The Academy Journals Volume One_A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “You know better than to ask. You are happier without that knowledge; therefore remain ignorant. And the next time your father barks, and you jump to obey, leave your friends at home.”

  “I will remember.”

  “Good. Now return to your reading.” Mako threw the book at him. Startled, Ebon barely caught it before it hit the ground. When he looked up, the bodyguard had vanished.

  Fear had seized Ebon’s limbs, and he found it hard to return to the table where Kalem waited. Now he knew what he had already thought—that Mako and his father were not done with him yet. Worse, he could no longer confide in Theren or Kalem, and would have to keep the truth from them. They might try to interfere; at least Kalem would, and Theren might involve herself out of curiosity. That could spell their deaths.

  Miserable and alone, Ebon left the bookshelves and made for the table.

  KALEM SEEMED TO SENSE THAT something was wrong, for he asked Ebon many times that day what was troubling him. Ebon only shook his head and denied it, and after a while Kalem stopped asking. But he looked often at Ebon, his brow furrowed in deep thought, and he spent too long reading each page of his book.

  After their studies, Theren met them in the hallways. “I have had a fine day,” she declared. “Fine enough for celebration. What say the two of you to a night of drinks? I promise not to make you regret this one, little goldbag.” She reached out and ruffled Kalem’s hair.

  He grinned, but Ebon’s mood was still dark. “I have no cause to celebrate, myself. I think I shall remain here.”

  “No cause? Then come and drink until you find one. Come, dear Ebon. You are far too dour, and have been ever since last night. Together we can banish the dark thoughts that plague you. Tell him, Kalem.”

  Ebon barely kept himself from the retort that he was dour, in part, because of Theren’s obvious distrust of him. She seemed polite enough now that she wanted him to pay for her wine. But before he could voice any such thought, Kalem looked at him doubtfully and shrugged.

  “She may be right—it could help improve your mood. Answers can be quick to find if sought for by an easy mind, my instructor always says.”

  “That has the sound of fool’s wisdom,” grumbled Ebon. “But if the two of you insist, then I shall come with you.”

  “Excellent,” said Theren, clapping her hands. “For in truth, I have no coin for wine, and need yours instead.”

  “Of course you do. How are you so impoverished already? Last night you had coin, at least, for a lover.”

  Kalem’s face fell as he looked at her. “Ah … you are seeing a lover, are you?”

  Theren gave him a little smile and ruffled his hair again. “I am afraid that was my aim, little goldbag. And for many months now have I enjoyed her company.” She arched her eyebrow even as she stressed the word.

  Ebon thought Kalem might grow even more distraught. But in fact the boy brightened, as though Theren had said more words that Ebon could not hear. “Oh! Oh, I see. Well. I am happy to hear it, then.”

  “I thought you might be. Come, wealthy patrons! Tonight we drink until our problems leave us at last!”

  As she led them out of the Academy, Ebon drew Kalem back to whisper to him. “I had meant to tell you about her, but had hesitated, for I feared to upset you. Yet you seem cheered by the news.”

  Kalem shrugged. “And why not? I had thoughts of her, yes, but I thought it likely she would see me only as a child. But now I know that, even if I were older, things would be no different. It is not ill luck at the year of my birth, then, but another sort entirely.”

  Ebon frowned. “Still, ill luck is ill luck.”

  “My mind is eased regardless.”

  That made Ebon shake his head, even as Theren dragged them both into the streets. They made for Leven’s tavern, passing through the usual flood of other students in black robes. But Ebon’s thoughts kept up their endless wandering, mulling over Mako and his father and the parcel—and, more urgently, what they might ask him to do next. Once, he almost spoke of it to his friends. But then he cast a wary look over his shoulder, wondering if Mako lurked in some shadow, watching him. And, too, anyone on the streets about them could be one of Mako’s agents, listening in to ensure that Ebon said nothing. Nowhere seemed safe anymore. Not even the Academy.

  And then he thought of Theren, alone on the streets last night, and had an idea.

