Tria raised her hands over her head. Her thoughts directed the cascade of sparks into her cupped palms. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out from the searing pain, held her hands in place, and tipped them to send the flame-shower fountaining back toward its maker.
Oryon lifted his wand and drew the flow of sparks to its tip. Passing his other hand over and through the firefall, he formed a blazing dragon the size of a housecat. He sent it flying toward Tria.
Hands burned, power weakened, Tria knew the battle was nearing its end. She had understood instinctively how to shape the fire, but as the dragon circled her head, her instincts failed. Strength drained from her like water from a sink. The dragon’s hot wings fanned her face. It glided onto her shoulder. Its talons burned into her flesh; its hot breath ignited her hair.
Behind her someone—Taner?—cursed. She heard sounds of a scuffle. Someone reached from behind her to beat out the flames in her hair. Her power ceased to ebb and resumed its flow. Not strongly, but enough.
She focused on the dragon. It shrank to the size of a falcon. A sparrow. A dragonfly. She fixed her concentration on the tiny firebeast, reduced it to a glowworm. To a spark. This she flicked from her shoulder and ground beneath her shoe.
With the creature destroyed, she looked at Oryon. Kress had risen and stood behind his rival. He gripped Oryon’s arms and pinioned them to his sides. He seemed to be using only his physical strength, not his power. Maybe being hit with the Logic book had brought him to his senses.
Slowly Tria turned to see how the other girls fared.
Taner sat on the floor directly behind Tria. Bloody scratches marred her face. She held her knife at Lina’s throat.
Verin supported a shaking Coral, while Nubba clung in terror to Kathyn.
Behind them, in the open doorway, stood Veronica and Headmistress. Tria gasped. The blood drained from her face. How long had they been watching? Had they seen the whole battle? No, if they had, surely Headmistress would have intervened.
As Tria stared foolishly, helplessly, at the tall Headmistress and the short, dumpy maid, Headmistress stepped inside the room, which seemed to enlarge to provide space for her.
“Mr. Klemmer, release Mr. Brew,” she commanded. “He will do no more harm.”
With clear reluctance, Kress released Oryon.
“Healer,” she said to Verin. “You have permission to use your power to heal all wounds except the scratches across Miss Mayclan’s face. Let her bear the scars as a reminder that she may not use her dagger.”
Taner drew herself up proudly. “It is the custom of my clan to wear scars with pride.”
Verin placed her hands on the gashes on Nubba’s arms, pressed until the wounds closed and disappeared. Next, she moved to Lina’s side. With a look of distaste she extended a hand, placed it on the girl’s thigh. Headmistress watched her for a moment before turning to Nubba.
“Miss Balder,” she addressed the quaking Nubba, “you will return to your room, and until further notice you are restricted to it. You may leave it only to attend classes, eat meals, and serve your assigned duties.”
Nubba bowed her head in acceptance.
“Miss Snow, I judge you have suffered enough so that you will not again place yourself voluntarily in such a position. You may go to your room.”
Coral nodded, and she and Nubba left. Verin placed her hands on Tria’s burned shoulder and face. Her cool touch seemed to draw out the heat, smooth the blistered flesh. The pain eased. In moments, all evidence of the severe burns had vanished.
When Verin finished, Headmistress dismissed her to her room and turned again to Taner. “You also may leave, Miss Mayclan, but with this warning: a second use of your dagger will result in your expulsion.”
Taner tossed her head in defiance and stalked past Headmistress and into the corridor.
While Veronica hovered in the background, Headmistress bestowed a long, chilling look on each of those remaining. “With the rest of you I must talk at length. You will accompany me to my office.”
She pivoted and marched through the door. One by one they fell into step behind her, with Veronica following as if to herd them along. Under other circumstances, Tria would have found the parade ludicrous. Now it reminded her of a funeral procession, and a deep foreboding filled her as she trudged through the silent halls.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DILEMMAS
The group gathered outside Headmistress’s office. Headmistress took Kathyn inside and closed the door, leaving the rest waiting under Veronica’s watchful gaze.
