Instrument of Peace (Symphony of the Cursed Book 1)

by Rebecca Hall

  “I thought I was invisible.”

  “You were, doors don’t open and shut on their own. And you didn’t do anything to conceal the fact that you were using magic.”

  Mitch groaned, any half way competent magician would have been able to sense the magic he used. “Can you conceal the fact that you’re using magic?”

  “Only if you’re way better at Alchemy than I think you are.”

  “I’m probably not,” Mitch said, moving so that he wouldn’t be in direct line of sight of the door.

  “Are you ok?”

  “You’re the one in a hospital bed,” Mitch said. Nikola was the first person to ask him that. Everyone else probably just assumed that the answer was no.

  “I heard what happened Mitchell, I know why you’re here.”

  “To borrow one of your books.”

  Nikola laughed and then started to cough. Mitch winced and glanced at the door.

  “Answer my question first,” Nikola said once he’d stopped coughing and taken a drink. Mitch shrugged, the initial horror was gone but now reality was beginning to settle in and he didn’t know what to make of a world where students killed abusive teachers.

  “With words Mitchell.” His tone of voice almost perfectly mimicked Mr McCalis’s when he was sentencing someone to detention and Mitch found himself answering in a confused jumble of half sentences without even thinking about it.

  “Help yourself,” Nikola waved at the pile of books. Mitch gaped at him.

  “That’s it, you don’t have anything else to say?”

  “Not with my throat this sore. I’ll listen if you want but I’m not going to pry, they have counsellors for that.”

  Mitch couldn’t help the tiny smile that appeared on his face. His only experience with counsellors was the few sessions he’d attended with Cullum and they did seem to have a gift for asking incisive questions.

  “I think I’ll just take the book,” Mitch said. Maybe he’d talk to Gwen later, or Bates if he ever managed to prise him away from Mindy. Today’s practical magic lessons had been cancelled, perhaps they’d come visit him. “You’re not reading this one are you?” Mitch asked, pointing to Faust. Nikola raised an eyebrow. “I’m even worse at Norse,” Mitch said. Most of the books were in Norse and a couple were in Middle English; Faust was the only thing he might be able to make sense of. Middle English was one of the few languages that wasn’t on the curriculum but Nikola didn’t appear to be having any difficulty with it. Maybe he was just admiring the faded illustrations.

  “Take it.”

  Mitch tucked the book under his jacket and returned to the bed. The struggle of trying to read a story he only vaguely knew in a language he barely spoke was enough to keep him occupied until he was summoned by the counsellor.

  #

  Mitch tried to make his tie sit straight; his tie tried to strangle him. He wasn’t sure why he bothered when it was going be hidden under his coat and blazer for most of the funeral. At least he wasn’t the only one suffering, the entire school had to wear their uniforms for Dr Henly’s funeral. Deciding it was as straight as it was going to get, he grabbed his blazer and coat and joined the rest of the school as they trickled outside to the Burning Yard.

  It was cold outside, the thick snow hidden under a layer of ash. They’d probably get more of both before the night was done. After the chaos that had been steadily engulfing them over the last few months the Academy was unnaturally quiet. Dr Henly’s death appeared to have shocked everyone back to their senses. Everyone huddled together for warmth but Mitch couldn’t shake the sense that they were all utterly alone. He took a candle from the long tables lined up by the Burning Yard gate and struck a match. He should have brought gloves; they weren’t supposed to use magic during the funeral. At least the tiny candle flame provided some warmth. It provided light as well; it was sunset and the sun was hidden behind a sky filled with ash and clouds.

  He shielded the flame with one hand as he moved through the crowd looking for Gwen or Richard. Bates would almost certainly be with Mindy and Mitch didn’t want to see her, this had almost been her sister’s funeral. He found Gwen and Richard standing together and worked his way through the crowd towards them, careful not to jostle any of the candles.

  The Burning Yard gates slammed shut, the sound echoing in the silence. They wouldn’t be reopening until the pyre died out though their teachers and books had been remarkably unclear on what it was they were trying to keep out. The pyre itself stood in the middle of the courtyard and was piled high with oil-soaked wood that neatly concealed Dr Henly’s body. Mitch could almost pretend that it was a bonfire.