  “I have changed my mind,” he said, stopping in the street. “Forgive me, but I do not think I will drink with you tonight.”

  “Come on, Ebon,” said Theren. “How will you deny me my right to a warm fire and flushed cheeks? And you seem as though a good drunkenness would do you well.”

  Ebon reached into his pocket and drew forth a gold weight. “Never let it be said I stood between you and a good flagon. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Do not return to the Academy alone, Ebon,” pleaded Kalem. “You should be with friends.”

  Ebon ducked his head, blushing. “I do not mean to return to the Academy.”

  Theren seemed to take his meaning at once, but Kalem’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth as though to ask a question, but Theren threw an arm over his shoulder and spun him around, marching him off down the street. “Come, little master. Our goldbag needs to be alone, and I can answer your questions without him.” Soon they were out of sight.

  Ebon was somewhat unsure of himself on the streets, but he knew his destination lay to the west, and so he headed that way. Soon he began to recognize a few of the buildings, and his steps came quicker and more certain. A few times he made a wrong turn and had to double back. But before very long he found himself on a familiar street, with a tavern behind him and a blue door just a few paces ahead.

  As before, his throat grew tight and constricted, and he felt a tingling in his limbs. He looked down the street in both directions before chiding himself for being ridiculous. Who there would mind that he visited a house of lovers? He no longer had to worry about a retainer who might bring word of his deeds to his father, and no one else cared a whit.

  He twisted the knob and opened the door.

  Perfume, silk, and the strumming of a harp. Immediately his eyes went to the corner—but it was a man playing the strings. Ebon’s heart skipped a beat. The house’s matron arrived, sweeping up to him just as she had before, and wearing the same warm smile.

  “Well met once again. How may we serve you this evening?”

  “You remember me?”

  She shrugged. “I have a gift for faces. Is there any sort of lover you are looking for tonight?”

  Ebon licked his lips, for they had gone dry all of a sudden. “Is Adara here?”

  Her smile widened slightly. “Of course.” Turning, she beckoned, and from the shadows of the room’s far corner, Adara rose at once. She had been sitting there all along, Ebon realized, and from the way she smiled as their eyes met, he suspected she had been watching him from the moment he stepped in the door. She wore Idrisian clothes, just as before, though this time the cloth seemed finer, and when the lamplight caught it, it shimmered. Too, she had a sheer blue veil over the lower half of her face. Though it did not entirely stop him from seeing her full lips, it drew his eyes to her own, where he found himself lost in wonder.

  She took his hand. “Hello again, Ebon.”

  A short time later, she lay with her head on his chest, the two of them naked and nestled in the satin sheets of the bed. Ebon lay there silent for a long while, sometimes closing his eyes, sometimes opening them again. The quiet held only contentment. His troubles seemed far away, tiny things with simple solutions, only waiting for him to sweep them aside like so much dust. Adara must have sensed his desire for peace, for she said nothing, only traced her fingers across his chest in little patterns.

  At last, Ebon lifted his head to kiss her. “I wish I could have returned earlier.”

  “As do I.” She gave him a soft smile, and he returned it. They were lover’s words, he knew, but that did not change the thrill they s
ent through him.

  “How have I retained your lessons?”

  “Not as well as could be hoped, but mayhap better than I expected.” She smiled wider. “You must promise to let me teach you more often.”

  “I wish I could promise that,” he said with a sigh.

  She frowned. “What troubles you?”

  He pursed his lips and looked away. She studied his face for a moment. He thought she might press him further.

  Instead she pulled away, rising from the bed and going to a side table. His eyes were drawn to her movements and, if he was honest, her naked form. He watched as she brought him a pitcher and cup.

  “I remembered what you asked for last time,” she said. “I have kept these in my room ever since your first visit.”

  He sat up and looked inside the pitcher, and then he laughed. It was half full of clean, clear water. She smiled, eyes shining, and pressed it into his hands.

  “Come. Show me a spell.”