They stood in embarrassed silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. Except for Lina. She winked at Kress, pouted when he turned his back on her, snuggled up to Oryon, who promptly moved away. Her spell over them seemed broken. If so, some good had come out of this disastrous mess. Tria glanced at Oryon. He shifted his gaze upward where a spider spun a web across the light fixture. Had he really tried to kill her? The whole bizarre episode was taking on a dreamlike quality.
She had no idea where her power or the knowledge to counter Oryon’s attacks had come from. She had felt it pour into her as though from an outside source.
When her turn came to face Headmistress, she had to make the woman listen to her explanation. Otherwise Tria could be summarily dismissed from the school for violating the rules. The idea of going home to face her father and hear his “I told you so” was bad enough, but it was the thought of seeing her mother’s disappointment that tied her stomach in knots. She had to keep her promise to her mother.
She had been defending herself and her friends. She would have to make Headmistress understand.
If only she knew what Headmistress was saying—doing—to Kathyn. It was taking so long! This waiting was like sitting on an anthill. Although Tria strained to hear, no sound penetrated the office door.
The door burst open. Kathyn dashed out, sobbing. Kress reached for her arm. She dodged him and ran up the stairs. Kress started after her.
“Mr. Klemmer.” Veronica’s call brought him to a halt. “You and Mr. Brew may enter the office.”
Tria groaned. Another wait. And no way of knowing what Oryon and Kress would tell Headmistress. She gathered courage to say, “She ought to see us all together.”
“It isn’t necessary,” Veronica answered.
“Why not?”
Veronica clamped her lips tightly shut.
Oryon and Kress trooped inside and the door was closed. Again Tria tried to hear the conversation within, thinking that male voices might carry, particularly if they were shouting. But she heard not a sound.
Time dragged. Lina made a great show of acting bored and put upon, but the performance was wasted on Veronica, who stared off into space and hummed a maddeningly cheerful tune.
At last the door opened. Oryon stormed out, face dark with anger. Kress followed, pale and shaken. Both headed down the corridor to the boys’ quarters, walking rapidly, not speaking.
“Ladies,” Veronica said, “Headmistress will see you both.” She ushered them into the office, and, to Tria’s surprise, followed them in, closed the door, and leaned against it.
Two chairs were placed in front of Headmistress’s desk. Tria sat in one, and Lina took the other.
As before, the desk lamp left Headmistress’s face in shadow. Her hands rested in the circle of light, their thin fingers interlaced. She did not speak. Perhaps she was waiting for a confession. Or an explanation.
Lina would not be the first to speak. Tria would be the one to yield, to blunder through a defense that would most probably be ridiculed and rejected. Lina would witness her humiliation. And if she was allowed to tell the whole story, Lina might well deny it all. Whom would Headmistress believe?
Tria was considering how and where to begin when Headmistress spoke. “Ladies,” she said, “you have placed me in a dilemma—in fact, in two dilemmas.”
Tria started. Another lesson in logic?
Headmistress had her full attention as she explained. �
��Simonton School was established to teach the gifted to use their power responsibly. Careless and frivolous abuses of power such as you have demonstrated turn many normals against us. The aim of Simonton School is to make the normals aware of the positive force our graduates have become throughout the continent. To this end we make an effort to recruit a representative selection of gifted young people from all over Arucadi, taking special care to seek out the most highly talented and those with rare and unusual gifts.” She could have been reading from the recruitment brochure.
She paused a moment, twisted her ring so that the orange gem sent its reflection dancing over the walls and ceiling. “Both of you,” she continued slowly, as though weighing each word, “have exceptional power. You were selected to room together because you have similar strength and one of you cannot dominate the other as she could a lesser talent. We were quite sure that, despite the restrictions placed on you, you would eventually test your strength against each other. We have tried to make you aware of the possible consequences of that action.”
