Miraclist

by P B Hughes

  “Gregory! What happened to your face?” Martha exclaimed when she saw him.

  “Oh, I got elbowed or something—you know how crowds are,” he deflected. “How about we head on back to the hotel? I’m sure you party-poopers are ready to call it a night.”

  “Yes,” Daniel responded. “Let’s get out of this zoo.”

  “Oh, please, let’s not separate again,” begged Martha. “I don’t want to get lost in the crowd a second time.”

  “Well as long as these two don’t go running off,” Daniel said crossing his arms, “we should be able to make it.”

  “Excuse me,” huffed Gregory, “I was dragged away! You two were the ones who ran off.”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Gregory,” Daniel rebuffed. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do: so as to not get separated in the crowd, we’ll walk linked together. Martha, you hold my cloak. Gregory, you hold hers, and Jude you bring up the rear.”

  “That’s ridiculous! We’ll look like a bunch of—”

  “What looks more ridiculous, Gregory? Us walking linked together or carrying Jude back with a bloody stump for an arm?

  Gregory gave Jude a startled look. He didn’t noticed until now, but Jude hadn’t spoken a word since he had arrived.

  “Jude ran away and almost got his arm hacked off by an angry merchant—you gallivant about with a bevy of girls and come back bloody and bruised—”

  Gregory began to object. “Don’t give me another one of your self-righteous speeches, Daniel. I just—”

  “No!” barked Daniel, stopping him short. “We’re heading home and this time we’re doing it my way!”

  Gregory waited for Jude to protest, but he didn’t. Instead, Jude silently took hold of the tail of Gregory’s cloak.

  “I can’t believe you’re playing along with this,” said Gregory to Jude. He looked at Martha, then back to Daniel. Blood trickled out from his nose again, and he quickly smeared it with his other sleeve. “Fine, I’ll humor you.”

  With that, the four of them stepped out of the alleyway, Daniel at the helm. They careened through the crowd like a centipede, dodging the rowdy remnants of a wild evening. When they neared the square of Gregory’s incident, Gregory flipped his hood up to hide his face. Fortunately, no one recognized him, and students stole through, threading back the way they came.

  “You guys can let go now,” said Daniel when he realized they were all still clinging to each other, long after they emerged from the mass of people.

  They released each other’s cloaks and continued down the dark road in the direction of Martha’s hotel. When they arrived at the doorstep, it was nearly one in the morning.

  “Do you think you’ll wake up Mrs. Doppledodger?” whispered Daniel.

  “Are you kidding me?” said Gregory. “That woman sleeps more soundly than a bear in hibernation. If Martha went in there banging brass cymbals together I doubt she’d so much as nod.”

  Martha gave Gregory an irritated look. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good,” replied Daniel. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 17

  The next morning, Daniel woke before the dawn, excitement washing away his exhaustion from the night before. Mordecai was already out in the driveway with a wagon when they walked outside the hotel. He wore a brand new set of burnt orange robes and black boots. His hair was combed back, and his sideburns neatly trimmed. Martha sat next to him, sporting a clean white and blue cloak and braided hair.

  “Good morning, boys,” Mordecai said, smiling as he climbed down. “Today is the day!”

  “Hey, nice robes,” said Gregory as he looked Mordecai up and down.

  “Why thank you, Gregory, all the teachers were given robes to match their Miraclist class. I see you three received new robes—Gregory what happened to your face?” Mordecai’s smile was quickly replaced with a frown.

  Gregory turned bright red. “Um…Jude punched me.”

  “I did no such—oomph!”

  Gregory elbowed Jude in the ribs. “Quiet,” he muttered.

  “Martha, please get the staff.” Mordecai shook his head. “When will you boys learn? This is my last day being responsible for you. Let’s try to make it a good one, eh?”

  Martha walked up to Gregory, eyes flashing blue as the healing mist poured out of the end of the staff and covered Gregory’s face.

  It didn’t take long before Gregory’s eye was mended. Then the troupe clambered on board the wagon and rolled down the road toward the Coliseum.

  “Now remember, there may seem like a lot of students when you arrive today, but only the students who score in the twentieth percentile on the written exam get to compete in the remainder of the games,” lectured Mordecai.

