But none fled. Not yet. Olivaard made a bet with himself that it would be the Anima who broke first. Animas were twitchy and prone to disloyalty.
The young Impetu leapt to his feet first, of course. He was the fastest, the one driven with the need to protect. He whipped the blanket off his companions and wrapped one end around his fist, creating a makeshift whip. The young man gave no thought to his own nakedness or that of his companions, and he faced the intruders with determination and an absolute lack of fear. His gaze flicked to Wulfric, then Arsinoe—who leaned against a tree, regarding his fingernails—then settled on Olivaard. The young man stepped forward, putting himself in front of his companions.
It was worse than Olivaard had thought. These four had already bonded deeply. Deep in the woods, by themselves, this little Quad had unraveled the secret that The Four would kill to protect: that burgeoning magic users didn’t need the academy to become Quadrons.
This little nest of rats represented what the Champion’s Academy had been built to prevent.
“Who are you?” the young Impetu demanded.
“Tarvic,” the small slender girl gasped. She touched his shoulder. “That’s The Four!”
So the small one was their Mentis, as Olivaard had thought. Everyone knew the names of The Four, of course, but Olivaard had worked hard over the last forty years to ensure that no one knew their faces. The girl had read one of their minds without Olivaard realizing she was doing it. Impressive.
“Do you know why we are here?” Olivaard asked.
The younglings looked confused. Their Impetu, Tarvic, shook his head. But the Anima girl spoke up. “You’ve come to take us to the academy,” she said hopefully. The young Quad’s collective bewilderment transformed into excitement.
Oh, the optimism of the Anima, Olivaard thought.
“In a manner of speaking,” Olivaard said. “You see, my colleagues and I have taken great pains to convince the two kingdoms that the only safe way to learn magic is to come to the academy. What you’ve done here...” He waved a hand at them. “Proves that we’ve been lying for a century.”
“Lying?” Tarvic asked, still not understanding.
Arsinoe gave a loud stage whisper. “He means you could tell the other students they don’t need us.” Arsinoe held his hands up. “And then they wouldn’t come to the academy and put their necks into the collars we’ve prepared for them.”
A long silence fell over the glade.
“They’re here to kill us,” their little Mentis whispered, her voice shaking as she realized the truth. She held up her hands to The Four, as though that would stop the inevitable from happening. Her slender arms shook.
“No,” the Anima gasped, stepping back.
“What?” the voluptuous Motus said, still not understanding what was happening, though surely understanding the fear that flowed through the glade.
Their little naked forms, so brazen before, suddenly seemed pitiful and vulnerable. Olivaard’s pulse began to quicken.
“You have bonded quite deeply,” he acknowledged. “I salute you for that, and I don’t give praise lightly.”
“He really doesn’t,” Arsinoe interjected.
“In fact,” Olivaard continued, “your power is so impressive you might one day become something that could rival the power of The Four.” He offered them a brief smile. “Our power. And I’m sure you can understand, we simply cannot allow that.”
Tarvic’s mouth dropped open, stunned. The little Mentis whimpered, looking from one face to the other.
Olivaard glanced at Arsinoe. “I assume you would like the voluptuous one?”
“You know me so well.” Arsinoe leaned forward like a cat ready to pounce. There was drool on his chin. Actual drool. Olivaard checked his sigh. The man was disgusting.
The voluptuous girl screamed and fell to her knees, clawing at the air, feeling all the terror Arsinoe could shove into her.
Tarvic roared, swinging his pathetic whip at Wulfric, perhaps hoping to pull him off balance. The sheet wrapped masterfully around Wulfric’s forearm. The boy really did have talent, and that much of his plan worked perfectly. But he didn’t have any idea what he was up against.
Wulfric yanked the sheet with such force the boy flew off his feet and into Wulfric’s enormous arms. Wulfric flexed. Bones crunched. Tarvic screamed as he died.
Their Anima screamed with him, and she bolted into the woods.
