by E E Rawls
Finally reaching the end of the street, Gandif indicated a series of rising towers with a chin-nod. “There she is! The famous Draev Guardian Academy, Draevensett.”
Her eyes widened. It looked more castle and mansion combined than school.
She adjusted the fingerless gloves she kept on, and her hands shook like leaves as they stopped before the looming iron gate. Its rods curled and weaved like a dark fairytale, and stone posts either side bore roaring winged lions with horns. Gandif wore a lopsided grin as he pushed open the left gate half and took the lead, up a wide paved path.
“Go away, go away!” Something squeaked at them.
Cyrus started.
It had a head of cotton fluff, and leaves for arms and legs and a series of wings. “Go away!” the small creature repeated, flying about and swatting at their hair.
“That pixit’s still here? Darn thing,” muttered Gandif, ducking under his hat.
The pixit snarled, showing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “No belong, no belong!”
“Yer what don’t belong!” Gandif shouted and hurried up the path. Once the gate was behind them, the pixit stopped following and went back to its nest in the wall. “Stupid thing acts like it owns the place,” he muttered.
Cyrus followed him up the slope and they passed underneath the arch of two connected towers. She took in deep, calming breaths, and caught scent of something sweet and floral in the air. Beyond the arch, the path became a flagstone drive and circled a fountain before the school’s main entrance. The fountain’s statue was another winged lion, this one looking solemn and grand.
The castle-mansion school towered high. Tall leaded windows and tracery, fluted spires crowning each tower, all curves and points, grand and intimidating. Gandif stepped up to a door tucked beneath the colonnaded walkway running the length of the school’s front.
“Remember now, you’re a vempar boy. Don’t go slippin’ up,” he muttered at her ear before knocking on the door.
She swallowed.
At a brisk “Come in!” they entered. The place was a jumble of rooms, something like a doctor’s quarters and a biologist’s lab rolled into one. Bottles, vials, and equipment filled every table and shelf, along with bizarre potted plants. She poked at a spongey purple one.
“Zushil?” Gandif asked, peering around.
“Yes, I’m here— Oh. If it isn’t an old acquaintance.”
A face poked out from a side room, weighted under black hair that stood up like too-tall grass. Zushil came over and set down a blue pot on a counter space, his quick eyes behind glasses taking them both in. His narrow, long features showed both surprise and disgruntlement, and he smoothed his lab coat. “Finally come to request a favor of me, hm, Gandif? That’s the only reason you’d show up after so many years.”
Gandif’s grin tilted and he nodded, clapping a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “That’s right. A favor for this girl, here, Cyrus.”
Girl?! Her eyebrows shot up.
“She’s got Ability, and wishes to master it.” Cyrus was prepared to yell at him, when he added: “She also wants her female gender t’ be kept secret.”
Gandif leaned sideways to her ear, his breath tickling her cheek. “He’s the school doctor. There’d be no foolin’ him about your gender. Better to say it upfront now,” he explained.
She pouted but couldn’t argue.
The doctor quirked a long wiry eyebrow at Gandif. “Still speaking with that lame accent you call bounty hunter talk, I see?” he muttered.
Gandif rolled a shrug, ignoring the rebuke.
Zushil adjusted his glasses, then bent to peer down at Cyrus. She instinctively stepped back, and the doctor grimaced.
“Shy? Well, either way, Ability rarely happens in females. So you’re going to have to prove to me that what you have is, in fact, Elemental Manipulation Ability. I refuse to trouble myself in—”
“You still owe me for savin’ yer life. I’ve never asked for anything, until now,” Gandif interrupted.
The doctor’s brow pinched, and he removed his glasses, setting them on the counter for a moment as he rubbed his forehead. “Who is she to you?”
“Someone I owe a favor, and I’ll say no more. C’mon, I’ve seen her use the gift. Will ya let her enroll or not?”
Zushil considered them both as if calculating something, then let out a huff through his thin lips. “All right. Show me what you can do, tween.”