  “The written test is the easy part,” replied Jude. “I scored perfect on each practice exam—Daniel near perfect.”

  “I got perfect scores on all but the first,” protested Daniel.

  “Like I said,” continued Jude, “near perfect.”

  “Well if perfect is the standard, then I’m sure to fall short,” mumbled Gregory. “I suppose I’m happy to have got into the University. Just don’t expect anything else from me.”

  “Nonsense!” said Mordecai, giving Gregory a wallop on the back. “You’ll do fine, my boy. Your scores weren’t perfect, but in comparison with the other students, you’re a solid candidate.”

  “Maybe if there’s a large portion covering how gears spin, he’ll do well,” said Jude sarcastically. “Machines are about the only subject he’s good at.”

  “It’s the only subject I like,” replied Gregory. “The rest are boring.”

  They arrived at the Coliseum just as the sun rose above the ocean. Seagulls cried out above their heads, flying into the city to clean up the food remnants left from the night before. Daniel had never felt so much water in the air. It felt heavy, immense, and powerful. They pulled up to the front entrance of the Coliseum—a tall arc built so that dozens of people could pass through at once—just as a thin line of students was trickling in. The three boys hopped down from the wagon, but Mordecai and Martha remained in their seats.

  “Listen,” said Mordecai in a hushed voice, “As much as I’d like to, I can’t go in with you boys. I trust you can get signed in on your own?”

  “But why not?” asked Daniel. “Don’t all the teachers sit with their students?”

  “I’ll sit with you at the ceremonies,” replied Mordecai, “I just can’t be there during registration.”

  “How come?” said Gregory.

  Mordecai looked from side to side to see if anyone was listening, then leaned down. They inched closer.

  “General Tiberius scheduled a meeting with me at eight o’clock to discuss the goblins that attacked Daniel in the valley.”

  Gregory’s face lit up with excitement. “You’re meeting with the General already? When do we get to meet him?”

  “Shh!” hushed Mordecai. “Not another word about it. I don’t want to cause a panic. Now, good luck to all of you.” The wagon wheels lurched forward. “And don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he called out over his shoulder.

  The three of them entered the circular hall of the Coliseum. Polished marble floors and great white walls rose up on either side of them. Light poured in from the different entryways that lead out into the stadium seating, though iron gates barred entry into the barren battleground exposed to the sky.

  Statues of famous Guardians stood in dark arches, caught in perpetual battle against exotic beasts and evil men. Daniel gawked as they walked past. He recognized Irabee the Irascible—one foot perched victoriously on top of a felled Minotaur’s head as he grumpily surveyed the passersby. Then there was Wendy Washbuckle; her righteous kick was planted in the belly of a grotesque-looking troll. The last statue made Daniel pause. Beneath it was the label, The Last Death. It was of Cilas the Strong—a muscle-bound Miraclist of old with long braided hair. His hand was gripped tightly around another man’s throat,
squeezing the last bit of life from his lungs. The other man was hairless, scales creeping up the back of his neck, fading at the base of his skull. He had no nose or ears; in their place were holes like that of a lizard. Hateful rage poured out from his almond-shaped eyes that sloped iniquitously upward. A noiseless cry rose from his gaping mouth, revealing four snakelike fangs. His clawed fingers pried at Cilas’ massive hand which had him in a death lock. It was clear that this statue depicted the creature only seconds before his death.

  “Who is that?” asked Daniel, pointing to the dying man.

  Jude studied the creature, rolling through the encyclopedia of his mind until a look of recognition appeared on his face. “I’ve read about these creatures before. They went extinct thousands of years ago—Cythes, I believe they’re called.”

  “What happened to them?” Daniel questioned.

  “They were the Vut’Al Choshek’s chief warriors—very powerful, very evil; able to wield a dark energy, so the fable goes. They worshiped him like he was a god, and fought with the ancient Miraclists even after he was banished.”

  “So they were killed off?”

  “Every last one of them,” replied Jude. “They spent their every waking moments vying for the return of the Vut’Al Choshek, so the ancient Miraclists hunted them to the ends of the earth and slaughtered them all.”

