The Orb of Kandra

by Morgan Rice

  She looked at it with glee, then rolled it back up.

  “You’ve not let me down,” she told Malcolm. “You’ve done exactly as I’ve asked.”

  Malcolm tipped his chin up with pride.

  But Chris was feeling particularly impatient. He didn’t want to sit here listening to Malcolm being praised all day. He wanted to get his powers so he could start punishing Oliver.

  “Can we get on with the initiation?” he said. “I want my powers.”

  Mistress Obsidian snapped her cold, dark eyes his way. “You’re eager.”

  “Eager to smash Oliver to a pulp, yeah,” Chris said, slamming his fist on the table.

  A smile seeped across her lips.

  “In which case, let’s waste no more time.”

  She stood and walked over to the window. When she returned she was holding a strange metal object. It looked like a cattle brand, the type used to burn numbers onto the flanks of cows.

  “Er… what’s that for?” Chris asked, shuffling in his seat.

  “You’ll need a dark mark,” the headmistress said. “We all have them.”

  Malcolm pushed up his shirt sleeve then to reveal a scar on the flesh of his arm. It was a strange symbol that resembled a volcano.

  “The mark of Obsidian,” Malcolm said, looking at it with pride.

  Chris started to feel scared. He didn’t want to be branded!

  The headmistress sat back down in her throne. Then with a wave of her hand, the candle on the table before suddenly changed. Its flame turned black.

  She held the piece of metal into the fire.

  “Now hold out your arm, Christopher,” she said, as the metal turned red hot. “There’s a good boy.”

  Chris’s mouth went dry. He shook his head. “No. I don’t want that.”

  But suddenly, his arm thunked down onto the table without him even deciding to. Panicking, he looked up and saw Malcolm’s eyes fixed on his arm. The boy was doing this! Just like before when he’d squeezed Chris’s throat without even touching him, he was now holding his arm down onto the table with just his mind.

  “It only stings for a second,” he said menacingly.

  Mistress Obsidian raised the red-hot brand into the air and brought it down on Chris’s flesh in a sudden, sweeping motion.

  Chris screamed as white-hot pain raced from the place the brand was touching him. His skin sizzled, and the smell of burned flesh made him gag. He’d never felt anything so awful. It hurt more than anything he’d ever known.

  Tears sprang into his eyes but he fought them down. There was no way he was crying in front of them.

  Suddenly, Mistress Obsidian removed the brand. Malcolm’s invisible bindings were also released.

  Chris cradled his arm to his chest. There was a horrible red welt seared into the skin. The smell was unbearable. He wanted to weep but he kept his tears at bay.

  Mistress Obsidian stood again, returning the brand to its place in the glass cabinet in the corner of the room. But she wasn’t done. She pulled something else out and began to pace toward Chris. He saw that she was holding a black-bladed knife.

  Chris instantly shunted back in his seat. “Don’t… don’t cut me!” he pleaded.

  Mistress Obsidian tipped her head back and laughed. In his seat opposite Chris, Malcolm cackled as well.

  Mistress Obsidian walked slowly back to the table and sat at her throne. She held the knife in front of her, tip pointing to the sky.

  “This isn’t to cut you, dear boy,” she said. “This is to cut the universe.”

  Then she brought it very slowly and carefully down, as if slicing a piece of cake. Chris gasped as he realized she was cutting right through the air.

  “Have you ever seen a star up close?” she murmured.

  She peeled the sides of the slit she’d made and bright blinding light burst out. Chris blinked against the brightness of it.

  Through his squinted vision, Chris could just make out Mistress Obsidian reaching in through the slice she’d made and scooping something out. Then she pinched the slit all along the length and it sealed up.

  Chris’s heart was beating very fast. He looked at Mistress Obsidian. In her palm there lay a bright shining ball of light, just the same size as a pill.

  “Once the power is within you,” Mistress Obsidian said, “we will send you on a very special mission.”

