by V. St. Clair
It was the onyx prism that he’d brought to school from the Frost estate over a year ago. It felt strange holding it again, and Hayden raised it to his eye and attempted to look through it, even though he knew he wouldn’t see anything.
“Hard to believe this thing is going to be useful when I’m inside the schism,” he said while twisting it slowly in front of his right eye, eventually giving up and tucking it into his belt.
“You’ll be able to use it once you get inside, trust me,” Asher assured him.
“I do,” Hayden said quietly, and for a moment the look on the Prism Master’s face faltered and he seemed older. A moment later he was back to normal, motioning for Hayden to sit down with him.
“I take it you didn’t know the Council was coming to visit today?” Hayden asked his mentor, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.
Asher shook his head. “If I had known, I certainly would have told you ahead of time. I probably would have also taken some action to prevent them from making it to Mizzenwald.” He gestured to the medallion that Hayden still wore. “They must have reached new levels of desperation to award you one of the highest honors a mage can receive. Building up your image as a hero must have been like swallowing acid to that snake, Cal.”
“That’s some consolation, at least.” Hayden said with a half-smile. “Oliver tried to warn me after breakfast but he was in a hurry and didn’t explain properly, and then I was too stupid to remember what he said until I was already in the dining hall and it was too late.”
Asher looked mildly surprised by that and said, “Magdalene must have told him. I always did respect that woman.” He sighed and changed the subject. “You haven’t asked me for advice yet regarding the schism. Don’t tell me you’ve already given up hope?”
“No, I intend to survive, if survival is at all possible,” Hayden answered. “Do you have any advice for how I might do that?”
The Master nodded.
“Follow the ley lines once you get inside. You’ll see them overhead—faint traces of magic that arc from the exterior aperture to the interior one. It’s the only way to avoid getting lost inside the other plane, because it is easily as large as the world we live in.”
“Oh, well that’s good to know. I never expected to get a map; things are looking up already,” Hayden forced a smile.
“You’ll want to leave all of your magical weaponry here—with the exception of the void-prism—or you might be tempted to use them if you panic. I don’t even want to think about what horrible things might happen to you if you actually managed to succeed in the effort, so best to leave them behind entirely.”
Hayden nodded.
“Obviously you’ll want to arm yourself with weapons that don’t rely on magic, anything you think you can use half-decently. How’s your hand-to-hand combat skill?”
“Better than it used to be, thanks mostly to my time with the Trouts this winter, but still not great.”
Asher looked mildly relieved, though Hayden couldn’t imagine himself trying to battle a seven-headed hydra bare-handed, possibly while instructing it on how to use the proper stance while eating him.
“Don’t let either of your escorts wrest control of the mission from you,” he continued seriously. “Those men are probably very brave and noble for volunteering, but they’ve no idea the horror they’re going to face inside of that place. I’ve often wondered if the air itself has some sort of fear-inducing chemical in it, because everyone who’s ever stuck their head into a schism has said it’s the most terrifying thing they’ve ever done. Right now they see you as a big-time hero—that’s one boon all of Calahan’s maneuvering gave you—but under panic they’re going to see you as a little kid who shouldn’t be making decisions for them, and you’ll need to be prepared for how to handle that.”
Awesome, just what I need when facing almost-certain death: traitors.
He said nothing, only nodding to show that he was taking in the information.
“Take some bandages and healing salves—nothing with magic in them, just standard issue—you don’t want to bleed to death from a wound that could have been bound effectively if you’d only thought to bring wraps.”
That did seem like the sort of thing Hayden wouldn’t think of until it was too late and then curse himself for as he lay dying.
“When you get to the end of the ley line and it’s time to use the Closing spell—”
Hayden was grateful that he said ‘when’ instead of ‘if’.
“—you’ll have about a minute after you cast it to get the hell out of there before you’re stuck inside, looking for another opening to emerge through. So cast your spell, drop the prism and go; the spell will continue to work until the prism is entirely consumed, whether you’re looking through it or not.”
“Um, just to be clear…” Hayden interjected slowly, “I am going to have to remove my Focus-correctors before I go into the schism, right?”
“Yes, of course, otherwise you’ll go nuts within minutes,” Asher nodded, looking confused by the question.
“Without my correctors, will I even have a full minute to make it out of the schism after I cast the spell?” Hayden asked hesitantly, adding, “I have a tendency to fully consume prisms the second I cast a spell because of the fluctuations in my Foci, remember? What if I cast the spell and the exit just snaps shut?”
Asher looked like he just swallowed something extremely unpleasant, and Hayden instantly regretted bringing it up. He should have just kept his mouth shut and figured it out on his own, rather than making the people who cared about him worry needlessly. Either it was going to work, or it wasn’t, and there wasn’t anything he could do to change that.
“Even you would be hard-pressed to wipe out a mastery-level prism instantly. Remember in the Forest of Illusions, when you were running about in a blind panic trying to take down those Suppressors for us? Even then, with your adrenaline peaked, you didn’t consume your mastery-level prisms in one go, so I think you’ll be alright.”
