“Pi,” Keva answers immediately.
“And its uses, Miss Kulkarni?”
“Depends,” Keva says, “but it’s usually associated with protection, especially with a pentagram inscribed in it.”
“And the pentagram is associated with which sacred ratio? Miss Kulkarni?”
This time, Keva has to think a little longer before she answers, “The golden ratio?”
“And how,” Miss Laplace continues, drawing on the board a circle with a five-pointed star inside it, “does a pentacle work? Let’s not ask the same person every time.” Her large eyes swivel over the ranks of students, then finally come to rest on Keva. “Miss Kulkarni?”
“By keeping things out,” Keva says.
“Can you give me an example?”
“Well…” Keva stops fidgeting in her seat to concentrate, and I hear Ross snigger in the back. “It’s not exactly a pentagram,” she says, “but the school?”
Miss Laplace looks a little annoyed, but returns to the blackboard. “It may not look like one to the untrained eye,” she says as she retraces the outside circle of her pentagram, “but the pentagon that is our very own school building is the center of the five-pointed star, as you see here.” She colors in the inside section of the star, and I realize with a jolt that she’s right. “And, of course, we have our stone markers at each vertex, which finish the pentacle that protects our school from any outside invasion.
“But that’s not the only thing circles and pentagrams can do. Apart from keeping things out, what else can they do? Miss Kulkarni?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Keva finally admits.
“They can keep things in,” the teacher says with a note of triumph from catching Keva off guard.
After that, the whole class ends up being a tennis match between the two, tiring everyone else out in the process. When the bell finally rings, we all let out a collective sigh.
“Now’s the time,” Jack says, drawing near me.
“Time for what?” I ask, hurrying to put my EM homework away before Miss Laplace can see it. I still have seventeen more to do, and I don’t want to get this one confiscated.
“To see if EM practices are going to resume or if we’re going to go back to jousting basics.”
“Jousting?” I ask. “As in…a horse and lance and everything?”
“No,” Jack says, “that’s not till we become squires. I meant regular sword practice.” He glances at the clock. “We better get going, though. KORT’s very strict about time.”
We join the rest of the student body gathered on the practice field by the arena. The buzzing of half whispers mixes with the low moaning of the wind as we wait, when there’s a sharp cry, and we see a girl collapse onto her neighbor.
“What’s going on?” I ask. I look about for any sign of Fey attack, adrenaline pumping.
Apparently, I’m not the only one worried, as people look about, but Keva points to a boy holding something over the unconscious girl.
“Just a fish that’s fallen from the lake,” she tells me. “Happens from time to time, when there’s a storm up there.”
Up there. I raise my eyes to the sky-lake. No clouds are ever present that I can see, just a gray expanse that can only be the bottom of Lake Winnebago.
“She got lucky,” Jack says. “This one time, an old, rusted car fell down. Landed on the south side of the forge and caused a massive fire. Took hours to get the flames out!”
“Shut up,” Keva says. “They’re here.”
A group of seniors is now standing on a makeshift platform at the edge of the field, Arthur at the forefront. I can’t quite tell from this distance, but for a moment, he seems to look straight at me. Then he raises his hands for silence.
“In light of recent events,” Arthur says, his voice clear, “we have long debated what the best direction would be for our school. And that is to keep up with training lessons as they were originally scheduled.”
I hear Jack let his breath out, and everyone around me seems to be feeling less tense.
“The reason being,” Arthur continues, “that we cannot let ourselves get weak. No one knows how many more Fey are out there, and the fact that we’ve encountered fewer of them in the last couple of decades does not necessarily mean their numbers are dwindling or that they’ve weakened.
“However, and I would like to insist on this point, we are now requiring every student to carefully tend to their respective weapons—including the ones used in training. One cannot be too vigilant, and Friday’s tragedy ought not to be repeated. That means you are required to spend the time necessary before and after each practice to check your gear for any defect and perform the necessary cleaning duties instead of letting the staff handle it.”
