The Academy's Call

by Caden Nantes

  Maniacal cackles mixed with the screams in a chorus of chaos. Sylin tried to cry out, to tell the snake to stop, when he realized magic was also halting his ability to speak. What does he want from us?

  Again and again he tried to go back to his calm center and call forth his magic, but each time he found it was not powerful enough to break the weaves of darkness. Then an idea formed amidst his concentration. My magic might not be black magic, like my brother's or father's, but it is still dark magic.

  He tried again, but this time, instead of trying to find his calm and concentrate, he used the chaos and pain around him and funneled that energy into his magic. Instantly, he felt it grow bigger, darker, and much, much more powerful. With dark energy coursing through his veins, he unweaved the darkness holding him into place. Instead of dropping to the floor however, he held himself suspended against the slab for a moment longer and shouted, "Hey! Leave him alone!"

  The Cobrali froze, and with it the tendrils of dark pain. It slowly turned toward Sylin. "I'll tell you everything you need to know," he panted breathlessly, acting as if he was struggling to get the words out, when in fact, he wasn't.

  "It'ssss not sssso much assss what I need to know," said the Cobrali as it walked toward him. "More of what I do know will happen." it shoved its face in front of Sylin's. "You ssssee, we have... alliessss who know of a prophesssy. They want the whole sssstory, and I was told you may have it, but all I found in your packssss were ssssome basic sssssupplies and a blank parchment. The only thing I need to know issss where it issss."

  "We don't have it. Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about." Sylin stared up at the snake. "Actually, wait a minute. I might have something of use to you." His eyes locked with the Cobrali, a spell on the tip of his tongue.

  "Oh, and what issss that?"

  "First of all, get rid of that hissing with the s's. Get's really annoying sometimes." The indentions near the snake's mouth that must've been lips turned down. "And second, well, I would rather show you."

  Sylin swiped his hand, a wave of magic bursting forth and sending the Cobrali careening against the far wall. It didn't get back up. He turned to see Aeyn gaping at him, feet securely on the ground now that the spell that had pinned him to the wall's caster was unconscious. "Come on." Sylin grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the door. "No time for questions." Aeyn's four guards approached them, spears and swords in hand. "Delara!"

  Each of their weapons flew out of their hands. Sylin called upon his magic, which appeared as four balls of darkness slamming into the raiders' chests'.

  Aeyn stooped down and picked up to short swords. He nodded to Sylin as he opened the door. "Where are the others?"

  Sylin furrowed his brow. "Wherever the sand prison is." He looked left and right along each corridor before hearing a low moan from behind him. Backtracking a couple steps, he knelt down beside a semi-conscious raider. "Where is the sand prison?"

  The guards eyes widened, and he shook his head. Growling, Sylin asked again. "Where is the sand prison?"

  "Turn left along the corridor. You'll come to a stone archway. Enter that, and it will be on your right. Now please, just leave me alone."

  Sylin grabbed a broken-off piece of stone from the ground and smashed it into the raider's temple as he rose. The guard lay limp, unconscious once again. Sylin took the raider's instructions to turn left. After a few moments, he indeed found the stone archway. He walked through it, and entered the stone door on the right, with Aeyn right beside him. It immediately slammed shut, and sand started cascading over it and down the walls.

  Within moments, sand obscured the door from view. "By the seven suns, what have we done?"

  "I don't know, but this isn't regular sand," said Aeyn as he tried to swipe away the particles on his legs. "I'm sinking."

  "Help!" Sylin cried out, knowing no-one would hear them as he sunk down to his chest, his shoulders, and finally, his face. As the beige soil invaded his nostrils and froze his limbs, he wondered what could've happened had he not fell for the raider's trap.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Teleporting. Fun! I think…

  Memories flashed in and out. Memories of Aeyn's mother, memories he'd forgotten he had. He was sucked into one such memory.

  He was climbing a tree. His mother and father had taken him to Eleccia for the summer. He had gotten very sick on the boat they took to the other continent. His mother had told him to be strong. She'd comforted him, sheltered him. She was doing so now, as he climbed the tree higher, and higher.

