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

by Garrett Robinson

  Ebon frowned. “Another one? I have not mastered the mists yet, nor shifting stone. Would it not be better to focus on them rather than take on another spell?”

  “Some instructors might say so, but I call them fools. Sometimes it is better to pursue many things at once. With each spell we flex a different part of our mind. Each may teach us something of the other. Yes, if you sit there and try endlessly to spin your mists, you may learn it faster than if you practice other spells in between—yet I think you will learn all of them faster if you practice all of them in turn, and change between them to freshen your mind.”

  Ebon had never heard of learning this way, but he was willing to try; he thought he might scream if he had to spin mists even one more time. “Very well. What am I to learn?”

  “What do you know of defensive magic?”

  Ebon’s eyes widened. He remembered the day he toured the Academy. Upon the training grounds, he had seen students of all the four branches practicing their craft. And where the transmuters had been practicing … “I have seen alchemi—that is, transmuters, turn arrows to dust in mid-flight.”

  Perrin chuckled. “You are a long way from that, I am afraid. Indeed, that spell is like invisibility—only a handful of transmuters are capable of learning it. But the simplest magical defense is stopping another wizard’s spells. That is far easier than halting a physical attack—and far safer to practice, as well. What have you learned of the four branches and their relationship to each other?”

  “Not as much as might be hoped, I am sure.”

  “Each branch has its mirror,” said Perrin. “Mentalism to elementalism, transmutation to therianthropy. A wizard may dispel magic of their own branch, or of its mirror.”

  Ebon shook his head. “What do you mean, dispel? All of this is strange to me.”

  Perrin smiled. “Spin your mists.”

  Ebon frowned and reached out a hand. His eyes glowed, and a thin fog sprang to life to wrap around his arm. But then Perrin’s eyes glowed in answer, and there was a snap on the air. Ebon felt his connection severed, and the mist vanished. He gawked at his arm, now laid bare.

  “That is what I mean,” said Perrin. “You can stop the spells of another wizard if you learn to sense them being cast.”

  “I can stop other alchemists from using their magic?”

  “And weremages as well.” Perrin leaned forwards with a smile, her eyes alight with interest. Ebon noticed that she had said weremages, not therianthropes, and had not corrected his use of alchemists. “Weremagic is our mirror branch, and our spells are intricately tied to theirs.”

  Ebon did not say it aloud, but he thought of when he had snuck into the vaults. He and Kalem had been burrowing through the stone to escape, when there was a snap, and the stone had reverted back to its true form. When they had turned, they had seen Jia with her eyes glowing. Now he realized that she had dispelled their magic.

  “I see,” he said, nodding slowly. “That makes sense to me. Alchemy and weremagic are of a kind. They both turn things into something else—a weremage changes their own body, and we change that which we touch. Firemagic and mindmagic are similar in that they both exert power outside of the wizard.”

  Perrin grimaced. “That is too simple a way of putting it, but you have the idea. And that is why you should be wary of battling a mindmage or firemage. Anyone with a degree of skill could strike you down before you could get close, where you would be able to defend yourself.”

  With a sick lurch in his gut, Ebon thought of Cyrus atop the cliff overlooking the Great Bay. “I will keep that in mind,” he muttered.

  Perrin must have noted Ebon’s somber tone; she frowned, but she let it pass. “Well, to practice a counterspell, you shall need a spell to counter. Astrea, come here, if you please.”

  Ebon looked up with delight as Astrea rose from her desk and came to join them. She frowned as Perrin directed her to sit on the bench beside Ebon. The instructor then produced a wooden rod and placed it in the girl’s hand.

  “Take the other end of the rod, please, Ebon,” said Perrin.

  He did, though he felt just as confused as Astrea.

  “Good. Now, Astrea, I want you to change the rod to stone, just as you did for your testing spell. Ebon, you must feel her magic as she casts it, and try to stop her. Now, begin.”

  Astrea looked at Ebon, and he back at her, and he knew that neither of them had the faintest idea what Perrin was talking about. They shrugged at the same time and giggled. Then Astrea began to concentrate. Her eyes glowed, and Ebon felt a familiar prickling along his spine—the sense that another transmuter was using their magic in his presence.

