Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey

by Steve Windsor

  Damian and Cassidy glanced angrily at Tristan.

  “Regrettably, the vandal was revealed to be none other than Darla Merridy, who has fled the school.”

  Hayley and Cailyn exchanged shocked glances, and Eli swore under his breath. Evvie twisted her hands in her lap, lips pursed.

  “Tristan Fairholm, Leila Swanson, Rusty Lennox, and Brinley Alldusk were injured in their attempts to apprehend the vandal, and Zeke Elwood is likewise recovering in the hospital room.”

  Tristan looked up, startled. He couldn’t believe the headmaster was going to let him off this easily.

  “Is Zeke going to be okay?” Damian asked.

  When Grindlethorn nodded, Damian’s permanent scowl seemed to lessen somewhat.

  “Now,” Drakewell continued with a heavy voice, “it is time you learned why you were brought to this school. When you know the truth, you will understand why we kept it from you until now.”

  At this, every one of the students sat up straighter.

  “You see, we are not teaching you magic merely to send you home, more intelligent than before. We are not hoping to enrich your minds or spread the knowledge of magic. Magic is dangerous; once you learn its secrets you must remain here.”

  “Then what’s the point?” Damian asked peevishly.

  Drakewell fixed his hollow eyes on Damian. “The reason you were recruited—the reason this stronghold exists—is because of something called ‘the natural order.’ The term refers to the balance of all dualities: civilization and nature, light and dark, life and death.

  “The magicians who built this Lair chose the location for its inaccessibility. Magicians knew the value of wild places long before most humans, because magic is derived primarily from nature. With that understanding in mind, these magicians created a place where magic could be concentrated and used for greater purposes. Here they planned to maintain the ever-teetering duality of civilization and nature. Here they set the power of nature against humanity.”

  Leila’s mouth opened in surprise. “Do you mean—”

  Drakewell touched the black hourglass around his neck. “We have a room deep beneath these floors where we have stored up hundreds of thousands of magic orbs. This room—the Map Room—gives us the power to cause natural disasters. Using its magic, we can stir up hurricanes and tornadoes, send tremors through the earth, or trigger avalanches.”

  No one spoke. Tristan felt a strange pressure building against his eardrums. To hear Drakewell saying something like that, speaking so calmly—it was insane.

  “The magicians who were here before us sent the shock wave that caused the Great San Francisco Earthquake, and started the drought that let the Dust Bowl ravage the plains.”

  “You’re joking,” Damian said finally, his voice hard.

  Drakewell just stared at Damian for a long time; eventually Damian blinked and looked away, muttering something inaudible.

  A hazy darkness was gathering at the corners of Tristan’s eyes. He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying not to pass out. The world’s gone mad, he thought with frightening calm. Just for good measure, he bit the inside of his cheek hard. Definitely not dreaming.

  “That seems wrong,” Rusty said anxiously.

  Tristan was surprised that he managed to speak at all.

  “I mean, killing all those people just for the sake of some idea about order...”

  Tristan swallowed the blood that was now welling on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to nod in agreement with Rusty, to beg the teachers for an excuse—anything, anything at all—that would justify what they were doing here.

  “We’re not the only ones trying to manipulate this balance,” Alldusk said. His voice was very calm, though his face remained ashen. When he got to his feet, Tristan noticed that his left arm was in a sling.

  “There are others out there,’ he continued, “people with no knowledge of magic, who are trying to outsmart nature and tip the balance in their favor. Look at genetic engineers—those scientists are playing with the very foundations of life. And what reason do they have to do this?”

  Alldusk paused and met Rusty’s indignant stare, though he did not seem to expect an answer.

  “They want wealth. Long life. Health. Power. They’re messing with the natural order because they’re selfish. The human race is selfish.” Alldusk shook his head. “We have a much harder task here—siding with nature against our own race. We maintain the order that is chaos, simply because we must.”

