through the air than be split into a thousand little pieces.” Jonn asserted bluntly.
Hephistole’s mouth twisted in a confused smile. “That’s not exactly how it works, but if you prefer to fly then we will fly. This way, if you please.” Hephistole led Jonn round the extensive curve of the large office, which circled the outer edge of the tower’s giant bulb-shaped peak. Jonn was surprised as they passed several areas where the sinuous inner wall recessed deeply back into the centre of the tower, creating unexpected spaces. The first such space they passed was unlit, its dark interior filled with small cages, each with a red velvet cloth draped over its door. The next recess had exactly the same contents, but the cages were twice the size. The third area seemed to have nothing in it, but was lit from a source Jonn could not detect with a dim purple glow.
In all there were seven recesses, the last filled with the kind of calibrated instruments Jonn associated with taking measurements, or comparing weights, along with many others he couldn’t compare to anything he’d ever seen. They were made of all kinds of materials, and each was placed on plinth of its own. Some items were non-descript and clunky and some were intricate and sparkling with gold, silver, or even jewels. An earthenware mug sat next to a delicate set of gleaming silver scales, which was adjacent to a hand-sized sculpture of a golden wyvern, its eyes set with flashing rubies, its head curled around and resting on a wing. Jonn was amazed at the size of Hephistole’s office, and said nothing for the entire walk around the edge of the tower’s cavernous peak, until they came at last to the end, where a large hole in the floor ended the walk from the podium to this end of the room.
Hephistole held his arm out to Jonn. “Hold on to my arm, and step off when I do.” Jonn was having second thoughts about flying, but he was too embarrassed to ask to go back all the way to the plinth. Taking Hephistole’s arm, he walked to the edge of the hole, and then as Hephistole stepped forwards he gulped and stepped out into space. Everything in him tensed as he expected to plummet through the hole, his hand gripping Hephistole’s arm like a vice. But the air he stepped into caught and held him suspended over the drop. Looking down, Jonn couldn’t help grabbing even more tightly onto Hephistole’s arm. Hephistole smiled at him, and with a wave of his hand initiated the descent. They dropped unhurriedly down through the levels of the tower, passing through several floors that appeared to house comfortable offices, and several more that contained expansive laboratories. On the lowest floor above the atrium, Jonn was afforded a fleeting view of a group of young men and women, all in brown robes, sitting cross-legged in a circle with a white-robed Mage in their midst. They were hovering three feet off the floor. Finally, they passed through one more ceiling and emerged into the wide open space of the atrium, just as Hephistole had done a couple of hours previously.
Jonn was immensely relieved when his feet came to rest several inches above the glowing plinth, and he was able to hop off onto the floor. Hard ground beneath his feet slowly banished his anxiety, and he couldn’t help ask one more question of Hephistole.
“If you use your own magic to fly, why do we need a plinth at the bottom here?” he asked. “It’s not like we’re being transported.”
Hephistole looked pleased. “Excellent question, excellent question,” he said, rubbing his long-fingered hands together. “The plinth is not a transporter. It is there in case a magician loses concentration and falls!”
Jonn could hardly believe his ears. “You mean we could have fallen?”
“Well, technically, yes,” said Hephistole patiently, “but that hasn’t happened to me in years. Besides, that’s what the plinth is there for. If anything approaches it at any kind of speed, it slows and halts it before impact. So there’s nothing to worry
about, see?” Jonn didn’t have the chance to say anything, as his eccentric guide was already striding towards the wide doors of the tower, long hair and robe flapping behind him. Jonn caught up with him and matched his pace, and the two men walked through the grounds to the infirmary.
Chapter 9
Gaspi was way past impatient. A view of the ceiling had lost its appeal several hours previously, and the walls were not much more interesting. Despite a lingering exhaustion, he had tried to lever himself out of bed several times without any notable success, and the last attempt had seen him sliding down onto the floor next to the bed. It was in this position that Hephistole first laid eyes on Gaspi.
With a twinkle in his eye and a bark of a laugh he bounded over to Gaspi, and helped him back into bed. “A bit restless, are we?” he asked.