  Slowly, stone rippled along the wooden rod towards Ebon’s fingers. He narrowed his eyes, trying to sense the stone as it turned. But he could only see the material itself, and not the magic acting upon it. In a few moments it was done; the rod had turned to stone, and Ebon released his grip with a sigh.

  “Let me turn it back,” said Perrin, reaching for the rod. But Astrea withheld it from her.

  “I can do it, Instructor,” she said meekly. Her eyes glowed once more, and the rod rippled back into wood. Perrin gave an appreciative smile, and Ebon sat gaping.

  “I did not know you could turn the rod back into wood, child,” said Perrin. “That is most impressive.”

  Astrea only shrugged. “I learned that spell before I could do it the right way. Everyone says I was supposed to learn wood to stone first.”

  Perrin shook her head. “That is the way of magic. Some wizards take to some spells more easily than others, and in truth there is no ‘right’ way to learn. You should take pride, for that is one of the testing spells to graduate this class.”

  “Even I have not learned it yet,” said Ebon, giving her an encouraging smile.

  Astrea smirked at him, though it was half-hearted. “That is not a surprise. You are brand-new to the Academy.”

  Perrin’s laugh rang through the room, making the other students pause at their desks. “I will leave the pair of you to practice. Remember, Ebon: search for her magic, and stop it with your own.”

  She went off to the next student whose hand was raised. Astrea turned the rod to stone again, while Ebon tried in vain to keep the wood in place. After a few attempts, he still sensed nothing. He dropped his hand from the rod with a frustrated growl.

  “I am sorry,” Astrea said quietly. “I will try to slow my spell.”

  “No, it is certainly not your fault,” said Ebon. “It is mine. Perrin gave me this spell because I had grown frustrated with the others, and yet it turns out I am no better at this one.”

  Astrea gave him a small smile. “I have enjoyed my other spells. Have you learned to shift stone yet? I cannot seem to do it.”

  “Yes,” said Ebon, not without some small degree of pride. Then, thinking that might have sounded boastful, he added, “Of course, I can only shift it away from myself. I cannot control it enough to put it back inside the box.”

  “Nor can I,” said Astrea. Then her mood dampened, and a shadow seemed to swallow her features. “My friend Vali told me his second-year lessons were beastly. Though he is a weremage, and I know our spells are not the same.”

  Vali was the boy she had had the row with in the dining hall. Ebon forced a smile, hoping to turn her mind away. “I am certain you will pass this class before I will—likely before the year is behind us. No doubt I will be an old man, my beard hanging to the floor, before I finish, and you will come back to the Academy to visit me.”

  She tried to smile, but her chin trembled as tears filled her eyes. “I do not understand him. Vali, I mean. First he told me he wanted nothing to do with me. But just this morning he came to me and said he did not know what he was thinking, and that of course he has always been my friend. I cannot make sense of it. I saw the look in his eyes then—it was as if he did not know me.”

  Ebon sighed. He should have known it would be foolish to try and distract her. First the death of her instru
ctor, and now this—not to mention the attack upon the High King’s Seat. She was only a child, and it made him heartsick that she had suffered so much in so short a time. Gently he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Sometimes people grow apart, Astrea. It cannot always be helped. And you should not try too hard to remain close to someone who does not see your worth.”

  His soft tone broke her; she sniffed hard and swiped at the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Too many have gone and will never return. I do not want to lose anyone else.”

  “I am here, and you will not lose me,” promised Ebon. “Indeed, you would be hard pressed to get rid of me. And you have Isra. I do not know her well, but from what I have seen, I do not think she plans to leave you any time soon.”

  Astrea scooted forwards and hugged him. Ebon held her tight, patting her hair as tears soaked his robes. Over her head, he saw Perrin watching the two of them. For an instant he feared she might rebuke them for talking when they should be studying. But instead, she nodded and gave him a sad little smile.

  These days we must all take care of each other, Ebon thought.

