by E E Rawls
“If you don’t have questions about homework or something else worthwhile, I have better things to do than play cat-and-mouse with you.” Nephryte turned down a book aisle.
Tempted to say something snarky, Aken instead asked, “Are they gonna let Cyrus stay?”
Nephryte’s lips parted, but then he halted whatever he’d been about to say.
“Cy proved he’s one of us. What more do they want?” Aken protested. “I won’t let them lay a finger on—!”
Nephryte pinched his lips shut, silencing him. “Cyrus is a part of Harlow, and Harlow is my responsibility,” said Nephryte. “Leave matters to me, and don’t worry.”
Aken pulled away, arms crossed and foot tapping. “Not worry? All I can do is worry! What if I use Scourgeblood power by accident again? What if I really am a monster and can’t stop myself? What if Cy dies from the weird energy inside him? What if—”
Nephryte pinched his mouth shut again.
“You’re making me dizzy. Tell me, did you mean to use your blood power?” asked Nephryte. Aken shook his head. “Then you can’t be a monster. A true monster hurts and kills on purpose. That isn’t you, Aken-Shou.” He released Aken’s mouth and flicked his forehead.
Aken grumbled, but deep inside he was glad to hear those words: That isn’t you, Aken-Shou.
“But do work on restraining that temper of yours—I’ve a feeling that’s what flamed your power. And as for all these other worries, worrying gets you nowhere fast, but it will give you a massive headache. When something is out of your control, what is it you should do instead?”
Aken chewed his lip and crossed his arms tighter. “Pray—that’s what you always say.”
“And patiently look for the solution, too. Lord God won’t help you if you sit around doing nothing. But for now, wait and see how things will play out. The king has asked that Cyrus be allowed to stay, and I doubt anyone is willing to go against what the king wishes.”
“...Fine.”
“That’s not what you’re really worried about, is it?” Nephryte confronted him at eye-level. “Were you eavesdropping on Dr. Zushil’s conversation with Cyrus?”
Aken’s mouth twisted to the side.
Nephryte sighed. “That was a private talk. I trust you’ll keep the information to yourself?” Aken nodded. “I understand you’re worried about your friend, but don’t jump to conclusions. You can’t let thoughts eat away at you.”
“Fine, fine.” Aken heaved a breath, letting his mind relax. The scent of old books in the air was somehow soothing. “I’ve been wanting to ask something, and I know it’s out-of-the-blue, but...you know a lot of stuff about other races, right?”
Nephryte nodded slowly.
“Well, do other races have—um—does their blood taste different?”
Nephryte’s brow furrowed. “I suppose so, yes. Why?”
“Eh, nothing, it’s nothing. It’s not illegal to be curious, is it?”
The Mentor cocked an eyebrow. “Are you curious about Cyrus?”
Heat rushed to Aken’s cheeks. “I... I once Healed his finger, and his blood tasted sweet—abnormally sweet. Kind of freaked me out.”
A dark shadow fell over the Mentor’s face. “You should never put blood in your mouth, Aken-Shou! Even if it is only to Heal. It’s—” He paused to inhale, and brushed back his bangs. “It’s not always safe, especially for someone so young as you. Don’t ever do it again. Understand?”
Taken aback by the outburst, Aken avoided meeting his gaze.
Nephryte’s emotions cleared and he straightened, all calm again. “Finish your homework, Aken-Shou.” Nephryte’s boots continued clacking down the path toward the library’s roomlets, cape swishing.
Aken’s stare followed. “He’s never said that before. I’ve never heard anybody say blood is dangerous.” He exhaled through this teeth, then moved to exit the way he’d come.
Nephryte wasn’t one to lie, so why did he feel like the Mentor was hiding something?
“CYRUS SOLE.” A DEEP voice echoed off the rosewood walls and arched niches inside the principal’s office. Cyrus tried to swallow but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Shelves everywhere displayed an assortment of exotic beetles, frozen in time. She eyed one specimen: a horned green beetle the size of her head.