Animas always break first, Olivaard thought. What was it about young Animas that made them so ready to be the first to abandon their Quad? They were supposed to be the spiritual center. It was ironic, really.
Olivaard let her go. Linza was back there somewhere, and after her mistake in allowing this Quad to grow in the first place, she’d make sure the girl wouldn’t get fifty paces.
Olivaard turned his attention to the frightened little Mentis, the only one remaining who wasn’t screaming, fleeing, or dying. He walked toward her slowly and deliberately. As good a Mentis as the girl was, she’d have calculated all the aspects of her dire situation. She couldn’t run, obviously. The path of the Mentis didn’t lend itself to feats of athleticism. She’d try another way. Perhaps she would appeal to his humanity.
“We didn’t know,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Please! We didn’t know! We wanted to come to the academy. We still would. Please let us. Don’t do this.”
“It is too late for that now,” Olivaard said. “You know the secret that no one else can know.”
With a pitiful squeak, she made a mind stab at him. It was strong, but not nearly strong enough. He shielded himself and struck back. She screamed.
He whispered inside her head, spoke to her as he cracked her mind like a walnut. Her sanity collapsed in on itself. Blood leaked from her ears as he destroyed her, whispering into her mind the last words she’d ever hear.
Now you know, little rat. There can be no four except The Four.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brom
Brom ran from The Ox and Cart with the intention of telling his parents that he’d been invited to the Champions Academy...
...and he pulled up short in the middle of the dusty street. A one-donkey wagon trundled by, hauling hay. Its driver, a man named Malden who worked on the Eigan’s Farm, gave Brom a disapproving look for standing in the middle of the road. Brom ignored him.
No. He couldn’t tell his parents. First of all, they’d never believe it. So far as Brom knew, magic had never visited Kyn. Ever. If he told a story about how Cy’kett had performed magic on him, they’d think he was telling stories. In fact, they’d scoff at the idea of a Quadron in Kyn at all, just as Brom had done to start.
And if they did believe him, that would actually be worse. Father would hate the idea of Brom leaving Kyn for four years. And maybe forever. He’d do everything he could to make sure it didn’t happen. Would The Collector refuse to take Brom if Father balked? That was a sobering thought.
No, he wasn’t going to tell his parents. Not today.
Instead, he set off in the direction of the mill, which stood alongside the river and a bit out of town. It was actually close to Brom’s house.
The other night, Brom had found a way to sneak up to the mill, and he used it again. His hidden path on the north side of the river wasn’t quite as invisible in broad daylight, but it worked to get him within fifty yards of the slowly revolving water wheel attached to the mill, a large stone building that Brom’s father had built. The entirety of Kyn’s flour was ground here, and the building had a thatched roof and four windows on the upstairs, as well as a door and an external stone stairway that descended to the ground. Myan, her two sisters, and her parents lived above the mill, and the work was done below.
Still giddy at his meeting with Cy’kett, Brom lay down in the tall grass near the big ash tree with the clothesline. Based on what Myan had told Brom, this was about the time of day when she’d come do the washing. She’d said she usually did it sometime in the afternoon, and somewher
e close to this tree, which had a post set firmly in the ground about a dozen feet away and two lines pulled taut between the trunk and the post.
The sun had begun to sink into the western sky, and Brom laid back to wait. Brom’s father would be at the quarry until dark, and Mother didn’t expect Brom home tonight at all. He was supposed to be sleeping at the barracks.
Brom had time, so he just lay in the grass, feeling the sunshine on his face, looking up at the blue sky and dreaming of the things he’d do when he became a Quadron.
The sun settled along the tree line to the west, and Brom began to think maybe he’d missed wash time, when Myan emerged onto the landing on the second floor of the mill. She had a wicker basket full of clothing under one arm, and she shouted back through the open doorway.
“—not enough daylight left!” she yelled at someone inside.
“Then by Kelto, girl, you’ll do it in the dark!”
