by Jade Alters
“It’s working,” Cece murmurs to herself. We gather unintentionally closer to one another for a better view of our friends, inching out further onto the arms of their platforms. At a steady creep, we fall while the others rise. Balance slowly equalizes the height of the three platforms around the crystal pillar, just as Helena and River arrive.
Cece and I watch in bewilderment as the glaring ball of light fills their eyes. How bright it must be without the trick over their sights, and yet they look it straight on now. Instinct, or something deeper, guides their hands. They know what to do. Helena and River raise both their hands. They touch their palms to the Mystic Core.
The very second of impact, the Core implodes on itself. It reduces to a pinprick of impenetrable light, the size of a dust speck, yet with the brightness of the sun. Just as quickly, it explodes, the way it looked like it was meant to all along. But the light doesn’t burn. On everything it touches, it imparts a warm, gentle glow. The three glass platforms are robbed of their individual, blinding light, to be imparted with this soft glow from the exploded Core. It dispels my trick over Cece’s eyes and my own, as well as every trick in the massive room. Every illusion that previously distorted the Forbidden Shelves.
The light unfolds over four distant, blank steel walls around our scale. It also unveils a floor and ceiling of the same material. When it’s all done, we can see one another perfectly, and nothing remains of the Mystic Core. The only apparent entrance or exit is a square-shaped gap in the ceiling directly above the crystal pillar that holds up the three-way scale.
“Is that...it?” River asks of no one in particular.
“We did it?” Helena follows. Their voices ring crisply through the air.
“I think so,” I tell them. “I can hear you perfectly.”
“Nice work,” Cece smiles up at them.
“But… now what?” I hear Rock wonder from across the scales.
“We’ve got to get up top. That hole,” Cece points out. “I'm guessing the rest of the Shelves are free to peruse now.” She takes a step closer to the arm that connects our disk to the crystal pillar. The resultant tremor shakes the whole three-way scale.
“This isn’t a trick. The scales are real, so the balance is still important,” I tell her. I glance the hole above us, then the three stained glass platforms in a long, detailed analysis. “If we shift the weight right, we should be able to get one, maybe two people up there. Maybe we could find a way to pull the rest up, or go to get help from the others above?”
“Or…” Cece segways. I know from the devious spark in her eye what she’s got brewing. “I could just transform and ferry us all up a few at a time. It should work, now that the Mystic Core is down.” It’s a solid plan, at least at first glance. But that look in Cece’s eye, when she first thought it up, haunts my mind.
“How… do I know you won’t just take your own and run?” I ask her.
“Come on, Emery. After everything we had to do to get down here?” Cece whines.
“Exactly. After everything, you needed a Magician to get through… you don’t need one to get out,” I try to explain my doubts, but all it serves to do is bunch up the skin on Cece’s forehead.
“You’re unbelievable. You know that, right?” she growls. River and Helena share an uneasy glance. Darius clenches his fist. Rock and Hoster stare at me from a distance, waiting to see what our move will be.
“It’s all believable. We have to consider every possibility,” I tell her. The fire behind it all is reignited by the sight of Helena and Cece in the same space. The way they look at one another so uncomfortably, one in guilt, the other in fear. “The Kyrie extends an arm of peace after you invaded the Academy… kidnapped my friend… and disappeared for months? You think it’s insane that I’d consider that, now that you’re inside our walls with no strings attached, you’d take off with what you need?” The shift in the lines of Cece’s face is subtle but definitive. She slides a step back from me.
“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry about what I did to Helena, and it’s not just because of what became of what I did,” Cece murmurs to me. She turns back over her shoulder to call out, “I’m sorry, Helena,” to the woman herself. Helena crosses one arm over the other uncomfortably. Then Cece turns back to me. “But…” My heels dig in at the sound of the word, along with Darius, Rock, Hoster, and Helena’s. “How can we trust you all won’t just turn on us when we get topside and we’re outnumbered?” She’s cornered me. We’ve cornered each other.
“I guess you can’t,” I’m forced to admit.
