by Isla Frost
So I would learn about that too. And when the time was right, I wouldn’t hesitate to use that vulnerability against them. The enemy of my enemy might be a temporary ally, but it didn’t pardon the millions of lives they’d taken directly and indirectly, nor all the families they’d torn apart since.
Families they’d apparently torn apart for the occasional wildcard. Like me.
Shrugging that off for now, I rushed through the hallways to the bathroom. I had ten minutes until my next class, and I was determined to spend eight of those in the shower.
As I sped through the manor, it was obvious that rumors of my Malus magic preceded me. A few human students I didn’t know well gave me a wide berth or even changed direction to avoid associating with me.
The walker students’ reactions were worse.
Someone hissed “abomination” as I passed. Others leveled glares my way like I was the Malus itself. And one walker, despite the inbuilt fluid grace they all shared that allowed them to run through the forest in near silence and kick serious butt in combat, brushed too close and sideswiped me with their elbow. Hard.
I didn’t let it bother me. They were the bad guys here. I lifted my chin and glared right back.
But I was glad to make it to the sanctuary of the nearly empty bathroom. I shed my clothes and ducked beneath the blissful stream of hot water, letting it wash away my tension, aching muscles, and residual nausea—not to mention the odor after being stuck in the transformation ritual for three days and the holding cell for another. I stayed under that soothing stream for every one of those eight minutes.
Then I jogged outside to Millicent’s manicured lawn and joined… no one. I halted, my breath sending puffs of condensation into the cold air, wondering if our lesson location had changed and no one had remembered to tell me. But muted voices led me around the side of the manor, and there, in front of an old outbuilding we’d never utilized before, I found Professor Cricklewood and the rest of the human students.
The class was much smaller than it used to be.
I was late. But instead of chewing me out for being tardy, Cricklewood merely nodded at me.
Huh.
Some of the kids started whispering, but I joined Ameline and Bryn and felt my mood lift anyway.
Cricklewood ignored the whispers and did his pacing thing in front of us, his voice raised in its usual drill-sergeant shout. “Now you lot know why you’re really here, I expect you to work harder than ever before.”
The communal groan I anticipated didn’t come, and I looked askance at my friends.
Bryn filled me in. “Morning assembly was a shorter, prettier version of what Theus told us. Everyone’s either scared witless or so enthralled with their new magic they think they’re invincible.”
Cricklewood thumped his staff against the frosty ground, only then making me realize he hadn’t brought it with him, hadn’t needed it the night he’d visited me in my holding cell. I’d quickly figured out it was a weapon as much as a walking aid, but I hadn’t guessed he could get around fine without it.
The wiry old walker was scowling, his scraggly white eyebrows wriggling their disapproval.
“You might be feeling cocky after making the cut and being endowed with your fancy new powers. So let me disabuse you of the notion.”
Five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have imagined anyone’s confidence would need disabusing after hearing about the Malus, but glancing around at the students, I saw Bryn was right. Some were barely paying attention to the lesson, too busy playing with their new powers. One kid was sending electricity crackling over his hands. Another was toying with a ball of water behind her back.
Cricklewood paused in his pacing to eyeball us. “Make no mistake, the scum that rises to the top of a pond is still scum. When you eventually face the Malus, at least one of you will wet yourselves and the rest of you will disgrace yourselves. So climb down off your conceited little high horses and come and choose a weapon.”
Well, Cricklewood sure knew how to give a motivational speech.
Without any apparent action on his part, the barn-style doors of the outbuilding flung themselves open, revealing three walls’ worth of weapon racks.
Our group moved forward, some kids breaking into a jog to get first pick.
“Not with your eyes, you foolish flea-feeders! Close them if you need to. Feel the pull. These weapons are special, and they’ll select their wielders as much as you them. I’d prefer to go into battle backed by any one of these over the entire lot of you twig-armed twerps.”
The vast array of weapons was impressive. Swords, staffs, spears, maces, flails, axes, bows, crossbows, cudgels, daggers and more in all styles and sizes. If it was good for slashing, stabbing, smashing, or shooting, it was there.
I wandered over to the long-range weapons on the left wall first. If I needed to draw blood before using my dubious reaper magic, then why not do so from a distance?
But nothing called to me.
I saw Ameline running her fingers over a slender recurved bow, and when I searched for Bryn, I saw her hefting an axe way too big for her. I winced, hoping she would pick something more suitable.
But no matter where I wandered or which weapons I inspected, my gaze kept being drawn to a long, obsidian-colored blade with an elegant but unadorned cross guard. Whatever the black metal was, it made the sword stand out as unique even among the huge assortment of weapons.
My first thought was that selecting the only black blade for myself when half the people at the academy believed I was the dark scourge of the Malus in human form was a bad idea.
My second thought was that I might select it for just that reason—to send them the unsubtle message that I didn’t give a rat’s backside what they believed.
