The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  He considered her as a hunter considers a woolly elk. Not fearful, but confident, and cautious. “So you choose death. Very well.” His foot crunched in the snow as he stepped closer, ready to strike.

  But suddenly, a mechanical voice interrupted them both. “Ah! Nix! You’ve found a suitable human to sacrifice! How utterly delightful!” it bellowed from the pathway leading to the home. As the bot appeared in view, the stranger’s jaw dropped, and Nix breathed a sigh of relief. “Now how about I assist you in restraining our little… pet.” It grinned, and the springs coiled on its legs jumped to life, propelling it towards the old man with supernatural speed.

  The stranger didn’t have time to brace himself—his weapon was swatted away, and landed near Nix’s feet. Then, the bot swung a clenched fist and a dull thud rang throughout the clearing as it collided with the man’s head.

  He collapsed in an instant.

  Dorin stood over the fallen body with a smirk. “You did good Nix. I’m proud of you,” it said. “I admit,” it began to drag the man’s body towards the home, “I had my doubts when you first stumbled into my little lair, but you’re proving to be quite the suitable assistant…” It gestured downwards at the body it was dragging. “…finding us a man to drain, yelling for help, distracting him long enough for me to arrive—why, you’re a natural darling! A natural! Even I almost believed your lies!”

  Her stomach felt queasy as she followed the metal creature inside the home, and closed the door. “I-I actually didn’t mean to use him as a sacrifice,” she mumbled. “He just showed up.”

  “Oh. Really?” The bot shrugged to itself. “You did well regardless. I was having a hell of a time trying to find anyone I could kidnap in isolation—turns out there aren’t many farmers around here that work alone. I was just beginning to give up for the night, and I was headed home when I heard your call…anyway, I suppose it all worked out for the best. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What if I don’t want to drain him?” she asked.

  The bot dropped the farmer’s body next to Nandor, and looked at her with amazement. “Don’t want to drain him? What’s this? Of course you don’t want to drain him—nobody would! This isn’t a matter of want, dear Nixie—this is a matter of need. Nandor needs his energy to come back to us. That’s just the way it is.”

  “But what if there was another way, and we just haven’t tried it yet?”

  “Nixie, Nixie, this is the only way. The best way. We’re helping our friend—stop doubting yourself so much.”

  She walked over to Nandor, and looked down at his unmoving face. His beard and his hair had grown in the days of his death, and the glow from the mystic life stones refreshing his skin made him appear only a few years older than herself, although he was in his late thirties, nearly forty.

  “Perhaps the stones just need more time to work?” She suggested. “He looks almost alive as it is.”

  The bot very definitely shook its head. “True, his body is repaired, but it has been fully repaired for nearly two days now. If the energy in the stones was enough to spark his body back into motion, it should have worked by now. It is clear to me that he needs something more.” The bot tied up the stranger close to Nandor, securing his legs and arms tight. “Now, why don’t we go ahead and get this little process started? Are you ready, darling?” It waved between the two bodies.

  She looked downwards. The stranger did not deserve to die. He was just a friendly neighbor, trying to look out for his friend. Perhaps if he was cruel, she might have considered it. But he was not. “I-I can’t, Dorin. I can’t. I wouldn’t even know how to perform a soul draining even if I wanted to. I’m only a second-year student, and it isn’t a practice even taught at the college. Its forbidden magic.”

  “Bah!” Dorin waved a hand, dismissing her words. “You’re a mystic, so you have the talent required. Does that college even actually teach anything, anyway? Anything remotely enlightening or controversial? Or does it just preach the same brain-numbing hogwash that everyone already knows? I think it’s the latter. So don’t be using any excuses here, girl. You know enough to do what is required—just form a mental connection to the unconscious man, and transfer any energy he has into Nandor.”

  “It’s not that simple!” she protested.

  “Have you ever actually tried it?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “I know because I’ve performed enough mystic connections to know how difficult it can be! Even a dog was hard for me to control, and I wasn’t even trying to make it do anything difficult—just recall a memory! Why—if a man doesn’t want you in his mind, it is hard to enter forcefully, let alone to try to drain all of his energy without him putting up a fight! That would take a very powerful mystic—certainly beyond my years!”