The crowd doesn’t seem to like this new rule, but Arthur keeps on talking.
“As for the elemental that tried to escape,” he says gravely, “we have the unpleasant task of informing you that its ogham was felled in two.”
I feel a shiver run through me at those words. The Fey’s ogham, its source of power, is gone, which can only mean one thing—we’ve killed it.
“A deplorable fact,” Arthur proceeds, “since it could, and should, have been prevented. We are now one weapon down, and as you are aware, finding replacements is becoming more difficult, so this is a heavy blow.”
Arthur lets his words sink in, and the students’ initial annoyance turns to embarrassment.
“Today’s lesson will therefore be spent going over our gear,” he says. “I want you to make sure every ogham’s iron casing is solid and uncompromised. Any defective piece is to be sent to the forge. And all other equipment is to be thoroughly cleaned and its power reserves restored.
“But before you set to your tasks, I want every page to be associated with an upperclassman to supervise. Ask Jennifer or K here to help you find a partner if need be. Dismissed.”
“Great,” Keva says, puffing her cheeks. “Now I’m definitely going to get a chipped nail.”
Everyone scrambles at once to get to work—the faster we are done, the faster we can finish our day. I’m amazed at how orderly everything is as I watch the school file toward the armory and come back, arms full of weapons and armor.
When we reach the arsenal, Gauvain’s the one who hands me a set of knives and a shield, though not without a doubtful look.
“Sure you can handle this?” he asks. “You’re still a bébé10 here.”
“That’s why I’m going to get paired up with someone who knows what to do,” I reply with a smile.
Gauvain relents, and when I get back outside, people are already set into circles or pairs about the stadium’s floor, checking the equipment, while others are tasked with taking the flawed gear to the forge.
A large fire blazes in the center of the arena, next to two large vats.
“What are they doing?” I wonder, but I discover that both Jack and Keva have left me to my own devices—no pity for the dummy, I guess.
To the right of the entrance is Jennifer, giving Laura and Dina directions before she helps a squire out. I shudder—she’s the last person I want to ask for help. But as I look about the blonde girl, I don’t see this Kay Arthur mentioned, so, with a deep, heartfelt sigh, I approach the curvaceous girl.
“What do you want, page?” she asks me.
I can see tiny beads of sweat hanging around her temples, but even so, Jennifer seems to be glowing. Some people are just born lucky, no matter how undeserving.
“I don’t know who to partner up with,” I say.
“Well, that’s a problem. I doubt anyone wants to pair up with you. It’d be too much work.”
She looks about, and then a cruel glint enters her light-blue eyes.
“Marcos,” she yells.
A large, greasy-looking boy looks up, surprised at being called out. As he nears us, I realize why she picked him for me. An indescribable stench seems to emanate from him, the smell of something sweet and of eggs gone bad.
/>
“Well, there you are!” Percy shouts, striding toward us with purpose.
Jennifer’s smooth brow puckers as Percy throws his arm around my shoulders, forcing me to bend my knees a little.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says to Jennifer. “I’ve bin told to help this little dogie11 out, considerin’ she don’t know much about the lay of the land.”
This time, Jennifer looks decidedly unhappy. “Get back to work, Marcos,” she snaps at him.
I throw her a bright smile and wave at her as much as my load permits, then follow Percy. We find an empty spot close to the large bonfire, and I settle next to him, a dagger in my lap.
“Is it Arthur who asked you to keep an eye on me?” I ask casually.
“Nah, it was Gauvain, got worried since you’re new and all.” He raises his eyebrow. “Why, ya wanted it to be Arthur?”
“Of course not!” I exclaim, hunching over my weapon to hide my embarrassment. “Just curious.”
“Gimme that before ya cut yerself,” he says.
I hand him the knife reluctantly.