  The courtyard floor was inlaid with a complex tangle of sigils, as were the walls. Mitch thought that they might be simpler than the obsidian mirror but there were many more of them. The dead always burnt, it was a law as old as magic itself. Corpses and magic were a bad combination, especially in a place like this, especially with people like these.

  He glanced at the shrouded sun, barely having to lift his gaze to see it peeping over the fence. Funeral pyres were always lit at sunset, the instant the sun’s light no longer fell upon it. The cynical part of his mind noted that the Burning Yard had been constructed in one of the first parts of the Academy to be plunged into darkness. The taste of smoke hung in the air and would linger long after the pyre burnt out thanks to the continuing volcanic activity. He looked around but the half-light had rendered everyone unrecognisable. He hoped Belle wasn’t here. He knew that Sven and Nikola weren’t.

  As if in response to some unseen signal their restless shuffling came to a halt and they all turned to face the pyre. Mitch couldn’t see who lit it but he imagined that he heard the whoosh as the flames caught, and then he didn’t have to imagine it.

  The pyre exploded.

  Fireworks shot into the sky, but more, many more, shot into the crowd, showering them all with sparks in half a dozen different colours. Mitch was too far back to be in any immediate danger leaving him free to wonder how anyone had managed to get their hands on that many fireworks when they could only be sold three days a year.

  All around the courtyard people cried out in shock and pain, violating a number of funeral customs, and then began pushing back against those eager for a view of the chaos. After the silence that had ensnared the Academy since Dr Henly’s death the whistles and bangs of the fireworks were painfully loud and the screams obscene in their pitch and volume. The flashes and sparks of colour were unnaturally bright against the grey sky and dark clad students. He wondered what the fireworks were doing to Dr Henly’s body and then decided he’d rather not know when his imagination provided him with an answer.

  The fireworks stopped and everyone slowly climbed back to their feet though no one approached the pyre. Mitch heard a few people giggling hysterically and a few swearing along with countless whispered conversations as people sought to relight their candles. He vaguely remembered that a candle that was extinguished during a funeral was supposed to be destroyed rather than burnt but it appeared that he was the only one. The roaring of the flames grew louder as it sought to drown out the conversation that was so horribly out of place. The fire climbed higher, casting crazed shadows across the Burning Yard, smoke twisting around the snow and fine ash falling upon them. As far back as he was Mitch could still feel the warmth of the blaze but it did nothing to warm him. It just highlighted how cold it was.

  The flames fell back into the remains of the pyre and a fresh wave of fireworks burst forth. This time none of them shot into the sky. Screams and curses filled the air, followed by the rattling of the gates as people reached their limit and tried to flee. The quiet and orderly funeral was at an end, replaced by chaos and yells that threatened to burst his eardrums. He looked for Gwen and Richard and found that they had already been swept away.

  Still clutching his candle and trying to shield the flickering flame Mitch made his way towards the gate that was slowly being forced open. The metal screamed, bound by magic
not to open until the pyre burnt down and slowly being forced open by the frantic students. A few people had given up on the gate and were scrambling over the wall, the girls hitching up their coats and skirts to do so. The candles were carelessly tossed aside and Mitch shivered when he saw several land upright and continue to burn.

  The gate had finally been forced open, in a manner of speaking; it had been ripped off its hinges, the metal bent and twisted. Mitch looked at the mob struggling to get through the opening and catching themselves on the broken gate and found himself an empty piece of wall. If he stretched he could just reach the top of the wall and set the candle down. Praying that it wouldn’t blow out or topple over, he started to climb. From the top of the wall he studied the Burning Yard. Most of the students were fleeing, their candles discarded. A few were upright and burning and Mitch recognised the rough outline of a sigil though its name eluded him. He doubted it was anything good. The teachers held their places. They stood in a loose circle around the pyre, their candles held steady and their gaze unflinching. They were far enough back that the fireworks fizzled out before they could be struck. He could hear cries of pain and curses, hysterical giggling and outright laughter and over it all the roar of the flames.