“I hate you!” Myan yelled, slammed the door, and took the stairs dangerously fast, thumping down them like she was stepping on the person inside—Brom assumed it was her mother—who had offended her. A long stocking fell onto the steps without Myan noticing, and she flounced away from the mill toward the river, toward Brom’s hiding place.
She stopped about a dozen paces downstream and threw the basket to the ground. It creaked, toppled, and dumped the laundry onto the bank. Myan stared at it, her face red and her mouth drawn up in a pout, and then she burst into tears.
She dropped to her knees, still crying, and dragged the laundry close to a wide, flat stone angled up from the water. She grabbed a soap cake from the basket, dunked one of her father’s big shirts in the river and slapped it on the stone, then began pushing the soap up and down upon it, creating a lather.
Brom was about to sneak out and surprise her, but her tears stopped him. Slowly, his spirits sank. He began to think about what he was doing here, and how selfish it was. He’d come to tell her his excitement about going off to the Champions Academy, that he was off to become a Quadron.
But he hadn’t stopped to think about what it meant to Myan. He was coming to tell her that he was leaving her, and he’d be gone for four years.
He’d would be the first to admit he didn’t know much about girls, but he had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t receive the news well.
Once he was a Quadron, he’d be off to adventure. He’d go where The Four pointed him. It suddenly occurred to him that he might not ever come back here.
He watched Myan again. She sniffled, scrubbing at the shirt, and raised her shoulder every now and then to push strands of her hair from her eyes. She dunked the shirt, rinsed it and wrung it out. Rising gracefully to her feet, she walked the few paces to the clothing line and hung up the shirt. He watched the sway of her walk, the way her summer dress swung back and forth. If he left his hiding place to say goodbye...certainly there would be more kisses.
But what was the kind thing to do? Reveal himself, have his kisses, then tell her he was leaving? Or simply let their lovely night stand alone, a single dot of light in a night’s sky that would never have any more, and not risk any further hurt to her?
The sun sank below the horizon, leaving only twilight behind. He watched her and wrestled with his dilemma. Eventually, Myan stopped sniffling and set about her work methodically. Scrub, rinse, hang. Scrub, rinse, hang.
Brom scooted quietly backward until he was far enough that she wouldn’t see him when he stood up. He paused one moment, just watching her. She was so lovely. But he couldn’t do that to her. He wasn’t going to stay, so what really was there to say?
He turned and jogged up the hill, back toward town.
His spirits were still high, but he realized he didn’t know where to go now. All of his friends worked the fields, so they’d just be returning home to supper. He wasn’t going to bother them. And his parents didn’t expect him home until tomorrow. There was absolutely nobody he could tell, so he went back to The Ox and Cart.
The tavern had filled up in the few hours he’d been gone. The men who didn’t have wives at home—and weren’t young enough to live at their parents’ homes—had come here after the day’s work in the fields. Quiet conversations created a rumbling in the dim room. It smelled of pipe smoke, and tendrils of it crept through the air like pale, translucent snakes.
“Back again?” Bala greeted him.
“I took a walk,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow at his lucid speech, and she laughed. “Looks like maybe you can hold your liquor. You don’t seem nearly as deep in cups as you did when you left.” She cocked her head. “Not going home tonight, are you?”
He shrugged.
She turned, expertly tucked a mug underneath the keg against the back wall, and twisted the tap. When the foam started to peek above the rim, she twisted the tap off, then plunked the mug on the bar in front of him. “Here you go. A little softer than what you’re used to.” She winked. “But I think it’ll do you right.”
He held out his hands. “No, I—”
“It’s on me, luv. A drink for the boy who takes a risk for a kiss. And who protects his lady.”
“Thank you.” He took the beer and took a sip. It was warm and earthy, with a generous froth.
“Your family’s friend is in the corner, if that’s who you’re wanting. He picked up where you left off.”
“My family’s friend?”
“Sir Red Breeches.”