“Huh? Oh!” Cyrus jumped, and looked around for something metal to manipulate, and spotted a spoon near Zushil’s elbow. Concentrating, she let her hand reach toward the spoon, touching it, imagining her essence pouring over and into the metal...twisting...
K-krrrrk!
She heard a gasp from the doctor and looked up.
In his palm were the glasses he’d set on the counter, only now they were melted and twisted—the frames resembling a distorted snake. Somehow, she’d accidentally touched them instead of the spoon.
Zushil’s face soured as if he’d lost something expensive, and Gandif’s stubble jaw puckered, trying not to laugh.
Cyrus cringed at the mistake.
“I...um...” she began to apologize.
The doctor looked bitterly comical, setting the once-fine glasses gingerly on the counter, his narrow mouth a perpetual grimace. He harrumphed, then faced her again.
“I see you do, indeed, have a rather special—if not horrifyingly destructive—Ability. Terravis class.”
She winced, inching back at each word.
“We cannot have such a terrifying thing running loose through the kingdom. Who knows what manner of destruction you’ll cause if you don’t stay put here where you can be properly supervised? For that reason, I will approve that you are eligible to enroll in Draevensett.”
Cyrus blinked. She was accepted? Just like that? “Woah!” Thrilled, she clasped her palms together.
“I’ll go inform the principal,” said Dr. Zushil. “In the meantime, you may go to the commons hall and get acquainted with your new classmates—most of them do homework in there. And yes, I’ll keep your gender-whatever nonsense a secret.” He briskly went to the door, “Come!” expecting her to follow promptly.
Back outside in the damp open air, Cyrus did follow, until she noticed Gandif’s stride slow and swerve off to the side. He came to a stop at the shimmering fountain, and she deviated from Zushil toward him. She paused two steps back, until he finally turned to face her. Reluctance clouded his grin, and her heartbeat quickened in fear.
Zushil, farther ahead, halted once he realized no one was following, and he grew more irked by the second, waiting.
Gandif offered Cyrus a smile. “Well, missy, I guess this is where we part ways.”
Ah...that’s right. She should’ve expected this. It wasn’t like they were family or anything; he had his own life. But it tugged at her heart strings to say goodbye to the last link she had left of her old life—painful as it was.
Cyrus suddenly felt more nervous than ever. Without him, what would she do if something went wrong? Who would help her? She really would be on her own, now.
Gandif shook his shaggy head, as if reading her thoughts. “Now, now,” he clucked, “Don’t start get’n the heebee-jeebees. Everything’ll be fine! You’ll see.”
He gave her a wink before half-turning away, and offered one last comfort. “I’m sure this place is where yer meant t’ be, kiddo. They’ll treasure that Ability of yours. And who knows, maybe I’ll catch ya later sometime, eh?” Dull light caught in his toothy smile.
With that, he left. And Cyrus watched until his back faded from view beyond the gate, her stomach in knots.
She was alone.
In a foreign kingdom.
With those who hated humans.
“Will you kindly hurry and move your hindquarters up here?” snapped Dr. Zushil, still waiting and tapping a frustrated polished shoe. “I’m a busy man, you know—quite busy.”
She jumped with a start and hurried after him.
A new figure approached on her left as she did, and she turned her head. A tall vempar with eyes as blue as a flowing river passed her by. The river current within them caught her for a brief moment, studying her, before releasing its hold.
She felt her lips part. But before she could speak, he vanished through the colonnade.
The doctor tapped his shoe again, and she hurried. He led her up a series of steps to the school’s grand main doors: tall, arching rosewood panels with bat-wing scrollwork and the Draev Guardian coat-of-arms at the top, and lion heads for door knobs. She followed Zushil across the threshold and into a white-and-silver marble foyer. Her footsteps echoed indoors off the vaulted ceiling and delicate columns lining the walls. At the center of the foyer stood a great marble statue of a man, cape rippling out behind him, his strong hand extended to welcome those who entered the school. Cyrus paused, tilting her head back.
“That is Protector Draev, the founder of the D.G. League and of this school,” spoke Dr. Zushil, pausing for a moment. “He was the greatest vempar to have ever lived.”