  He shook his head, still smiling, and filled the cup with water. She took the pitcher back and put it on a table. He stirred the water, focusing on it through his finger. Kalem had practiced this with him often in the past few weeks, and now it came easily enough. The world grew brighter, and Adara gave a little gasp at the glow of his eyes. Soon the water was thick and soupy, and he withdrew his finger. The glow faded, and he handed her the cup.

  “There. It is nothing very impressive, but it is magic nonetheless.”

  She took the cup gingerly and looked inside with awe, as though it held liquid gold. “That was wonderful to see,” she said, her voice very small.

  “Come now. Surely you know other wizards. I cannot be the only student of the Academy who comes here.”

  Carefully she put the cup down beside the pitcher. “You are not. But if the others wish to talk—which is rare—they only want to talk of themselves. They never offer to show me spells. And I rarely ask. I do not enjoy their company as I enjoy yours.”

  Lover’s words. Yet still he smiled. “I only wish I had more to show you. I cannot learn my next spell, and I fear I will rot away in my class before I ever master it.”

  “What is it? Why does it trouble you so?”

  He rose from the bed and went to his robe where it lay on the floor. From its pocket he drew his wooden practice rod. “I am supposed to turn this to stone. But for the life of me, I cannot seem to master the magic. I try and I try, but still it is made of wood, as you can see.”

  Sitting beside him, she ran her fingers over the rod. Her hand brushed his, making him tingle with delight. “Truly? You are learning to turn wood to stone?”

  “I am supposed to. My friend Kalem says it is no great feat. He can do it in the span of a blink, though he is three years younger than I. It is the passing test of the first-year alchemist. Wood is the dead substance of something that was once alive. We learn to turn it to something that never lived in the first place. That which is alive is made of many things. That which is dead is usually much simpler. Kalem says that is the purpose of the test—not to see the wood for its complexity, but to envision the simplicity of the stone. But still I cannot do it.”

  She put her hand on his arm, running her nails along the skin. “I have faith that you will. It is only a matter of time. But I also sense that this is only one reason you look so concerned, and mayhap not the greatest reason of all.”

  He sighed, letting his hand fall to the bed. “You guess right. There is something … or someone, rather, who is much on my mind. I … my family has begun to give me errands. Only one, so far. Yet I fear more will come.”

  “What sort of tasks?”

  “They had me deliver a parcel.”

  She giggled and stifled it behind a quickly raised hand. “That sounds like no dire deed.”

  “I do not know what was in it,” he said. “But Mak—but the man who instructed me to do it is no man given to idle errands.”

  “Was it your father?”

  He turned away. “I do not wish to speak of who.”

  “You may trust me.”

  “I do.” He took her hands in his, and raised them to his lips. “Some might say it is foolish, yet I do. Only it troubles me. And it troubles my friend. She thinks I know more than I let on, and am withholding it from her.”

  “She?” Adara smiled broadly. “Ebon, if I were a jealous woman …”

  “You need fear nothing of that. She prefers the company of women.”

  Her eyes flashed with recognition and—delight? Amusement? “Truly? Do you mean you have befriended Theren?”

  Ebon rounded on her in surprise. “You know her? Wait … do you mean that you and she …?”

  Adara frowned at him, and it seemed to Ebon that the affection in her eyes dampened. “I am not her lover. But Ebon, you should not be dismayed if I were. You do not hold any claim to me.”

  “Of course not,” said Ebon quickly. “Only … I suppose I do not like to think of it.”

  She folded her arms. “You may as well. It is childish to do otherwise, and avoiding the thought may lead to darkness down the road. I have seen it before.”

  Ebon shook his head. “I am sorry. You are right, of course. Forget I made any mention of it at all.”

  Still she wore a little frown, but she relented and took his outstretched hand. “Very well.”

  He lifted her fingers and kissed them. “It is only that I am troubled. I do not know when Mako will return for me with some other task from my father, and I do not know what I will tell him when he does.”

  “You will do what he asks, of course.”