“The way ya go ’bout it is simple,” he says, holding the weapon up so the light of the fire reflects off the blade. He then points at the gleaming black stone wedged inside it near the handle. “See this ogham in the bolster? Ya wanna make sure it’s secure. The last thing ya want is to find yerself with a captured Fey that’s accidentally been set free.”
“Is that what happened to Owen?”
“Uh-huh,” Percy says, testing the gem’s casing. “See, the Fey’s source of magic ain’t the stone itself.”
I stare, wide-eyed, at the black stone. “So why do we call it that?”
Percy shrugs and sets the knife aside. “Shorthand, I guess.” He picks up the first of a pair of vambraces and holds it to the light of the fire. The dull metal of the piece of armor glimmers, and I notice rows of pearls lining its edge.
“It’s more of a…a link, I s’pose,” he drawls, giving me a lopsided smile. “Sorry if my explainin’ ain’t too good. I ain’t got a flannel mouth12 like yer brother.”
I shake my head. “So the oghams link to the real source?” I ask.
“Tha’s right.”
“Which is what?”
“Nature, I guess,” he says after a moment of thought. “Some used to say it was to their queen, Danu, but that was ages ago and must’ve been wrong, ’cause I ain’t heard of her no more, and she’s thought to be long dead now.” He frowns and brings the vambrace closer to his face.
“Come ’ere,” he says.
I crawl over, and he points to a hairline fracture leading out from one of the pearls.
“It’s cracked,” I say.
“Precisely. Back to the forge it goes.”
“So what does the iron do to them?” I ask, carefully placing the piece of armor to the side.
“It cuts off their link. Fetch me the other one, will ya?”
“Which means what, exactly?” I ask, handing him the second vambrace.
“That all it’s got left are its own reserves, and it can’t even use those without a catalyst.”
“A catalyst?”
“That’s us,” Percy says, slapping his thorax. “Sweet, ain’t it?”
The sudden hiss as the bonfire’s flames are reduced down to embers startles me. I stare as, one by one, the gear is buried under the smoldering coal.
“What are they doing?” I ask. “I thought we were supposed to take the defective ones to the forge?”
“That’d be a recharge station,” Percy says, screwing his eyes to look at a spiked mace without poking himself. “They’re puttin’ those with fire elementals in there, the water ones in one of the big vats there, the ice ones in the other, and—”
“And the earth elementals in a pit?” I finish.
He beams at me. “Bull’s-eye! I told ya their source of power was cut off and they couldn’t access ’em no more, right? Well, if we use them too much, they get depleted. So the only way to recharge them is to put them in contact with their primary element again.”
“What about the air elementals?” I ask. “How do you recharge them?”
“There’s no need to,” Percy says. “Everythin’ around us is air, so it naturally keeps its energy levels up. Which is why they’re a favorite with defensive gear.”
“How come you’ve modernized your armor, but you haven’t done the same with your weapons?” I ask. “Wouldn’t guns be more practical?”
“Nah,” Percy says, “it’s hard to beef13 a Fey, let alone capture one. See, they control elements, right? So you can’t just shoot ’em up an’ expect ‘em to just lay there an’ wait to get hit without liftin’ a finger. A sweep of the arm, or tentacle, or other thingamajig, and it gets diverted. Or worse, returned to the sender, postage-free.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead and grabs a dagger. “But if ya had to pick,” he adds, “ya’d go for arrows. A lot more quiet an’, if ya catch ’em off guard, just as deadly.”
All in all, everything he’s said seems logical, which speaks wonderfully to my mathematical mind. For the first time tonight, I’m grateful for Arthur’s orders—I’ve learned more in an hour with Percy than I have in almost two weeks of school.
Yet there’s still one thing that’s been nagging at me since yesterday.
“Why…” I start, then stop.
“Shoot,” Percy says, expectant.
I take a deep breath, wondering how to word my thoughts in a way that’s diplomatic—a very difficult thing for me to do.
“It’s just, I’ve been wondering why we’re going through all this training. I mean, we’re still just kids. So why are we being recruited and brainw—that is, trained for war?” I can’t make myself look him in the eye. “It just doesn’t seem right,” I add under my breath.
