The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

Ebon gulped and closed the doors behind him, as slowly and as quietly as he could manage. Only then did the students at last turn back to their books, though a few glanced up at him once or twice. Jia never turned her gaze. He made his way between the tables towards her, keenly aware that now he had sweated through the underarms of his robes. And he had not bathed that day, and had no perfume to wear.

  “Well met, Ebon,” said Jia. “I see you have found your way to the library at last.”

  He was grateful she did not bring up the incident at the midday meal. If she was content to forget all about it, Ebon was more than willing to do the same. “Yes, Instructor. I am sorry for being late. Still I have not learned my way about this place.”

  “I told you that I expected as much. Think nothing of it—though the citadel is large, soon you will walk these halls like one born to them.”

  He flushed, suppressing a smile, and looked about. Once more he was struck by the size and grandeur of the place. Though its three levels loomed over him, grave and solemn, still he found himself more curious than intimidated. “What … that is, what am I meant to do now?”

  “Well, that depends. In the strictest sense, you are not meant to do anything, other than to enhance your knowledge in whatever way you and I deem best.”

  He blinked. “I do not understand.”

  “Come, sit with me.” She waved him over to a table at the edge of the room, and moved to sit in a chair beside it. He took the one opposite her as she shifted the books between them so they could see each other.

  “Do you know what you mean to do when you have completed your training here, Ebon?”

  Ebon considered it for a moment, and then he shook his head. “I have never thought of it. Until two days ago, I never thought to set foot in the Academy at all. My father had long forbid it. Now it seems that all I can do is try to keep up.”

  “And you should. I have no doubt that that will consume much of your effort, especially at first. But you must begin to think upon this question at once, for its answer is the entire purpose of your study within the library.” Jia leaned forwards, her gaze holding his. “Except for a very few, who stay to become instructors in turn, every wizard who studies here will go on to do something else in Underrealm. Some will serve as advisors in the courts of royalty or merchants. This is especially true of the commoners whose training is sponsored by a noble. Others will wander the countryside, using their spells for the benefit of the common folk. In either case, a wizard’s purpose is to serve the nine lands. And therefore, the greater their knowledge, the better for all the kingdoms.”

  Ebon had never thought of this—not that he had had much cause to, never having been allowed to meet another wizard. “You make it sound like a great burden.”

  “It is a high responsibility—and one that not every wizard takes seriously. I hope that you will, Ebon.”

  “But I still do not understand, Instructor. What shall I study here?”

  She leaned back in her chair, spreading her hands. “Whatever you think will serve you best, in whatever capacity you think you will find yourself after the Academy.”

  Ebon shook his head. “I have told you, I do not know what I shall do then.”

  “Well then, mayhap that should be your first goal: to decide. Do you have any interests already?”

  Ebon looked away, studying his fingernails. He cleared his throat quietly. “Not any in particular.”

  Jia gave him a wry smile. “Your eyes give lie to your words, transmuter. Come now. What do you enjoy reading about? Many here enjoy herbs and healing. Others are interested in husbandry and the growing of crops. All are excellent areas of study, if you mean to travel about the nine lands and help others. So?”

  Still he felt embarrassed. Throughout his life, a great many things had brought the sharp words and sneers of his father. But the sharpest and the cruelest were often in response to this love of Ebon’s, which he had long since learned to keep well-hidden.

  He spoke quietly, still uncertain. “I have often … that is, I would sometimes find myself reading a book of history. I enjoy tales of the past, of kings and the like who have long since died. Sometimes I would read of armies and battles, the rise and fall of kingdoms. I do not know why, but such tales always—they seemed to call to me.”

  At first Jia did not answer him. He felt sure she must be smirking at him. But when at last he raised his eyes to look at her, he saw a small but warm smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “That is a fine pursuit,” she said. “The wisdom of the past can be of great help to us in the present, and lets us create better times to come.”

  Ebon smiled despite himself and turned away bashfully. “My father called it stupid. He said only fools spent their days living in the past.”

  “Your father sounds like the greater fool to me,” she said snippily.

  Though he had not spoken the words himself, still Ebon felt a little thrill, as though he and Jia had done some petty misdeed together. They shared a brief smile before Jia went on.

  “I think you will find many helpful volumes here. After all, every book is history, if only it manages to survive the ravages of time for long enough. The older books are kept on the third level, as are the histories compiled by more modern scholars. Take that staircase just there, and then follow the walkway around to the southern wall. I will give you the name of a few volumes you may find helpful. Some are good to read all on their own. But you should start with one that may point you in the right direction. Read it first, and I think you will find yourself drawn towards others that may interest you.”

  She took a small scrap of parchment and scribbled at it with a quill from the table. After a moment she handed the scrap over to Ebon. The first title was underlined, and he read it aloud.

  “A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage. What is it?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she regarded him. “The beginning of a great journey through the last many centuries, if I guess right.”

  WORDLESSLY HE STOOD AND MADE his way to the staircase she had shown him. It was wrought in iron and turned in a circle, one even tighter than the staircase from the Academy’s first floor up to the dormitories. It ended at the second floor, and another nearby staircase led to the third.