  She waved her spare hand over a large bowl of glittering liquid. Chris squinted and saw an image begin to appear in it. It was Oliver.

  His jaw went rigid. He began to grind his teeth.

  “How do I get the power within me?” he said.

  “You swallow this.” Mistress Obsidian held up the glowing pill.

  “What is it?” Chris asked.

  “It is part of the universe. The only way to make a human a seer is to swallow it.”

  Chris stared at the piece of star in her palm. His arm was throbbing from the brand. He felt exhausted from everything he’d been put through in this office. It had been traumatizing. He didn’t want to invite in any more pain.

  But then he remembered Oliver’s stupid face. He’d do anything for revenge. Even swallow a piece of the universe.

  He reached forward and took the pill-sized glowing thing out of Mistress Obsidian’s hand. Then he put it in his mouth and swallowed.

  A second later, his insides seemed to turn to flame.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Oliver still couldn’t quite believe he’d been in the presence of Sir Isaac Newton. But he also knew he had to focus and find the mysterious shrouded school.

  He held up the spyglass, peering into the direction he’d originally seen the light on the horizon. It was still there, a burst of aquamarine rays.

  “It’s that way,” Oliver said, pointing.

  He, Esther, and Ralph headed into the busy streets.

  It was just starting to rain as they began to walk the narrow cobbled streets of 1690s London. It was extremely noisy and the air was thick with the smell of garbage, smoldering metal, horse manure and urine. Oliver could hardly believe that over a third of the population had recently perished, considering how overcrowded the city still was. It must have been even worse before, though Oliver couldn’t imagine how all those people had fit in.

  “WATCH OUT!” a voice suddenly shouted from behind.

  The three friends leapt to the side just in time for a horse rider to come galloping past. The horses’ hooves splashed into the puddles, spraying them all in cold rain water and manure.

  Esther looked appalled. She stared down at her disgusting clothes. “Well, that’s just great.”

  Ralph grimaced. “Now what?”

  “We’re right by an inn,” Oliver said, gesturing to a sign that read The Lion. “Let’s go inside and dry off.”

  They went into the pub. It was warm, with a crackling fire. But very little light came in through the windows, which appeared to be covered up with dark curtains, giving the space a sort of seedy vibe. The only light came from small candles on each table. It also smelled musty, like ale and cooked meat, and was filled with tables and patrons. Clearly the early hour of the day didn’t matter too much to the drinking men of London.

  As Oliver and his friends went over to the fireplace, every pair of eyes in the room followed them. Oliver got the immediate feeling that coming in here had been a bad idea.

  “Oi,” the barman called in a gruff voice. He was standing behind the bar cleaning glasses with a rag. “What are you lot drinking?”

  Oliver was taken aback by the question. They were clearly children. They weren’t here to drink!

  “Nothing, thank you,” he stammered. “We just came in here to get out of the rain and dry off.”

  “Dry off?” the barman said angrily. “Does this pub look like an umbrella to you?” He sniffed, clearly catching a waft of the horse manure they’d been splattered with. “What are you, beggars?”

  Oliver shrank back, definitely feeling like coming in here was a ter
rible idea. The rest of the patrons were staring at them too, like they clearly didn’t belong.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Esther said.

  “That’s right!” the landlord shouted. “Scram!”

  They started to back away for the door.

  Just then, a group of young teenage boys who’d been sitting at the window stood up. They blocked their route out of the inn. The tallest one stood at the front of the pack. He looked filthy, his clothes little more than rags. Oliver immediately saw scabs on his knuckles. This kid was a regular fighter. A local ruffian looking for trouble.

  “Don’t worry,” the boy shouted over to the barman. “We’ll teach these pipsqueaks a lesson.”

  He pushed over a chair. It went flying to the floor with a loud bang.

  Oliver gulped. A bar brawl was the last thing he wanted to get involved in right now. It was an even less welcome diversion from their mission than the horse manure had been!