“I guess not,” says Cece. Flame spirals around her feet. I race straight through it. I cringe as the fire flicks across my long pant legs to flatten my hands on her collar. Before Cece can fully explode into transforming fire, I shove her over the edge of the stained glass platform. I have to pedal backwards to regain my balance as the glass disk rockets upwards with the drastic shift in weight. As soon as I’m stable, I bend over to smack down the flames charring my pants.
“Cece!” River shrieks. She leaps from the crystal pillar where the Mystic Core had been. Her frame contorts into a new shape, one of wings and feathers. River’s arms become the wings of a hawk that fling her high into the air. She turns her beak down to dive, until a voice rises from beneath us like an earthquake.
“I’m fine!” it bellows. Cece’s violet scales flash up from below as the boom of her wing flap propels her around the edge of the room. She bears down on me with piercing sapphire light from within her slitted eyes. “Keep Emery and the others from getting above!”
An orange flare climbs through the gaps between Cece’s plated neck armor. It flashes out at me from between her gigantic jaws, but she turns her head at the last second. Cece lets loose a continuous waterfall of napalm around the edges of all three of our balanced disks. A warning, and a barrier to prevent escape. I’m so focused on what she’s doing, that I’ve lost track of River, until now. I notice a shadow on the glass by my feet. I follow it up to the space directly over my head. The shape of a small predator bird makes a hole in the ambient light of the room. The second I see it, however, it expands to frightening proportions. Its frame rounds out to the gigantic shape of a hippopotamus, which plunges down straight towards me.
I scramble to the far edge of my disk and kneel to brace for impact. River’s four heavy legs send cracks splintering out across the whole platform beneath us. Our platform sinks back down with the burden of her weight, while the other two rocket upwards. Hoster and Rock are close to the opening. I conjure a translucent shield trick to blockade me from the stomping feet of the hippo on the other side of my platform.
She digs her heels in to charge just as I scream, “Go!” to Hoster and Rock. I can see the objection in their eyes as River kicks off into a sprint, straight for me. “I’ll be fine!” I assure them in the same words I try to use to convince myself. I put my second hand to the back of my illusory shield to bolster its strength. River’s enormous, cylindrical fangs ricochet off of it, leaving a few deep splinters behind. She shakes the disorientation out, ruffling her momentous jowls, and prepares to charge again. It gives me the chance to glance over at Rock and Hoster, who turn out from one another to prepare a defense against the circling Cece. A cloak of flame dances up her scaly body, starting at her talons. Her throat lights up for another blast. “No!” jumps from my throat as Cece cracks her jaw to unleash the blast.
Just then, River charges again. I throw my arms out to my sides, shattering my shield into a million glassy fragments. With a sweep of my arms, I send them ripping forth as a stormcloud of broken mirrors. It slows River down just enough for me to sprint and dive around her. Furious at the illusory glass in her eyes and face, her gargantuan body trudges right over the edge. The balance in platforms shifts again. I rocket upwards while I struggle to trot to the far edge of my glass, to where I can see Hoster and Rock.
I don’t know if Cece really would have cooked them alive or not, since Helena stops her in
her tracks. From the crystal pillar at the center of the three platforms, Helena lets lose a blade of lightning that jumps straight into the side of Cece’s draconic skull. Upon impact, the heat from the bolt combusts the air around her target, flinging her sideways. Cece flails around in a struggle to reorient her flight. Unintentionally, she comes down right beside my platform. Within my grasp.
A snap unfurls a long, glassy trick whip from my hands. I snap it up and lash it out around Cece’s scaly throat. I dig my heels in and prepare for the fight of my life before she can build up too much momentum. My heels scuttle across the glass as Cece’s wings flap her higher and higher. Bart tries to zip across the arm of his platform, presumably to stop me, but is, in turn, stopped by Darius’ fist to the side of his jaw. The blur-speed punch is so powerful and unexpected, it knocks Bart completely off his feet. All I can see of the fistfight that ensues is a haze of color that spans most of their stained-glass platform. Besides, I’ve got my own fight on my hands.