  He looked at her quickly. “You say it so easily. Does it not worry you?”

  She shrugged. “Why should it? You only brought a parcel to someone in a tavern. If there is darkness in such an act, it comes before, or after, and is not your responsibility.”

  “Yet I bore the parcel.”

  She sighed and pushed his shoulders until he lay back upon the bed. Slowly, intently, she climbed atop him.

  “Never do kings behead messengers for bearing words, even when those words displease the king. And if bearing such parcels keeps you upon the High King’s Seat, and here in my arms, then I command you: bear them, Ebon. Bear as many as you must. Only do not leave me.”

  He found it impossible to muster any reply.

  THOUGH EBON’S FEARS HUNG DARK about him, it seemed that for a time, at least, Mako and his father were finished with him. He saw nothing of the bodyguard as the days became weeks and true winter came to the High King’s Seat. At home in Idris, the turning of the season had meant relief from unbearable heat; but on the Seat, Ebon had found autumn quite pleasant, whereas he now found himself chilled as he passed through the granite halls.

  One day he entered the library for his studies and found Jia sitting at a desk on the first floor, reading a short letter. He gave her a wave, as he always did, but then he stopped. Jia was rarely jovial, but today she was more solemn than usual. Her face was grave, brows drawn together, and she hunched over the letter with worry.

  Slowly he approached. She did not look up, or indeed seem to notice him at all. Soon he stood at the table, but she had not so much as batted an eye.

  “Instructor Jia?” he said tentatively. “Is everything all right?”

  She jerked in her seat and looked up at him. With a quick sigh, she folded the letter and tucked it away in a pocket before she stood.

  “No, it is not,” she said. “Yet it is nothing you need trouble yourself with. Do you require assistance?”

  He shook his head. “No, Instructor. But what troubles you so? If I could help …”

  “It is this battle in Wellmont. No doubt you have heard of it?”

  Ebon frowned. “I have not. Wellmont—is that the city upon the border of Dorsea and Selvan? They squabble constantly. Surely it is no great worry.”

  “They do,” she admitted. “But this seems to be something more grave. It has lasted longer than usual, at any rate. And even a bo
rder skirmish there would trouble me. I grew up in that city, as did a former student of the Academy, one who I cared for very deeply. The last I heard, she was stationed there, but I have not received word from her in months. And there is something else … something that happened in the battle …”

  Ebon wanted to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it seemed inappropriate. Instead he merely stammered, “I am sorry to hear that. You taught this student weremagic?”

  “I teach weremagic to no one.”

  He could not help a small smile. “Therianthropy, I mean.”

  Jia shook her head. “No, I was not her instructor. She was a mentalist. But never mind; this is nothing for you to worry over. We can do little about it in any case, here so far away from the fighting—and a good thing, too. Carry on with your studies, Ebon, and remember: wisdom in the right head may stop such wars before they begin. You should hold that endeavor as paramount, as should all people of learning.”

  “Yes, Instructor,” he mumbled.

  As he left her, he thought of the war, so far away, and wondered what it would feel like to have a loved one stuck in the thick of it. That thought drew him to his brother Momen.

  He scarcely remembered when Momen rode away from home. Much clearer were his memories of the day they learned he had been killed. It had been a dark day, a day that seemed to go on forever, full of hurt and tears and hatred in Father’s eyes. He doubted he would ever forget it; in fact a small part of him hoped he would not.

  A thought struck him, and it seemed odd he had never thought it before. Ebon did not know how Momen had died. As far as he could remember, Idris had never been involved in any border wars with the three kingdoms next to it. Idris was a desert; it lacked the fair green lands that made Selvan so attractive a target. And the Camar, the royal family of Idris, were almost as fearsome as the Draydens. He had never mustered the courage to ask his father how Momen died, and now he likely never would. Mayhap Halab knew. He would have to ask, the next time he saw her.

  Kalem was waiting at the table when Ebon arrived, and immediately he put down his book. “Let us see it,” he said.