Instrument of Peace (Symphony of the Cursed Book 1)

by Rebecca Hall

  The ground shivered and heaved in the biggest quake yet and Mitch screamed as the trees came toppling down, one coming dangerously close to his foot, and shattered on impact. At least he wouldn’t have to try and climb over them. His relief lasted less than a second, vanishing the instant he started wondering if the splinters would try to eat him as well.

  He gulped and coughed when he tasted bile before venturing forward once more. The shattered trees made no discernible effort to eat his shoes and they offered a little more traction than the blood-covered floor. It wasn’t enough to compensate for the continuous trembling. He forced himself to lurch forward, many of the trees were still standing but he thought he could see something that might be a wall in front of him. It was easier to walk here, there were fewer corpses to trip over and less blood to slip on, most people hadn’t made it this far. He was one of the lucky ones, if his luck held he might actually make it out in one piece.

  After the crescendo and screaming the hall seemed unnaturally quiet. Mitch wanted to believe that the shadows were muffling the sounds somehow but he couldn’t. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people had been killed, torn apart and fed upon, ideally in that order, as part of a slaughter that would be repeated around the world at the stroke of midnight. A nightmare that was quietly covered up because it kept the chaos contained. In the place of screams he heard only low moans, some of pain and others of ecstasy. He missed the screams; they had been horrifying but they had also assured him that the world was still functioning normally. Now they were gone and the silence begged to be filled, begged for him to give voice to his own fear and frustration.

  He reached a door frame. His heart pounded in his chest. He could get out; he was free. All he had to do was open the door and flee into the night. Another violent jolt almost saw him break his nose on the door frame. Even up close there was no hint of the green exit sign he knew had to be there. Part of him was relieved that he couldn’t see anything, the rest was terrified of the monsters lurking in the dark. He was never going trick or treating again. He might have to ask Cullum if he could borrow his night light.

  He shoved at the bar, forcing it down, forcing the doors to open. Or so he hoped, he’d never actually used a fire door before. It didn’t work. He jiggled the bar up and down and then threw himself against it once more. He screamed in wordless frustration and kicked at the door. The Teratos wouldn’t want anyone to escape. He leaned against the door, breathing heavily, blinking tears from his eyes.

  Cold laughter jerked him upright. Mitch span, pressing his back against the door, and then decided he didn’t want to see what was going to eat him. He tore at the door with magically enhanced strength and ripped the bar free. He’d like to see the damn thing eat him when he staved its teeth in. He whirled, lashing out with his makeshift club and struck only air.

  “Want to play, do you?”

  Mitch swore and took a step back, crashing into the door. Fae. The only thing a Faerie would do if he staved its teeth in was hurt him more. It glided forward and was inside his range before he could give it a good solid whack. It raised a hand and caressed his face, its nails drawing blood. Mitch shuddered, he’d never seen one of the Fae before and it was both inhumanly beautiful and hauntingly familiar. It licked its fingers and its catlike eyes seemed to glow as a smile slowly spread across its face.

  “Wizard,” it pronounced.

  Mitch brought his club around again, with it this close he couldn’t get much force behind the blow but he did connect with it and the moment of shock was all he needed to slam a fist into its nose. There was something immensely satisfying about hearing the cartilage break. It screamed and Mitch threw himself at the doors once more, pumping as much magic as he could into the blow. The doors opened and Mitch fled into the night. He didn’t let go of his club.

  The Faerie caught his stupid bloody robe, he was never wearing one again, and he swung wildly. It couldn’t hold onto him and dodge at the same time. It let go and threw itself forward, bowling him over and pinning him to the ground. Reflexes he hadn’t known he had made him hold onto the bar and awkwardly club it on the back of the head. It snarled something incomprehensible and Mitch felt magic locking him in place.

  It rose to its feet, confident that its magic would hold. Why shouldn’t it be? Faerie magic was supposed to be unbreakable. He racked his brains, trying to recall what Nikola had told him but it wasn’t promising; he didn’t have the strength to beat one of the Fae in a magical duel.