  The fire died. Mitch froze, only partly because he couldn’t see anything in the sudden dark. He blinked repeatedly, trying to peer through the gloom. Fires didn’t just go out like that, the pyre should have smouldered for hours. It wasn’t even glowing. All of the candles had gone out as well, even the one that he’d been so careful to protect.

  He swung himself over the wall and lowered himself to the uneven ground, cringing when his leg hit the candle and wincing when the ground proved to be both further away and harder than he had thought. He made it two steps before he slipped and went sliding down the hill into the slurry of mud, ash and semi-melted snow that had been made by the other fleeing students. A few stopped to point and laugh, none tried to help. He rolled to his feet shivering, his suit wet and covered in mud.

  He looked around wildly until he was able to orientate himself on the lights of the school. His feet slipped and slid constantly as he made for the beacon of light, warmth and a hot shower but he managed to avoid falling a second time. There was a footpath around here somewhere but it was proving impossible to find in the gloom. It had probably been buried under a fresh layer of snow and ash.

  One of the teachers had already made it back to the buildings and Mitch was directed into the dining hall rather than upstairs to a hot shower and clean clothing. The dining hall had been decorated in black and white for the occasion. The tables were hidden under black tablecloths and vases full of white lilies sat in their centre surrounded by tall white candles that were supposed to burn until sunrise. Heavy black drapes stitched with white sigils covered the windows. A small dais and podium had been erected at the front of the room and it too was covered in black cloth.

  One by one the school traipsed into the dining room, tracking in an unholy amount of mud. Mitch felt sorry for the cleaning staff, the dully-gleaming floor was slowly being buried and the elegant seat coverings smeared with mud. Everyone’s clothes seemed to be torn, burnt, stained or damaged in some way in a mockery of the solemnity that was supposed to preside.

  He spied Gwen and Richard at a table and wound his way over to them, inadvertently picking up Bates and Mindy along the way. Gwen had somehow contrived to look as immaculate as ever. Mitch briefly wondered if it was an illusion but he couldn’t feel any magic; of course she was much better at Alchemy than he was. Richard hadn’t been so lucky, there were several burns on his suit and another on his hand. It didn’t look too bad but Richard should have been running it under cold water not sitting here with it covered in mud. Mindy and Bates looked as if they’d been mud wrestling. There was a tear in Bates’ coat and Mindy carried her broken heels in one hand. Mitch looked away before they could make eye contact, and sat next to Gwen. Much to his relief Bates took the seat next to his.

  Muted conversation spread through the hall as the shock wore off and was replaced by speculation. Mitch said nothing, Dr Henly had never been his favourite teacher but he didn’t deserve to be bad-mouthed after his death. He even overheard one person say that the fireworks had been Dr Henly’s attempt at revenge.

  The teachers arrived and claimed their places at the head of the room, closing the doors behind them. Mitch swallowed, remembering the last time those doors had been closed so that Dr Dalman could address them.

  “Dr Marvin Henly–” Her mouth snapped shut, almost cutting off the end of his name. Mitch craned his head to see what had caught her attention. The candle in the middle of the room had gone out. Half the room gasped. The funeral candles never went out, they burnt constantly to ward away the ghost of the departed. Mitch had thought that they were enchanted to burn throughout the night and extinguish themselves when they were struck by the first rays of sun. He hadn’t thought anything of them going out in the chaos at the burning yard but there was no wind here, no smothering ash falling from the skies, the candle had just gone out.

  “Someone must have cursed Henly,” a voice whispered. The whisper was soon taken up by the rest of the hall.

  Dr Dalman cleared her throat and tapped the head of the microphone. Everyone fell silent, no doubt remembering the scream of feedback she’d used to get their attention last time. Everyone looked at her, no one looked at the candle that had gone out, not even those who had to look past it to see Dr Dalman. No one tried to relight it either; doing so would trap Dr Henly’s spirit. Mitch shivered, several candles had been re-lit at the Burning Yard and he had no desire to be haunted by his former Teratology teacher.