Her tone sharpened. “Miss Mueller, you have attempted to shift the balance of power by enticing Oryon Brew and Kress Klemmer into a contest of strength, knowing that you could siphon their psychic energy into yourself. You compounded your offense by tempting these two, using spells to enhance their attraction to you, though you had no romantic interest in either gentleman or in any of the other male students you similarly bespelled merely to sharpen your skills and conceal your true purpose. You cannot have thought that Simonton School would condone such behavior.”
But you did condone it, Tria thought. You let it go on until it came to a head. Why?
“You did not expect the contest to be between Mr. Brew and Miss Tesserell rather than Mr. Klemmer. But you must surely have been delighted by that unexpected development, since it meant you could not only absorb the power but by doing so could ensure the defeat of your rival.”
Tria recalled the sudden weakness that had nearly cost her life. So Lina had been responsible. But someone, possibly Taner, had stopped her, either knowing what Lina was doing, or by a fortunate distraction.
Tria cast a glance at Lina to see how she was reacting. She expected to see Lina’s usual expression of defiance. Instead, Lina leaned forward, lips parted, eyes wide. Her rapt attention was that of a student hearing a fascinating lecture; it contained no hint of contrition.
“Miss Tesserell.”
Tria’s gaze jerked back to the shadowy face behind the desk.
“Miss Tesserell, you have demonstrated a measure of restraint in the face of temptation. You resisted until you allowed yourself to be manipulated into a situation where power seemed your only recourse. Although you employed it in self-defense, through ignorance you very nearly brought about disaster. I did not wish you to wield your power until you knew better how to control it and when to use it safely.” She sighed. “You have not learned, yet I can restrict you no longer. That is one of my dilemmas. I would be remiss in forbidding you to defend yourself. I well know, however, that you risk the corruption of your power each time you resort to it.”
Again she paused, toyed with her ring. When she spoke, her voice was softer, reflective, as if she were talking to herself. “When the gifted turn their power against each other, the entire Community is harmed. Talent is wasted. Our reputation suffers. Energy that could be devoted to good is wasted on destructiveness. And all too often we lose a valuable talent. It is my desire that you two learn to be friends, to work together, to apply your talent to the common good. I cannot order you to do so. I can only hope to encourage that result. To that end, I am removing you both from regular work details—and, yes, I know, Miss Mueller, that you have exercised your gift to remove yourself from the lists. Instead, I am assigning you both to work with Veronica for two hours daily, carrying out any chores she sets.”
“I don’t intend to serve as a maid,” Lina declared.
“You’ll do as I order you, or you will leave the school,” Headmistress said.
“Very well. I shall leave. I made a mistake in coming here. Your foolish classes bore me, and all your stupid regulations make the place a prison.”
Again Headmistress sighed. “You may leave if you wish, but that brings me to my second dilemma. You came here of your own free will to develop your gift. By leaving, you reject the opportunity to develop your talent according to ethical standards. I have the authority to strip you of your talent to prevent future harm to the Community. I consider it an abuse of power to exercise that authority, yet if I do not do so, I allow you to abuse your power. If I do not limit your freedom, I endanger the freedom of the Community.”
“You cannot possibly do such a thing,” Lina said.
“I will show you—both of you—that I can.”
A sudden darkening fell over Tria, as though an inner light had been extinguished. Something like a wind rushed through her mind. It seemed to flow toward Veronica, rather than toward Headmistress. She tried to grasp the significance of that flow, but her thoughts were hazy. She felt confused, disoriented, stupid. The world became a dull, dreary place.
Lina must be having the same experience. She let out a loud moan and slumped in her chair.
The woman behind the desk said, “Veronica will escort you back to your room. At this time tomorrow your power will be restored. Then you must each decide whether to leave or stay. If either of you prefers to leave, you will be allowed to do so, but your gifts will be permanently destroyed, and you will spend the rest of your lives as normals.”