  Another long silence followed Alldusk’s words.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Tristan’s thoughts were beginning to catch up with him. Right or wrong, his teachers—and hundreds of intelligent magicians before them—had been ravaging the earth with disasters for centuries. What he wouldn’t give right now to forget everything Drakewell had just said...

  Someone was speaking again, and Tristan realized he had been lost for several minutes. Later, he told himself. I’ll think about everything later. He took another deep breath.

  “—because the world holds itself together with magic,” Drakewell was explaining impatiently. “Allow that to vanish, and the world will simply crumble. There will be nothing left but dust. In a way, we are preventing the complete annihilation of humanity by helping maintain the balance.”

  “What about the disasters that happened before this place existed?” Leila’s expression was inscrutable.

  “There have always been magicians playing around with the weather,” Drakewell said. “The majority of them were causing plagues, floods, droughts, and the like for selfish reasons—war, riches, or mere curiosity. This establishment is the first place where those same powers have been directed towards creating and maintaining balance.”

  This time no one dared to voice any further misgivings. Tristan had managed to block out most of his thoughts, though one remained clear. If any single person could be allowed to decide the fate of so many, that person should rightfully be an angel or a demigod. And the teachers were far from either.

  Drakewell let the silence linger, one thumb hooked through the hourglass chain circling his neck. At last he folded his arms over his chest and said, “If you have any further questions, go to one of your teachers. We will try to answer as best we can.”

  The side door opened as though on cue, and Quinsley leaned around the corner with a hopeful grin. “Dinnertime, headmaster?”

  Drakewell gave a curt nod and spun on his heel. He was nearly at the ballroom doors when he stopped and turned. “Fairholm!” he barked. “Come here.”

  Tristan started.

  “Go on,” Leila whispered, prodding him in the side. “You have to tell him that you’re innocent; he can’t lock you up, not without setting half the school against him.”

  Still dazed, Tristan stumbled to his feet and walked stiffly towards Drakewell.

  “I’m sorry, Professor,” he said, refusing to meet Drakewell’s eyes. “I thought Ev—Evangeline had something to do with the attacks all along, but I didn’t say anything. I was afraid you’d hurt her. Please, if you have to punish me, leave Amber alone. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Drakewell straightened. “Quiet, Fairholm,” he said tiredly. “It would be absurd to blame you for any of this.”

  Tristan blinked in surprise.

  “No, I merely wished to say that you and Amber Ashton will have a very special job next year. When summer is over, you two will begin overseeing my work in the Map Room.”

  Suddenly Tristan understood. This was why the other teachers seemed to fear Drakewell, why he insisted they could not do without him. He worked the Map Room. He was the one actually creating the disasters.

  “Professor, did you know from the start that I would be good with magic?”

  Drakewell’s eyes glinted with malicious humor. “Oh, yes. Strange, isn’t it, to feel an earthquake in North Dakota?”

  Tristan went cold. Before he could ask another question, though, Drakewell spoke once more.

  “Just so
you know, your mother would be overjoyed to have you home for the summer. She was furious to hear she was denied visitation rights at the detention center.”

  This time when Tristan opened his mouth in horrified protest, Drakewell turned and closed the ballroom doors firmly in his face.

  Tristan just stood there, frozen, rage boiling within him. He wanted to chase after Drakewell, to attack him with his bare hands, but his legs had turned to jelly. At last he turned, dizzy and nauseous, and made his way back to the table.

  He was more unsettled than ever. The person he had been a year ago would have put a bullet in Drakewell’s head, never mind the consequences. He was still half-tempted to run after the headmaster and strangle him.

  “Tristan?” Leila’s voice cut into his thoughts, and he struggled to focus on her freckled nose. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  Tristan shook his head numbly. “No. No, Drakewell doesn’t blame me at all.”

  With a joyful yelp, Leila flung her arms around Tristan. He cringed and nearly lost his balance. His head was still spinning.