  Daniel stared intently at the Cythe and felt a strange pity for him, the last of his race.

  “I wouldn’t put much stock in the tale. It’s nothing more than a myth perpetuated by monks to scare children into behaving. And to scare ancient people into giving them money for holy protection.”

  “Okay, enough of the history lesson,” said Gregory, growing impatient. “Let’s go or we’ll be waiting in line for the next century.”

  They followed the line of students around a bend until they entered a wide room with high ceilings, filled with students and their teachers, all dressed in an assortment of different-colored robes. A dull roar filled the space as they chattered with each other, segregated by circles of students and teachers. At the end of the room were six stone tables with yellow and purple cloaked Miraclists sitting behind them, ready to check the students in. Behind them, a tunnel led out into a courtyard.

  “Would you look at all these people,” said Daniel, “I didn’t realize there’d be so many.”

  “Seven hundred and twenty to be exact,” replied Jude, “one hundred and twenty in each class of Miraclist. And only six of us will be Guardians. What do you think of our odds now?”

  Gregory moaned. “I don’t stand a chance. At least you two will get past the written test.”

  A shrill, amplified voice rang out through the crowd. “ATTENTION STUDENTS!” A frizzy-haired woman wearing a gold cloak stood atop one of the tables, blinking at them behind a pair of full-moon spectacles. Beside her, a man held a staff with an amethyst colored orb glowing at the top up for her to speak into. “PLEASE FORM SIX LINES BASED ON YOUR CLASS. EACH LINE FACING A TABLE.”

  “Well, I guess this is where we split up,” said Daniel.

  The mass of students began to shift like a giant rainbow blob until six neat lines of yellow, blue, green, orange, purple, and red formed in front of six stone tables.

  “VERY GOOD, VERY GOOD,” said the woman. “MY NAME IS SHELTA FUSSIN—MS. FUSSIN WILL DO.” She paused, her eyes soaking in all of the students, and then let out a satisfied sigh. She then proceeded to explain to the students the mundane details of the day that few care to listen to—where they were to sit, with whom, and how they were to behave. “AND NO—I REPEAT, NO UNAUTHORIZED USE OF ENERGY—DOING SO WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE EXPULSION. ALSO, I’D LIKE TO REMIND ALL OF YOU GENTLY THAT DECAPITATIONS ARE NOT ALLOWED DURING THE GAMES AND ANYONE WHO DOES SO WILL BE DISQUALIFIED. A WOUND OF THAT NATURE IS AWFULLY DIFFICULT TO HEAL.” She chuckled, obviously thinking herself witty. “LASTLY, YOU WILL CHECK IN AT THE END OF THE LINE AND WAIT IN THE COURTYARD FOR ANY FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. GOOD LUCK TO ALL OF YOU.”

  The man’s staff stopped glowing and he moved it from her mouth. Ms. Fussin then hopped down and hurried behind one of the tables, her ridiculous hair bouncing behind her in a tangled mass.

  The lines moved slowly, and unfortunately for Daniel, he was stuck near the back, while Gregory and Jude stood near the front of theirs. As soon as the first students were checked in, they disappeared out the back tunnel and into the light-filled courtyard.

  “State your name and school,” said the yellow-cloaked woman sitting behind the table as Daniel finally approached.

  “Daniel Hart,” he replied. Daniel actually didn’t know his real last name. Hart was the name given to him when he arrived at the orphanage.

  All orphans were named after one of the four symbols on the nation’s crest, depending on the season they arrived. Hart for the autumn deer, Frost for the winter’s snowflake, Elm for the towering tree of spring, and Salam for the burning salamander of summer.

  The woman flipped through several pages of parchment until she came to one with a solitary name on it: his. She drew a large check mark beside it. “Hold out your wrist.”

  Daniel complied and she slid a silver ring around it. Then she reached out and touched it with the tip of her finger. There was a pop as she sent a wave of electricity humming through her finger and into the ring. The ring expanded, hovering around his arm and spinning rapidly like a wheel. Then, suddenly, it clasped tightly around his wrist.