A bay window at the far back let in muted light, highlighting a mahogany desk with legs carved like a giant insect, and two rows of chairs either side against the walls. A scent of age and musk hung in the room, quite like the gray mustached vempar within it.
Beard reaching to his belt, it swayed side to side as the principal glided across the floor toward her. He bent his towering frame. She’d yet to see a vempar this old. Years of knowledge and strife dwelt behind the elder’s deep wrinkles and sienna-brown eyes. His bony frame and hands flexed, strong and capable, as he regarded her.
“Y-yes, Principal, sir?” she asked, then jumped when he chortled.
“Heh-heh-heg. Your movements are as cautious as a swan,” he mused, and stroked his hidden chin.
Swan? Strange analogy to use. Why not beetle? He seemed to like collecting beetles. She inched sideways from a blue specimen’s long tusks.
The elder’s knobby finger pointed, almost touching her nose, and her eyes crossed staring at it. “I was suspicious about a human possesing the gift. It seemed like a clever ruse for a spy, except that you’ve proven your Ability is real. Tell me, which of your parents was vempar?”
“My mother, Nancy,” Cyrus replied.
“And she had Ability?”
Cyrus searched but couldn’t decipher what his intentions might be. His question lingered, and she quickly nodded.
“You wouldn’t think to betray her by betraying us, your vempar half?”
She shook her head.
“Or do you favor the human in you?”
She shook her head again from side to side. “I will favor what’s right, and I won’t betray my comrades.”
“Well, that’s not quite the answer I asked for. I can’t tell whose side you’re on based on that.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her gaze focused on the curly end of his beard, until his strange chortle came again.
“Your battle with Doughboy was quite something; a Duel to be remembered. You have the makings of a Draev.” He straightened, his fingers drumming against his robed chest.
“Either way!” Principal Han said so suddenly that she jumped, elbow bumping a cluttered shelf. The principal studied her. “I’m usually a good judge of character, Cyrus Sole. You deceived us about your race, but I sense no malice or evil intentions in your heart. And Master Nephryte seems to trust you—he has vouched on your behalf. I do wish you had come to us openly about your heritage, but I understand that fear often makes mistakes.”
Cyrus rubbed her wrists and tried not to let her hopes rise.
Han combed two fingers down his moustache thoughtfully. “The King has granted Aken permission to remain a student, as you’ve requested, and he’s asked that the same permission be granted to you, as well. Though, if I detect any falsehood in you, I could object.” He paused, and she panicked. “You were willing to sacrifice your freedom to save Aken-Shou, and for that reason, and for my excellent judge of character, I won’t object.”
The words washed over Cyrus like a flood of relief and mixed emotions. She could stay on as a student!
“Not everyone in this city will be pleased, and you’ll have to be very careful to give no one reason to accuse you of anything,” Principal Han warned. “You must master your Ability and grow strong.”
“But, Principal sir, won’t the D.G. League be against me staying?”
Principal Han readjusted some of the beetles that had been jostled by her elbow. “Against it or not, they have no say in the running of this school. I was once the League’s Grandmaster, you know, before I retired and took on this role.”
He pointed to her gloved wrists. “Your Master told me about the doctor’
s diagnosis. Oh don’t look so worried, I can keep a secret,” he assured. “We’ll try to help you as best we can, and keep it just between the four of us.” He patted her head. “Such a curious name for a child: Cyrus. After the Swan constellation.”
She scrunched her nose, wondering what that had to do with anything.
“Tell me, do you know the legend of the Swan Princess?”
“Yes, a little bit.”
“They say the Pure Light trapped within her body causes her to be brought back to this world, time and time again, reborn.” He spoke quietly, as if it were a secret. “She could be anywhere. In this kingdom, in this very room, even as we speak.”
Cyrus glanced left then right—it didn’t look like anybody else besides the two of them were here. “Do you believe the legend?”
“I’m old enough to believe that anything is possible.” His eyes twinkled. “But that would mean the old Emperor is real, too, and that he will one day return to find the Swan and finish what he started.”