  Despite everything, final exams began the following day as planned. Tristan was determined not to think about the Map Room until he had time alone, so he threw himself into last-minute studying. The other students were avoiding the topic just as doggedly, though Tristan often caught sideways glances from people like Cailyn and Eli. Over the next few days, he found himself feeling unexpectedly fond of every student in the Lair—well, except perhaps Damian. They were in this together.

  Zeke was back at breakfast that morning, managing to look haughty and self-confident even on crutches. One of his legs was fully encased in a white cast, and his face was covered in gauze pads and medical tape.

  As soon as Leila saw Zeke, she rose and crossed to his table. Hands on her hips, she said, “Why did you save me?” Her voice carried easily to Tristan and Rusty, as did Zeke’s reply.

  “Your face is ugly enough without getting all smashed up.”

  Leila’s back was to Tristan, so he couldn’t see her face. “I could steal your crutches, you know.”

  Zeke ignored her threat. “I, on the other hand, have such a handsome face that the scars just make me look fierce.” He bared his teeth at her and then grinned.

  “All I can see are bandages,” Leila said. “Those are really fierce, you know. Awfully attractive, too.”

  Zeke just laughed.

  Shaking her head, Leila rejoined Tristan and Rusty.

  Their final exams were no more difficult than Tristan had feared. The practical tests for Brikkens, Alldusk, and Delair involved performing simple spells, all of which seemed inconsequential in comparison with the magic Tristan had unleashed in the Map Room. Gracewright and Grindlethorn’s tests were more difficult, and Tristan was sure he’d forgotten or confused most of his terms; the best thing he could say about those tests was that they were over.

  Alldusk had been gloomy and quiet ever since Merridy’s betrayal. Had he forgiven Merridy, or was he still furious?

  Once exams were over, there was a single week remaining before the students went home. The weather was beautiful, so Tristan and his friends spent most of each day outside, swimming in the icy lake, exploring the woods, and telling stories around a bonfire in the clearing.

  One evening, as everyone was heading up for dinner, Evvie stopped Tristan and asked to speak to him. When the Subroom was empty aside from the two of them, she said, “I wanted to—er—to thank you.”

  “For what?” Tristan was startled.

  “You let me go,” Evvie said. “You could’ve brought me to Drakewell; you could’ve told him about the twins and about how I’ve been sneaking around all these months. But you didn’t.”

  Tristan just blinked, confused but gratified. Had she known all along that he’d been covering for her?

  “Oh, and thank you for that diversion.”

  Tristan made a face at her. “Very funny.” He hadn’t forgotten the fifty hours of punishment he’d spent rebuilding the entryway. “By the way, what about Merridy? Is she safe? Are the kids okay?”

  Evvie nodded. “They’re heading for Darla’s sister’s house. Darla wanted to leave a message for Alldusk, I think, but she didn’t have time.”

  “Alldusk is upset enough already,” Tristan said. He dug his toe under the corner of a rug. “You go up without me. I’ll come in a moment.”

  Evvie turned and made her way to the door; she had put one foot through the Prasidimum barrier when Tristan said, “By the way, do you still hate me?”

  Evvie smiled at him. “We’ll see.” Then she vanished through the barrier.

  Feeling somewhat happier than before, Tristan sank into his favorite armchair and stared at the shadowed hearth. Maybe it was better that he knew the truth. Sitting at home, he was useless against disasters; he was one person, one lone body, standing against all the fickle whims of nature. Here, knowing what was behind everything, he had a chance to finally understand.

  Tristan sighed and slumped deeper into the chair. With knowledge came sadness, but also power—he would learn what he could, waiting and watching, and maybe someday he could change things. Either way, he should try to be happy here. This was his home.

  With a glance at the row of messy mattresses shoved against the Subroom wall, Tristan got to his feet and made his way up to the ballroom where his friends were waiting.

  The day before they would fly home, Leila packed a picnic lunch and joined Tristan and Rusty outside. They walked for a ways, enjoying the warmth of the late spring, until they passed the edge of the trees and came to a narrow meadow that hugged the mountain slope.