  “Which is precisely why I’ve rendered the man unconscious,” the creature explained. “It should make your task easier, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps, but it would still be cruel.”

  “Oh. I see.” The bot paused, its eyes flickering a shade darker. “So that’s the real reason, isn’t it? You aren’t willing to do what’s necessary. You’re too caught up in your pesky little moral dilemmas, aren’t you? So caught up that you won’t even save your friend.”

  Nix had no reply. The bot spoke the truth. At the end of the day, the facts were, she was not heartless enough to drain an innocent man into a husk, even if it meant bringing back Nandor. “Too many people have already died. I can’t be responsible for any more death,” she whispered, tears forming.

  “Gutless little girl,” Dorin hissed, steam shooting from its ears. “That is precisely why we can’t stop! Too many have died! It can’t all be for waste! If we don’t bring back Nandor now, then what was the point of it all?”

  “I can’t do it!” she screamed. “I won’t!”

  Dorin’s chainsaw arm began to reflexively spin, and he held it up. “If you aren’t willing to do what’s necessary, then you are of no use to me.”

  The saw blade hummed as it whirled between them, and Nix felt her stomach turn. Drain the man, or die. Is that what the bot is threatening? “You’ll kill me?”

  “Let’s not dwell on what I am and am not willing to do, darling,” the bot purred. “Don’t make me think too hard on it. Just do the right thing. Kill this poor fool.” He waved down at the farmer. “His life means nothing next to Nandor, and you know it. Do this little evil action for the greater good. You know in your fleshy heart it is the right thing to do.”

  Is it the right thing to do? Kill for the greater good? “Even if I was willing to do it, Nandor wouldn’t want it.” She shook her head. “I would be betraying him.”

  “Nandor wouldn’t want to be brought back with the lives I’ve already used either. The life stones. The family I killed. The nobles and merchants… it’s too late to turn back, girl. What is one more life among the pile we’ve already taken?”

  “The pile you’ve already taken, you mean.” She met his eyes with anger. “I never did any of this.”

  “But you agreed to it, darling.” It stepped forward, lowering the sawblade close to her throat. “And I am quite capable of ending as many more lives as necessary.”

  For a moment, they stood close together, each uncertain of what the other was capable of doing to bring Nandor back. The saw spinning close to her neck made the question hopeless. “What good would killing me do?”

  “It is a matter of eliminating false choice. It is not the action of killing you that would accomplish something, it is the threat.” It held the blade even closer. “If this helps you to make the right decision—nudges you in the right direction, so to speak, then I will be content. After all, I would far rather you be the one to bring back Nandor than another. Imagine how hard it would be for me to have to kill you, then find another mystic, kidnap them, and then force them to perform the operation. Bah! It would be a dreadfully long process, and Nandor might be unrecoverable by then. S
o this is the best way.” It nudged her with its free hand, pushing her before Nandor. “Now hop to it my dear. You know deep inside you are willing to do it. Don’t make me pretend to threaten you anymore.”

  Again, she found herself looking between Nandor and the unconscious farmer. To see Nandor breathing again… to hear his soothing voice, filled with wise words, and to watch him stubbornly walk through the world trying to change people’s minds for the better… he was the only man who ever understood me. Perhaps the bot was right. She was willing to kill to bring him back—but not before exploring other options first.

  “Well, my dear? Have you finally made your choice?” The bot asked, lowering the blade away for the first time.

  She nodded, “I have. But you might not like it.”

  Before Dorin could respond, she pulled the stun-stick from her belt, powered it on high, and thrust its electric impulse to the left side on Nandor’s chest.

  The bot cried out in protest, “No! You’ll undo everything I’ve done!”

  The body jumped as electricity pulsed through Nandor’s form, and then, there was a terrible gasp followed by a blood-curdling scream that echoed all throughout the room.

  Dorin and Nix exchanged frightened looks as the scream grew louder.

  What have we done?