  On the third floor, the railing was eight paces away. He went to it to look over. His hands gripped the railing tightly, and he found it hard to breathe. He must have been at least fifteen paces in the air, mayhap twenty. The figures walking about the first level were now tiny; he could hide them with his thumb. His chest tightened as he turned away, moving closer to the wall.

  The south end, Jia had said. He went there quickly, keeping his gaze from the railing. Soon he had reached it, and he scanned the shelves. Every book there was bound in leather, and they were of all colors and sizes. On the parchment, beside the title, Jia had scrawled the words: Second shelf, third down. Red.

  He found the second bookcase, which had seven shelves. The third down was filled with many tomes, several of them red—but none of the titles scrawled upon the spines matched the one he had been sent to find. Puzzled, he looked at the parchment again. He had not misread it. The book was not there. There was one hole in the shelf, a space where a book might be, but nothing more.

  Mayhap Jia had misremembered where the book was. Or mayhap it had been moved. He glanced at the other shelves quickly, but none of them held his prize. Then he moved to the next bookcase, and the next. Mayhap he had missed it. He went back and forth across all of them, finding every red book and reading the title carefully to ensure he had not made a mistake. Then he looked at the other colored books, too. Still nothing.

  He ground his teeth. Mayhap he should find another title. But no, she had been very clear about where he should begin. He wondered for a moment if the missing book was some cruel joke by Lilith. He looked about, but he could not see her anywhere.

  But his wandering eye did catch on something. At one of
the tables, another student sat deeply engrossed in a tome. A stack of other books sat by the boy’s left hand, and at the bottom of the stack was a red book. Ebon took a step closer. There, glistening with gold foil that had been worn off in places, he read the title: A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage.

  Ebon took another tentative step forwards. He tried to lean over, to place himself in the boy’s field of vision. But the boy did not move. Another step. Still the boy read on, his nose only a few fingers from his book. He could not have seen more than fourteen years. His eyes, now squinting as he read, were close together, and his hair shone with a copper tint in the light of the lamps that hung on the library walls.

  Though he felt at a loss for a moment, Ebon quickly chastised himself. The boy was just that—a boy, at least two years younger than Ebon was. All his attention was focused on his book, except when his eyes darted to the side to take notes with a quill. He was not even reading the book that Ebon needed.

  “Ahem!”

  He cleared his throat far louder than he had intended. Every student within ten paces jumped in their seats and turned to him with glares.

  “Sorry! I am sorry!” he whispered, trying to reinforce the apology by waving his hands.

  Slowly they turned back to their books. All but the boy with copper hair. Now at last he was looking up at Ebon. His blue eyes were wider than Ebon had at first realized, and now they seemed to take up the larger part of his face. His head was cocked to the side slightly, button nose reminding Ebon strangely of his sister Albi’s, though otherwise the two of them could not have looked more different.

  Ebon stepped still closer. Now he was at the table, standing above the boy. “I was told to read this book by instructor Jia,” he said in a whisper. “Will you need it for much longer?”

  The boy’s gaze dropped to the book. “Yes,” he said, and resumed his reading. His quill darted across the parchment.

  Ebon stood stock still for a moment, unsure how to respond. At last he pulled out the chair opposite the boy and sat down. That drew the boy’s attention again.

  “I am sorry—mayhap I did not speak clearly. Jia told me to read the book. Might I use it—at least until you require it again?”

  The boy blinked his blue eyes twice in quick succession, and then his brow furrowed. Again he looked at the book, as though he was hearing Ebon’s words now for the first time. “Wait. You say that Jia told you to read it? It is a tome of history.”

  “I know,” said Ebon. “I told her that was what I wished to read, and she pointed me this way.”

  The boy’s eyes shot wide. “You asked to study history? Sky above, I cannot remember meeting another student who found it interesting.” Then he drew back, looking suspicious. “Is this a jest? Are you playing some joke?”

  “It is no jest,” said Ebon, taken aback. “Why—why would it be?”

  The boy sighed and shook his head. “Because older children always play jokes on me. And this is a beginner’s tome. You are older than I am. Certainly you must have studied beyond it by now.”

  Ebon spread his hands. “I have not. I swear it. May I please borrow it? You may come and fetch me when you need it back.”

  Once again those blue eyes widened, and the boy leaned forwards, though his whisper only grew louder. “You are a beginner. How can that be? How old are you? I would guess at least sixteen.”

  Quickly Ebon darted a look over his shoulder, but no one had taken any notice. “Do you need to shout it?”

  The boy only gave a little smile. “That settles it—certainly you are new here. Well, you are in luck, friend. I have read the treatise through and through, more times than I have kept count of. Jia told you, I imagine, that it is meant to point you to something else you might care to read?”

  “She mentioned something of that sort. Why?”

  The boy grinned. “Because I can tell you already what you should read instead—you will enjoy it far more, if you have any sense at all, which I suspect you do. It is a history of the Wizard Kings.”

  The room seemed to grow darker for a moment. Ebon felt the urge to look behind him again, but he fought it away. Even saying such words felt like a crime. “Do you mean this place has books about them?”