His gaze drifted upward, lost in some distant thought, and Cyrus watched him, chewing her lip in the silence.
Han shook himself awake, then took her thin right hand in both of his large, bony palms. “It is both concerning and a wondrous mystery, how such a powerful energy came to be inside you.”
Cyrus shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, it’s a mystery.”
His moustache rose with what might have been a smile.
Releasing her hand, Principal Han made a shooing gesture. “Enough with my prattling then; I won’t bore you any longer. I’m sure you’ve much that you’re eager to get back to. We old folk can be dreadfully boring.”
She tugged one of the tall doors, pulling it open the rest of the way with her foot and elbow. “It was nice to officially meet you, Principal Han.” She flashed a smile before exiting, and the door clicked shut. That had to be the strangest talk she’d ever had with a grown-up.
Swan Princess, what did that have to do with anything?
At least she was allowed to stay in Draevensett.
Chapter 39
The evening sun was a bright orb in the low sky, though dark clouds were slowly rolling in for battle. Cyrus and Aken lay sprawled on the grass of Cherryblossom Park, pencils in hand, scribbling through homework.
The inner reaches of the park became thicker woods the farther you went. Most people didn’t venture there, and they missed the tucked away meadow dotted with wildflowers. A stream meandered nearby, and a pettirosso trilled merrily. It was as if she’d escaped from civilization.
“Math, oh my aching fangs,” Aken whined, forehead hitting the ground repeatedly. “I can’t figure this stuff out. Why do they call these square-roots? There’s nothing root or square about them!”
“Oh my aching ears. If you don’t stop whining, I’ll box those fangs out of your head.”
Aken squinted, mock-shrinking away from her. “You’re getting scarier by the day.”
Cyrus hid a laugh, then turned more serious. “I hope you won’t shun Hercule for what he did.”
The humor paused as he regarded her.
“Just don’t, please; it won’t make anything better. I’d rather leave it to the Master.”
He sighed and turned away. “I wasn’t planning to. Sure, I’m mad at him, but if he’s really sorry, I can let it go.”
Cyrus stared at him, speechless. “You’d forgive him, just like that?”
“Why do you look so surprised?” Aken mumbled. Then he asked, “Will you forgive your family for how they treated you?”
Her mouth slackened at the sudden mention. Could she forgive them?
“Have you forgiven yours?” she asked him instead.
He nodded. “Mom and Dad each had their own issues, but you know, they provided a roof over my head and food on the table—and that’s more than some kids have ever had. I wish they were still here.”
They rolled over on their backs to gaze up at the gathering clouds, and she thought about his answer. Aken cupped his hands behind his head, and she propped the back of her head on his shoulder. He pointed at a cloud that resembled Professor Kotetsu.
Cyrus found her eyelids starting to droop, drifting into a doze from the warm sun and the sound of Aken’s heartbeat like a rhythmic lullaby in her ear.
The breathing of a vempar was slow and deep, chest rising and falling like rolling waves in a sea of calm. The rhythm reminded her of Mother—conjuring images of her holding Cyrus to her chest, rocking her to sleep. No solid memories, but a familiar comfort.
She silently wished they could stay this way, forever.
Plip...Plop... Plip-plop plip-plop.
Her forehead felt wet. She rubbed it with the back of a hand, opening one eye in time for a thick raindrop to plop right inside.
She jolted up. Thick drops descended in a sudden torrent, and Aken snatched her hand, his hair and shirt already plastered. “Run!”
They hurried and laughed, stomping through puddles and a rain rivulet as they exited the park, oblivious to overhangs they could have hidden under and waited out the storm. He skipped with her, arm-in-arm, up a cobbled street.
“RAIN COMES DOWN FROM the mountain top
Raindrops fall, ker-plop ker-plop,
The mists will rise to whisk you up,
Hurry on home while you can...
THE BREWING CLOUDS turn day to night
Roaring loud the thunder’s might
Pounding the ground as giants fight,
Hurry on home while you can...