  Chapter 16: Alive

  I have suffered many wounds in my many travels. My days at the Crystal College were riddled with duels, and I did not always win, and when I did win, I was not always unharmed. When I left and quested out into the wild, I encountered dangers that I had never imagined possible, even in my younger travels into this kingdom—the Crystal South. My first serious injury I suffered from barbarians, and then there was a war with the goblins. I tried my best to settle the dispute peacefully, but I soon learned that I was the only one who wanted peace. I was gravely wounded in the war. I was injured so bad, that I was left for dead. For many days I sat in the cold, bleeding and in terrible pain, but I did not allow my body to die. I fasted, and I meditated, and I got better. For healing is about more than just ideal circumstances. It is about mindset, and determination, and will.

  Beasts have mauled me. Goblins have speared me. Ice Drakes have breathed frost down on me. Robbers have attempted to mug me. Fools have dueled me. Nature has spat on me with avalanches and morphing ice.

  But I have always recovered.

  I am not arrogant enough to say that I am immortal, but I do seem to possess a strength of body, if not will, that few others hold. Perhaps Marr has foreseen that I will need my might in the trials ahead…

  —The Journal of Nandor

  There was a jolt, and it hit him hard.

  But it was more than just the electric pulse that raged through his body like liquid lightning—it was the jolt of rebirth. His blood was flowing from his strong beating heart as if for the first time—his lungs took in their only breath of fresh air in days, sending chills throughout his throat. His eyes opened, and were blinded by the vast rays of impossible light. His skin felt everything—so many sensations that it overwhelmed his mind.

  It was as if he was in his body for the first time again. Everything was new, vivid, and painfully fresh.

  “AAAAHHHH!” His lungs screamed in protest, and he could not contain the howls of pain. “AAAHHH!”

  His thoughts were jumbled and erratic—leaping from each new sensation to the next. There was no localized pain like he was used to—there was only the constant tingling surrounding his every movement. It was as if his skin was not used to the very air itself. Like the softness of a baby’s skin, experiencing the harshness of the world it had been born into.

  He shook and quivered and tried to look around—to see what was wrong, who was with him, and what was going on—but the more he tried to see, the more he was blinded by the light. His eyes were too crisp to properly see. The lights felt as if they were amplified by ten.

  There were blurs looming over him—that was the only thing he could determine. And there were also sounds—so many sounds. The ticking of gears, the voice of a woman, but his own yelling was by far the loudest of them all. He managed to make a fist with his hand through clenched teeth, and bite back the painful sensations of being alive. Then he felt his muscles pulse with energy, and with them, the memories that they had once held.

  He was a strong man, he suddenly remembered. Not just strong like other people are strong—but strong of mind, of soul, and of body. Almost supernaturally strong, as if compelled by some otherworldly force. He felt his legs pulse with the strength of many days of hard travel, and in an instant he jumped to his feet. His shoulder collided with some metal object in his way, but he brushed it aside with a roar, and he heard it fling through the air.

  “AAAHHH!” His howl echoed throughout wherever he was. It sounded like it was a confined place—perhaps a small room, but his eyes were still too unfocused to be sure.

  “Heavens!” a strange voice yelled almost as loudly as his own. It came from the metal object he had thrown across the chamber.

  “Calm down! Calm down!” a woman’s voice frantically yelled, and he felt a hand land on his naked shoulder.

  He fought back an urge to grab the hand and fling it away—there was something about the woman’s voice. Something oddly familiar and comforting in the world of fresh pain. He stood still, and tried to turn to look at the woman, but his eyes were still too unsteady.

  “You’re Nandor! Do you remember anything?” the woman’s voice continued. “Nandor—please be you! Please!”

  Nandor—yes. That name did hold some measure of meaning. It was who he was, and he did remember it. He remembered the people who insulted him, who stabbed him, who shot arrows and flung electricity at him and his name in hatred. It seemed, suddenly, a cruel name to be saddled with. A name that caused men both fear, admiration, and revulsion.

  “I-I remember…” he spoke for the first time, the words falling strangely from his lips. “Where am I? Why does everything feel so harsh…”

  There was the sound of clanking gears as an object across the room rearranged itself back to its feet. “That, dear Nandor, would be because your skin and, indeed, your entire body has been renewed. It is as if they are experiencing everything again for the first time—I had expected it might be a little… unpleasant. Much like being birthed. But I’m confident you will soon be acclimated to it all again.”