Yeah, but I was wearing my Foci then. After they broke, I accidentally blew up three ships when trying to start a simple fire.
Deciding not to voice the contradiction, Hayden nodded, mildly reassured but still worried, though he took his own advice and let the subject drop.
“Aside from the ones I’ve already seen, what kind of monsters can I expect in the schism?”
“Anything you’ve heard of on this side of the opening, you could potentially encounter on the other side. That plane is a reflection of ours, albeit a strange one,” Asher explained.
“How long do you think it will take to get to the exit? Assuming I encountered nothing to slow me down, which I know is a big assumption…”
“With the size of the aperture…maybe a day? Possibly longer; all I can give you is a rough estimate.”
“Do you think I can last that long without getting overcome by the distortion?” Hayden asked bluntly.
“Honestly…I’m not sure,” Asher sighed, frowning. “If anyone can do it though, you stand by far the best chance. I like to think that if you move at a fair pace that you’ll be able to manage without too many ill effects.”
“And you’re sure that it will go away once I come back to this realm, even if I am nuts in there?” Hayden asked uneasily, because he had sworn to himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t turn out like his father, and the thought of going into a place that would automatically warp his mind like the Dark Prism’s was not at all comforting.
“Of that I am sure,” Asher said immediately. “The effects of distortion only last for as long as you’re on the other side of the schism. That weird magic will be pressing against your mind, streaming in through your Foci. Once you remove yourself from the other plane, that force vanishes and you should immediately be back to normal; I’ve seen it work several times.”
Hayden was only partially reassured. Asher must have anticipated his next question because he said, “What was done to your father is d
ifferent. His distortion wasn’t coming from the outside, he was inflicting it upon himself, voluntarily opening his mind up to it over and over again for years. The problem wasn’t in his Foci, it was in his brain, which is why it could never get better.”
Finally relieved of that particular concern, Hayden exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.
He hesitated before opening his mouth again, not wanting to sound pessimistic but also not wanting to leave anything undone.
“Um, can I ask you to do something for me—just in case it takes me a few days longer to get back than I planned for?” he asked tentatively.
Master Asher compressed his lips briefly, understanding the meaning behind Hayden’s words, that he might not come back from the schism.
“Depends on what it is,” he replied smoothly.
“Could you or Torin watch over Bonk for me?” Hayden glanced at his familiar, who was perched on his shoulder, being unusually well-behaved. “You know, make sure he gets food and attention and all of that. If I’m gone for a really long time, Tess would probably take him at the end of the year, but in the meantime I’m sure he’d enjoy spending time with you guys and Cinder.”
Asher frowned thoughtfully at him and then gave him a curt nod.
“Of course we won’t let Bonk starve—not that he’s in any danger of it,” he teased the dragonling. “I haven’t seen a squirrel last around here for more than a day or two.”
“True,” Hayden agreed. “Well, I’d better go make sure I have enough knives and stuff before tonight. I’ll see you at the feast, I guess.”
Asher nodded and pretended to go back to work, though he was scanning the papers in front of him without his eyes really moving, so Hayden knew he was just putting up a front on his behalf. He left the Prism Master’s office and shut the door behind him, trying not to wonder whether he would ever see it again.
The next place he visited was the room he shared with Zane, Conner and Tamon. He nudged Bonk off of his shoulder and changed into a long-sleeved shirt, not knowing what kind of weather to expect inside the schism. He removed the Opalline Medallion from around his neck and stuffed it into his book bag, unsure of what else to do with it just now. He also emptied his belt of all weapons with the exception of the onyx void-prism, and removed his Focus-correctors. It felt strange not wearing them.
Since he didn’t own any appropriate hand weapons, his next destination was Torin’s cabin to see if he could borrow anything. He approached the log cabin and entered without knocking, finding the man standing in front of his cabinet of elixirs, ostensibly taking inventory, though he looked as distracted as his son had been.
He turned at the sound of Hayden’s footsteps on the floor.
“I was wondering if you’d come see me before you set off,” he sighed, looking suddenly much older and wearier than normal. Hayden had always thought of him as an energetic person, but Torin’s years seemed to weigh heavily on him right now. “I heard about the Council strong-arming you into going into the schism.”
Hayden grimaced and said, “It wouldn’t have happened if I’d had the good sense to listen to a warning I’d gotten earlier in the day.” He never thought he’d rue the day he didn’t heed the advice of a Trout.
“Tell me what I can help you with,” Torin frowned at him, like he was staring at a ghost. It was more than a little unsettling.
“I was wondering if I could borrow any weapons I can actually use inside the schism…a knife, maybe? It apparently didn’t occur to anyone that I don’t have my own collection of these things.”
Torin actually chuckled and crossed the room to a large cedar chest that was up against the back wall. Opening it, he began extracting weapons for Hayden to view.
“I’ve got long knives, short knives, a machete, a stiletto, a crossbow that you’ll never be strong enough to use…” he continued extracting things, setting them on the floor as he spoke. “Swords, a mace—huh, forgot I still had that, some flash-bombs, and a buckler.”
