Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2)

by Joshua Buller

  I was about to throw caution to the wind and start exploring for hidden passageways again when the wall in front of me opened. Hawke stepped out, and I jumped up from my chair and lunged at him. My tackle-hug almost knocked him to the floor, but he caught himself at the last moment.

  “Shoot, Micasa, I didn't think I was gone that long,” he said. I punched him in the arm.

  “If you keep trying to run off without me, I might have to lock you to Restless,” I said.

  “Please don't. I'd rather not be the world's first centaur.”

  We both laughed, but when Vance stepped out, the laughter died in my throat. His perpetual smile had dropped from his face, and he was looking at me with an expression between confusion and loathing.

  “Our Mother wishes an audience with the young lady, it would seem,” he said. Hawke turned and looked at him, surprised.

  “She didn't say anything about that to me. What does the Goodmother want with Micasa?”

  “As I told you, outsiders are not privy to the thoughts of our Mother unless she wishes it.” From the look on Vance's face and how he looked away, I figured he hadn't been made privy to her thoughts either.

  Hawke looked to me. “You don't have to go if you don't want to.”

  While I didn't doubt that they would risk Hawke's ire if we wanted to leave, I was too curious about this mysterious leader of the family to just walk out. What did she have to say to me that she couldn't have just told Hawke?

  “What, and miss my chance to meet the Goodmother in the flesh?” I said. Hawke didn't look convinced at the light-hearted way I was handling it. To be fair, I wasn't convinced by my own act either, but I forced a smile and wave before turning to Vance. “I'm ready when you are.”

  The family member gave a sullen nod and shuffled back into the exposed passageway. I had the feeling he would gladly leave me behind if I hesitated, and I rushed forward before he had the chance. I only turned to look back once I was past the threshold, but the wall was already sliding back into place. I caught one last glimpse of Hawke, the concern plain on his face, before the door closed completely and engulfed me in darkness.

  “Please stay close, Miss Micasa,” said Vance from somewhere a few paces ahead of me. “I can only guarantee your safe passage so long as you follow my exact path.”

  There wasn't a light to be found in the corridor. I wanted to ask how we were going to find our way, but I could already hear his footsteps starting to move away. I hurried to catch up, and ended up bumping into him. He gave a snort of impatience, but continued on his way, and I made sure I was right behind him this time.

  I tried to stifle the fear that was welling up within me. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my own face, and the only thing that was keeping me from being lost in that absolute darkness was a disembodied set of footsteps. Every so often he would stray to the left or right, and I had to be careful not to walk right past him. For all I knew, one false step would send me off of the edge of a pit and into oblivion.

  I have no clue how long we wandered the darkness. It felt like hours, but might have been as little as five minutes. All I know is how relieve I felt when his footsteps stopped, and a few moments later that first sweet glimpse of light met my eyes.

  It took me a few moments for my eyes to adjust when we stepped through another secret passage. The room we had entered was only dimly lit by a pair of incensed braziers, their smoky burn filling the room with the smell of exotic spices. Like the entranceway, the room was built out of stone tiles from floor to ceiling, but was only about as large as a modest solar. A bed sat in the far left corner by a brazier, its blankets neatly folded at the foot. In the opposite corner was a small desk, a pot of quills and tidy stack of parchment waiting for use.

  Sitting between the bed and desk on a small pile of cushions was the Goodmother herself.

  The name suited her well. She looked the part of a kindly middle-aged woman. Her face was not uncomely, yet a few shy wrinkles had crept onto her face, and crow's feet dotted the corners of her hazel eyes. Her auburn hair, streaked with thin lines of gray, had been pinned up into a bun. She wore a loose satin robe the color of peaches, tied off around the waist. She looked like she might have been a worried mother pulled straight from one of my childhood picture books.

  The Goodmother looked up from the book in her hands and smiled warmly. She beckoned toward me with a single finger, and before I could stop myself I was stepping into the room. All my hesitation had fled away. How could I have ever been afraid of this sweet woman?

