by Joe Ducie
“I was thinking of visiting the Academy, actually. Not off limits, is it?”
“No, and that may be the best place for you, actually.” Vrail scratched at his chin. “You want to see a healer about that eye?”
“Already did. Best she could do was this eye patch. I’ve a friend at the Academy may be able to do more.”
Vrail nodded. “The Academy it is. Do you want to lead the way, or have you forgot—?”
“Shut up and follow me. Annie, stay close, yeah?”
I needed one of my Knightly guard to access the elevators, but they were good company regardless of whether or not it irked me to have them following me around. To be honest, I was still reeling from my brother’s offer and what had happened to him. What power in Forget can steal youth? Or convince Faraday my services were worth reinstatement? He was risking civil war as the best case scenario.
The gilded elevators spat all five of us out on a wide open floor, supported by steel pillars and scattered with a handful of arched gateways, ten feet high by the same across, that looked out on grassy hills and old buildings. The gates to the Infernal Academy. A handful of people moved back and forth—Knights, students, instructors, and the like. I strolled over to the nearest gate, felt the breeze of another world on my face, and glimpsed the Academy for the first time in over five years.
I felt something that may have been happiness.
“I guess you’re sticking with us?” I asked Vrail, Dessan, and Garner. “Or on your heads be it.”
My guards shared a look and the smallest quirk of a smile. Dessan spoke. “We were given strict orders to accompany you throughout the palace. The palace, Hale. Technically, the Academy is not in the palace, no? We’ll be at Edgar’s when you’re ready to step back through.” He shrugged a shoulder toward one of the other gates. “Miss Brie, a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” Annie said softly as Garner and Dessan moved away, leaving us be.
Vrail hung back and regarded me for a moment. “Am I free to speak in front of... Annie, wasn’t it?” he asked me, and offered my young detective a gentle smile.
“As if we were alone, old friend,” I said.
He nodded. “Sentiment in the city may have been twisted against you, Declan, by your brother and his court, but more than a few remember who it was that ended the century of madness and slaughter.” He paused and inclined his head toward me, pressing his knuckles against his brow, a mark of significant respect among the Knights. “I hesitate to speak of this in front of more ears, even ears belonging to Dessan and Garn, but hesitate I must, you ken?”
“Indeed I do.”
“You could split the Knights down the middle, you know? If you raised a banner, a certain number, a not insignificant number, would flock to it.”
“Vrail,” I said with half a grin, “that’s dangerously close to treason.”
“You killed Morpheus Renegade in Atlantis.”
Annie stared at me.
“Yes, yes I did. He killed me, too, but that’s semantics at this point.”
Vrail waved away my words. “There are some, the same folk who remember the end of the Tome Wars, who believe if you were in command then Morpheus Renegade would never have gotten the better of us on the Plains of Perdition, would never have almost seized Atlantis for himself. You stopped him—not Faraday. You averted catastrophe yet again. Declan...” Vrail hesitated, and cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. “My king, you belong on the Dragon Throne.”
I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, but there was an edge to my voice and a glint in my one good eye. “My friend, that is treason.”
“Then slap me in star iron and chop my head off!” Vrail clenched his fists and sighed, frustrated. “At least think about it...”
“Think about overthrowing my brother and claiming the greatest seat of power in existence? Annie, what say you?”
She held up her hands. “Oh, leave me out of this mess.”
“You have a duty, Declan,” Vrail said. “And that’s the last word I’ll say on this matter. Enjoy your afternoon back home—we’ll see you at Edgar’s.”
I nodded my thanks and offered Annie my arm as Vrail strolled away shaking his head and muttering to himself. Annie took my arm, somewhat gingerly, and we strolled through the arched gateway of grey stone, crossed the invisible threshold between worlds, and stepped onto old, worn cobblestones. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked back into the palace and at the glimpse of Ascension City visible through the tall, narrow windows. Above the arched doorway, on the Academy-side, was clear, blue sky only just fading toward sunset in the west. The air tasted clearer here, out in the open.