Lina did not leave the school. If her twenty-four hours as a normal were like Tria’s, she could not leave. Tria shuddered at the memory of that nightmarish day. The lostness. The emptiness. The feeling of helplessness, of imprisonment. Even though her father had forbidden her to use her power, it had always been there, a familiar friend, imparting a sense of strength and wholeness. When that was taken from her, it awakened sympathy for those who had no such power. How could they bear to lead their whole lives like that? She understood now the jealousy, the sense of being cheated, which had led her father to deny and squelch first her mother’s talent and then hers. Her new understanding caused her to work harder in her classes, determined to excel, to become a builder of bridges between normals and gifted.
Whether Lina had similar feelings, Tria had no idea. She said little, but with uncharacteristic meekness she joined Tria in trailing around after Veronica for two hours every afternoon. It occurred to Tria that before being assigned to this duty she had never seen Veronica performing any housekeeping task other than serving the meals, though now the little maid set them an example of diligent toil.
On the maid’s instruction they dusted the furniture in the first floor parlor, swept and straightened classrooms, washed chalkboards, emptied wastebaskets. Lina worked hard without resorting to her power. And although, for the most part, they worked in silence, it was a shared silence that created between them a new sense of camaraderie. Tria felt it, and she was sure that Lina did, too.
At night Tria slept soundly, no longer concerned that Lina was a threat to her.
As days passed, Tria saw a difference in the school’s appearance. The dust was gone, the cobwebs wiped away. The hardwood floors, waxed and polished, acquired an amazing sheen. When they set themselves the task of scrubbing windows inside and out, their efforts brought light and warmth into the building, investing it with new dignity. In the parlor the oil portrait of Lesley Simonton seemed brighter, less brooding, as though the young man approved the changes they had wrought in the school that bore his name.
Tria became more convinced each day that cleaning was not Veronica’s usual pursuit but that she engaged in these chores solely for the benefit of her two charges.
“It’s not fair,” Nubba groaned one evening when they were studying Metaphysical Theory in Nubba’s room. “You saved our lives, Lina nearly got us all killed, and the two of you have to serve the same punishment. It is not fair.”
&n
bsp; Tria shrugged. “I don’t mind the work. It’s not as hard as what I did every day at home.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Nubba insisted. “You shouldn’t have to do it. And Lina’s punishment should be far worse. She got off easy.”
“She’s behaving herself. That’s the important thing, isn’t it? In the courtyard yesterday I saw Kress and Oryon talking and laughing together like old friends. They’ve forgotten their feud. Doesn’t that make it all worthwhile?”
Nubba frowned. “And what punishment did they receive, I’d like to know! Kress won’t tell even Kathyn what Headmistress said to them.”
“And has Kathyn told you what she said to her?”
“Well, not everything,” Nubba admitted. “Only that her power is no longer linked with Kress’s, and she has to let him go his own way. She has to develop her talent apart from him. She was upset about that, but I think there was more, something she hasn’t told me, or anybody else.”
And why should she? It must gall Nubba to know of secrets she couldn’t ferret out.
Tria glanced at Irel, sitting silently at her desk, studying as if she were alone in the room. How it must torture Nubba to live with that quiet, secretive person and never be privy to any of her hidden knowledge.
Could Headmistress have assigned Irel to be Nubba’s roommate to provide the nosy one with a constant reminder that not all curiosity could be satisfied?
Nubba broke into her thoughts. “Here’s another bit of important information. It isn’t such a good thing that Oryon and Kress are friends. They’ve joined forces. Against you. Taner told me they blame you for humiliating them and getting them into trouble with Headmistress. And for making them look like weaklings.”
Tria stared. “Taner told you this?”
“Yes. She and Oryon are friends again, though I don’t think they’re any more than that—if they ever were. I never did believe Taner’s claim that Oryon was her beau. I—”
A School for Sorcery (Arucadi Series Book 6) Page 8