  “Have a seat, hon,” she said, her voice like the perfect drop of honey in tea when you're sick. Another stack of cushions waited for me next to her, and I flopped down on them. I vaguely wondered if Vance was going to stick around for our talk, but when I looked to where I'd come from, he had already vanished, the wall sealed up.

  “Would you like some refreshment, Micasa dear?” she asked. Part of me wanted to ask why she was being so familiar with me, but I couldn't bring myself to speak sharply to her. It felt as wrong as trying to smartmouth a favorite aunt, not that I had any real experience with that.

  “No thanks,” I said, “I already had plenty when I was waiting, Miss…um…”

  “Miss! Oh, you charmer.” She laughed. It was a soft, musical sound. “I haven't been a Miss in ages. I like the sound of it, though. Yes, you can just call me 'Miss.' Though if you'd like to join the family proper, you can always call me 'Mother.' ”

  She closed her book and set it aside. I stole a quick glance at it, but the writing on the cover looked to just be a mess of scribbles. She folded her hands in her lap and looked to me expectantly.

  “Is that why you asked me here?” I said. “You want me to join the family?”

  “Is that not a good enough reason?” she asked. “You're such a dear young thing, yet you spend so much time wandering the outside world with a dangerous man like the Scholar. Why, it's enough to make me sick with worry.”

  “Hawke and I get along well enough,” I said slowly. I didn't like what she was suggesting, and suddenly I didn't feel so safe with her. “Not to mention, we already do a lot for your group.”

  “Dear me, children your age just don't understand the consequences of your actions.” Her smile grew sad. “King Morau is certainly a useful man: powerful connections, the admiration of the populace, and terrifying strength, he has all these in spades. But he's uncontrollable, a mad dog that can't be leashed. We accept his help, yes, but our family has always given him a wide berth.”

  The more she said, the more unsettled I grew. “So why did you ask him here now?” I said. I was afraid of the answer, but I couldn't stop myself from asking.

  “Isn't it obvious? It's because of you.” She still wore her warm smile, but I felt a chill creep down my back. “We've been keeping an eye on you for a while, hon. Your power is fascinating, and you have a strong sense of justice, the pure kind that comes from someone who has overcome great suffering. You could do great good in the world.”

  “So what's the problem?” I said. “Hawke and I are working together to do just that.”

  The Goodmother shook her head, her smile dropping away. “That man will destroy you. For all he says he works for, he has only one true goal: the death of the grinel. His desire to destroy them has seeped into his soul, corrupting him. It's been eating away at him all this time, and he won't be able to fight it much longer. If you continue with him, it'll begin to eat at you as well.”

  I decided that meeting her had been a colossal mistake. Here I was, trapped who knew how far underground, in a secret room that only people loyal to the Goodmother knew how to access. The way she was talking, I got the strong feeling I wasn't going anywhere unless she wanted me to.

  My eyes flickered towards the wall, where the secret entrance was concealed. If I was lucky, I thought, perhaps I could pop the door open with my power fast enough to escape before she could stop me. She didn't look in the greatest shape, and if it came to it, I fig
ured I could probably overpower her with my essence fueling my strength. My greatest worry was getting lost in that dark maze, but I was willing to take my chances with it.

  Then I felt a horrible pressure fill the room. The air felt heavy enough to grab in my fist, and even drawing breath became a labor. I had felt this sensation before, years ago. Those with immensely strong essence could exert such a pressure through sheer force of will.

  And the source of this energy was sitting right in front of me.

  “Micasa,” said the Goodmother, her tone still kindly, “it's so rare for me to have visitors. Please, just relax and hear out the ramblings of a tired old lady for just a bit longer, will you?” She smiled again, and the pressure grew even sharper. I was nothing but a child before her.