She noted the way an invisible wind seemed to blow the statue’s hair, and she added the founder to the list of things she’d have to remember from now on. The doctor continued walking, and she followed him up one of two grand staircases curving along the walls; her hand trailed along the polished rail. Decorative leaded windows stared at her as they reached the top and passed through hallway after hallway, their patterns playing shadows across the tile floors. Now and then a banister snaked away from their path to meet with a floor above. Lamps of oilpowder hung unlit at intervals between scenic paintings and niches of rare pottery and plants.
It was a small relief to see they used oilpowder, same as back home—a substance with the unique property of glowing bright once lit, and reusable, the fuel for engines and many other things.
The doctor halted before a door, catching the handle and opening it for her to step through. She steadied her breathing, clenching at her backpack’s shoulder straps.
‘Time to meet my new classmates. My vempar classmates.’
Chapter 10
Aken-Shou adjusted his perch on the commons hall windowsill—stained-glass blues, reds and yellows painting him in gaudy splotches.
I should make them acknowledge me, the madman somewhere inside him cackled. Make them, make them...
Aken tried to block it out.
The main door to the hall swung open with a creak, and Aken’s eyelids lifted halfway in response. Students about the hall paused what they were doing, looking toward the sound.
A young vempar rounded the door with care, short red hair in loose messy waves, and eyes the shade of lilac flowers. Her gaze was low, avoiding any eye contact, and Dr. Zushil towered beside her wearing his typical sharp frown.
Aken’s breath stilled. It was her—the princess he’d seen in the starlight orb!
Or at least a girl who very much resembled her. The princess had been human, though, not vempar.
“Ahem, everyone! Your attention, please! This is Cyrus,” said Zushil. He bent to the girl in a whispered conversation before straightening again. “Cyrus Sole, to be exact. Your new classmate, who’s come from a distant farming community.”
In the hall, she looked like a warm ray of light through an overcast, frigid day. Aken could feel the madman draw back into its cage within the deep recesses of his mind.
He grinned as a thought hit him: This could be his one chance to make a real friend, one who wasn’t from around here and who didn’t know about Scourgebloods.
CYRUS FORCED HERSELF to look up from the floor at the numerous faces—vempar faces—staring at her. She wanted to dissolve into mist and blow away.
Avoiding any direct eye contact, she swept her gaze from the hundred-plus group to look at the ribs of the vaulted ceiling. It was a pretty ceiling. So were the row of colorful windows with stained-glass designs.
And there in the rainbow shadows glowed a pair of blue eyes.
She gave a start. The eyes belonged to a boy, who sat watching her, his side bangs casting shadows down the planes of his face.
In one smooth motion he bounded down off the sill and crossed the table-littered expanse, coming to a halt before her. She took a step back. His hair was blond as the sun, and his irises like the sky. He had on dark pants and a maroon lace-up shirt.
The boy held out his hand and gave a bright smile. “Hi, Cyrus! I’m Aken-Shou; plain Aken for short. How old are you? I’m gonna be thirteen in July.”
Cyrus gave a small, insecure smile back but didn’t take his hand. “Hi. Um, I’ll be thirteen in August.”
“Cool, so we’re in the same grade.”
Dr. Zushil harrumphed. “Now that you’re so happily acquainted, Aken, why don’t you go and show Cyrus around Draevensett?”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Aken saluted.
The doctor’s features pinched in distaste. “Quit calling me Doc, you miscreant! It is either Doctor, or Dr. Zushil.”
Aken tilted his head with an edge of mischief. “How about Doco the Zush—that’s got a cool ring to it? Or Doc-a-doodle-doo.” He imitated the guy’s tall, stood-up hair with a hand, like a chicken’s comb.
Snickers and laughs circled the commons hall.
“Quit that, this instant! This instant!” The doctor stomped, and the student body fell silent. “I’ll never understand why Master Nephryte tolerates an unwanted stray like you around, but you’d better learn your manners before he changes his mind.” Zushil stalked out the door.
