by Clayton Wood
What better time than now to do so, to reminisce?
He paused, then reached out to one of his oldest Chosen, one that had been locked in a Void crystal for nearly as long as he had. Sabin willed the primitive, long untouched memories from its mind, allowing a fraction of his enormous consciousness to experience them.
* * *
The courtyard is filled with the clamor of hundreds of Runic students rushing out from their lecture halls, enthusiastically making their way to one of the three restaurants serving lunch in the dorm complex nearby. A warm breeze carries the delicious smell of freshly cooked meats, rustling the leaves of the ornamental trees that decorate the large courtyard.
Sabin closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nostrils, then lets it out. He looks down at the half-eaten meal before him, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork and putting it in his mouth. He'd finished giving his latest lecture only twenty minutes ago, coming to his favorite restaurant before the inevitable lunch-time rush.
He sips his glass of water, watching the young Runic students as they walk by, fresh-faced and energetic, and feels a pang of nostalgia for the old days. Twenty years ago, he’d been one of them, his life full of promise and possibility. Now he is in his mid-forties, locked into his career, his possibilities limited. The only promise he has left lies in his research and teaching. And, of course, his inventions.
He finds himself staring idly at the ring on his right middle finger, a black onyx band with a single diamond-shaped emerald in the center. A gift from the former Grand Runic, ten years ago, in recognition for Sabin's greatest invention: an earring that allowed anyone to understand, and be understood by, a person speaking a foreign language. It had been the natural product of his research into thought-activated runic technology...and selling the patent for it had made him a very wealthy man.
Sabin sighs, his eyes idly following a group of young women as they pass by the table he is sitting at. A few are quite pretty, and he has to be careful not to stare for too long. He is, after all, a distinguished professor of Runic Arts and an accomplished researcher, the preeminent expert not only on thought-activated runics, but also on his most recent focus: magic vacuity. He can't afford tarnishing that reputation by seeming like a lecherous old man.
It is a constant temptation, though.
He'd never taken a wife. Never had time for it, really...his work had seen to that. It is his one great regret, that he has only himself to come home to. A lonely existence.
He sighs again, tearing his eyes away from the group of women. He lowers his gaze to the food on his plate, feeling a strange tingling sensation shoot down his spine as he does so.
“Professor?”
Sabin jerks his head up from his plate, finding a young woman standing opposite him. She wears the black uniform of a Weaver student, and has long, wavy auburn hair that reaches all the way down to her lower back. Her features are strikingly...no, painfully beautiful, her skin pale and her gray eyes bright and expressive. He finds himself staring, his mouth half-open, and snaps it shut.
“Yes?” he asks, trying his best to sound casual. The young woman smiles apologetically, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him.
“May I sit?”
“Of course,” he replies, gesturing to the chair. She obliges, flashing him another smile.
“I'm Vera,” she greets, extending a hand across the table. Sabin reaches over and shakes it. “I really enjoyed your lecture,” she adds. Sabin raises an eyebrow.
“I didn't realize I had an impostor in my class,” he says with an easy grin. “What's a Weaver doing in an advanced Runic theory class?”
“I'm not actually enrolled in the class,” Vera admits. “I wanted to see if the rumors were true,” she adds with a mysterious smile. Sabin purses his lips.
“Rumors?” he inquires. “Hopefully nothing too scandalous.”
“Not yet,” she counters coyly, leaning forward. A lock of her thick auburn hair falls in front of her eyes, and she brushes it aside absently. For some reason Sabin finds this extraordinarily fetching. “I heard you were the best teacher in the Secula Magna,” she explains. “And the world expert in magic vacuity.”
“Well, you've been to my lecture,” Sabin replies, leaning back in his chair. “Are the rumors true?”
“Mmm,” she replies, cocking her head to the side slightly and eyeing him silently for a moment. “Perhaps.”
“What else do you need to know to make your decision?” Sabin presses, his tone breezy. That earned him another mysterious smile.
“How about lunch?” she asks. Sabin gives her an apologetic smile.