  When Astrea had composed herself, she shifted away and retrieved the wooden rod. Ebon took the other end with a smile. “Come, wizardling,” he said. “Do your worst.”

  She did, now with the hint of a grin.

  THE NEXT DAY WAS THE last of Febris, and the eve of Yearsend.

  It was the day Ebon would take Kalem and Theren to sup with Adara, and his nerves tormented him throughout his morning classes. His distraction must have shown, for Perrin barked at him more than once, telling him to keep his mind on his spells. The moment the midday bell rang, Ebon made for the dining hall, gobbled his meal, and then spent the rest of his spare time out upon the grounds. He shook his hands often as he walked, letting them chill in the freezing air, hoping to untie the knots his stomach seemed determined to twist itself into.

  While he paced, he saw a curious thing: the boy Vali, Astrea’s former friend, was out walking alone. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he shivered, but it seemed to Ebon that it came from more than the cold. Too, the boy’s face was haggard and careworn, his cheeks gaunt, eyes darting in every direction. Ebon felt a twinge of pity. Mayhap the boy was consumed with guilt for the way he had treated Astrea. These days were dark, and worked in strange ways upon the mind. He hoped the two of them could find a way to reconcile.

  But then Vali passed, and Ebon thought of his dinner with Adara. Again he grew anxious, and Vali was quickly forgotten.

  Free study in the library was no better. Ebon sat staring at the pages of his book, his eyes unfocused and unseeing. Every so often he would shake his head as he came out of it, but then a moment later his thoughts returned to wandering. After a time, Theren leaned back in her chair with an exasperated sigh.

  “Sky above, Ebon. Why are you so troubled by tonight’s meal? You have lain with the woman. A meal with her cannot be this terrifying to you.”

  Ebon started at Theren’s frankness and looked over his shoulder, but they were alone. Kalem was off somewhere among the bookshelves, searching for a mention of Kekhit. He frowned at her.

  “I am not ‘terrified.’ I am only a bit nervous. Mayhap I am afraid you and Kalem will embarrass me.”

  Theren arched an eyebrow. “You forget I know Adara already, Ebon. If she did not wish to see me again, she would not have accepted your invitation.”

  He glowered at that. Then a thought struck him. He spoke carefully, trying to appear nonchalant. “Theren … when you say you know Adara … how did the two of you—”

  She silenced him with a sharp look. “I know what you are asking at, Ebon. And you ought to know better. If Adara and I met as lover and guest before you knew her—or even after—that is none of your business.”

  Ebon swallowed. “That is how you know each other, then?”

  Her eyes hardened. “I have said neither yes, nor no. I have said it is none of your business, and you do yourself no favors with such thoughts. She is a lover, Ebon. She may have known me, or any other here in the Academy, or upon the Seat. It is none of your concern.”

  “I know that,” said Ebon hastily. “I do, it is only …” He hesitated, searching for the right words. He looked around the edge of his armchair to ensure Kalem was still safely stowed among the shelves. When he spoke, he could not meet her eye, but stared at his fidgeting hands. “I know it is foolish of me, Theren—trust me, I know it. Yet … I catch myself wishing I were more than her guest. Certainly I feel as though she is more than my lover. And sometimes I see in her eyes … I do not know, for I have heard many things about lovers’ words. But I think she may feel the same about me, or at least something similar.”

  Theren did not answer for a long moment, and as Ebon raised his embarrassed gaze, he saw something horrible: not anger, nor even irritation, but pity. She shook her head and closed the book in her lap, which she had only been half-glancing through anyway. Then she leaned forwards until their faces were level and gently placed one of her hands on his.

  “Ebon,” she said carefully. “Your thoughts wander a road that will only end in heartsickness. A guest’s dealings with a lover can be many things, and all of them wonderful. But it is never anything more than it is, if you take my meaning. And if there is no honesty between you and her, then your time together will end in darkness, and sooner rather than later.”

  He shook his head quickly, smiling even though he did not feel like it. “Of course I understand that. It was foolish of me to speak. Forget I said anything.”