  The strange robotic creature sounded familiar as well, but he kept his eyes fixed on the form of the woman. Gradually his vision was becoming clearer, and he saw her: White hair. Pale as snow. Eyes almost violet in color. Small, but shapely and vibrant as a newly blossomed flower in spring. “Nixie…” he mumbled. “Your Nixie…” He remembered, and he found his arms wrapping around her before she could reply. Her words were muffled into his shoulder, and they sounded more like weeps of joy than anything tangible. “What happened… how long have I been gone?”

  “Too long, my friend. Too long,” the robotic voice across the room cooed. “But it is all okay now. I believe I speak for the both of us when I say I am glad to have you back.”

  His eyes darted over to the voice, and he saw the robotic figure for the first time. “B-but I don’t understand—where have I been?”

  “Dead. Or very nearly dead. On the verge, I would say.”

  His eyes darted downwards. There was a strange-looking man tied close to his feet. Bound, gagged, and clearly there against his will. “Who is that?” He suddenly pushed Nix aside, and pointed at the stranger.

  “Oh—oh, no one, dear friend. No one.” The bot rushed over and undid the knots keeping the stranger. “Pay him no mind. I’ll get him out of here!”

  “But why was he tied up? What the hell is going on?” Rage pulsed through his veins as he glanced between Dorin and Nix. They were hiding something. Something dark, and sinister, and he could sense it like the foul smell of rotting corpses.

  “Don’t concern yourself with all that right now Nandor!” Dorin continued, dragging the man ac
ross the room to the door. “Just sit tight! Relax!” It pointed to the seats beside a wooden table. A table that looked to be stained in red. “Talk to Nix! You’ve been through a lot, my friend. A lot. Take a small token of my advice: Don’t rush back into all the worldly problems all at once!” The door slammed shut behind the bot and the body it carried.

  Strangely, Nandor found his legs tired, and he collapsed inside the chair the moment the bot had left. As fast as the energy surge had hit him, it was draining away, leaving him unusually tired, as if he had run a great distance. Nix took a seat beside him, her eyes never leaving his.

  As he watched her, he noticed that she was observing him like some sort of strange animal at a zoo. And not just any animal—a dangerous animal, as if he was some sort of freak. “What’s wrong? Why do you look at me as if I am a dead man come alive?”

  Her eyes darted aside and then she looked back at him again. There was shame in her eyes—but more than that. There was also amazement, and tears, and beauty. “Y-you don’t remember?” Her mouth quivered as she spoke, as if a mother trying to explain some terrible event to a toddler that it would never understand.

  “Remember?” he repeated, wondering what strange events he was supposed to remember that would explain all the unusual circumstances he suddenly found himself in. “What’s to remember?” He scratched at a strange itch on his side.

  “N-nevermind.” She sat a cold hand on top of his. “H-how do you feel?”

  “A little groggy,” he replied honestly, “as if I’ve been asleep for a long time. My skin feels oddly… sensitive. And I’m slightly weary, but otherwise, fine. I feel as good as ever. Maybe even stronger.”

  “A-and what is the last thing you remember—before waking up?”

  He frowned, dwelling deeply on her words. The grogginess clouding his memory was fading, but it was still there. “I very definitely remember you.” He smiled, squeezing her hand. “You traveled with me as I sought something…” he reached up a hand to scratch his beard. The hair felt unusually soft. Then he looked at his hand. It was… different. Too pink, too fresh. His eyes fell to the rest of his body. He was mostly naked, with the exception of a towel tied around his waist, and everything was unlike what he was used to seeing. His skin almost glowed with liveliness—as if a healthy man just entering the heat of his prime—but it was more than that. Where there should have been scars, there was only faint, rosy colored marks. No blotched skin, no rugged lines, no stretch marks—nothing imperfect. It was all far too… pleasant. He looked like a man who had lived an easy life, not the life he knew deep inside that he had led.