The Broken Academy 4: Pacts & Promises

by Jade Alters

  “It was a long trek for us to get here,” Fey Rorelia adds, “so we apologize for the tardiness.”

  “It hardly matters,” Magister Reynold waves off. “We couldn’t enact the operation today, anyway. Even our initial meeting time was too late in the day.”

  “You will all be accommodated in empty, supervised rooms tonight, providing we come to an amicable agreement. The operation will take the better part of a day, if not more. We’ll start early in the morning,” says Sorceress Lily. Great. That’s a temptation I’m not looking forward to fighting with all night. How much cash would I have to slip a sentry to let me into Lucidous’ room? Or Bart’s? A few of the Kyrie’s counterparts to the ASTF shift uncomfortably at the lodging situation. I hardly blame them. More than one of us has tried to kill the other before, often right under the Academy roof. Time for a slumber party.

  “As you read in our letter, the struggle increases to support our community every day with the influx of Fiend attacks and Norman attention. We’re willing to commit whatever resources needed,” Dorian announces. The resolve in his voice seems to put the others from the Kyrie at a certain level of ease. However much ease they can have, coming back here. Ironically, I find the person most similarly stressed to me is Cece. She can’t keep her eyes in one spot. Everywhere she looks is someone she wronged or someone who wronged her. Even the confidence of her father can’t seem to completely calm her nerves.

  “Obviously, we’ll need your Magister’s Key to unseal the Forbidden Shelves,” Reynold says to Horace.

  “A team of eight should descend into the Forbidden Shelves,” Thise proposes.

  “Why eight?” Dorian requests gently. The Council faces inward to decide who amongst them should share what they learned in their hunt for knowledge on our destination.

  “The Forbidden Shelves are enchanted with spells and illusions that… don’t exist anymore. Any record of them was sealed within the Shelves themselves, to prevent anyone from gaining the knowledge they house. It’s a living maze that will try to tear anyone who enters it apart,” Magister Reynold tries to explain.

  “That’s the censored way of saying we have a greater chance of anyone reaching the bottom, if we send more people in,” Chief Botan pipes up. The heads of the Kyrie nod over gulping throats.

  “That being said, neither of us can afford to send everyone in. A party of eight leaves considerable numbers behind to defend against the Fiends,” Thise adds.

  “In case… none of us survive?” Cece interprets for the rest of us foot soldiers. Fodder. Everyone at the table knows already if they’ve been considered for the Forbidden Shelves party. Sending anyone from the Council or the Kyrie leader circle would tip the balance of power too far to one side. As diplomatic as this gathering is, the Fiends are only the primary concern for now. Both sides will want their generals intact for the battle that comes after. Now it’s time to play the game of which kids go to the block in their stead.

  “Yes,” Thise answers Cece’s question, which suddenly feels like she asked it yesterday. The single, grim note of the Dragonlord’s answer makes Cece wince. It sends a similar ripple of anticipation through all of us who might be picked.

  “Four from each of our numbers, then,” Dorian conclues. Again, the Council shares a collective stare with one another, then each member of the ASTF. This is something they all discussed in a previous meeting, while I waited silently, much as I’m doing now.

  “Actually, we’d like to test your dedication to do what’s necessary,” Sorceress Lily tells Dorian. “We’re hosting you all here for the night on good faith. We’re giving you unrestricted, if supervised, access to the Academy premises. As insurance, we ask that you send three, with our five, into the Forbidden Shelves.”

  “You think we’d take the knowledge store there for ourselves?” Horace digs into Lily, but she shows no sign it’s even affected her. She crosses her arms and looks him in the eye as a stoic answer. “A prudent suspicion,” Horace admits.

  “We agree to your terms,” Dorian offers up for all of them. His mouth then opens again, at the same time as Cece’s.

  “My daughter will accompany your five.”

  “I’ll go,” Cece says at the same time as her father. They glance at one another to share a nod.

  “I trust no one more to act with integrity and dedication,” Dorian says.

  “I shall accompany her,” Bart volunteers next. “I may recognize some of the lore on the Fiends. I came across a book or two on them in the past. But nothing like what we might find in the Forbidden Shelves.”