  “This is your victory ring,” she said in a canned fashion, ignoring the wincing look on Daniel’s face. “It monitors your vital signs. If you win, it stays on. If you lose, it falls off and you’ll no longer be eligible to compete. If you experience any major injuries, which I assure you, you will, this ring will envelope you in a bubble and fly you to the Judge’s Platform for healing. So do not remove it. Good luck in the games, and be back here promptly at twelve-thirty. What you do between now and then is up to you, but once the ceremonies begin, you belong to us.”

  “Thanks,” said Daniel, rubbing his wrist as he walked away and down the tunnel.

  The courtyard was hexagonal with a carpet of green grass, split down the middle by a stone walkway. A large oak grew at the middle, and a fountain splashed around the edges of the walls. Little yellow flowers dotted the grass, and dragonflies whirred through the air. Six long banners hung from the walls, each representing the class of Miraclist—Ruby, Sapphire, Emerald, Gold, Amber, and Amethyst.

  Circles of unfamiliar faces had formed about the courtyard, mostly students who already knew each other.

  Seven hundred and twenty students and only three of us from Littleton, thought Daniel as he searched the room for his comrades.

  Suddenly, the sound of laughter rang out through the courtyard—though not a happy laughter. No, Daniel had heard this kind of laughter before. This was the cruel kind that came at someone else’s expense.

  Daniel craned his neck to find the source of the amusement. Near the center of the yard, a circle of Apex students surrounded a helpless boy like a pack of cackling hyenas ready for the kill. Daniel ducked his head down to see who it was that lay at their feet. A feeling of horror welled in him as he recognized the dark green cloak and leather pack. There was Jude, sprawled out on the walkway, lying in a pool of blood. Behind him was a flailing Gregory, held up by his underarms by two brutish twins.

  Caden stepped out from the students’ midst, twirling a staff in his hand, laughing so hard his face turned lobster red.

  He stood above Jude, wiped the tears away from his eyes, and bent down, inches from Jude’s face. The mirth in his voice evaporated, replaced with the icy chill of hatred. “I think it’s time we started the games a little early.”

  Chapter 18

  “Let me go, you cowards!” Daniel heard Gregory shout through the crowd as he struggled to free himself. “Fight me like a man!”

  Caden turned to face Gregory, a wry smirk on his face. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “None of your busi
ness, you brainless—”

  Caden thrust the end of his staff into Gregory’s belly, sending him into a crumpled heap.

  Daniel’s eyes flashed and he made a beeline toward Caden, shoving his way through a crowd of students who watched the spectacle. Something cold and hard lanced across his legs. Sharp pain shot through his shins and he tumbled to the ground.

  A Gold Miraclist with a pinched face and blonde curls stood over him.

  “I found the other one!” the boy announced. “What should I do to him?”

  “Show him what we do to outsiders, Sneed,” commanded Caden.

  Sneed took another swipe at Daniel with his staff, only this time Daniel rolled; the staff collided against the pavement with a clink. Daniel gave a swift kick to Sneed’s shin, sending him to his knees with a yelp. Suddenly, a horde of Caden’s minions were on top of Daniel. They grabbed at his arms and legs and pinned him to the ground.

  Caden laughed and turned his attention back to Jude, rolling him over with his foot. “Why don’t you fight back, boy?”

  “He’s afraid,” scoffed a redheaded girl in a navy blue cloak. “The low-class haven’t any courage.”

  “Is that it, Elenora?” Caden asked. “Just a spineless jellyfish, is he?” He kicked Jude in the side. “That will teach you to talk to my girl.”

  “Stop it, Caden!” echoed a voice through the tunnel.

  Caden looked up, hot anger in his expression.

  The voice was Ari’s. There she was, eyes flashing violet, a thin white staff raised above her head, marching straight toward Caden. The students in front of her parted, creating a clear path for her as she strode.

  A look of frustration appeared on Caden’s face. He stared down at Jude with loathing, but did not kick him again.

  “I’ve had enough of your bullying!” she said, her voice rising. “How could you?”

  “Ari, you don’t understand,” Caden replied coolly.

  “No! I understand—I understand perfectly,” she said, sticking the end of her staff in Caden’s face. “We are through, Caden Baine—done! Do you hear me?”