But in the end, I didn’t pick the obsidian blade for either of those reasons. I chose it because it called to me, just like Cricklewood had said. And when I did lift it from the rack, it was lighter than I’d expected. Light enough to wield one-handed but with a pommel generous enough for two when needed. The sword’s length combined with my height would give me a better reach than many opponents, while its surprising lightness would allow me to wield it with speed and precision.
Its double-edged blade glinted wickedly in the weak sunlight, and I didn’t feel inclined to test its sharpness.
Feeling strangely certain of my decision, I slid the sword into the provided sheath and returned to the lawn outside. My friends were already there. Ameline had chosen the same bow I’d seen her admiring. Or perhaps it had chosen her. And Bryn was holding a different battle-axe. It was double-headed and even bigger than the last.
“Right,” Cricklewood shouted. “These weapons will practically wield themselves and lend you strength while they’re at it. So long-range weapon holders will be learning speed and strategy, and you miserable cretins that chose close-combat weapons will focus on footwork.”
Cricklewood was right. My blade was a dream to use, giving me far more skill than I had any right to lay claim to.
The professor had us apply a clear, goopy substance to the sharp edges of our weapons to blunt them, then paired us off to practice the footwork and combat techniques he’d assigned us. Periodically he’d shout to swap partners so we would face opponents of different strengths, speeds, and weapon types.
Bryn and I paired off first. Her smaller form and dancing feet made her a difficult target, and her giant axe smashed into my blade with bone-jarring force. Somehow my new sword absorbed the worst of the impact of each strike. But even so, my entire right arm was going numb by the time Cricklewood called for a swap.
I faced a boy with a spear next. Josef, I thought his name was. The reach of his weapon made it difficult to get close, but anytime I darted inside his guard, the long and pointed spear became unwieldy. That didn’t stop him smashing the steel haft into my stomach, but I gave better than I got.
A girl with twin short swords and the ability to flip through the air made a dangerous and unpredic
table opponent. And a muscle-bound hulk of a guy swung his mace with strength enough to break bones—if this had been more than training and I’d allowed a single one of his blows to land.
So I was panting but mostly unscathed when Cricklewood called for another swap and Klay stepped into my field of vision. I grinned in greeting. This should be good.
He and I had been the standout students (among the humans anyway) in nearly all the physical challenges from day one, and though he was a lone wolf, we had a friendly rivalry going on.
But Klay didn’t grin back. His handsome face was set in a glower, and he didn’t wait for Cricklewood’s order to come at me.
I parried, surprised by the attack and the ferocity behind it. He had chosen a great sword as his weapon. Longer and broader than my own. And he had both speed and strength in his two-handed grip. Perhaps he was feeling extra competitive.
That was fine. I would meet his challenge and up it then. He wasn’t the only one who’d trained with a sword before today.
The world narrowed to the clashing of our blades, mine black, his silver. The ripple of movement in his torso that forecast his intentions. The skip of our feet over the grass. We circled, and a sudden flash of sunlight off the steel of his blade made me miscalculate his next move by a hair. A slight but costly error that allowed his sword to land its strike against my side.
Klay did not pull his blow.
It smashed into my left arm so hard it sent pain lancing through the bone. Broken? Fractured?
Instead of stepping back to give me a chance to recover—something every partner I’d faced had done without needing to discuss it, this was training after all—Klay rushed to press his advantage.
I blocked the next strike. Just. And learned the bone hadn’t fractured since my two-handed grip didn’t cause me agony. But this game wasn’t fun anymore.
Klay’s expression was determined, set, maybe with a hint of satisfaction as he worked to land another blow. Worked to hurt me again.
What on earth was his problem? Was he angry about my new magic too? Klay had always held the walkers in higher esteem than the rest of us for some unfathomable reason, and not in the lovestruck sort of way some of the kids had either. But he was acting worse than the walker students. Why would he take it that far if he was only following their lead?
So the reason must be personal then. Maybe it wasn’t even to do with my new magic.
I blocked another strike, and another. Losing ground as I tried to master the pain still echoing through my arm and the greater sting of his sudden hatred.
Maybe he just didn’t like the shape of my nose or something.
Yeah, that’d make for a refreshing change.
“Did I do something to upset you?” I ground out as I blocked a strike to my neck that might have seriously injured me had it landed, blunted blade or no.
But his only answer was to intensify his attack.
I fought to keep my temper in check. To avoid hurting him in return. At least not until I understood the reason behind his abrupt shift in attitude. That didn’t mean I couldn’t take the offensive.
My new sword sang through the air, a wicked, dark blur of motion my eyes couldn’t follow. I drove Klay back a step, and another. We were down to instinct and training and the magic of our weapons. And somehow I sensed that my blade was more powerful than his.
Klay’s teeth were bared as he fought to defend himself. I probably wasn’t doing much to lessen his newfound dislike toward me, but right then I didn’t care. I wouldn’t wound him. Nothing more than his ego anyway. But I would teach him not to mess with me.
Cricklewood called for another partner change, and I reluctantly lowered my sword.
Klay did not. He swung with frightening precision at my unguarded neck. I threw myself backward and felt rather than saw the steel tip part the air an inch from my collarbone.
Freaking hell.