“Er, yeah,” a red-faced Gaspi answered, taken aback by this dynamic stranger.
With Gaspi settled back on his bed, the newcomer pulled up a chair for himself and sat down, his sparkling eyes peering enthusiastically at Gaspi. “So, my young fellow,” he said. “My name is Hephistole and I have the honour of being the Chancellor of this fine institution.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Gaspi said politely.
“No need for that, young man. The students call me Heppy behind my back. Feel free to abuse the familiarity,” he said, with a broad smile.
A slow grin spread over Gaspi’s face, and after a short pause he thrust out his hand. “Then you can call me Gaspi,” he said.
Hephistole shook his hand solemnly, then let out a spontaneous laugh. “Good lad,” he affirmed. “Well, now we have that out of the way, let’s talk about why you’re here. Jonn here has told me all about your journey. You’ve been through quite an ordeal! I think it‘s best that we start looking into your training.”
“Heppy,” Gaspi ventured courageously, “sorry to interrupt, but are you sending out someone to get my friends?” Deep concern for Emmy and Taurn overrode any remaining shyness.
“Of course, of course,” the Chancellor answered briskly. “I should have told you that straight away. I sent two Mages out over an hour ago. All being well, they should be with you by tomorrow.” Gaspi breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall fully back onto the soft pillow.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. He looked up, meeting Hephistole’s gaze. “You said something about my training?” asked Gaspi. “Does that mean you will be taking me on as a student?”
“Absolutely! And if it’s alright with you, we’ll begin as soon as we possibly can.”
“That would be great,” answered Gaspi.
Hephistole’s face grew more serious. “There’s something we need to sort out before you can get down to the business of learning magic, Gaspi. You have a powerful form of magic rarely seen these days. It is so powerful it almost killed you - twice, from what Jonn tells me.” Gaspi shuddered, the memory of those terrible events making him fearful. “I don’t want you to worry about that, Gaspi,” the Chancellor said reassuringly. “We won’t let that happen to you again; but the first thing you must do is gain control of the forces within you.”
“Can you help me do that?” Gaspi asked.
“Of course,” Hephistole answered, with a smile. “But your magic is so powerful we’ve had to put a block on it to stop you using it until you are ready. When we brought you in here you were still connected to the magic, and if we hadn’t blocked you there’s no way you could have recovered.”
“I don’t understand,” Gaspi said.
“It doesn’t benefit us much going into the technicalities of it right now. Experienced practitioners of magic would disagree on the exact cause of the phenomena, but suffice it to say that without control you were unable to let go of the power once you’d released it this last time, and every time you gained a little strength back the magic sucked it out of you, trying to harness your life force. So I apologise for the intrusion, but I had to enter your mind and put a block between you and the source of your power, to save your life.”
Gaspi stared into space, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Finally, he asked “But how am I to learn to control magic if I can’t use it?”
“Good question!” Hephistole barked so loudly Gaspi jumped. Gaspi got the impression that there was little Hephistole liked more than a good question. “We will be teaching you the mechanisms of control - an interface to your mind, if you like.” Gaspi looked confused. “Sorry Gaspi. Look at me going on like an old fool, using technical jargon where a simple explanation will suffice! We are going to teach you to meditate, which is a relaxed state which enables you to examine and control your thoughts and feelings. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it!”
“Okay, Heppy,” Gaspi said, still unsure as to what it all meant.
“I’ll ask the matron to give you a restorative, and we’ll move you into your dormitory tomorrow,” Hephistole said. “You should be strong enough by then, and we don’t want your friends arriving to find you in a hospital bed, now, do we?”
Gaspi grinned. “Sounds good!”
“Okay, Gaspi, I’ll take my leave now. We don’t want to exhaust you! I’ll see you soon,” the enigmatic Chancellor concluded. Bounding out of his chair, Hephistole left with a wink and a grin, banging out through the infirmary door; which, as if energised by his touch, swung vigorously on its hinge for several seconds after he was gone.