  “We’re leaving,” Oliver told the boy. “We don’t want a fight.”

  The boy just grinned, showing off the gaps where his teeth ought to have been. “Well, I do.”

  Around them, the rest of the patrons were getting excited. They clearly wanted to witness a brawl. Violence and entertainment went hand in hand in the seventeenth century, Oliver thought.

  He looked over his shoulder at Esther on one side, then Ralph on the next. Oliver could see in their eyes that both had already gone into the trancelike state needed to tap into their powers. He personally really did not want to use up his powers for a situation like this; it was draining and he wanted to save them for any possible rogues that may be after them. But he also knew that there was no other way the three of them could fend the teenagers off. They were bigger. Tougher. And they clearly did this on the regular. There was no other option.

  “All right then,” Oliver said with a sigh, pushing up his overall sleeves. “You asked for it.”

  Ralph was the first to take action. Using his biological specialism, he turned his attention to the candles on each table. Suddenly, each flame grew, transforming from a small flame to a huge foot-high blast, like pillars of fire. From the hearth, he made the fire burst outward in a blast. The heat in the room increased tenfold.

  The patrons still at their tables leapt back in the air, screaming. “Witches! Devils!”

  If the teenage ruffians were scared by Ralph’s display of power, they hid it from their expressions and continued to advance on Oliver, Esther, and Ralph.

  Esther cast out her powers next. She used her sonar specialism to make a make a shrill high-pitched sound pulse out from where she stood. It moved in waves, each one shriller and louder than the last. This time, the ruffians had no choice but to react. They cried out, grabbing their ears in pain.

  But it didn’t hamper them for long. The leader grew furious. He bashed another chair across the room, this time with another force to splinter it. The spraying shards of wood flew out in all directions, making the patrons cower. People started running for the door, trying to get away from the mayhem. They shoved past Oliver, Ralph, and Esther, scrambling to get out.

  But the three friends stood their ground.

  Soon, only the ruffians remained. Clearly, they were going to see this through.

  Suddenly, they ran at them, their fists raised for hand-to-hand combat. Oliver delivered the next blow. He cast his powers out, shoving the boys backward. They flew through the air and landed on a table, making it crack and fall apart beneath them. The glasses on top came crashing to the ground.

  The boys landed in a heap, groaning. One of them had a large gash under his eye from the smashed glass.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he stammered. “It’s not worth it.”

  The main boy looked like he wanted to call him a coward. But when he looked up at Oliver, Esther, and Ralph in their poised positions, all three clearly completely unruffled by their attempts to intimidate them, he changed his mind.

  The ruffians hurried out of the pub, their tails firmly between their legs.

  Ralph let go of his powers, allowing the candle flames to return to normal.

  Oliver looked around at the now destroyed room.

  “Well,” Esther commented with a smirk. “That was one way of drying off.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The fire in Chris’s stomach finally stopped burning. He opened his eyes and blinked, surprised to find he was still in Mistress Obsidian’s office. She and Malcolm were both peering at him. His whole body had flopped over onto the table. He pulled himself to sitting.

  “Is it over?” he asked, hearing his voice come out frustratingly timid.

  Mistress Obsidian folded her hands in front of her. “It is. How do you feel? Different?”

  Christopher looked down at his hands, turning them over and back again. They looked normal. He touched his body. Nothing felt any different.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not really.”

  “It may take a little while before they come into effect,” Mistress Obsidian said. “While we’re waiting, let’s talk about your mission.”

  The door opened then, and in came a group of students. They took the empty seats around Chris.

  “This is your team,” Mistress Obsidian announced.

  “My team?” Chris repeated. “You mean I get to be leader?”

  But Malcolm interjected immediately. “Whoever’s strongest leads. That’s how it works at Obsidian’s.”

  “That’s correct,” the headmistress replied. “Malcolm is our top student. He’ll be orchestrating this mission.”