I lock my shoulders against the tug on my illusory whip while Cece builds fire in her throat again. She flaps her wings towards me, knocking me around with the opposing forces of wind in one direction and the pull of her neck in the opposite. I notice Rock take eagle form to crash into River’s side, who is now a falcon. All three platforms on the three-way scale rise, fall, and rattle with the ceaseless movement of the all-out battle. And, in all the chaos, I can’t break eyes with Cece. Shining neon blue on my own golden brown. Fire struggles to mount for launch against the shimmering tug of my illusion, which continuously crushes the breath out of Cece.
“Stop! All of you, STOP!” Magister Reynold’s voice roars down through the chamber. Just to hear another voice besides one another’s is enough to loosen my grip. For Cece to let her jaw close an inch. For talons and fists to pull back from one another, and spells to falter.
“What the hell are you all doing?” Sorceress Lily’s voice follows. The two of them appear in the opening above us, along with the last face I want to see. Horace. “You… you overcame the trials, and now you’re fighting?” The reprimanding tone of her voice is enough for a wave of shame to come over all of us, Academy and Kyrie-aligned alike. Everyone deflates a bit. Rock and River separate. Bart steps back to let Darius up from where he’s flattened him on his back. I retract my trick whip for Cece to breathe easy. She lets the inferno die inside her throat.
“We’ve come to the agreement that, to avoid conflicts like this, whatever texts we can recover from the unsealed Forbidden Shelves will be viewed by all of us, together. In a space that is neutral to both parties,” Horace announces. God - a lecture, from him? I almost want to throw another trick just to spite him. But I am exhausted, after this foray so deep into the tricks of our ancestors. I, along with all the combatants scattered across the three-way scale, lower my arms.
“Let’s get you kids out of there,” Magister Reynold sighs.
Forbidden Truth
Emery,
Truce Camp, Mount Shasta Wilderness
Never before have I experienced such duality in something as simple as a car ride. I both can’t wait to arrive at what the Council calls the “Truce Camp” and can’t stand to. I want to know what’s in those books, more than I’ve wanted to know anything in a very long time. But arriving means seeing all the people that were supposed to be allies, that we just had the fight of our lives against. Cece. River. Bart. Not to mention my family. But the books come with the company, so here I am, on a six-hour ride by rented car with the Council and the rest of the ASTF. After our extraction from the depths of the Forbidden Shelves, there were offers of flights by Dragon-back to the Truce Camp. But considering the state they found us all in, those offers were declined. Two days ago. Now it’s finally time to reap the fruits of our mental and physical trials. It’s time to learn everything we can about the Fiends from the tomes of the Forbidden Shelves.
Upon venturing down into the unsealed Forbidden Shelves after us, the Council and Kyrie found the place in very different conditions than we did. The selection was vast, but not nearly as infinite as it appeared to us while under the influence of its illusion. It was also much more meticulously organized. They were able to scrounge together every last piece of literature on the Fiends within hours. Unfortunately, while the Council and Kyrie was able to identify them, they were unable to read them. This was another reason behind both the special guests at the Truce Camp, and the two-day delay.
In the time those who ventured into the Forbidden Shelves rested, three people were dragged out of their peaceful retirement for an intervention in the Fiend crisis only they could achieve. Yet another family secret I can’t believe I never knew. All this time, my family kept from me, along with all its other younger members, that ours is a line in possession of a secret language. An ancient one. It’s not a tool often used, as the language is no longer spoken, only written, and even then, so rarely. Most books written in this tongue of the ancients were sealed away in the depths of the Forbidden Shelves. With a few of these in tow, Horace must now call on his grandmother, Ori, to read them. I’ve never met her, and scarcely heard of her. God knows what crypt they’ve dragged the old woman out of, but she’s already at the Truce Camp waiting for us, along with Ahwahneechee Elder Sasoen, and former Sorcerer of the Six Rivers, Cain. The last of the Ancient’s descendants who remember the old ways.