  A loophole then. If it had said pin him down then he was screwed but Faerie was a very precise, literal language. There was no room for figures of speech. Bind him to the earth then? It was worth a try. He froze the grass and soil to his back and tried to rise. His body remained firmly trapped but he could move his arms. He swiped at its legs, hoping to knee cap it. It stepped back, snarling at him some more. Straining against its spell as he was Mitch felt it the instant it gave way, no doubt to be replaced by something nastier and foolproof. This time he did stave its teeth in.

  The ground rocked again and they were engulfed in a cloud of burning fog. Acid? Steam, he realised a second later. The Fae’s eyes widened and then it simply vanished back into its own world. Mitch didn’t blame it, Hell, he wanted to go with it. He could only think of one place that all of that steam could be coming from.

  In contravention of all common sense, he headed for it. Lake Taupo was the crater of a super-volcano; if it was going to erupt he didn’t think he’d be able to run far enough to get away so he might as well get a good view. Besides, the road was in that direction and if he wasn’t about to die then he wanted a hot shower and a brightly lit bed. The grass gave way to a footpath and he almost went sprawling when he stumbled into the gutter. He limped across the road, wincing every time he was forced to put his weight on his right ankle, and kept going.

  Eventually the heat forced him to stop. He shrugged off his stinking robe and threw it into the first bin he passed. He kept the club; there was no telling what he might meet in the steam. He considered chucking his shoes as well, they had even more filth on them than his robe, but he still had to walk back to the Academy boarding house and boots would do more damage than bare feet if he had to kick something.

  He peered around, trying to orientate himself but everything was shrouded in the roiling mass of steam. He imagined that he could hear the lake hissing and spitting as it boiled, and boats scraping against the lake bed as the water level fell. He started following the footpath, he’d reach an intersection soon and intersections had street signs.

  He limped along, one shuffling step after another. Not running because he couldn’t see what was in front of him. Not running because he was afraid of what might hear him. He walked into a fence.

  “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. Who actually needed to see a landmark when he knew exactly where the lake was. He hadn’t even realised that it was getting warmer and warmer. He yelped as his hand was engulfed in scalding steam and jerked it away. He could already feel it beginning to blister. His frantic backpedalling came to a halt when he tripped over the gutter again. He picked himself up, a process that was more difficult than he would have imagined with only one good hand and one working ankle, and made for the boarding house.

  #

  “Infirmary, Mr Mitchell,” Mr McCalis said as soon as he stepped into the principal’s office. Mitch blinked at him; wasn’t Mr McCalis supposed to be giving him a lecture or setting detention? No one had bothered last night, they’d held his hand under cold water until it was numb, bandaged his ankle and told him to clean himself up and go to bed. Someone had taken away his club.

  He hadn’t slept, he hadn’t even been able to get into bed, instead he’d paced all night long, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. The rooms at the boarding house were tiny, they weren’t meant for much more than overnight stays, but Mitch had found it reassuring rather than confining. A tiny closed-in space where he could see everything. No shadows or steam for any monsters to l
urk in. They had to have seen the light on under the crack in the door, to have heard his ceaseless pacing but no one had said anything until he was summoned downstairs for a breakfast he hadn’t been able to eat and then into the minivan for the trip back to the Academy. There was no sign of Bates.

  “This way, Mitch,” Mr McCalis said, holding open the door. Mitch stared at him, hadn’t he been behind the desk? Mr McCalis gently took his uninjured hand and towed him down to the infirmary.

  The doctor slathered something on his hand that instantly eased the burning and something else on his foot that eased the swelling, tsking irritably when he realised how much Mitch had walked on it. Mitch fidgeted the whole time, ignoring the doctor’s instructions to stay still. A nurse brought him a glass of something, a plain glass that hadn’t been made to look like spider webs. He had to use both hands to keep it from spilling which was somewhat awkward with one hand wrapped in bandages. It contained warm water mixed with some kind of syrup.