  “Do not be dishonest, Ebon. With me, or with her. Speak to Adara. She must hear your thoughts, and you must hear her answer. Dancing around it will only make things worse.”

  “Of course,” Ebon repeated, and forced himself to chuckle. “Forgive me. I was foolish to trouble you.”

  Theren looked as though she was about to say more. But her gaze drifted over his shoulder. Ebon followed it to Kalem, nearly running as he came towards them, hoisting a book like a trophy over his head.

  “I have found her!” he said in a shouted whisper, as though he wanted to crow but was afraid to disturb the library’s peace. “I have found Kekhit!”

  “Be silent!” said Theren sharply. Though no one was close enough to hear, Ebon understood her caution. The last thing they needed was for some instructor to hear them discussing the Wizard King whose amulet had been stolen from the vaults. “Sit down and tell us what you have found, but keep your voice hushed.”

  Kalem nearly leapt into his armchair between them, flipping the book open to a page he had held with his thumb. “Here she is. I had been searching in ancient histories of Idris, but none bore mention of her. At last I realized that many tomes from before the Dark War had been lost, and such histories would not help us. Then I thought to look in accounts of the Dark War itself. By the account of that logbook page we already found, Kekhit died long before that time, but if she was as powerful as she seems, I thought there might be mention of her—like an echo of her power reverberating down through the centuries, having finally faded away before we were born.”

  “Very poetic,” said Ebon, arching an eyebrow. “Now, stop regaling us with your brilliance, and tell us what you have learned.”

  Theren hid a smirk as Kalem scowled. But the boy lowered his eyes to the page and held his finger against a passage. “Here it is. This says she was an ancient Wizard King of Idris, and a being of unstoppable power. She could hide the glow in her eyes when she cast her spells, so that her foes had no warning of her attacks. Her magic could strike whole armies dead, and she once captured a dragon and forced it to serve as her steed, when wyrms were not so uncommon in Underrealm.”

  Ebon’s eyes widened at the thought: a wizard riding through the sky upon a dragon’s back, raining death and fire from above. But Theren snorted and rolled her eyes. “Nearly every ancient Wizard King has some such tale. By the time of the Dark War, men were wiser, and history better kept. T
hen there were no more such tales. The thought of riding a dragon is a flight of fancy and nothing more.”

  Kalem shrugged. “You may be right. There are more accounts of her strength, though I will not trouble you with them now. But one thing is interesting; some say she was Elf-touched, for it is said she lived for four hundreds of years.”

  Theren laughed out loud. “Four centuries? Nonsense.”

  Ebon might have believed the dragon, but now even he had to shake his head. “That is impossible, Kalem. There are Elf-touched who walk the nine lands even today. But they live their spans and then fade like all the rest. Elves do not grant everlasting life—that gift is theirs alone.”

  Kalem gave them both an exasperated look. “I am not vouching for the author’s integrity,” he snapped. “I am only relaying her words. Now, do you wish to hear about Kekhit’s amulet, or not?”

  Theren and Ebon leaned forwards together. “The book speaks of it?”

  “In fair detail,” said Kalem. “It seems Kekhit enchanted many objects with dark and eternal magic. Of all the artifacts she imbued with power, none have lost the strength of their spells. Chief among them was her amulet, which she wore always, and never let another lay a hand upon it. It allowed her to transcend all other Wizard Kings of her time, giving her the strength to cast darkfire without the use of magestones.”

  Theren’s face blanched, and she drew back in her seat. But Ebon looked between them without understanding. “What is darkfire? I have never heard of this.”

  Kalem’s face grew solemn, and he leaned in to speak quietly. “You remember when I told you of the power of magestones? And how a transmuter who consumed them could cast a spell called blackstone?”

  “I do,” said Ebon. “It is a sort of corruption, is it not?”

  “One that destroys anything it touches,” said Kalem, nodding. “Darkfire is similar. It is a flame, blacker than the darkest night, and it will burn steel and flesh like parchment. It cannot be put out once it is started. Water cannot douse it, nor can it be suffocated. It burns until it peters out, utterly consuming everything in its path.”