  “Dr Marvin Henly...”

  Eight more candles went out, forming a circle around the first. The lilies inside the circle started to wilt and the students sitting within it started inching back as if afraid that they would wilt next. No one spoke a word, even the gasps of shock from before were missing. One student reached towards a dead candle, flames dancing on her hand, and then snatched it back when she remembered herself.

  “Dr Marvin Henly...” Another ring of candles went out, this time Dr Dalman stuttered and continued, her eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. She didn’t look at the rings of concentric circles with their wilted lilies or the students who had fled them.

  “...was more than just another...”

  A third ring of candles died. This time even the students outside the ring began to inch away in anticipation of the fourth ring dying. The remaining candles burnt even brighter, trying to compensate for their fallen brethren. Dr Dalman drew her shawl tighter against the unnatural chill that seemed to be emanating from the dead ring. If he hadn’t known better Mitch might have thought that the cold was psychological but his magic told him that it was real.

  “...teacher, he was also...”

  Another ring of candles died and this time Dr Dalman seemed to accept defeat. Mitch got up and inched away, one arm around Gwen. His skin was crawling and it felt as if every hair on his body was standing on end. They wound up pressed against the wall with the rest of the students, watching and waiting for the next circle of candles to flicker and die. They didn’t flicker, they just died.

  The burning cold radiating from the centre of the room was gathering momentum now, the remaining flames shrunk down to nothing. The final ring of candles flared brightly, trying to fight back the tide, and then they too died.

  There was a roar as they burst back into life, burning hot and bright and leaving behind searing afterimages and burn marks on the sigils embroidered into the table cloth. They went out in a heartbeat, their fuel exhausted and the next ring exploded. Each ring seemed to burn hotter and brighter than the one before. The final candle burnt silver.

  An outline appeared over the candle, a shape where the silver light wasn’t. Mitch had no difficulty recognising Dr Henly. For a second he thought that Henly had wings and then the void in the light resolved itself into two bei
ngs. Mitch tried to shout a warning but his tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth.

  An angel. Mitch was certain that that was what it was. A vast being that appeared only as an absence in the flickering silver light. It was an inhumanly perfect creature with wings that spread across the width of the hall and features that were surprisingly expressive for a being that was nothing more than an outline.

  It smiled, appearing both satisfied and distraught, and placed its hands on Dr Henly’s shoulders. Dr Henly’s eyes widened and he tried to twist around but the hands held him firm. The great wings swept forward and Mitch thought he could feel the passage of their passing as they closed around Dr Henly and hid him from view. When they opened again Dr Henly was gone, consumed by the angel or perhaps freed from the candle. Mitch had no way of knowing, he couldn’t even decide if he was staring at one of the Fallen or a member of the Host.

  He imagined that it met his eyes for a second, that its gaze was filled with infinite pity mingled with regret and then the candle died and the screaming started.

  Mitch winced and covered his ears, blinking repeatedly as his eyes sought to adjust to the dark once more. A few people kept their heads and used light spells but they weren’t enough to restore order. The angel must have done something to keep them from reacting to its presence, something that had worn off the instant it left.

  A slap penetrated the din and he saw Mindy rubbing her check, Gwen standing over her. Gwen was one of the people who had created light and it seemed to be imposing a semblance of order on their surroundings. Someone finally managed to grope their way over to the switch and Mitch winced as the harsh artificial light stabbed at his eyes. They were energy saver bulbs that took time to brighten but they were still far brighter and harder that the magical lights.

  The dining hall had been devastated. The floor and seat covers were splattered in mud and more had been smeared across the wall hangings and curtains, those that hadn’t been torn down. The lilies had all wilted, their petals falling to lie in the pools of congealing wax left behind by the candles, and many of the chairs had been overturned. The central table had vanished completely, the only table to have been disturbed. Everyone was staying as far from the remaining tables as possible. Mitch rubbed his arms, his breath frosting in the air, he hoped the heating started to take effect soon, he never thought he’d have to worry about frostbite while inside. He hadn’t thought he’d have to worry about anything other than keeping his candle alight.