Before Gaspi fell asleep that night the matron brought him a small glass filled with a bright green drink. “Drink up, young man,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “By tomorrow you’ll be back to your normal self.” Gaspi sipped the strange looking brew, and found it to be not unpleasant. Its taste was earthy, bursting with the unfettered freshness of growing things, and Gaspi thought that it was somehow both hot and cold at the same time. As soon as the liquid had slid down his throat a slow warmth begin to tingle in his stomach and spread languidly through his body, seeping down his limbs and along his fingers until every part of him thrummed with a soothing inner vibration. Sleep approached irresistibly like a giant wave, sweeping up over him, sucking him down into its depths and crashing down, plunging him into the depths of dark, oblivious rest.
The next morning, Gaspi awoke feeling quite back to normal. He immediately got out of bed, relieved to find no remnant of the malaise that had kept him in his bed for the past day. Jonn had left some clothes for him on a chair, and Gaspi had just finished dressing when Jonn arrived along with a boy who looked to be around Gaspi’s age. The boy was taller than Gaspi, with the kind of handsome features the girls at home liked. He was broad-shouldered and blonde-haired, and wore the brown robes of a student.
He introduced himself without making eye contact, and without shaking hands. “I’m Everand,” he announced, as if that statement should mean something in itself. “I’m here to show you to your dormitory,” he said, waiting impatiently for Jonn to gather Gaspi’s things together. As soon as they were ready, he led them briskly from the room. As they walked through the complex, Gaspi sped up to walk alongside Everand.
“Are you in my year?” Gaspi asked, trying to think of something to spark up a conversation.
“Yes,” replied Everand without embellishment, chin thrust high into the air as he walked. Gaspi lapsed into silence, slipping back to walk alongside Jonn, who just shrugged when Gaspi gave him a questioning look. Everand led them to a long, single-storey building, set along one side of a large courtyard, which unlike the other enclosed areas of the college was just an open square of hard, dusty ground, not planted with trees or covered in grass. It was marked all over with white lines, forming a pattern Gaspi didn’t recognise. The square was enclosed on all four sides by low buildings. The one Everand entered was twinned by an exact replica on the opposite side of the courtyard, and the other two sides were filled with a mismatched selection of buildings, whose use was not immediately obvious.
As Gaspi followed Everand into what he assumed was to be his dormitory, the smell of wood-polish fi
lled his nostrils; the kind of strong, resinous scent that instantly takes you back to the place it was first smelled. Everand stalked at his unyielding pace along the long, narrow room, between two rows of six beds on either side, before stopping at an empty bed at the end of the row.
“This is yours,” he said, looking briefly at Gaspi before turning to leave.
“Thank you,” Gaspi murmured, feeling put out by Everand’s cold manner.
As Everand reached the door he turned around. “They say you’re a Nature Mage,” he said, his tone edged with disbelief.
“So they say,” Gaspi answered shortly, disinclined to say anything more.
Everand said nothing for several seconds. “The Dean asked me to tell you to come with the first-year boys to class tomorrow morning,” the tall bay said reluctantly, as if it were beneath him to be passing on messages. “You will be joining us straight away.” And with that, Everand turned on his heel and was gone.
“Well, he was nice!” Gaspi said to Jonn.
Jonn smiled ruefully. “Don’t let him worry you, Gaspi. There are all kinds of people in the world. A little bit of rudeness is nothing to worry about.”
Gaspi said nothing, but didn’t agree with Jonn at all. Why should Everand have treated him like that? He had done nothing wrong at all. Years of being singled out by Jakko had imbued him with an instinct for idiots, and Everand looked like a clear candidate. He inwardly resolved to make an impression on the arrogant Everand as soon as possible.
The floors and walls of the dormitory were made of dark grainy wood, polished up to a fine sheen. The wide, heavy beds were of the same dark wood, and at the back of each were two shelves sitting directly over a half-moon shaped bedhead. At the side of each bed was a small cabinet, with a single upper drawer and a larger open space below it, and a small wooden chair. The other beds, shelves, cabinets and chairs all showed signs of habitation; books were stacked on the shelves, sheets, though tidied, had clearly been slept in, and clothes were hanging on the backs of chairs. The other students’ cloaks and robes hung from brass hooks which protruded from the wall at the side of each bed.