Brom turned and spotted Cy’kett against the back wall. He sat in the darkest corner by the fireplace. In the winter, that was the warmest spot in the tavern, but with no fire burning, Brom had completely overlooked the man upon first glance.
“Uh, thank you,” he said, and took the beer with him.
The old man was leaning over that same silver stein he’d held behind the tavern. Seven empty shot glasses were scattered about the small round table, next to a mostly empty bottle of whiskey that looked even more expensive than Father’s.
Brom had seen men drink like this before. This wasn’t drinking to forget a bad day. This was how a man drank when he wanted to forget he was alive.
What had happened?
“Cy’kett?” Brom said.
The wide brim came up, and Cy’kett’s shadowed lavender eyes met Brom’s.
“Ah,” Cy’kett said. “You’re back. Wonderful.” But he said the word like it was anything but wonderful.
“I... Why are you drinking so much?”
“Because I’m a horrible man with a horrible purpose.” Cy’kett’s words slurred. “But I’m changing my mind, changing my legacy. I’d rather protect your innocence than throw you to the wolves.”
“Wolves?”
“I think you should leave, good fool.” Cy’kett blurted, flecks of spittle hitting the table. “Go now while the roses still bloom in your young heart. Spend them elsewhere. Go now before the snows fall. Winter comes so early... So early to us all...”
Brom slid out the chair opposite Cy’kett and sat down. “Are you okay?”
Cy’kett chuckled darkly. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not. I’m trying to tell you that you are not. But you don’t care because you’re young. Because you’re the rule breaker. You’ll set your sights and not let anything stand in your way. If I tell you what’s best for you, you’ll do the opposite. As sure as the sun will rise.”
“Are you talking about the Champions Academy?”
“Yes. I filled your head with dreams, good fool. But I didn’t tell you all.” His head dipped, and the wide brim of his hat swung down. “I’ve doomed you. I didn’t tell you that you’ve one chance in a hundred of becoming a Quadron. And no chance of...” He trailed off. “I’ve hung an anchor around your neck while I smiled at you.”
“What are you talking about?” Brom asked.
Cy’kett’s fist clenched. “I should put the fear into you,” he whispered. “I should make you run.”
Brom’s elation from earlier curdled. What was going on here?
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“Is this about the academy?” he asked, his heart sinking. Had this man lied to him? Was there no Collector at all?
Cy’kett laughed, low and dry. “Of course that’s all you’re thinking about. Your place in the academy. Your chance to become a Quadron like me. Listen. Don’t hear what you wish to hear. Listen to my words. I’m trying to save you, boy. With the last pure part of my blackened soul.”
“Save me from what?”
Cy’kett opened his mouth like he had an answer for that, but he paused, mouth open, then clacked his teeth shut.
“You know what a Quadron is, boy. Do you know what a Quad is?”
Brom blinked.
“There are four paths to magic,” Cy’kett continued. “I spoke their names to you. You’ll be tasked with learning one of them, but in order to do that you must bond with three other students, each of you learning a separate path. It’s the only way. It takes four.”
“But—”
“You’ll show them pieces of your soul you never dreamed of showing to anyone, pieces you didn’t know you had. These four will become yours, and you theirs. Stronger than family. More intimate than a lover.”
“This is what I’ll learn at the academy—?”
“Shut up,” Cy’kett snarled, and Brom flinched. The man was so fierce it took Brom’s breath away. “You didn’t listen before. Listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s a trap.”
“What’s a trap?”
“Listen!” Cy’kett hissed. “It’s not a school, boy. The Collector is coming for you. But he’s not coming to help you. He’s coming to kill you.”
“What?”
Cy’kett slammed his palms on the tabletop. Shot glasses spun. One fell on the wooden floor. “He’ll stuff you behind those walls, and you’ll never make it out.”
Brom gripped the sides of his chair so hard he thought his knuckles would crack. He’d never felt fear like this before.
“Run,” Cy’kett whispered. “You have four days. He always takes four days to arrive. Run away, and don’t ever come back.”
The Quad Page 3