Cyrus watched as Aken gave a shrug, waving the matter aside and turning back to her with the same smile. “So anyway, how about I show you around this place?”
She nodded faintly, though she wished it were someone else. This boy seemed like the type who sought attention through troublemaking, and she didn’t want any part in it.
“Oo-oo! Me too, me too!”
Something bounded out of nowhere to her side, and she started in fright. The something was another boy, who winked merrily. Taller than Aken, he had wild orange, spiky hair and sandy-green eyes in a very expressive face. His beginning square chin was cute, and he rocked up and down on his heels. “Welcome to the school, Cyrus!” he said.
His clothes reminded her of desert sands: a black tank, baggy canary pants that poofed out before squeezing the ankles, and shoes with up-turned toes. He resembled a skinny genie, and his skin was the shade of light mahogany.
“Butt-out, Bakoa. I’m giving the tour,” said Aken.
Bakoa squinted. “I can help, too. Why do you care so much, anyways?”
Aken snatched her hand and began leading her away before she realized it. “Hey, wait up!” Bakoa hollered after them.
THE TWO BOYS SHOWED Cyrus through hall after hall, stairwell after stairwell and staircase, classroom after classroom, until her head was spinning and body careening—and there was still more to cover!
From what Aken explained, the student body was divided into five Floors: Harlow, Tathom, Smart, Harcourt and Earnest. Each had their own dorm floor and a banner with their Floor’s crest at the entrance.
Aken and Bakoa led her up to the top fifth-floor, where a banner hung bearing the crest of an elaborate sun with wavy rays and a small bird flying through.
“This is our Floor, Harlow,” Aken answered before she could ask.
“Oh.” She wrung her fingers together. “And who’s in charge of Floors?”
“Each is supervised by a Draev Master.”
“What’s a Master, exactly?”
“Masters are the highest ranking Ability users in the Draev Guardian League,” he explained. Masters were just below that of the Grandmaster, who governed the elite fighting force, and they all had combat experience in leading Draev squads out on missions and in defense of the city.
The five Draev Masters who chose to give their time serving the League’s Academy hoped to pass on their knowledge to future generations, to create the next wave of Draev Guardians who would
defend the Kingdom of Draeth. Here, they acted as both dorm leader and mentor, responsible for honing their students’ combat training, lifestyle, and overall good behavior while students attended daily classes.
“Five Draev Masters, five groups,” Cyrus contemplated. “How do I know which Floor I’ll end up in?”
“Simple.” Aken shoved his hands in his pockets. “You either get picked by a Master, or placed with whoever the principal decides. I was forcibly picked by mine.”
‘Great,’ Cyrus thought, who in their right mind would want her? She was a new weakling. She’d end up with some lame Floor, no doubt about it.
“Our Master—” Bakoa began to say, with bubbling enthusiasm.
“Mentor,” Aken interjected.
“—is Master Nephryte. And he’s the best of the best!” Bakoa finished.
Aken’s jaw tensed.
“He’s smart, kind, and the totally coolest, greatest warrior ever!” Bakoa went on. Shining stars of admiration swam in his sandy-green eyes. This Nephryte Master must mean a great deal to him.
“He is not.” Aken cut in again, this time raising a determined fist. “And I’ll prove it. I’m gonna be the first ever to defeat him!”
Bakoa cocked his head to the side, then squinted, rubbing a finger over his cleft chin.
“I will, you’ll see,” Aken insisted sharply. He veered his attention back to Cyrus—hooking one of her arms around his to steer her away. “So, what do you think of the place so far? Pretty grand, huh?”
His shoulder brushed against hers; she wanted to pull away. Never had a boy been so close—they usually kept away like she was the plague of death itself. As a matter of fact, most everybody did. It was a shock to suddenly feel physical contact. She freed her arm, trying to act casual.
Aken watched her as if waiting for something, and she remembered his question. “Oh, yes, it is. I think it’s beautiful. Enchanting,” she answered.
Bakoa grinned and nodded.
Aken glanced at the floor and murmured, “A lot like you are.”