“So you can use books, which I haven’t seen yet,” Annie said. “There’s the Lexicon, the knife, and now magical portals down old corridors. You make this world-hopping business seem far too easy, Declan Hale.”
“How many is this?” I thought back over the last day. “World number four or five?”
The road curved around a small hillock and revealed a deep valley stretching toward a horseshoe-shaped ring of mountains and distant snowy peaks cradling one of the first bastions of knowledge and reason in humanity’s long history.
The Infernal Academy.
A series of interconnected and towering spires clung to the slopes of the mountains above both domed stone buildings and square, more modern glass-and-steel structures. Like Ascension City, the Academy was a hodgepodge of old and new, a medley of sights, sound, and smells that spanned ten thousand years and five hundred generations of Knights.
“Another wonder,” Annie said breathlessly, her eyes agleam in the twilight of this latest world. “You grew up here?”
“I certainly did.” And it did feel like coming home again. Ascension City was all good and well, and it was home, but the Academy was where I’d grown up. Semantics again, as some considered the Academy and Fae Palace one and the same and therefore all a part of Ascension City, but we were technically worlds away from all of that. “And I know how large it looks, but don’t let that fool you. There’s just as much, if not more, underground. Those spires, the domes... you’re looking at the tip of a monumental, living, breathing iceberg.”
Annie nodded. “It’s like a mini-city. Ethan and Sophie are here?”
“So I’m told, my dear. Let’s go find out.”
*~*~*~*
As we drew closer to the Academy, I asked, “So what did you think of my brother?”
“He looked unwell.”
“Yup, something going on there we’re not being told. How about their offer? Did it seem genuine to you?”
“Honestly?” She shrugged. “I think they were all very scared of something—Emissary, perhaps, I know he scares me half to death—and that woman, Delia, was only a breath away from getting down on her knees and begging for your help.”
I was inclined to agree. “Drax, on the other hand, didn’t seem so pleased with the whole affair.”
“No, he doesn’t like you.” Annie kicked a loose stone along the road and into the dry, yellow scrub skirting the green hillsides. “I know you said the Knights had people in power all over the world, over my world, but it was still shocking to see that my government knows about all of this.” She gestured back toward the palace with her thumb. “Wonder what else they’re not telling us?”
“If I know anything about politics, then probably a whole lot.”
Soon we were on the outskirts of the Academy, wandering past folk who seemed to be in a hurry. Classes ranging in age from the young to mid-teens were scattered across the vast Academy grounds. Older people, Knights and denizens of the Infernal Academy—the mini-city—ran a thriving township, built around a long, winding river that cut through the heart of the collection of buildings old and new.
I glanced at the large town clock close to chiming the hour, halfway toward dusk. Time here mirrored time back in Ascension City. A perfectly convenient coincidence. “Hey, want to see something cool?” I asked Annie.
“Um... okay.”
I led her through the crowds, keeping my head down once again, to quieter parts of the Academy grounds. If memory served, I had about ten minutes to get where I was going or we’d miss the special event. At some point, I’d have to find Sophie and Ethan and see if ’Phie could do anything for my eye, but we could spare half an hour for the wonder I had in mind.
“Gotta be careful not to grow deaf and blind to God’s beauty,” I muttered, as we descended a steep set of stone steps strewn with moss and dusty gravel.
Annie blinked at me. “You believe in God?”
“Well, I did meet one...” I shrugged. “I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell or any of that nonsense. But a higher power? Some sort of almighty creator? Maybe. I’ve seen enough to know I’ve seen nothing.”
“But no heaven?”
“I died, Annie. I bled out slowly and died. I saw no heaven, no hell. All I remember is an inky blackness, not dissimilar to the Void. But I don’t really remember it. Rather, I have just of a sense of the place... the not-place.”