“Ah, how rude of me,” he states, flagging down a waiter. “What can I order for you?”
“Oh, you don't have to...” she begins, but Sabin cuts her off with one hand.
“I insist,” he interjects. “We have rumors to feed.” She cocks an eyebrow at this.
“What sorts of rumors?” she asks coyly. He feels a rush of adrenaline course through him, his heart pounding in his chest. He wills himself to remain calm, wondering how this girl – no doubt twenty years his junior – could have such an effect on him. He has a sudden mad desire to feed into this remarkable creature's flirty suggestions, to throw caution to the wind and see what wonderful things might happen.
“The kind with appetites,” he replies smoothly. Vera grins.
“Well I've certainly got appetites.”
“And I insist on feeding them,” Sabin states. He catches the eye of a passing waiter, and Vera orders lunch. After the waiter leaves, Vera twirls a lock of her hair with one finger, staring at him silently. He finds himself profoundly uncomfortable under that gaze...and glad of it.
“Do you have appetites, professor?” Vera inquires at last, continuing to stare at him with those gray eyes. Sabin pauses, unsure of how to answer without getting himself into trouble.
“Doesn't everyone?” he counters at last.
“Mmm,” Vera murmurs. The waiter returns with a plate full of food, and Vera grabs a piece of fruit, taking a bite out of it.
“So why magic vacuity?” Sabin presses, switching back to a safer subject. “Most students only care about thought-activated runics.” Vera was certainly correct in her estimation of him; he was the world's expert on magic vacuity. He'd spent the last eight years of his life feeding that obsession, while continuing his research into thought-activated runics. With over a hundred patents to his name, including the one for the universal translator, he hardly needs the paltry salary of a professor. But he truly loves to teach, and he had maintained his ties to academia, hoping to inspire others to contribute to the magical sciences.
“I'm exploring the application of magic vacuity to Battle-Weaving,” Vera answers. Sabin's eyebrows rise in surprise.
“You're a Battle-Weaver student?” he asks incredulously. Vera laughs, shaking her head.
“God no,” she replies. “I'm not cut out for that,” she adds without a hint of regret.
“What then?” he presses. “What do you want from life?”
“To get a job in academia,” she answers without hesitation. “I want to do research, and I think magic vacuity has many applications to Battle-Weaving.”
“Well you're right about that,” Sabin agrees. “Magic vacuity is key in any magical endeavor.” He smiles then. “So you're an academic at heart,” he observes.
“Like you,” Vera agrees, eating another piece of fruit. He watches her, then feels his heart start to race, a sudden kind of madness coming over him.
“It seems we have similar appetites,” he murmurs. Immediately he regrets the bold implications of the statement, feeling a pang of fear come over him. But she only smiles at him with that mysterious way she has.
“Indeed,” she replies.
Suddenly a young woman in a Weaver student uniform walks up to Vera, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on, Vera,” the woman urges. “We're going to be late for class.”
Vera nods, standing up from the table and pushing her chair in. Sabin waves to her, and she waves back.
“See you around, professor,” she promises.
And then she walks away.
Sabin follows her retreating form, his eyes drawn to her long legs and intriguing curves. He tears his gaze away, glancing about to see if anyone caught him staring, but no one seems to have. He stares down at his plate, feeling more than a little confused...yet somehow more alive than he's felt for years.
Maybe, just maybe, his life has some promise and possibility left after all.
* * *
Master Lee glared at Kyle from across the wooden table they always sat at in the Runic Archives, the scowl on her face making her appear even more ancient than she was. After the Council meeting, Kyle had returned to the Archives to finish the day's lessons with Lee. He'd inscribed so many runes that he'd long since lost count of how many. Lee had proven to be a brutal taskmaster, more similar to the Dead Man in her methods than she was to the late Master Banar. Minus the systematic psychological torture, of course.
“You're distracted,” she observed testily. “What's wrong?”
“I'm just tired,” Kyle mumbled. In truth, he was worried sick about Darius, and what might happen if...
