Perrin thundered to the front of the room and then waved Ebon to join her. “Ebon, tell the class what you have learned.”
Ebon held up the rod. “When Astrea first turned the rod, I could see only the stone turning the wood. But I could not stop it, and so she always bested me. But at last I learned to look for the magic itself. It appeared as a glow, surrounding the stone as it moved along the rod. When I focused on the glow rather than the stone, and stopped it, her magic failed.”
“And that is the answer,” said Perrin. “Only through practice and concentration can we see magic clearly, and that is what lets us defend ourselves against it. Magic appears differently to some—many see it as a glow, the way Ebon does. Others see it as a rippling in the air, or a fine dust swirling about. However we see it, it is not until we see it that we can learn to control it. The heart of transmutation is to see the thing for what it is, and change it. In counter-magic, you must see the magic itself. Though this is not one of your passing lessons for the class, it is nevertheless an important one. Take pride that you have learned it.”
Ebon beamed. The other students wore expressions ranging from interested to disgruntled. Back on the bench, Astrea seemed numb, and had not lifted her gaze from the desk. The sight dampened Ebon’s spirits.
The bell rang for the midday meal. Ebon looked uncomfortably away and made for the door. But outside it, to his surprise, was Dasko. The Instructor pushed himself away from the wall with a nod.
“Ebon. I had wondered if we might walk together before lunch?”
“Certainly, Instructor.” Ebon bowed.
Dasko nodded again and waved Ebon down the hallway, towards a white cedar door leading back out to the gardens. For a moment, he was reminded of his encounter with Oren. But the warm sun outside dispelled such uncomfortable thoughts, though it fell on a world still covered with snow.
“I heard through the door that you have learned your counter-magic. That is a fundamental of magic that some wizards do not grasp until years later in their educations.”
Ebon shrugged. “I have the advantage of being older than most of my peers.”
Dasko shook his head. “It is not only that. Magic is something ethereal and ephemeral. It is change itself. That is why so many wizards struggle to move from their testing spell to other spells, but learn much faster once they have passed that first step. Too many wizards focus on the thing before them: the wooden rod, or for therianthropes, the color of our skin; the stone the mentalist tries to lift, or the spark the elementalist seeks to summon. They do not learn to see the magic itself, the pure force of alteration that influences all the world.”
Though he nodded, in truth Ebon’s head had begun to spin. Dasko laughed and clapped his shoulder.
“Momen used to wear the same expression when I spoke to him of magic. A man of action, your brother was. Do not trouble yourself with my words. They are certainly too heady for a student in a second-year class. They will make more sense in time.”
“Of course, Instructor. But none of this is why you came to see me, unless I miss my guess. What can I do for you?”
Dasko held his smile, though it lost some of its spark. He looked ahead at the path as they walked. “I thought to ask about your visit with Lilith.”
Ebon studied the ground. Oren’s interest made some sense to him, but now Dasko? It seemed Ebon and his friends were not the only ones who wished for more of an explanation of the recent tragedies. “Did Jia tell you nothing?”
“Nothing much. She was not in the room, or so she said, and so details were hard to come by.”
“It was … terrible. She seemed mad, as though her deeds had driven her mind to ruin. Or mayhap it was the torture. She recoiled at the slightest sound, and her body was an awful mass of bruises and wounds.”
“You say she acted mad?” Dasko’s eyes lit with interest. “How, exactly?”
Ebon frowned. “I … her eyes darted all about, and her fingers would not stop twitching. She chewed at them, though they bled and must have pained her greatly. She reminded me of a trapped animal—desperate to escape, but only hurting herself more.”
Dasko frowned, stroking his close-trimmed beard with one hand while slowly nodding. “I see. That is interesting, to be sure.”
“I do not understand, Instructor. Can you not go see her yourself? Surely you do not require permission, as Theren and I did.”
“My duties here have prevented me,” said Dasko, looking away. “As well as certain other duties I have been asked to perform, outside the Academy’s normal hours.”