Something for her to think about as we ducked into a tunnel of wet stone under a bridge. Folk chatted brightly and animatedly about their day overhead. The scent of coffee and baked goods permeated the air just before we entered the tunnel and took a turn down. Beams of sunlight pierced special funnels in the tunnel, lighting our way.
“Where are we going, Declan?”
“Somewhere secret. Somewhere... I think I may be the only one who knows about it.”
The tunnel grew narrow but remained well-lit, and soon we were ducking to keep our heads from brushing the ceiling. The chatter and scents of coffee had faded to nothing. Half a minute later, Annie and I reached the end of the tunnel—a dead end.
I tapped my foot against the dusty-brown stone floor and stared straight ahead at the point where the two walls and the roof met in an angled tip. The walls seamlessly joined to create an isosceles shaped space at the end of the tunnel. To all appearances, the tunnel dead-ended at a sharp point. “We made it here in good time. Often, I’ve never been able to find this place, as if it moves, but today was a good day. The Academy has a way of... changing.”
“What are we doing here?” Annie asked.
“Are you wondering whether it was a good idea to follow someone you barely know to an empty and disused part of the Academy?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “I followed you across worlds, didn’t I? And if you try anything fresh, I’ll just shoot you.” She smiled, but it had a way of fading.
“Thinking about that bald bastard who took a shot at me, aren’t you?”
She nodded slowly, and brushed a loose strand of her midnight-black hair back behind her ear. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. It was a necessary thing you did, but that doesn’t mean it was or should be easy.”
The triangular-shaped point in the wall sprouted a door covered in thick ivy vines and blossoming purple flowers. The arched wooden panels below the violet foliage grew into the wall. The heady scent of honeysuckle and vanilla wafted into the tunnel from beyond the new door.
Annie barked a short laugh. “What just happened?” she asked. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me?”
“Nope, you’re looking at a touch of wild Will—old enchantments and incantations that have seeped into the very foundations of the Academy.” I gently touched one of the dew-soaked purple blossoms. “Sometimes I’m of a mind that Will is more than intent and desire. That its... origins... are somewhat more sentient. Eh, but who knows?”
“What is this place?” Annie asked.
“What I wanted to show you,” I said. “For whatever reason—feral enchantment, maybe—this door only pops into existence this time of the day, halfway between noon and dusk. Come along, Miss Brie. It’ll disappear again in fifteen minutes.”
With a rush of old excitement, I grasped a large, rusted brass handle and pulled the door open. The gentle aroma of honeysuckle and vanilla became overpowering as fragrant air rushed over the threshold and spilled into the small, narrow tunnel. Together, Annie and I stepped into one of the most amazing gardens I’d ever seen.
“The Secret Garden,” I said, gesturing with an arm across the wide expanse of green and sundry plant life.
Annie fell into a sort of quiet, near-dumbfounded respect as she strolled with me through halls of creeping vines, curtains of elongated cherry blossom branches, and carpets of soft petals fallen from knee-high wildflowers. Our secret garden was about forty feet across its length and breadth. Every few feet a cast iron bench, perhaps centuries old, could be seen under a growth of plants. A thick canopy formed a green tunnel through to the heart of the garden. Along the perimeter, the old Academy walls rose up and enclosed the space. Pale sunlight soaked up the dew, giving the thousands of petals a wet shine.
“Oh my,” Annie said, as we emerged from the tunneled canopy. “I can taste lilac and… cinnamon… on the air. And what’s that?”
“Something ancient,” I said.
In the heart of the garden on a flat, cylindrical pedestal stood a large sphere of white stone. Lichen and moss clung to the vine-encircled base. A latticed network of climbers formed loose loops and curled contours against the stone.
Hundreds—probably thousands—of names marked the monolithic globe of stone. Some had been scrawled hastily, others with great care, burned into the rock with Will or etched with a knife. Most had faded beyond illegibility, but a great many were still readable. Names jumped out at me, but Annie silently mouthed the words to herself, staring at the centerpiece amused yet bemused.