  He blinked.

  “I thought Mr McCalis was here,” he said, gazing around the empty ward.

  “He left some time ago,” the doctor said. He shone a light into Mitch’s eyes and he almost spilt his drink when he flinched. He took another sip and put it down. Someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, he hadn’t realised that he was shivering. A bell rang in the distance.

  “I have to be in class,” Mitch said. He wasn’t sure what period it was but he knew what the bell meant.

  “You’re staying here,” the doctor said, keeping him in place with a simple hand on the shoulder. “You’re in no shape to be going to class.”

  Another thought worked its way into his sluggish brain. “Is Nikola here?” There was no way that eruption last night had been natural was there? Any sort of volcanic activity from Taupo would have been front page news; the country would have been inundated with the world’s foremost volcanologists. It wasn’t often you got to see a super volcano blow its top or boil New Zealand’s largest lake.

  “Yes, how much did you have to drink last night?”

  “Just a glass of wine, I think I threw most of it up when...” he stopped, shuddering as Red popped into his mind.

  “I’ll see if Nikola feels up to visitors. Stay here.”

  Mitch picked up his glass again, this time he didn’t spill any as he raised it to his lips though he did spill some down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his unburnt hand.

  “You can visit Nikola,” the doctor announced, “but you’re not to excite him and no pacing.” The doctor took his drink and helped him hobble into Nikola’s room.

  “You look worse than I do,” Nikola said after the doctor left. He’d given Nikola the same instructions, with the added warning that he had monitoring spells in place. Nikola was pale and exhausted but he didn’t have half his limbs wrapped in bandages or long scratches down his face. The doctor must have put something on them, they stung slightly, but Mitch didn’t remember it.

  “I... I went to the Dance with the Dead last night.”

  “Idiot.” Nikola reached for a glass of shaved ice. It had a lid on it and a straw. His hand shook as he picked it up. Mitch wished he had a straw.

  “Did you ever go?”

  “I happen to like living,” Nikola said, “mostly.” He frowned, “you should have been safe. They’re not allowed to eat underage magicians.”

  “I don’t think he wanted to eat me,” Mitch said. He couldn’t stop shivering. He couldn’t stop talking. Nikola didn’t say a word as he related the whole horrible night. His vision blurred, his voice choked with tears. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see anything worse than the zombie horse running down Belle.

  Soft arms wrapped around him and he buried his face in Nikola’s shirt. He could hear Nikola panting from the effort of moving from the bed to the arm of the chair.

  “You’re safe now,” Nikola said when he fell silent.

  “He tried to kill me.” No one had ever tried to kill him before; Mindy hadn’t regarded him as anything more than collateral damage.

  “And now the Courts will kill him, it would have caused too much backlash from the magical community if he’d succeeded. He should have known better.”

  “They won’t even be able to find him,” Mitch said, prying himself away from Nikola and reaching for the box of tissues.

  “You bashed him on the head with a steel bar which you held onto until you reached the boarding house. We can find him.” Mitch shivered at his tone and blew his nose. It was awkward, everything was awkward with one hand wrapped in bandages.

  “Are you ok now?” Mitch nodded and Nikola dragged himself back into bed, his chest heaving as he sank into the pillows and fiddled with the remote so that he’d be able to sit up. He shuffled over and patted the bed next to him. Mitch went to kick his shoes off and discovered that he wasn’t wearing any. Logically he knew that someone had to have taken them off to treat his ankle but he didn’t remember it.

  “How are you?” Mitch asked. He probably should have asked that before breaking down. He shuddered again, he couldn’t imagine Bates handling that nearly as well as Nikola no matter how healthy he happened to be at the time.

  “I’m fine now.”

  Mitch arched an eyebrow; he’d seen what the Eternity War could do to Nikola and he still looked completely shattered.

  “I had a seizure,” Nikola admitted, looking away, “everything else is kind of hazy.”