“Holy arcana,” Hayden said in amazement, “are you planning to fend off an invasion or something?”
“Never hurts to be prepared for anything, especially in my line of work. I go looking for monsters and magical creatures to study when I’m not at Mizzenwald; sometimes they want to fight.”
Hayden supposed he couldn’t argue with that logic. He’d never really considered the difficulty of finding magical creatures who were willing to come to Mizzenwald to be familiars, and what happened with all the ones who were less-than-friendly about their refusal.
“In that case, can I borrow a few knives, the buckler, and maybe a flash-bomb?” Hayden asked.
“Sure, take whatever you think you’ll need.” Torin gestured to the pile, watching Hayden sort through it carefully.
Feeling marginally better after he’d equipped his new weapons along his belt, he turned to thank Torin and found the man giving him a sad look.
“I’ll be fine,” Hayden assured him, wondering why he had to keep telling other people he’d be okay when he was the one who should need comforting. “Weird things have been trying to kill me for years and nothing’s managed it yet. If the Magistra couldn’t do it, I doubt a few ugly monsters are going to get so lucky. Besides, I wouldn’t want to give the Council the pleasure of dying conveniently for them.”
Torin shook his head and gave him a wry smile.
“You’re as stubborn as that boy of mine. You know, awarding you that medal was a very calculated risk on old Calahan’s part,” Torin continued slowly.
“Why is that? Other than the fact that he doesn’t want to inflate my reputation any more than it already is,” Hayden added.
“Well, that’s the whole of it—but I’m not sure you understand the significance of what he’s done, though I know he does. You already have an enormous amount of influence in the magical community, more than you even realize. But now? He gave you one of the highest, rarest honors in existence to force your hand, but if you come out of that schism alive and successful, it’ll come back to bite him. You’ll have enough influence to rival him and the rest of the Council for power. You could cast him out of his lofty position in disgrace.”
“I could get him fired?” Hayden asked, surprised by the possibility that a fifteen-year old could outrank the most powerful mage on the continent.
“Think about it,” Torin said pragmatically. “People have been screaming at the Council for months and months to address the problem of the schism, just like they were screaming at them last year to keep the sorcerers off our continent.”
“So?” Hayden prompted after a long moment of silence.
“So, they proved ineffective at stopping the threat of the sorcerers last year; you ended up solving that problem for them.” He paused for a minute to let that sink in. “Now they’ve made no progress on the schism, and they’re doing what? Sending you back in to take care of it for them,” he answered his own question. “If you actually succeed where they have failed, it will become apparent to everyone who doesn’t already realize it that you are the real power here—the one who gets things done while they sit around in their Crystal Tower. If you come back and decide to make their lives unpleasant—and it’s no great secret that you dislike each other—who do you think people will stand behind?”
Hayden absorbed that with raised eyebrows, the possibilities flooding his imagination.
“Calahan needs you to succeed, or the schism problem will still exist—but he also needs you to die,” Torin continued heavily. “Preferably by being trapped inside the schism while closing it, though I wouldn’t rule out assassination after the fact,” he stated blithely. “At an absolute minimum, you can expect a horrible smear campaign against you upon your successful return, though how he plans on discrediting you after decorating you with honors I have no idea.” He shrugged.
“That’s…a lot to think about,” Hayden said slowly.
“I know, and you certainly don’t need anything distracting y
ou right now, but do keep it in mind—for when you return.”
Hayden nodded and left Torin’s cabin. He spent the remainder of his free time playing with Bonk and Cinder on the front lawns until classes let out for the day. As promised, Fia Valay presented him with a very official-looking document to sign before dinner that night, covered in different stamps and embossing, the ink still wet in some places. After reading it over carefully to make sure it said what he wanted, Hayden asked Valay to accompany him to the second floor to find a witness for his signature.
As they walked through the Pentagon to the eastern stairwell the Fia asked, “Where are we going?”
“To see if Master Willow will witness this for me,” Hayden answered easily, squeezing between a crowd of students passing him in the opposite direction. He tried to ignore the people who called out to him or tried to pat him on the back for being a hero, which was fairly simple as long as he walked briskly past them and pretended to be deaf.
I don’t even know half of these people.
“I was wondering who you would ask, since Asher Masters isn’t able to act as witness,” the Fia remarked, not commenting on the unwanted attention Hayden was receiving.
“Even if I could have him do it, I wouldn’t. I’m trying to spare him from thinking about the probability of my imminent death any more than necessary,” he admitted blandly, pressing on towards the now-empty Wands classroom. “Besides, I’d feel awkward having him read my Will since he’s in it,” he shrugged, entering the empty classroom and pleased to see that Master Willow was still tidying up some papers on his desk.
The Master of Wands looked up at the sound of his footsteps and said, “Hayden—what can I do for you?”
Ignoring the concern on the Master’s face—was everyone going to stare at him like he was a ghost until he left?—he said, “I need someone to be a witness while I sign my Will. Do you mind?”
Willow compressed his lips thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “Of course I don’t mind. It’s smart of you to make arrangements, in case the worst should happen.”