“Bull,” Lee retorted. “Don't lie to me again.”
“I'll be fine,” he muttered. Lee stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.
“Well if you won't open up to me,” she growled, “...I expect you to perform as if nothing's wrong.” Kyle blanched, then nodded silently.
“Now,” Lee stated. “...what is the most important development in runic technology?”
“Runic logic,” Kyle answered, verbatim from her previous lecture. Lee nodded.
“What does that mean?” she pressed. Kyle paused, wracking his brain, but came up with nothing. “It means the ability of runic items to make decisions,” she concluded. She tapped on the cube in front of Kyle. “This is a fresh gem,” she explained. “That's what we call crystals without any runes inscribed in them. I want you to demonstrate your understanding of Runic logic with it.”
Kyle nodded silently.
“If this, then do this,” Lee stated. “That is the simplest form of Runic logic.” She sat back in her chair then. “For example: if the fire pattern is sensed nearby, then make a gravity shield to protect yourself.”
“Got it,” Kyle replied. Simple enough.
“You don't 'have it' until you've done it,” Lee retorted. “Theory is useless without application. She pushed the cube toward Kyle. “Inscribe runes and link them to perform that logic.”
Kyle stared at the cube in front of him, blanking on what he was supposed to do. After a long moment, he glanced up at Lee, who was staring silently at him. She leaned forward, propping her bony elbows on the table.
“Tell me what's wrong,” she stated coldly, “...or I'll consider dropping you as my student.”
Kyle paled.
“I'm worried what'll happen if Xanos attacks again,” he admitted. It was true enough; he didn't need to mention that such a thing would only happen if Darius failed.
“He will,” Lee replied bluntly.
“Gee, thanks,” Kyle muttered. Lee snorted.
“Don't expect me to sugar-coat it, honey,” she grumbled. “But it's not worth getting yourself worried sick over,” she added. “There are an infinite number of possible futures to worry about, and only one of them will come true. Deal with the one. Trust me, life's better that way.”
“I'm not worried about me,” he clarified. “I'm worried about my friends.”
“You think I don't worry?” Lee countered. “I don't give a damn about me,” she added with a smirk. “I'm practically dead anyway. But I worry about my son.”
“I'm really sorry,” Kyle mumbled. “I can't concentrate today.”
“Concentrate on now,” Lee advised. “Take it from me, now is all you have. Now is all you'll ever have, a long stream of nows. And one day, poof...no more nows.” She leaned back again. “Live while you're still alive, honey.”
“I’ll try,” Kyle replied.
“Well lying in bed moping won't make you feel better,” Lee retorted. “Idle minds invite madness. I'm going to give yours something to do.” She pointed to the cube then. “If fire then make a shield. Go.”
“I don't know how,” Kyle protested.
“Figure it out,” Lee retorted.
Kyle sighed, staring down at the cube. There was only one condition to meet – the presence of a fire – and the only way to sense magic was with a sensory rune. So he had to inscribe the fire pattern into the cube. But he couldn't use the pattern he'd used to inscribe the effector runes he'd practiced before. Like Kalibar and the late Master Banar had said, inscribing sensory runes required a special pattern – one that Kyle didn't know yet.
“I can't do it,” Kyle stated. “I don't know how to make sensory runes.” Master Lee smirked.
“That's more like it,” she replied. “I'll show it to you.” She showed Kyle the pattern a half-dozen times; it was far simpler than he'd expected. Within ten minutes or so, he'd mastered it.
“Now,” Lee stated when they'd finished. “...continue with the exercise. If fire then gravity shield.”
He lowered his forehead to the cube, closing his eyes and weaving the sensory pattern. He used it to create the fire rune, then stopped. He switched to the inscribing pattern, then drew the gravity shield pattern beside the fire pattern. Then he connected them with a thin line. When he was done, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He glanced up at Lee then, who was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed and her mouth open. She looked disturbingly dead.
He frowned at her, then realized she wasn't breathing.