  “I am not sure if it is even supposed to be here.” The boy leaned forwards, his thin forearms pressing down into the book on his lap. “I found it one day, searching for something else entirely. It bears no title, either on its spine or its cover. I think the library’s attendants simply missed it.”

  A secret book, possibly against the rules. Ebon found himself yearning to read it. He stuck out a hand across the table. “Then show me. I am Ebon, by the way.”

  “Kalem, of the family Konnel,” said the boy. He reached out to grasp Ebon’s wrist. “Come. I have hidden it away, to keep it from being found.”

  They stood, the red book forgotten. Kalem took his hand and dragged him away, down the walkway and around to the other side of the library. But he stepped far too close to the railing for Ebon’s liking, and Ebon drew back.

  Kalem blinked at him. “What is it?”

  Ebon eyed the railing distrustfully. “I do not enjoy heights.”

  He thought the boy might laugh at him, but Kalem only gave a solemn nod. “I did not either. Then I spent three years on this floor of the library. The feeling shall pass in time, but for now we will walk closer to the wall.”

  So they did, until they reached the other end of the floor. There on the northern wall, Ebon found to his surprise that there were two passages leading into the granite. Kalem took him through and into a room that mirrored the library on the other side—just as wide, just as long, but with only a single floor below it. He realized that this second part of the library must extend back into the citadel quite a ways, until it butted up against the back walls of the dormitories.

  “It is even bigger than I thought,” breathed Ebon.

  Kalem grinned back at him. “You had not seen this yet? Is it your first day?”

  “My second,” said Ebon. “How could so many books have ever been written? It must have taken a thousand scribes a thousand years.”

  “I do not doubt it,” said Kalem. “Come.”

  There were far fewer people in this part of the library, and Ebon saw none at all on the same floor as them—all the students he could see were on the floor below. The lamps were less well-tended, and there was no amber skylight to fill the place with a warm glow, so that they passed from light to shadow and back again. In the farthest, darkest corner of the library, Kalem stopped at last.

  “No doubt you received some training wherever you came from,” said Kalem. “You can come here and do this any time you like. Only remember where it is.”

  So saying, he went to the narrow space between two bookshelves where the granite wall showed through. Placing his hands to the wall, he concentrated for a moment. From behind him, Ebon saw the glow of his eyes. Under Kalem’s fingers, the stone shifted, turning liquid and sliding aside. When he took his hands away, a perfect hole, like a shelf, had appeared in the rock. Upon that shelf sat a book bound in blue leather. With careful, reverent hands, Kalem reached in to withdraw it.

  “Here it is,” he said. “An Account of the Dark War and the Fearless Decree.”

  Ebon shuddered as though an icy draft had blown down his back. “You say you found this shelf? How did you know it was there?”

  Kalem shook his head quickly. “I found the book in the library. I made the shelf myself. It is no great feat, only you must remember to shift the stone back so that it does not crumble.”

  Ebon turned his gaze away. “I … I am untrained. My father never wanted me to learn magic. He only sent me here after my aunt convinced him.”

  Kalem’s blue eyes widened and glistened in the lamp light. It shocked Ebon how expressive the boy’s eyes could be, reacting often to even innocuous statements. “That is a great sorrow. Magic is a gift, and not one to be cast lig
htly aside. But come. You are here now, and have much interesting reading to do.”

  He led Ebon to a corner where a small table waited with two plush red chairs beside it. Ebon risked a look around before they sat, but still no students were in sight on their floor. Kalem saw his look, and his copper brows drew close together.

  “Why do you keep looking about? No one is here to see us read it.”

  “It is not that. I only …” Ebon stopped. How could he tell this boy that already he was mocked for having to study with children, and he had no wish to give Lilith and her friends further cause to torment him?

  But Kalem must have read something in his face, for once again he looked solemn and nodded. “I am young. You think I am a child, and do not wish to be seen with me.”

  “It is not that,” Ebon said quickly, wishing he had been quicker to find a lie. “I … that is, a tome of the Wizard Kings …”

  But Kalem waved him to silence. “Do not trouble yourself. I am well used to it by now. They placed me in a class more advanced than my years, for I learned my first transmutation lessons quickly. Now I am two years ahead. None of the other students in my class wish to spend much time with me, either. I am somewhat used to it.” But despite the gentle words, Kalem avoided his gaze.

  Ebon’s attention caught on something else entirely, however. “Did you say you are an alchemist?”

  Kalem blinked in surprise. “Are you indeed so unused to magic? Of course I am a transmuter—and you should not use the commoner’s word for it, by the way. You saw me shift the stone. What else would I be?”

  Ebon cursed inwardly. He should have recognized it at once, but he was unused to seeing such spells. “You and I share a gift. I am an alch—that is, a transmuter.”

  Kalem’s mouth dropped open, his cheeks growing flush with joy. “Sky above. You are in Credell’s class, then?”

  “I am, sadly.” Ebon shook his head and lowered his eyes.

  “Sadly? What do you mean?”

  Ebon shook his head and hit his hand upon the table, harder than he had meant to. “Credell seems terrified of me. He quivers too much to give me any sort of lessons. I only hope he gets over his terror long enough for me to pass beyond his class.”