LIGHTNING SPEARS THE heart of the sky
Splitting cracks vast, far and high
Shattering glass behind your eyes,
Hurry on home while you can...
RAIN COMES DOWN FROM the mountain top
Hurry on home while you can...
IT’S COMING AND IT won’t be stopped
Hurry on home while you can...”
“BETTER WATCH OUT, AKEN, or another shoe will come flying at you,” Cyrus warned.
BACK INSIDE DRAEVENSETT’S shelter, Cyrus was toweling off her hair in her room when she discovered an envelope on the bed. The tidy script read:
I thought you might appreciate having this. She was a dedicated student and a compassionate soul, not much unlike yourself.
~Principal
She held her breath as she opened the flap and reached inside, pulling out a single photograph.
It looked old, the fringes long since yellowed. In the picture was a group of students gathered shoulder-to-shoulder, most of them boys. But one girl stood out, her wavy hair dark in the black-and-white image, a color she knew must be red.
“Mother...”
Something dripped onto the photo and she wiped it off, holding it away from the tears.
She studied the petite face, the smile with a dent in the lower lip, the brightness in her young eyes. And for the first time, Cyrus’s memories became a shade clearer.
She held the photo to her chest, and didn’t move until Aken came for her.
AFTER CHANGING SOAKED clothes for dry ones, Aken sat on the study room rug before the lit fireplace, drying his hair and chatting with Bak and Zartin about the day’s events. Cy drew the curtains back to watch the rainstorm.
“Dude,” Bak was saying, “You were all alone in that creepy dungeon. What’s it like? No one’s been down there for ages!”
Aken snorted, ignoring the chill that ran up his arms. “Who cares about that? Cy just won the Festival Duel. That’s all anybody should be talking about.” He jerked his head to the side defensively.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The others glanced at him then pretended to focus on something else.
Aken regretted it; he didn’t mean to dampen everyone’s mood.
He got an idea: he scrubbed at his hair, making it part and arch similarly to Nephryte’s, then put on a calm, serious façade. “Young ones,” he imitated the Master’s tone, “You better behave yourselves and be good little students, or no story-tim
e for you. I’ll send you to bed!”
Bak blinked for a second before catching on, then he fell over in a fit of giggles, rolling on the rug. Cy doubled over, Zartin hid his face inside the blue hat, and Mamoru openly laughed. Even Lykale chuckled at his chemistry book.
“Aken-Shooou!” he continued the act. “That’s right. I draw out the Shou part of your name when I’m really upset with you. You are a brat!”
Aken flipped his hair back over a shoulder like some fashion model. “You must mature and become like me. Your hair needs to flow and wave, like mine. See how gorgeous and luscious it is? How it flutters in the breeze?”
By now, everyone was laughing themselves sick.
Then they suddenly froze, staring beyond Aken at something.
Aken raised an eyebrow at them. “What, it’s not working for you? How about if I gracefully glide across the floor as I walk?” He slid along on his socks. “Reminds you of some ballerina, doesn’t he?”
He missed the vocal grunt behind him.
“Or should I swoon my undying love for the Lady Seren-Rose?” Cupping hands over heart, and gazing up at the ceiling starry-eyed, Aken lamented: “Oh Seren-Rose, Seren-Rose, how I pine for thee! My love, my life, you are in my dreams—even when it is day—and lo, how I longeth for you-eth. But no!” He raised fists high to the ceiling sky, a soul in torment. “Alas, my love, we cannot be together! Because we are both Masters in the same school, and I guess it would be weird or something—I don’t really know the reason why!” He hung his head in defeat. “But what I do know is that you will always be with me in my head. As I perish from broken-heart syndrome, I will be thinking of you...in my head.”
His voice lowered to a whisper, kneeling, “...In my head.” Several seconds passed to allow the final words sufficient echo through the room, before three sharp claps sounded behind him.
Clap—clap—clap! “What a talented actor and drama queen you are,” said a too calm voice.