  Chapter 11: A Mother's Concerns

  The feeling of being oppressed by someone's essence is something I've never forgotten. It's the feeling of helplessness, the weight of terror that someone has the power to do what they will with you. It's a useful tool for those who want to subjugate others to their whims.

  Fortunately for me, I already knew how to deal with it.

  When I had first felt such power, it had been while traveling with Hawke to confront Uraj. The Forge's essence had done much the same as the Goodmother's, leaving me unable to move an inch. Hawke had lifted that burden by using his own essence to shield me. Now, I was more than capable of shielding myself.

  I closed my eyes and focused, reaching into the depths of my soul, willing it to pour out as I had practiced countless times before. My energy rose to the surface and pressed against the Goodmother's will, fighting her influence. Slowly, bit by bit, my essence forced hers away as I cocooned myself with power.

  I opened my eyes. With my essence thrumming through me, my every sense sharpened to a whole new level. The energy of the soul was normally invisible to the naked eye, but now I could see a hazy distortion in the air, like heat rolling off a desert boulder. The Goodmother's essence and my own twisted the space around us, and where it met looked like a roiling pot of water, ready to bubble over any second.

  The Goodmother had raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem terribly disturbed otherwise. “You're better disciplined than I had expected,” she said. “Most people panic when I do that.”

  I could feel the sweat starting to bead on my forehead, and my breathing became heavy. Pushing off her influence was like jogging with a loaded travel pack. She didn't need to know how difficult it was, though. I put on my most careless smirk.

  “Yeah, well, I learned from one of the Old Kings himself. Someone like you is second rate by compare.”

  She chuckled, and suddenly I felt some of the pressure from her lift. Not all of it, but enough that I didn't have to strain so much anymore. I let out a sigh of relief involuntarily.

  “Yes, those two are quite a terror, aren't they?” said the Goodmother. For all the power she had been throwing out, she looked perfectly comfortable, lounging on her stuffed cushions. “Their souls have seen and experienced far more than my own, true enough. They've grown strong, and their abilities make them like gods among men. Not all of us can control flames, or move objects with a thought. You should know better than most, though, that there are so many other ways to use such power.”

  She heaved herself onto her feet with a very unladylike grunt, taking the time to stretch the kinks from her back before shuffling casually towards her desk. I watched, confused, while she opened a drawer and sifted through it for a few moments. Finally, she pulled out a long, thin, pencil-like object. She walked back to me, crouching down so that we were eye to eye.

  “How would you like some of my power?” she asked.

  I blinked. “What?”

  She brought the object she had picked out between our faces. I wasn't too far off guessing it was a pencil. It did seem to be some sort of writing instrument, sheer black all the way through. It was almost a pen, a pen as long as long as my forearm, but the tip was too pointed, too sharp. It would easily tear through any paper it was used on.

  “All it takes is one line. It'll hurt a bit, but you'll become a true member of our family.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “And I always make sure to look out for my family.”

  I put one and one together. “So the tattoo isn't just for fashion,” I said.

  “No, but it's better if people didn't know the truth. My family already has an unsavory reputation. I wouldn't want every cudgel-swinging grunt sniffing me out to get their hands on power.”

  I stared at the needle. It seemed to pulse with…something. It felt almost like a heartbeat.

  “And this will give me, what, a bit of your essence? Some sort of soul booster shot?” I said.

  “Nothing so crude. This will link you directly to me. If you need a little extra 'oomph,' you can just call on this bond and take as much as you need.” I felt her essence flex, like a little demonstration of just what she was offering. Aside from Hawke and Uraj, I had never met anyone with so much essence. If she wanted to, she probably could have crushed me with her bare hands.

  “No,” I said.

  I expected her to try and charm me. Maybe she would say she could offer Hawke the same deal so we could keep working together. She might just drop all pretenses and threaten me directly, or maybe she would just overpower me and force the tattoo on me, regardless of my feelings.

  I didn't expect the Goodmother to pout.