  "Don't look down! Keep your eyes upward!" she was saying.

  With shaking limbs and determined eyes, he pressed onward, following her instructions to never look down. Until he did. He was so far up. The ground was so far away. He could hardly see his mom and dad. His vision swam as his hold on the tree branch slipped, and he tumbled toward the ground.

  "Father! Mother! Help!"

  As he got closer to the ominous brown dirt and green grass, his mother's form got clearer. Her eyes glowed with a blue fire he'd never seen before. She leapt up, higher than he'd ever seen anyone jump, and then caught him. As she set him back down onto the ground, she smiled at him and said, "Next time, don't look down."

  Aeyn gasped as his eyes burst open, and sand gushed into his mouth. He coughed and sputtered, but found he couldn't breath. He broke into a cold sweat as he twisted and struggled, trying to find a way out. I will not die here!

  He let the same cooped-up energy he'd used against the Smith Manor and city guards loose. Blue fire blasted out from him even as pain lanced up his chest and back. He coughed up sand and stood. Already, his legs were sinking back under the beige soil.

  "Sylin!" he found one of the short swords he'd gotten from the raiders and began slapping the sand away with the flat of the blade. "Sylin, where are you?"

  "I'm here!"

  Aeyn turned toward the muffled voice and began hacking away again. "Whoa! Be careful with that thing!"

  A humorless laugh escaped his lips as he saw Sylin's prone form. "Would you mind giving me a hand? This stuff is already sucking me in again." Sylin looked pointedly at the sinking-sand.

  Aeyn nodded and pulled him to his feet. The sand was already up to his own thighs. He struggled through the thick soil as he looked for the stone door. "Where is it?" he reached the far wall where he thought they'd entered and started clearing away the sand.

  "Need some help?" Sylin waved his hand and dark energy burst forth, blasting all the sand off the wall and revealing the stone door. He waved his hand again, and the door opened.

  Aeyn shook his head, still not knowing how his friend could use magic. "Showoff," he muttered.

  Slamming the door behind him and turning back to the room they were now in, Aeyn gaped at the sight before him. A half-dozen raiders stood in front of them, with knives held to the throats of Tristan, Anthony, and Barind. "Let go of me you masked scalawags!" the dwarf shouted.

  The cloaked Cobrali strode forward. "Sssssurrender yourssssselvessss to ussss, and your friendssss live. Maybe."

  Aeyn stared at the snake-like figure with as much intensity he could muster. He was about to drop his sword when a voice penetrated his mind. You are a dragon! You can beat these masked and scaled usurpers!

  His spine straightened at the sound of his mother's voice. "Here's a word of advice for you." the Cobrali's eyes widened as a blue glow radiated outward across the room. "Don't pick a fight with a dragon." there was a blinding flash of blue light, two metal objects landed on his back, and then Aeyn was spinning through a void.

  ∆∆∆

  Aeyn spun around and around in the void. Images danced in front of his vision. Pictures of his mother, with blue scales covering her features and more humanoids surrounding her. They each had a certain color and amount of scales. Some had horns, and some even bore wings. But Reyna, she was the most glorious. Beautiful sapphire scales covered all visible features. Majestic wings were folded behind her, and blue-tinted horns
sat like a crown above her head. She smiled down at Aeyn from her seat at the throne. A huge throne that seemed to be glowing with an inner blue light. Sapphires were encrusted into the stone, and two horns stretched up from the top of the rock.

  His vision spun, and a different image replaced the first. Actual dragons in their full beauty were soaring through the air. Some had humans riding on their back. One of those was Sylin. He was mounted atop a black dragon with purple hues and silver flecks. They dipped and turned through the air as one.