When our car arrives, I don’t know whether to throw the door open, or hide in the car. Fortunately, Helena decides for me. She’s out of our car the second it stops. I can’t blame her, having been sandwiched between the door and Rock. Every door of our big rental car follows suit, and we representatives of the Academy pile out onto a muddy stretch of grass just outside the peak-skirting forests of the Mount Shasta Wilderness. My initial impression of the Truce Camp is how accurate it’s appearance is to its name.
As the Kyrie was when they came into the Academy walls, we are now sorely outnumbered. Survivors of the Kyrie forces teem between huge neighborhoods of white tap tents. Some are strung up between thick branches of huge trees. Others stand freely and are just big enough for one or two occupants. Some other community-oriented tents stand atop long rows of support posts or form a round-top gazebo. Those who wander about look mostly human, save for their skin and eyes. Some, Vampires, are astonishingly pale. Some are the color of mint, or jade, Fey. I notice Fey Deller looking out on them, longingly, from the corner of my eye and a pang stabs my chest for her. She is one of the only Fey left in the Academy. Others still have eyes that quite literally glow with the fire behind them as they oogle us from beneath the canvas of their tents. Dragons.
We are greeted by Dorian at the entrance of the huge, tucked away tent city. His huge frame lumbers through the lingering mist from a passing storm. A few renegade drops still hang in the air and on the tips of needly branches as he leads us through.
“The elders have finished reading through all the texts we recovered from the Forbidden Shelves,” he surprises us with.
“There must have been twenty books,” Dragonlord Thise marvels.
“They have been waiting for an opportunity to use this skill for their entire lives,” Dorian explains as best he can, but seems quite surprised himself. “I suppose it was an opportunity none of them could resist.” I file along behind the Council, alongside the rest of the ASTF. We endure the scrutiny of a hundred stares as we pass through. Tents, trunks, and branches twist around us like the corridors of a huge estate. Lanterns flicker here and there over fragrant cooking pits and flickering clothes on lines.
Dorian leads us to a huge, round tent with a cone-shaped roof. It’s perfect for housing the gigantic log fire in the stony center of it. A single step beneath the canopy of the tent chases off all the lingering, clammy chill on the stormwind that still rattles the forest. There, waits Fey Rorelia, Lucidous, Horace, Deliah, Bart, Cece, Lee, Stephanie, and Bryant. I can’t help the occasional eye flick to Deliah. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since… I can’t think about
that here. I can’t let thoughts so vile into my mind in a place called the Truce Camp, or I might violate the very nature of the place. I’ve never been so disappointed in my life, echoes through the darkest caverns of my mind.
There are chairs set for Dorian, the Council, and the ASTF, with room to spare. There are even plates with some steaming broth and crisped bread for us all to sample while we listen. It’s clear that is our role, at least at first, by the distinguished high seats the three elders sit in. The Kyrie leaders sit on one side of the round table and the Academy on the other, split down the middle by the elders Ori, Sasoen, and Cain. Before them lie the tomes excavated from the Forbidden Shelves. Some sit in piles of varying size. Some lay splayed open, under wrinkled hands. I trace those hands up to the bodies that own them. They must be three of the oldest human beings I’ve ever seen. Yet their age is the most apparent in the translucent mist of wisdom that hovers in their eyes, and little else.
They are easily distinguishable by their clothes. The former Sorcerer Cain wears the long silver robes of a master Warlock. His tiny hands are absolutely swimming in the baggy, red-trimmed sleeves of it. The hood that hangs over his head has a thin, pointed metal shield over it that makes it hang low over his face. I can just barely make out a thick coat of white around his lips and cheeks - a beard of champions I’m sure.
The Ahwahneechee Elder, Sasoen, wears an animal skin coat not unlike that of the Chief. It makes me wonder if he’s one of Rock’s predecessors. The fur of it, however, is a glorious silver-gray, unlike the Chief’s blazing white. Sasoen’s face is mangled mass of scars, which sit humbly between the gentle smile lines set in his otherwise smooth skin. His long hair stretches down well beyond the small of his back, a dense braid on top of a long, silken waterfall of loose, twisting silver-brown locks. How he gets anything done all day, on top of maintaining that hair, I can’t guess.