  “Who else, from amongst us, will join?” Dorian asks of his gathering when quiet floats over the air of the courtyard. Bryant and Lee’s mouths pop open together, but before a single chivalrous word can escape, River Murtagh overpowers them with sheer volume.

  “Me,” River elects herself. She slaps a hand to Cece’s shoulder. “I’ll keep her in line.” Dorian nods to the girl, before turning back to Thise and the rest of the Council. They, in turn, look down the table to the obvious choice in leadership. Who better to boss around a group of eight than a Dalshak Magician? The question is: which one.

  “I’ll-

  Emery lets go of me only to reach across and stop Serge with a hand on his arm. He bites his tongue to cage the rest of his words. Words spoken in some ridiculous protective code of brotherly honor. I can see in his eyes how little he actually wanted to dive down into the Forbidden Shelves with his star-crossed lover. Serge looks to his little sister with a sort of longing hesitation. He knows he shouldn’t let her go in there. He shouldn’t let her put herself in harm’s way. But those are all lessons taught to him by family tradition. There’s something stronger between him and Emery. An understanding that they’d both rather see that rulebook burned. Serge doesn’t have to let Emery do anything. She’ll do whatever she damn well pleases. And it pleases Emery to see her father writhe across the table as she announces, “I’ll take care of it,” and Serge sits back in his seat.

  “Not alone you won’t,” Helena tags herself in. No one can deny that the intensity of her dual-natured spells would prove invaluable against the trials ahead.

  “I guess I’m in, too,” Hoster sighs. The cocked-eyebrow look everyone else gives him induces the same feeling. I guess you are. With the Kyrie’s spots filled up, the Council, and the Kyrie leaders out of the question, it’s not like there are many other candidates.

  “I’ll go,” Rock volunteers next. Obviously. Can’t very well have the toothpick Astral showing up the Ahwahneechee Chief in front of their mutual lover. The girl who haunts my waking nightmares. The girl who’s hand squeezes mine hard enough to ground me in reality. I wait for the next voice, the final one. Maybe Serge will go. Maybe Fey Deller. Maybe the Council will decide to make it an even split after all, with the Kyrie choosing a fourth member. The last thing I expect is Magister Reynold’s voice, directed at me.

  “Well, Darius?” he asks. Only then do I realize how many eyes have converged on me. All of them. Both sides of the table. Why me? Why the Vampire who has no helpful knowledge or particular ability? I realize only a second ahead of the explanation that follows. “One of your parole officers is staying. One is going. Will you complete the party of eight with Emery, or stay behind with Serge?” Oh right. Because I’m a threat to myself and others.

  “If I stay here… I may try to kill someone.” Even I’m shocked to hear myself admit it out loud. There’s just too much on the table here to dance around it, I guess. Maybe I’m just sick of all the masks. “In case that doesn’t clear things up…” I mutter, when no one follows my comment, “it’s the Forbidden Shelves for me.”

  “Then… we have our eight,” Dorian concludes. He’s just as eager as the rest of us to end the meeting.

  “We do,” Thise follows. “We’ll convene tomorrow in the Grand Library. Six o’clock.” Bodies rise from around the table. Chief Botan and Sorceress Lily round it to the Kyrie side.

  “We will show you
to your rooms for the night. You will be supervised by an instructor,” they explain. “You will be accompanied for any requests to leave your room.”

  One by one, bodies vanish from the Courtyard. The Kyrie members are paired up with their instructors and walked away. Serge watches them go. A certain, forlorn glint lingers in his eye. Hoster, Rock, Fey Deller, and Helena leave for their own rooms. The Council dissipates, returning to their respective offices to square away whatever they have to before the Forbidden Shelves operation occupies all their attention. That leaves me with Emery and Serge. Suddenly, I realize her hand is still in mine. I do my best to unclamp it, but Emery doesn’t pull away.

  “Why don’t you head back?” Emery says to her brother. “I’ll look after him for a while.” Serge eyes me up like a criminal in a lineup. Ultimately, though, he puts his money on his sister - he nods and heads off.