  Chris felt immediately put out. He’d always been the strongest in every group he’d led. He was a natural leader. People revered him and feared him, the two most important components of leadership. And if it was case of just showing his strength to take over the top dog position, well then, Chris would have to make sure he put Malcolm in his place sooner rather than later. There was no way he was letting that weirdo tell him what to do.

  “Your mission,” Mistress Obsidian continued, “will take place in 1690. London.”

  An excited whisper went around the room. Chris felt his mouth drop open.

  “Wait. You mean… we’ll be traveling in time?”

  He caught sight of Malcolm’s superior expression, like Chris was dumb for not realizing their mission would involve time travel. Chris’s hatred toward him grew even stronger. He couldn’t wait for his powers to kick in. Then he’d show him who was really superior.

  “Yes,” Mistress Obsidian said. “I’ve prepared the portal for you. Your mission is to track down Oliver Blue and destroy him once and for all.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Chris said. “Let’s go.”

  He pushed up from the table. All at once, his head began to swim. He staggered, feeling a wave of nausea overcome him.

  “Errr…” he groaned, “I don’t feel so good.”

  The room was swimming. Chris grabbed the table to steady himself. But where his hands gripped onto the sides, the wood melted.

  He gasped and pulled his hands back, staring at them with shock. The imprint of his hands was left behind as the wood dripped to the floor.

  “Did I do that?” he stammered.

  “Your powers are kicking in,” Mistress Obsidian said with a menacing smile.

  “I changed the wood from solid to liquid!” Chris exclaimed.

  He turned and put his hands on his chair. The same thing happened. The wood turned into a viscous goo and pooled onto the floor. Chris let out a manic laugh.

  “That’s brilliant!”

  “You’ll be able to do a lot more than melt things soon,” Mistress Obsidian told him. “Now come on, all of you. It’s time to go.”

  Chris was still staring at his hands in disbelief. The power was intoxicating. And this was just the start of it? What would happen when he got all his powers? It would be amazing! He’d be invisible!

  He realized almost everyone had left the room and hurrie
d to catch up.

  Mistress Obsidian was up ahead, striding through the corridors, her cloak billowing out behind her. All the students stopped and stared as she passed. They looked at Malcolm and the rest of the elite students she’d picked for this task with evident envy.

  Chris welled with pride. Finally, his one talent in life—pounding Oliver—was being rewarded. He couldn’t wait to get back in time and see the look on his sappy little brother’s face when he realized what was happening! It would be priceless.

  Mistress Obsidian waltzed into a chamber and everyone hurried in after her. Chris saw a large ancient-looking archway standing in the room, with a strange black and purple swirling vortex in the middle of it.

  His mouth dropped open. “What’s that…?”

  “A transportation portal,” Malcolm told him, like it was obvious.

  Chris decided he truly hated Malcolm. The boy was snooty. Self-important. Chris was determined to usurp him and take his position as leader of the group. It ought to be him anyway, he was the one who had a direct link to Oliver, after all. This mission was made for him!

  “In you go,” Mistress Obsidian said. “Remember, destroy Oliver Blue. That’s what you need to do.”

  Chris stepped up to the portal. He saluted Mistress Obsidian. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get Oliver for you. I won’t let you down.”

  She smiled devilishly.

  And Chris stepped into the portal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Oliver looked about the now empty pub. It was a complete mess.

  “Let me fetch you a drink,” the barman stammered, staring fearfully at Oliver, Esther, and Ralph. His whole demeanor had changed since their show of power. His gruff attitude had been replaced by compliant terror. “Do you like mead?”

  Oliver shook his head. “No. Thank you. Like I said in the first place, we just wanted to dry off.” He grabbed one of the fallen chairs. “We’ll fix this mess up for you then get out your hair.”

  Esther straightened the paintings that were askew on the walls, while Ralph used his powers to put the splintered table back in one piece. The whole while the barman watched them with a look of terror frozen on his face.