  “Amber told me about this place,” Tristan said. The meadow was brilliant green and peppered with delicate alpine blossoms.

  “I’ll have to thank her,” Leila said. She spread out a blanket and set the bag of food in the center. Then she sat cross-legged and leaned back, staring up at the sky.

  Rusty dropped to his knees beside her. “I’m gonna miss you guys so much. What d’you think you’ll be doing here, Leila?”

  She would be staying at the Lair over the summer, along with six other students.

  “No idea,” she said. “They’ll probably have us cleaning and fixing up the Map Room.”

  “What do we have for lunch?” Tristan asked, taking a seat. He didn’t want to talk about the summer; he was getting nervous about seeing his mom again. In her position, Tristan wasn’t sure he would forgive himself.

  Leila drew out three rolled napkins. “You’re as bad as Rusty,” she said. “Quinsley made burritos, and I brought extra guacamole.”

  “Excellent.” Rusty reached for one.

  At the edge of the clearing, a pair of foxes scampered out of the trees and bounded through the swaying grasses. Tristan unwrapped his burrito and took a bite, refusing to think about anything else. The burrito was still warm, sharp with cilantro and onions; he leaned back on one hand and took another bite, listening to the distant trill of birdsong.

  “I asked Quinsley, you know,” Leila said distractedly. “About how this school was really founded.”

  “You mean it’s not that story about the magician princes building a kingdom?” Rusty was grinning.

  Leila sat up straighter. “This place was created by a group of European magicians who came to the Americas in the early seventeenth century. Like Drakewell said, their magic was powered by nature, and at this point Europe was getting so crowded that the magicians could only do simple spells. When they saw the native populations here being ravaged by disease and war, the magicians were afraid that the Americas would soon become just like Europe. That was why they built the Map Room, and why they started worrying about their ‘natural order.’”

  “I liked your version better,” Tristan said. “More mysterious.” He took another bite of his burrito.

  Rusty sighed happily. “Too bad we can’t spend all our time like this.” He plucked a stray grain of rice from his shirt and flicked it away. “I wi
sh we could send letters this summer.”

  Tristan snorted. “We can send each other letters, genius. It’s just Leila who can’t get mail.” At the thought of his mother’s house, Tristan felt another wave of apprehension.

  Leila shrugged. “I’ve got something better for you guys. You won’t miss getting letters, I promise.”

  “What is it?” Tristan asked eagerly, peering into the picnic bag. Ever since the fight in the Map Room two weeks ago, Leila had spent her evenings scribbling away at something in a notebook. Tristan hoped this was what she referred to.

  “Hey!” Leila tugged the bag closed. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  After eating their fill of watermelon slices and gooey, fudgy brownies, Tristan, Leila, and Rusty lay back on the blanket with their heads together, staring up at the frail white clouds.

  “This place is just so beautiful,” Leila sighed. She touched Tristan’s hand with one finger and then clasped her hands over her stomach. “Even if we weren’t forced to stay here, I think I’d want to live up in these mountains forever. I wish I could paint, or something like that. There’s something really romantic about painting the mountains.”

  Tristan laughed. “Maybe that’s what you can do this summer. Then we’ll have something to decorate the Subroom with once we’re back.”

  “Yeah, that’d be awesome!”

  Leila snorted. “Unlikely. I’m about as artistic as a worm.”

  “I’ve met some awfully artistic worms,” Rusty said, his mouth twitching.

  At last the sun dropped towards the jagged ridge and the air began to cool; reluctantly they gathered the remains of their lunch and headed back to the Lair.

  It took Tristan less than five minutes to pack the entirety of his belongings into his backpack. He was leaving most of his books and school supplies in the Subroom. As he was shaking out his blankets just to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, something fell free and clattered on the ground. Kneeling, Tristan picked up the broken watch he’d brought from home all those months ago. He had been a different person then, shattered and empty after Marcus’s death. Now he had friends and a place, however disturbing, where he truly belonged. He no longer recognized the specter from juvie.