  “In bed by nine,” Serge finds it in himself to kid, however worried he actually is. “And no candy after dinner!” He vanishes, but Emery’s hand doesn’t leave mine.

  “Let’s go,” she says and takes me the long way around to my room. The whole time, she doesn’t let go.

  Emery,

  Darius’ Room

  The room adjoined to my brother’s looks exactly how it did a few weeks ago, before Darius’ release. Its walls are bare of posters. Its bookshelves are empty, for all but a few volumes. The bed is even suspiciously empty of blankets. There’s not even a top sheet. The only thing different about it now is that Darius Jecks is in it. Hardly.

  The look in his eye says he’s somewhere else. If there’s any semblance of his old self left, he’s thinking about the Forbidden Shelves operation tomorrow. Whether or not there is anything left of him in this tired, skinny body, I’m still trying to decide. It’s part of the reason why I’m compelled to walk him not just back to his room, but all the way to his bedside. I offer my hands to help him climb up into it. He’s just lost enough to take the offer, but still present enough to grimace the whole time. Darius rolls over onto his side, facing the wall.

  I stand there a while, watching him curl up like a child. It’s a side to him I never thought I’d see. One I never imagined he even had. Darius Jecks, vulnerable. Hurt. Not by any one particular thing, which is probably what’s plaguing him. It’s so much harder when there’s no one place to point a finger. According to what I understand, Vampires don’t sleep, yet he stares at the wall on his side, in a trance somewhat like slumber. My brow curves up at him as I lose track of time.

  I catch myself and change my face when his head turns back over his shoulder. I can’t be seen wearing anything close to pity for him. He’d never accept another ounce of help from me. He stares at me for a few seconds, eyes sharp as knives. He doesn’t need to tell me to fuck off, I hear it in his eyes. I only stare back, resolute, undaunted, but not pitying. Not sad. I can’t let him know that I actually miss the old Darius. That I’m worried about him. Our eyes clash, until at last, one of us yields. Darius rolls back over to face the wall.

  My hand reaches out faster than my mind can think better of it. Darius twinges when I touch his shoulder, but he stays facing the wall. My mind can’t settle on just one thought as I graze a hand down his shoulder blade. I miss you. Let me help you. I’m scared. Raw, untreated stones of emotion tumble over one another inside my chest as I pull myself up onto Darius’ bed. He doesn’t say anything or turn back, so I scoot up against him.

  I fit my waist around the outside of his hips. I slide my arm down, around his ribcage. I pull him into me, which is surprisingly easy with how light he is. I wait a second to see if he’ll shove me away, or just shoot out of the bed himself. Ten seconds later, we’re in the same position. I slide my knees up into the backs of his. I tuck my feet under his cold, bare toes. I let my forehead down onto the back of his neck. Over the course of a few long seconds, I turn myself into a full-body security blanket, perfectly formed around the shape of Darius.

  I’m not sure who is more surprised, when he grabs onto my arm and hugs it over his chest like a child, me or him. I feel him deflate a little with a long sigh. He melts into my hold. For the first time since I’ve seen him after his release, Darius seems to relax, just a bit. I can’t help but follow suit. I let my body heat seep into his and, before I know it, I fade into sleep.

  Descent

  Emery,

  The Broken Academy,

  For a second, I have no idea where I am. The familiar sound of my phone alarm jostles me from a shapeless dream that I forget almost instantly. Instinct drives me to anticipate my own room around me, and so when I shoot upright somewhere else, my natural response is alarm. Then I feel the shape beside me. I look down on Darius, still facing the wall. He’s silent and still, even with the blare of the alarm I had the foresight to set last night before I got into his bed. I click the alarm off before I can even remember why I stayed. Then I look over at him. Right, that’s why.

  Darius’ eyes hang half-open, zipping up and down the length of his wall without any real awareness. He’s in some kind of hypnosis. But, the longer I watch him, the more I realize it’s not pity that draws me in, or keeps me here. Darius helped me when I needed it. He even saved my life once. This is still the man I visited several times a week for the past two years. A man who deserves help. A chance. For whatever reason, he chose me to show those redeeming qualities to, even when he tried to disguise them as something else. I had to stay. More than that, I wanted to. Just like I want to put a hand on his shoulder now, and rock him gently.