  “You said you were fine,” Mitch said, choosing to ignore the now. No wonder the doctor didn’t want him excited.

  “I am, this isn’t exactly new for me.”

  “What?” Mitch asked. It was new for him, there were very few secrets in the Academy, surely he would have heard if it had happened before.

  “I usually end up in here well before it gets that bad,” Nikola said, guessing his thoughts. “I was very young when I started developing conscious magic. Parts of my development had to be accelerated. There were side effects.”

  “How young?

  “Eight.”

  Mitch gulped, he’d been eleven the first time he used magic. Ten was considered to be a prodigy. Nine was dangerous and survival was accompanied by all sorts of developmental side effects. Eight was lethal. “You’re in debt to the Fae.” No one else could have saved his life, even if it had ruined his physiology.

  Nikola shrugged, “I’m alive.”

  #

  The doctor didn’t let him try healing himself until after breakfast the next morning. Mitch privately admitted that he wouldn’t have been able to do it sooner; he’d fallen asleep on Nikola’s bed. Mitch had found it awkward, Nikola hadn’t woken up enough to care. A nurse had awakened them both for dinner and then sent Mitch back to his bed in the ward to sleep some more. He’d always complained about how small their dormitories were but the empty ward had felt almost cavernous and Mitch hadn’t quite dared pull the curtains shut around his bed. He wasn’t as jittery as he had been before talking to Nikola but he still jumped every time he saw a shadow move.

  He flexed his hand, performing a series of exercises under the doctor’s watchful eye to ensure that everything had been healed properly. He’d had to do it in stages, making sure there was no infection before healing the deeper damage and repairing the layers of skin. His ankle and the scratches on his face were far easier to heal. Mitch was relieved when the scratches were gone, they were the only injury that the Fae had given him directly.

  The doctor had, unhappily, suggested that he see Miss Sindri to ensure that his blood wasn’t used for Alchemy. Human attempts at such magic had an unfortunate tendency to rebound; no one knew what limitations the Fae might face. He’d asked Nikola instead. He’d laughed. The grandfather’s curse took primacy; no one would be able to use his blood for anything except seasoning. Mitch could have done without that particular mental image.

  It wasn’t until after he got back to his room that he realised that he didn’t know what had happened to Bates and he was still
in trouble with Mr McCalis. He wanted to put it off but it wouldn’t do any good and the acting principal was the one person who was guaranteed to know if Bates was alright. He went and knocked on the principal’s door.

  Mr McCalis studied him intently for a moment and then motioned for him to sit.

  “What do you have to say for yourself Mr Mitchell?”

  “Where’s Bates?” Mitch asked. For a second he thought Mr McCalis smiled, but only for a second.

  “Safe, we found him and Miss Lamdon in a hotel yesterday.”

  “And Hayley?”

  “Also safe. You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  Mr McCalis sighed, “We observed your conversation with Mr Leiser, I’m aware that this particular piece of foolishness wasn’t your idea. But, it was foolish. You will report for detention after dinner for the next seven days and write an essay outlining exactly how foolish and lucky you were.” He sighed, “We’re going to have to insist that the Dance not be held in Taupo again, it causes far too many problems.”

  “Can’t you just make them stop?” Mitch asked, shuddering at the thought of it being allowed to happen again.

  Mr McCalis grimaced, “quite apart from the chaos it would cause, we lack the authority to do so.”

  “What?” They were magicians, the magical world was theirs.

  “The dance is organised and controlled by the Courts, they spend months gathering and disappearing the victims.”

  “But–”

  Mr McCalis cut him off, “Could you stand up to Morrigan? Or Titania?” Mitch shook his head, he couldn’t even stand up to his teachers.

  “Neither can we,” Mr McCalis said. “You’re dismissed.”

  It wasn’t until he was out of the office that Mitch realised that Mr McCalis had admitted to spying on Nikola. He wondered how often they did, clearly they didn’t do it all the time; no one had mentioned his invisibility spell.