“Master Lee!” he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. Lee's eyes burst open, and she cackled shrilly.
“Thought I was dead, didn't you?” she asked between guffaws. “Got you!” Kyle glared at her, sliding the cube across the table toward her.
“I finished,” he grumbled.
“Took you long enough,” she opined. She snatched the cube up, staring at it intently. Then she frowned, glancing up at him. “Not bad,” she admitted. Then she set the cube on the center of the tabletop, leaning back in her chair. “Now we test it. Weave the fire pattern.”
Kyle complied, weaving the fire pattern in his mind's eye, then throwing it out in the air in front of him. A small blue sphere instantly appeared around the cube, and it jumped up from the tabletop, flying a few feet into the air. Then it fell, bouncing a few times before hovering a few inches above the table.
“Whoa,” Kyle exclaimed. “What happened?”
“You tell me,” Lee countered. Kyle frowned, staring at the cube. The lower fifth of the gravity shield was cut off, so it formed an incomplete sphere. This lower edge was touching the table, so it was the shield that was forcing the cube to float. He said as much.
“Right,” Lee confirmed. “I suppose Owens never told you that the gravity shield he taught you to weave wasn't a complete sphere.”
“No, he did,” Kyle countered.
“Well,” Lee snorted. “At least he got something right. What would happen if you tried weaving a gravity shield that was a complete sphere around yourself?” Kyle thought about it; if he did that, then the lower edge of the gravity shield would intersect with the ground below his feet...and he'd pop up into the air, just that the cube had.
“I'd float above the ground,” he concluded. Lee nodded.
“Your brain's working again,” she observed.
“But what if I wanted to fly?” Kyle asked, suddenly concerned. “If I used the shield Owens taught me, someone from below could hit my feet.”
“Exactly,” Lee agreed. “Which is why Weavers cover their legs with their gravity shields when they're flying, and use the typical incomplete spheres when they fight on the ground.”
“Huh.”
Master Lee smiled
, her cheeks crisscrossing with deep wrinkles as she did so. She produced another cube – out of thin air, as usual – and gave it to Kyle. “Well done. Do it again.”
Kyle sighed, closing his eyes and leaning over the cube. But Lee pushed herself back from the table where she sat opposite him, standing up in that stooped manner she had.
“Practice on your own time,” she grumbled, pushing her chair in. Kyle blinked.
“What?” he blurted out. “Why? What'd I do?” Master Lee rolled her eyes.
“You displayed competency,” she answered. “Play with the runes,” she added. “Change their size, make them thicker or thinner. Get a feel for them.” She started walking toward the exit of the Archives, not even bothering to look back at him. “See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks Master Lee,” Kyle called out to her retreating posterior. Lee waved one hand, but didn't turn around.
And then she was gone.
Kyle sighed, grabbing the cube in front of him and putting it in his pocket. He stood up, turning around to follow Master Lee, then did a double-take. He'd almost forgotten to take the textbook Lee had left on the table for him...the one he was supposed to read tonight. It was quite thin, with a simple brown cover. On its surface were symbols that meant nothing to Kyle, but were apparently written in the language of the Empire. It was, distressingly enough, a book for toddlers...a picture book that would supposedly teach him how to read.
He grabbed the book, and walked out of the Archives.
Two elite guards materialized out of nowhere, walking in step on either side of Kyle. He flinched at first, then relaxed, remembering that they'd been there all along, practicing the invisibility pattern that Erasmus had discovered using the K-Array. The only time Kyle was truly alone was when he was in bed, and even then guards were stationed outside of his room throughout the night. It was a constant reminder of the fact that none of them were truly safe...that at any time, Xanos could attack.
The guards silently accompanied Kyle out of the Archives and down the riser to the lobby, where Kyle had agreed to meet with Ariana after finishing his lessons. He found her sitting in one of the many couches located along either wall of the massive room, her skin nearly blending into the perfect whiteness of the fabric. She was already following Kyle with her eyes, of course; ever since her resurrection, her senses had become so sharp it was almost eerie.