  “Darius,” I whisper to him. His eyes flick back and forth. I give him another gentle shake. “Hey. It’s five-thirty. We have to get to the Library.” This time, his sight wanders half over to me, seeming almost to see me. I entwine my fingers in several tufts of his brown hair and sweep them backward, across his head.

  He stirs and rolls over to face me, mostly. Darius’ heart wakes just a second before his mind. In that momentary lapse, he stares up at me with something remarkably human. Longing. Wonder. He traces the rays of the day’s first light from the window through my golden irises. His lip shudders in an attempt to speak. Then his brain catches up, and the look tightens up to something like suspicion. He sits up beside me, facing the door.

  “You don’t have to take care of me,” Darius grunts. He slides off the edge of the bed and goes for his shoes, but freezes at the sound of my counter.

  “I know that. All I have to do is keep an eye on you,” I remind him, as per the Council’s command. “Remember that.” The last phrase hits Darius like a pebble in the back of the head. He turns back to me with an attempt at looking less sour. He gives up on anything more after a few seconds and shakes it off.

  “Come on. Before we’re late,” Darius says. Neither of us has many clothes to put back on, yet we both feel more naked than ever before. Darius and I pull on our emotional cover-ups and head out alongside Serge for the big meeting in the Grand Library. The departure.

  We arrive to find the Library walled off by instructors, keeping out any uninvolved with the operation. The huge, multi-floored hall of bookshelves and musty tomes seems oddly empty, even when the whole of the Council, ASTF, and Kyrie is gathered. Darius and I join Helena, Rock, and Hoster, while Serge sits on the edge of a long, wooden table with the rest of the Academy reserves, staying behind to monitor the rest of the Kryie. Cece, Bart, and River step out from their gathering to join the rest of the Forbidden Shelves voyagers. The eight are gathered in the center of the Library, separate from either of the groups they represent. The massive, stone clock face carved into the wall ticks out six. This is it. Sorceress Lily, the Former Magister Horace, and Chief Botan step out to address us.

  “The key to surviving the Forbidden Shelves will be to stick together,” Lily announces. All eight of our uneasy heads turn to her, then to Botan when he takes the reins.

  “The maze is like a living thing. Designed by our ancestors to divide you. If it does, it will be much easier for it to prevent y
ou from getting to the bottom,” he explains.

  “So… the tomes about the Fiends are at the bottom?” Cece interjects. I was wondering the same, though I have the patience to wait for the end of an explanation.

  “We have no idea where the tomes we seek are. The Forbidden shelves haven’t been unsealed since our ancestors closed them off,” Horace tells her with a surprising edge. I figured the two of them would have at least tried to bury the hatchet after a few months of living on the run as comrades. Maybe Cece and I do have something in common, even though I’ve seen to it that we don’t. After watching the fallout her actions exacted on my brother… I had to at least try to sort things out between Hoster, Rock, and Darius. “Your first objective is to reach the bottom of the labyrinth for one reason. The Mystic Core.”

  “It’s a relic the builders of the Forbidden Shelves installed to power their tricks and spells long after they were gone. Any chance of finding the records we need is zero before you deactivate the Mystic Core,” Sorceress Lily explains. I nod, along with the rest of my grim-faced companions.

  “You all understand your objectives?” Chief Botan asks at last. Another round of nods answers him.

  “What… will the Mystic Core look like?” Helena thinks to ask, while the rest of us are too preoccupied with thoughts of survival.

  “Its appearance is not described in any of the texts we reviewed,” Sorceress Lily regrets to answer.

  “I can imagine you’ll recognize it when you see it for its sheer power,” Horace comments.

  “Appearances, ever-important. Aren’t they, Horace?” The words jump from my lips before I can trap them. There are a few more choice lines I’d like to share with him, but there’s hardly room to deviate more from our focus. I just needed to let him know that, no matter what kind of peace treaty might be extended, things between us haven’t changed. No olive branch can mend the wound cut by trying to kill your own daughter.