For a while, we both work in complete silence, with only the sounds of other students going about their business to distract us. As the light of day ebbs away, Percy mutters something under his breath, and a series of small flames spark to life over his head, then float above both our heads like gentle spirits.
“Thanks,” I say, finally able to see what I’m doing and stop injuring myself.
“No problem,” Percy says, wiping off sweat from his wide forehead. “Now, goin’ back to what you were askin’. It ain’t that easy. First off, there’s the history.”
“History?”
Percy nods, his eyes distant. “People have always been trained to fight at an early age. Back in the olden days, you were considered an adult at twelve, so there’s that to consider. Then, there’s the whole mind thing.”
Bursting with impatience, I wait for him to continue with his explanation, but Percy seems to be content to just work on his shield. For a moment, I wonder if there’s a button I need to push to make him talk, like a punch on the nose or a pull on an earlobe.
“What mind thing?” I finally ask.
A small smile plays at the corner of Percy’s mouth as he notices me wringing the gauntlet I’m supposed to be checking.
“That’s the hard part to explain,” he says. “See, at our age, our minds ain’t all formed up yet, so’s easier to get round all the Fey’s tricks and all.”
It looks like he’s going to add something, but he just shakes his head and resumes his silent inspection. Out of frustration, I throw the gauntlet onto the recharge pile and pick up what appears to be part of a boot.
“No, no, no,” Percy says, picking it right back up. “See how this plate is pratically covering the amethyst? Means it’s almost completely cut off from its element, which ya don’t want neither.”
He pushes the metal part down to reveal the purple stone beneath.
“Remember what I just told ya. Now this is an air rune,” he continues, “so it ain’t so bad, but ya can’t be too cautious, ’cause you sure as hell don’t want to get caught with your pants down at the wrong moment.”
The week goes by in a blur of activity so that by the time the weekend arrive
s, I’m ready to crawl into a casket, never to rise again. I don’t know why my mother decided to sign me up here— except perhaps for the fact that it’s in a place where the police will never think to look for me—but I’m willing to trade my old, regular life for this one anytime. Except for one minor detail: I still don’t know anything about my father.
This time around, I stay with my class as we board the longboats that are to take us back to the surface.
“What are you going to do this weekend?” Keva asks me, a sudden glint in her dark eyes.
A glint I’ve learned to be wary of. “I don’t know. Why?”
She tosses her long braid back over her shoulder. “Any plans for a soiree or an afternoon picnic, by any chance?”
“Not that I know of,” I reply.
Keva’s smile slides off her face like a dead slug. “Ah, well, there’s always Bri’s tea party then, if my parents will allow me to go.”
“Bri’s having a party?” I ask, surprised. “Even with her brother…”
“Her parents are,” Jack says. “They usually organize some form of get-together once a quarter.”
Keva snorts. “I don’t think any of that’s going to change the fact that they’ve never amounted to much more than squires and blacksmiths.”
“Their great-uncle was part of KORT,” Jack says indignantly.
Keva shrugs. “An oddity in their genealogy.”
“Wait,” I say, “so you mean not everyone becomes a knight here?”
“I thought I told you that already?” Jack says. “You have to prove your worth first, usually by getting your first big catch.”
“Well, sorry for not remembering the billion things you’ve told me in the last two weeks,” I say.
We step into the wooden boat headed for Oshkosh and sit down. When all three barks are filled with students, a teacher boards each one and stands at its prow.
“All right, everyone,” Sir Boris says to our group, “hold on tight!”
I grip the side, somewhat nervous to entrust my safety to a flying object with no wings or motor. Sir Boris places his hand on the figurehead, the carving of a fierce dragon. A moment later, the green glow of a sylph spreads out from beneath his fingers then extends to the rest of the boat, enveloping us in an airtight bubble.
Blood of the Fey (Morgana Trilogy) Page 10