Ebon remembered him unloading crates from the cart into Xain’s home. But surely the dean must have moved in by now. Mayhap Dasko was one of the instructors required to stand guard. “I see. Then, may I ask why this interests you so?”
Dasko quickly shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself over it. It is only that I have been wondering something. I knew Lilith, you see. She attended the Academy before I came here as an instructor, and we had more than one occasion to share time. She could be … very difficult as a student. Yet I would never have taken her for a killer.”
That reminded Ebon of what Oren had said the day before, and what Nella told him in the tavern on the final day of Yearsend. He frowned.
Crunching footsteps approached, and Ebon looked up to see Jia strolling towards them as though by happenstance. But from the careful look in her eye, and the slight flush in her cheeks as Ebon saw her, it took but a moment to realize she sought them. When Dasko turned back, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth confirmed it.
“I … hope you will excuse me, Ebon. Instructor Jia and I had meant to meet each other over the midday meal.”
Ebon nodded quickly—too quickly, and he felt foolish. “Of course, Instructor. Do not let me intrude, or keep you from your duties.”
Jia took Dasko’s arm, and he led her off through the garden. Ebon made for the dining hall, unable to banish a secret smile.
LATER, IN THE LIBRARY, EBON sat with Kalem in their alcove. Theren had not joined them for the midday meal. Now it was some time into the afternoon’s study period, and still she was not with them. They read together for some time, until at last Kalem looked up from his book.
“Do you think she is all right?”
Ebon shrugged. “Why should she not be?”
Kalem frowned and returned to his book. But only for a moment, for they both heard pounding footsteps moving along the library’s third floor in approach, and looked up to find Theren running full tilt towards them.
In a flash they were on their feet. But looking behind her, Ebon saw nothing wrong. She was not being chased, other than by the curious looks of other students disturbed by her flight. And the look on her face was not one of terror, nor anger, but of fierce joy. She seized the front of Ebon’s robes and shook him, her voice quivering in excitement.
“I do not think Lilith did it,” she said, speaking fast. “I know who it was.”
Ebon blinked, trying to pry her hands from his body. “Calm yourself, Theren. Everyone is watching.”
“Who cares? Lilith is innocent.”
Finally he removed her hands from his lapels. “Come, Theren, sit, and tell us what you mean, from the beginning.”
She growled, but she took her seat between them. Ebon took one last look over his shoulder. The few curious onlookers turned back to their books.
“Now, what do you mean by this, Theren? You were there, as I was, when Lilith killed Vali. We both saw it, as did many others besides.”
“No,” said Theren, vehemently shaking her head. Then she paused. “Well, yes. We did see that. But I have thought much, and have had an idea: mindwyrd.”
Kalem’s eyes widened. But Ebon frowned. “I do not understand.”
“Mindwyrd,” said Kalem. “Do you remember? It is the power mentalists gain when they consume magestones—the power of command, so that anyone who hears their voice must obey.”
“Exactly,” said Theren. “If s
omeone had Lilith under the control of mindwyrd, they could have forced her to do what she did. Lilith would have obeyed without question, for she would have had no choice.”
But now Kalem shook his head. “That may be possible, Theren. But do you honestly believe someone in the Academy could be using magestones? Surely someone would have noticed by now. The wizard’s eyes turn black instead of white for more than a day after the stones are consumed. Lilith killed Vali nearly a week ago. If she was involved in Credell’s death, it is many weeks. How could black eyes have gone unnoticed for so long?”
“What if the wizard is not in the Academy?” crowed Theren, far too loud. Ebon shushed her, and she glared at him, but still she lowered her voice to a whisper. “It could be someone beyond the citadel walls. Someone who sent Lilith in to do their dirty work each day, and then made her return to keep the mindwyrd strong, for it will fade if the victim’s contact grows stale.”
“It is possible,” said Kalem. “But even if we acknowledge that, what then? Again, we have an idea that something may be true, but no evidence to prove it.”