  “Well, that is a shame,” she said. She stood, returned to the desk, and tucked the needle away. I watched her closely, disbelievingly, as she strolled back to her pile of cushions and flopped back down with another grunt. We stared at each other in silence for an uncomfortable amount of minutes.

  “Sooooo, that's it?” I finally said.

  “Of course,” said the Goodmother. “I wouldn't dream of forcing you to become one of my children.” She reached under one of her cushions and pulled out a pair of needles similar to the one she'd just packed away. I tensed, but quickly realized they were only knitting needles, a strand of yarn trailing from it to underneath her bed. She began knitting earnestly, which only confused me more.

  “But you said…” I started.

  “I simply offered you a chance,” she said, her needles click-clacking a steady rhythm. “A chance to truly do something with that gift of yours. A chance to work with people that share your goal.”

  “Hawke does share my goal,” I insisted. I wasn't sure if it was wise to push the buttons of someone who could clearly overpower me, but I wasn't going to let her just get away with constantly badmouthing him.

  “So he says, Micasa. Maybe you're right, though. Maybe he has become a better man than the one I've seen him be for so many years.” She sighed, setting aside her knitting.

  “He said he never met you before today,” I said.

  “Oh, he hasn't. He has worked with my family for a very long time, though, and just because he never spoke to me doesn't mean I haven't had plenty of time to get a feel for him. Like I said, he's a man with many strong points, but I find him insufferable to be around.” Her eyes grew distant, and her lips dipped unmistakably into a frown. It was the first time she had done such since we started talking.

  “If you dislike him so much, why did you bother calling him here?” I asked.

  “Well, I knew you'd never come here without King Morau in tow, but there was also something I wanted to discuss with him.” She picked up her book and carefully opened it, thumbing through the pages to find where she had left off, I supposed.

  I waited to see if she would go on and explain. She stopped turning pages, and she started reading where she had landed. A faint smirk curled on her lips, which got my blood to boiling. I was going to demand to know what she was talking about when she cut in abruptly.

  “How was Mirth, last time you saw him?”

  I was caught short. Mirth was the leader of the band of gypsies that Hawke's old lover Rouge had been a part of. I had met them first when travelling with Hawke for his so
ul, but also several times since then just to visit. There were just a scant few bands of gypsies in all of Astra, but the only one I knew personally was Mirth's troupe.

  “You really do have eyes and ears everywhere, don't you?” I remarked.

  “Well, that is true,” she said. “But I knew Mirth long before you were born, hon. I can see the mark he left on your soul.”

  I wondered what she meant by that. The gypsies had the gift to touch a person deeply, connecting with them so personally that they could turn a complete stranger into a close friend in the span of a conversation. It was their own power, a quirk of their essence, but I never thought that it left any sort of mark on someone.

  Furthermore, how could the Goodmother know what this mark looked like?

  Then it all fell into place. “You used to be a gypsy, didn't you?” I asked. She gave a single, solemn nod.

  I should have noticed before. Despite the dangerous meeting place, despite her mysterious attitude, despite her outright threatening me with her power, I never felt truly afraid in her presence. Any time I'd started feeling uneasy, she would say or do something that completely disarmed me. She played the part of a friendly old woman better than the real thing. She had played me the whole time.

  “The world is bound in chains, Micasa,” said the Goodmother. Watching her, I felt like I could see the cheerful facade melting off her face, replaced by something dark. Something familiar. “Businessmen make slaves of their laborers, and lords make slaves of their vassals, even as the grinel make slaves of us all. The gypsies are the most free of all people, yet parents raise their children to despise them and fear them.”

  “But that's just not true,” I said. My argument felt small and petulant, but I didn't care.

  “You know that, and I know that. Even Hawke, blind as he is, knows that,” she said gravely. “But everyone else turns a blind eye to their chains, bearing them as just another part of their lives. That is the real purpose of my family, Micasa: to find a way to loosen those chains.”