  Again, this picturesque image was replaced, although this time with a sight less easy on the eyes. The huge bodies of dragons were scattered throughout a battlefield. Fire still flickered along the ground. Black forms hovered in the air, inserting themselves into any dragons still living. When they came out, the beast was either dead or changed. Changed into a black-scaled monster with red eyes. Different from the dragon Sylin rode, it seemed more of a lack of color. It seemed to suck in all light around it, so it looked like a giant black crater. And the eyes. They sparkled with rage and malice as they darted from side to side. One of the pairs landed directly on Aeyn. A snarl escaped its lips, and it darted forward, mouth gaping open as it drew ever closer.

  Frozen to the spot, Aeyn found he couldn't move, couldn't breath. All he could do was wait for the looming presence to envelope him whole. As jaws clamped shut around him, he tumbled back into the void.

  No, this was different. All around him was black. A terrible, lonely blackness that sucked all energy from his being. He surrendered himself to it. There was nothing he could do anyway. No! Shouted a fiery voice in his head. Do not give in! Focus on where you want to go. I will lend you my strength. With that last word, power filled the whole of Aeyn's being. Power so fierce he felt he might burst. He concentrated on the Academy. He envisioned it in his mind, even though he'd never seen it. As soon as he did so, pain seared through his body, and he was jolted into unconsciousness.

  ∆∆∆

  Aeyn groaned as he blinked his eyes open. His head was pounding, his limbs felt like jelly, and his back was both hot and cold at the same time. He rose shakily to his feet even as every muscle in his body protested. Wind whipped through his hair and stung his eyes. It was freezing cold all around him, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. On either side of him were two mountains. When he twisted to look behind him, he saw a small town nestled between the two behemoths. In front of him was a massive building. It was rectangular, with a tower on either side of it. Built into the base of the left mountain, its looming presence was bested only by the two giant rocks themselves. As the first snowflake found a seat on the tip of his nose, Aeyn realized something. He and the four figures rising up beside him had made it to the Denvil Academy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Elven Forger

  "Come on, please?" Anthony pouted at Aeyn, who sighed and leaned back against the wall.

  "It's not like it's my choice. You don't have an invitation, and I doubt they accept random fifteen-year olds popping out of the blue."

  Anthony sighed a slumped into his seat while Tristan watched in amusement. After their apparent teleportation and the utter shock that followed, the five of them had trudged into town and got themselves a couple rooms at the local inn. In three days time, Aeyn and Sylin were going to the Academy, with Tristan seeing if he could follow. The elven clans had a rickety relationship with the rest of the continent of Lirragor, though the Denvil Academy was one on the higher-end of the spectrum. Being the nephew of the head clansman of one of the most prominent clans, and the son of an even higher ranking elf, Tristan had an itching suspicion he could get into the Academy. He remembered mastering his father’s handwriting back when he was a child.

  The owner of the inn, Illia, stepped forward, carrying a tray of food and drink for the inn's only current occupants. "You know," she said as she set the tray onto the table where the five of them sat. "I could use an extra hand or two around here. If any of you three," she motioned to Tristan, Anthony, and Barind, "Aren't able to get into the Academy, let me know and I'll see what I can do about employment."

  "I think I'll pass." Barind said at the same time as Tristan said, "Thank you for the offer."

  Anthony's face clouded over in thought, and then he turned to Illia. "Actually, yes, that would be nice. I am experienced with horses, and I understand you're in need of a stableboy?"

  Illia beamed at him. "Yes, I am. I could give you fair pay, three silvers and a few coppers a week?"

  Anthony's eyes lit up. He'd obviously never had even that much coin. "Yes, please."

  "It's settled then. I'll give you your three days to say goodbye, and then it's off to work!"

  Illia sauntered away behind the counter, leaving Anthony with a frown on his face. "I'm grateful to Illia, though I do wish I could attend the Academy with you."

  "It's alright. I promise we'll visit you regularly." Aeyn nodded to him reassuringly.

  "Well, now that that's settled, it's time for me to go forge some letters, eh?" Tristan grinned mischievously.

  Barind grunted. "While you three go and learn to read again at this school of yours, I'll be helpin' the local blacksmith, doin' real work."