“But we may,” said Theren. “I have heard tales of the effect mindwyrd has on its victims. They say it drives them half-mad, as Lilith was when we saw her in prison. She was haggard, her face gaunt and her eyes filled with insanity. These are only rumors, though—that is why I need your help. If we can find proof here, in the library, that these are symptoms of magestones, we can prove her innocence—or at least cast doubt’s strong shadow upon her guilt. And once we have done that, I believe we can work towards proving who held her under mindwyrd while she committed her crimes: Cyrus.”
Ebon froze. His mouth opened, but he could not summon words. No. No, no, no, Theren.
Kalem arched a brow. Theren leaned towards him, speaking faster. “Think. He fled in terror from the attack on the Seat, and he knows that if he returns, he will be branded a traitor and a coward. Doubtless he could have kept running, to find some hovel in an outland kingdom where he might spend the rest of his days. But Cyrus was always a greedy steer. I think he returned and worked his mindwyrd upon Lilith to steal the artifacts for him. Then he could retreat to some outland kingdom to live his days in wealth and power. Mayhap he might even try to take a throne, establishing himself as a new Wizard King.”
“That would be foolish,” said Kalem, shaking his head. “No one would stand for it. The High King would cast him down at once.”
“He could take a new name, so that no one would even know he was a wizard,” Theren argued. “And the High King is embroiled in a civil war. What attention could she spare for some usurper on the other end of Underrealm? It is the best possible time for such a scheme.”
Ebon had to speak, but he shook with fear at the knowledge of what he must say. “Theren,” he began. “This is … I am sorry, but this is not—”
She scowled at him, jaw working. “Ebon, I know I have given Lilith no end of grief while you have known me. But I have mocked and derided you and Kalem as well, and yet I know you are not murderers. Lilith is the same. She is vain and small-minded, but she is not a killer. Since Credell’s death, I have told you how I could not believe Lilith was capable of such an act. Mayhap some part of me—some hidden part I did not wish to acknowledge—saw the truth, even when my eyes could not. I am certain of this, Ebon. Cyrus must have done it. He has been influencing her with—”
“I killed Cyrus.”
Her words snapped to a halt. She and Kalem went still as statues. The boy jerked in his seat—back, as though he meant to stand, and then forwards again.
“What … what did you say, Ebon?”
Ebon could not lift his gaze from his lap. In a whisper he said, “It was the day the Seat was attacked. You remember when I ran off from the group. I told you, and everyone else, that I thought I saw an Academy student fleeing the battle. In truth, I saw Cyrus, and Adara was by his side.”
Kalem frowned. “Adara? Why would she … ?” But Theren looked at Ebon with pity, and Kalem’s words faded to nothing.
His cheeks burned, but he forced himself to speak on. “I caught them upon the southern cliffs of the Seat. There, where that little cove had been marked on the map we found, was a boat that Cyrus meant to escape in. I confronted him, for I thought he was kidnapping Adara. It turned out I was wrong, but he grew wroth and attacked us both. He nearly killed me, and with his magic he throttled Adara as well. In my desperation, I found my magic. I turned his feet to stone, and then Adara cast him into the Great Bay, where he sank and drowned.”
Theren sagged in her seat, placing one hand to her forehead. Kalem stood, hands twisting at his sides. He turned as if to walk away but paced behind his armchair instead. Ebon felt wretched.
“Darkness take it all,” Theren murmured.
“I am sorry,” said Ebon. “I should have—”
She shook her head. “No, Ebon. I do not blame you. I even see why you did not tell us. It is only … it means Cyrus is not behind this.”
“It could be someone else,” Ebon said. “Some other wizard manipulating her—”
“They would have to know the Academy.”
“What if it was someone in the family Yerrin? Someone who first gleaned information about the vaults from Lilith, and then held her in mindwyrd when she refused to help them on her own?”
“The family Yerrin deal in magestones, or so it is said by many,” said Theren. “But they never consume the stones themselves. Magestones are a slow poison of the mind. Yerrin knows this better than anyone. No agent of that house would risk themselves. Cyrus was the only person who made sense.”