“You don’t recognize any of the names?” I asked, with a small chuckle. “Here, look. This one may be familiar.”
William Shakespeare – 1589
“Well, yes, I know that one.”
I nodded. “Thought you might. How about here?”
Charles Darwin – 1819
Annie frowned.
“Or this one?”
Francis Drake – 1562
Annie recognized a few more names, running her fingers over the engraved, old letters. Some of them were barely legible or even recognizable as English characters. Isaac Newton – 1667. William Blake – 1777.
“I know these names,” Annie said, looking at me with a careful smile. “Surely they didn’t carve them...” She trailed away as I nodded.
“A lot of the names you don’t recognize belong to Knights and other great figures throughout Forget, not just those who made their mark on True Earth.” I tapped Elan Spring – 1487. “He slew a giant space serpent that tried to devour the moon. No, I’m not kidding. And here, Oswin Burnett—she sealed the Final Vanguards and prevented, if not all, then a good chunk of Forget from falling into the Void. Here, Thomas Atkinson. He invented the Atlas Lexicon.”
“Fascinating,” Annie said, and I think she meant it. “Who else?”
I moved my hand along the stone, and my smile faded into something not so kind. “Aldous Axley, one of Forget’s most infamous serial killers. Used Will to make people kill themselves. Killed thousands before he was stopped and instigated a race war in the Uncharted Realms that killed thousands more. Or here, look... Bruce Gallant. A nasty piece of work. Wrote a world into existence that’s just cruel. A hell on earth, I suppose you could call it. Nothing but fire and torment. He banished his seven sons there.”
For every name I knew, there were a dozen I didn’t. Even the libraries of the Knights Infernal couldn’t keep track of history across thousands of worlds. I followed patiently in her wake as Annie explored the stone, recognizing a name from True Earth here and there.
“Oh come now, really?” she asked. “Does that say Merlin?”
“It sure does.”
“Like the wizard?”
I shrugged. “Stranger things in heaven and earth...”
We circled to the far side of the immense stone sphere, to a patch of bare rock devoid of any names. The scribbles and etchings petered out to untarnished rock, save for one name at t
he end of the very long list.
Declan Hale – 2002
Something almost irresistible flashed in Annie’s eyes in that moment, and she drew Myth, the world-cutter, from her inner jacket pocket. She stepped forward but nevertheless hesitated.
“Go ahead,” I said solemnly. “But be quick. We’ve only got about six minutes left before the door to this place disappears, and we’re stuck for a day. Heh, I learned that the hard way.” I cleared my throat. “Still, make a mark on the world, Annie Brie. Stand and be counted with the best and the worst history has to offer.”
“I don’t know if I should,” she said, but pressed the razor-sharp tip of Myth against the stone just the same.
“Be warned, there isn’t a name on this stone that hasn’t shaped the world in some way. For good or ill, murderers and martyrs, heroes and villains, geniuses and madmen... I don’t know if there’s a touch of destiny here—I’ve never believed in such nonsense, not really—but there’s something about this place, no?”
Annie hesitated only a moment longer. Then, with a gleam that may have been two parts excitement to one part worry, she carved her name into the stone amid the scent of a hundred different wildflowers. She chose a spot just next to mine—carved with Will-fire some ten years ago now.
Annie Brie – 2012
She looked up to the sky once she was done, as if expecting to be struck down or to see the heavens part. Neither of those things happened.
“Does no one but you know about this place?” she asked, slipping Myth back into her pocket. “Can’t it be seen from those upper levels?”
“You’d think so,” I said, “but no. I’ve tried. The Academy isn’t built like that, and centuries of students burning through centuries of Will seem to have altered the very reality of this place. It’s... well, magic. I wish I had a better word for that. I hate using the word magic.” I considered, then shrugged. “Yūgen, perhaps, which means an awareness—an awareness of the universe that triggers an emotional response too deep and mysterious for words.”