  Their voices faded as Tristan crossed the wooden planks and ascended the stair to his room, where he unlocked the door and plopped down onto his bed. He sighed and after a few moments laying there, stood, and got ink, parchment, and a quill from the bedside dresser. He sat on his bed again and began to write,

  Dear Denvil Academy:

  It is my honor to present to you Prince Tristan.

  Tristan stamped his foot and crumpled up the parchment before continuing on a blank sheet,

  To the Masters of the Denvil Academy,

  My son, Tristan Leafglade of the Uniun Clan and second prince has shown an interest in your school.

  Tristan sighed. After five more crumpled parchments and a lot of foot-stomping later, he finally had his finished work.

  To Headmaster Darius and the Denvil Academy masters,

  I have seen your school and all the studies it teaches. I would like to build a larger relationship with the humans of Arania, and this is my first step to doing so. I am sending this letter to you. My messenger is my son and second prince, Tristan Leafglade. I would like for him to join your school, and be the first ever elf to join the Denvil Academy. He is highly refined in his combat ability, and he knows how to read and write.

  Best regards, King Darrnin Leafglade.

  Finally done, he stood with a long exhale. Who knew writing such a short letter could take you such time. He strapped his pack filled with his few personal belongings across his back and was about to clip on his sword belt when he stopped. His swords and daggers were elegant, with polished green jewels encrusted into the hilt, and slightly curved one-sided steel. He would instantly be tagged as wealthy with them on, and he didn't want any trouble. He settled for a small dagger tucked out of sight in his boot, and then stuffed his letter into his pack.

  Opening the door and marching down the steps, he was greeted by an empty room and his now-cold food. He scarfed it down and exited the inn, taking in the gloomy sky and dark surroundings. With the sun completely hidden from view, it looked to be four hours later than it actually was. He made his way across the broken cobblestone and dirt streets of the town, until he came to the scholar's shop. He opened the door and stepped into the building.

  His eyes raked across the room as he took in his surroundings. Shelves lined the walls, various trinkets laying on them. Fancy quills gleamed in glass displays, and a counter curved to his left. Behind it were boxes of various sizes, with parchments and envelopes spilling out of them. A slight man reclined in a chair behind the counter, circular spectacles positioned on the bridge of his nose as he studied a tome. He didn't even seem to have heard Tristan's entry.

  The elf cleared his throat. When no response came, he slammed his hand down on the counter. The man jolted, looking left to right as he adjusted his spect
acles. "Wha...? Oh! Hi there! Sorry about that. I was just reading up on..." he looked down at the tome, and then back up to Tristan. "Anyway, what brings a fine lad like you to my shop?"

  "I'm looking for an envelope. Something fit for a king."

  "Hmm." the man pulled various boxes off the shelves behind the counter. Eventually, he presented an envelope to Tristan. "How about this?"

  It was cream colored, with elaborate patterns drawn all over it. Made of rough paper and and straight corners, Tristan knew his father would never buy anything like it. "A bit too rugged."

  The man frowned and shoved the envelope back into its box. He searched through the same box until he presented another envelope to Tristan. "How about this one?"

  The paper had various holes and gouges along the parchment, and was a dark brown color. "Er, no thanks."

  The man sighed and dropped it back into the box. After a few more moments of searching, an envelope fell to the ground. "Whoops," he said. "Not the one I was looking for." as he picked it up off the ground, Tristan got a full view of it. It was forest green, made of silky and expensive-looking parchment. It was elegantly designed, with the corners slightly rounded.

  "Actually, I think I want that one."

  The man looked up at him. "Really? Well all right. It'll be two silvers with a seal, one without."

  Tristan whistled. "Quite a hefty price."

  The man shrugged. "That's what you get for fine quality!"

  Tristan nodded and slid two coins across the counter. "I would like the seal, please."

  The man grunted and turned away. When he gave the letter to Tristan, an elaborate seal marked the paper. "Thank you." Tristan turned back toward the door, exiting to an even darker afternoon. He hadn't realized how long he'd been in there for. He stomped up to the blacksmith, where he found Barind working on an axe meant for cutting trees. "Hello, dwarf."