I growled and rolled to my feet as he advanced again. My sword was still in my hand, and I’d managed not to cut myself in my unplanned collision with the ground. Magic indeed.
I thrust it upward to deflect Klay’s overhead swing and almost flung it into the sky when it met no resistance. Klay’s great sword… no, Klay himself was frozen in place.
Cricklewood entered my peripheral vision and glared at us both.
“Save your bloodlust for the battlefield, children.”
Chapter Eight
I should have guessed my day wasn’t going to get any better.
Bruised and exhausted, we walked into our next class. Where I learned I’d come close to unwittingly killing everyone my first week here.
The lesson began ordinarily enough. Professor Dunraven had written three words on the board.
Know Thine Enemy.
Theus looked glad but unsurprised to see me and lifted a hand in greeting. Lirielle didn’t see anyone since she was staring out the window. We all took our seats before the second chime sounded, and Dunraven rose and tapped the board with one long finger.
“This morning you learned what awaits you at the end of your training.”
Probable death? I thought but didn’t say.
“Every person in this room is here because of their natural talent and magic, and by the time you face the Malus, those gifts will be honed into a power to be reckoned with. But that will do you little good if you do not know your enemy. If you are not prepared.”
I caught myself leaning forward. This was what I wanted to learn.
“The ritual you have undergone prepared your bodies—so that the Malus cannot simply rip your life force from you. But I am here to prepare your minds, your souls, because that is what the enemy will attack next.”
Dunraven’s penetrating gaze swept over the assembled students.
“One of the greatest weapons of the Malus is fear. Fear is a disease that will kill more surely than any blade or claw. It overrides logic, wipes out hope, and cannot be outrun. Fear will follow you back to camp, it will tax you—mind, body, and soul—when you fight and when you attempt to rest. And fear can kill even those that survived the battle.”
Now didn’t that sound fun?
“There is no true antidote to the level of fear the Malus will throw at you. But we can condition you, prepare you for it.”
That was when Dunraven pulled out a small iron chest. A familiar chest etched with tiny, delicate leaves. One that reminded me an awful lot of the one I’d broken into three months ago in the office I’d thought was Grimwort’s.
Maybe the chest only looked similar. Craftsmen made products with similar likenesses all the time. But this chest featured the same security measures I remembered as well. The magical dragon lock turned violet eyes toward me expectantly, as if I might feed it some fresh cubes of meat, and I had a bad feeling that this was the chest.
That bad feeling was confirmed when Dunraven unlocked the mundane padlock and persuaded the dragon to unwind its tail from the loops holding the lid shut, because he withdrew an ebony circlet on a cushion of green satin.
Was it just me, or did it look like he was trying not to touch the thing?
“This circlet is a training tool,” Dunraven announced. “A highly specialized team managed to capture a tiny piece of the Malus and contain it inside. A walker gave their life to acquire this resource. To allow students like you to build up a resistance to the Malus’s fear influence in a relatively safe environment.”
He placed the cushion with the circlet still on it on the nearest firstborn’s table. “I say relatively safe because too long under the circlet’s influence has driven some students mad. And if anyone were to try it before their ritual, they would risk being taken over by the Malus and used to devour every spark of life force within this academy and, in time, the continent beyond.”
My palms pricked with sweat and my throat went dry. Was it coincidence that Dunraven’s eyes had landed on me during that last part?
Did he know?
I’d put that evil thing on my
head. Had felt pulled to do so. And though months had passed, I remembered the horror of that smothering alien darkness like it had been yesterday. The disorientation, the forgetting of everything I was. The forgetting of everything that ever was—except for the fear. The overwhelming, all-encompassing, bone-melting fear.
How close had I come to destroying us all in my ignorance?
The only thing that must have saved me was that I’d stumbled backward. No. Not that. I’d stepped backward, and Millicent, who’d been holding a grudge against me at the time, had tripped me, sending me sprawling into a wardrobe. A wardrobe she’d considerately opened for me to fall into, then locked me inside. Boy, had I been mad about that at the time.
Except… that fall had been what had knocked the circlet from my head. Had been what had saved me and the entire academy. The entire continent.
Had Millicent understood? Done it on purpose? Rescued me?
I swallowed a lump in my moistureless throat, certain somehow that she had.
The first student raised the polished ebony circlet and placed it on his head. His face drained of all color, his mouth opened in an unvoiced scream, and fifteen seconds later, Dunraven pulled it off, using magic rather than his own hand.
Then he landed it on the desk of the next nearest student. This guy’s scream was given voice, and it went on and on for the full fifteen seconds.
Dunraven dumped it on the next desk.
Even when the evil thing had been removed, the victims remained off-color and shaking. Dunraven might have been more encouraging with his words, but that delicate circle of Malus dampened my classmate’s spirits far more effectively than Cricklewood’s “pep talk.”
I watched the room grow increasingly subdued, watched bold Bryn grip her desk and grit her teeth as the circlet did its nasty work, watched silent tears fall down Ameline’s sheet-white face, and waited for my turn with a tight knot of dread.