Ebon stared at his shoes again. “Still. There could be someone,” he murmured.
“I suppose there could,” said Theren. But she sounded utterly defeated.
Kalem had gone still behind his armchair, head bowed. Ebon looked up at him. “What are you thinking?”
The boy shrugged. “What is there to think, Ebon? I know not what to say.”
“I imagine you are angry.”
“Angry? I … I do not know. We are friends. But this … this is wrong.”
Theren sat forwards. “It was in defense of his own life, Kalem. You knew Cyrus—”
Kalem gave her a hard look. “If that is true, he could have told the story. The King’s law would have protected him.”
“The King’s law, mayhap,” said Ebon quietly. “But my family? Never. You know the King’s law matters little to them. Mayhap Halab would have forgiven me. And I can never guess at Mako. But my father … my father would never have stood by. It would have been the excuse he long hoped for. He would have killed me.”
“Mayhap. Mayhap not,” said Kalem. “You could have figured out some way. Something. Anything, rather than keeping this deed in the dark. Sky above, Ebon, you could have told us. We could have thought of something—or agreed to keep it secret. Together. But this? I cannot abide by it.”
He stepped out from behind the chair and made to leave. Ebon stood. But Kalem only gave him a sad little smile.
“I will not tell anyone what you did, Ebon. You need not fear that. But in the last few months I have grown to love you, mayhap more dearly than my own brothers at home. I thought we had grown to trust each other.”
“We do,” said Ebon. “I do.”
“How can you say that? Were our positions reversed, what do you think I would have done?”
Ebon found it suddenly hard to speak. But he forced the words out, hearing the tears lurking within them. “You would have told me.”
Kalem left. Ebon watched until he was out of sight among the shelves and then sank back into his chair, head in his hands.
KALEM DID NOT EAT WITH them that night or the next day. During breakfast and the midday meal he sat pointedly at a table far away, and did not so much as glance in Ebon’s direction. When it came time to study in the library that afternoon, he was nowhere to be found.
Ebon thought of finding another place in the library to study so that Kale
m could have his nook. After all, he had been there long before Ebon, and had shared it when Ebon came to the Academy. But Ebon still held some hope that Kalem might forgive him, and if that happened, he wanted to be where the boy could find him easily.
But the afternoon’s free study passed, and there was no sign of Kalem. When Ebon and Theren went to the dining hall and fetched their suppers, they saw him sitting many tables away. Still he would not look in their direction.
So they ate, neither of them speaking. Now that he had told his friends, Ebon felt terrible that he had kept the secret from them for so long. But also, the weight of Cyrus’ death seemed to have mostly fled. When alone, or in a quiet place, or trying to drift off to sleep, he no longer saw the scene playing out in his mind.
That was little comfort, though, when he had to bear Kalem’s hatred instead. And he was not the only one who harbored a strong resentment for Ebon. Whenever he chanced to look at the head of the dining hall, Ebon saw Xain staring daggers his way. That was nothing unusual, mayhap, but today his anger seemed to have gained a particular intensity.
“Mayhap he heard about our visit to Lilith,” said Theren, after Ebon mentioned it. “I have noticed him giving me a dark glare as well. I do not think he appreciates our meddling, as he no doubt thinks of it.”
“At least with her capture, I no longer have to worry about him thinking I am the killer.”
Theren shrugged. “Do not worry about that. I am certain it is only a matter of time before he finds something else to blame you for.”
That forced a chuckle from him, though his smile quickly vanished. “Even though the threat is over, I still feel its shadow hanging over the Academy. I thought it would have dissipated by now. No one seems fearful. Only sad.”
“Of course they are,” muttered Theren. “We have all suffered loss. I only wonder if the pain will ever fade.”
Ebon saw Astrea sitting at a table with others, yet still seeming so alone as she stared at her food. Isra was beside her, but even that could not bring her any cheer. Likely this darkness would accompany the rest of her life. For how could it ever be healed? Who could explain to a child so young why Lilith had done what she did? Especially when no one knew her ultimate aim?
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 45
