The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  “Rorgjor, you stand on trial today for your evil acts of cruelty, and I, both as your one-time friend, and as a reporter for the Winfrost Herald, wish to grant you one last interview, so that you might have a chance to explain your actions. Do you find that agreeable?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Then I shall start with the basics. Why have you persisted in illegal research? The creation of Jack-Bots, the draining of human life-force, murdering, and putting your apprentices in constant danger.”

  “Laws do not govern my actions. I have a higher calling, which is my pursuit of enlightenment. Morality and legality are two different things, perhaps one day men will learn this.”

  “Perhaps. But that still doesn’t excuse the horrid acts you have done. We’re talking about murder, Rorgjor. These countless evil acts of cruelty you’ve committed are surely wrong on any moral scale. What do you have to say about that?”

  “You make many mistakes in your assumptions. First, evil is not cruelty. Evil is the natural world. Watch and you will see. Ignorance abounds. Mate to die, die to mate, never breaking the cycle of natural whims. Never growing beyond that which we might.”

  “I do not understand—can you explain, Rorgjor?”

  “Yes, I can, but you must listen through the right mind, and ask the right questions.”

  “Fair enough. You claim to be enlightened, so, in your eyes, what is the opposite of an enlightened man?”

  “A man who lives within the whims of the world.”

  “What does such a man do on the whims of the world?”

  “Nothing. No movement. No growth. Simple sameness. One step forward, one backwards. Birth a son, teach him nothing of value. Birth a daughter, teach her nothing of value. Work, but don’t originate. Meander, and be safe for a moment, but die in the forever. Scared of creating ripples.”

  “You speak of the old proverb? That which happens to the water that sits and lingers?”

  “Yes. It turns sour, it rots, it grows foul from stagnation and parasites.”

  “You are saying the same things happen to a man?”

  “Yes. Unequivocally, and undeniably, yes and yes. Even Marr knew that.”

  “Then what consequence has the man who lives on whim?”

  “What consequence has the animal, is the better question.”

  “Ha! You speak as if you are still a free man, yet it is likely you will be sentenced to death. Do you understand that?”

  “The trial will determine what foolish men try to do to me. What they try, and what happens might turn out to be two separate things. So, to answer your question, yes, I understand that. Certainly better than you.”

  “You seem to persist that you are a noble man living in ignorant times. You openly say that most men are fools.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “That’s not for me to say. Are you optimistic? In your mind, do you think we can ever progress past this point?”

  “If you can understand me, then we might. One ripple is better than none. I have my plans, though you won’t live to see them. I envision enormous waves on the horizon. The thawing of an ocean of ice. The purification of the stagnant ilk.”

  “Bold words. Are you saying progress is governed by movement? These ‘waves’, as you say?”

  “Does the champion swordsman do any true good? Or is he just another witless product of our times? No. Mind and action—the two must be together, for they are worthless on their own.”

  “So, according to you, we should all seek this so-called ‘enlightenment’ you claim to have, in order to improve our world?”

  “If the fox seeks to catch a mammoth, will it succeed?”

  “No. Not likely. It would probably do more harm than good.”

  “The same for a man seeking enlightenment with inadequate brains.”

  “So some are damned into darkness?”

  “No. But few are capable of finding light.”

  “Is that good?”

  “No. Some SHOULD be damned into darkness.”

  “Who do you speak of?”

  “My friend, it is simple. What do you do with TRUE evil?”

  “Stop it?”

  “Further.”

  “Kill it?”

  “Good, yes. Removal must be permanent.”

  “Are you saying the men who oppose you are actually the evil ones?”

  “Ignorance is but another form of evil, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I am unsure.”

  “I am not.”

  —Excerpt from Rorgjor’s Last Interview

  For two weeks Grandmaster Forojen Dorgenja stood in silence, one hand on the blue gem, the other outstretched, and facing the plateau in the center of the Green Forest.

  And so it grew. Slowly at first, and then, much faster. Tips of crystal shards pierced through the rocky ground, gradually forming shapes together into towers, walls and buildings. Nandor watched as he worked. Occasionally large ski-wagons would arrive in the valley, filled with supplies of the old college.

  All the while, it continued to grow larger. The grandmaster hardly ate or slept. His work was tiresome, and persistent. He didn’t pause for breaks, and he only spoke when absolutely necessary.

  This would be one of his crowning achievements, he had said, and so he had to build it right. Better even than the old college.

  Nandor was not sure how that was possible, but he soon learned. The towers were wider, larger, and heavier. The walls were higher, and more intricate with a glow that made them look as if they were alive. In the old college, only about half of the buildings were actually made from the mysterious crystal. Forojen allowed for room for additions within the college walls, but he also created the old buildings, and made them larger, and more refined.

  In the middle of the college, he grew a castle-like structure. When asked, he said it would be the new administrative building, and his home.

  Nix and Dorin stayed beside Nandor for all of it, eating well and occasionally helping to move the supplies down from Froj. They kept their guards close when they traveled through the city—rumor had it that Benjfrost was pissed, and might strike at any moment if they were outside of Mikja’s protection.

  But all things said, it was a relatively peaceful transition. From Froj to the green valley, the new college was born. The student’s moved, new students came, and all the while, the talk of the goblins grew louder.

  One day during construction, it was a particularly windy day, and while Forojen was concentrating on growing the college, Nandor concentrated on channeling the wind, with little success. By his side, Nix kept him stimulated with conversation. “So you’ll be teaching at the new college soon. A proper headmaster of elemental conduction.”

  “Suppose I will,” he nodded. “What of it?”

  “Do you think you’ll be a good teacher?”

  “I think there will be those who will learn much from my methods, and also those who will dislike me too much to try.”

  “An honest answer.”

  “Not entirely,” Nandor temporarily removed his hands from the air, to rub his arms. It was almost always warm within the Green Forest, but bare-chested the icy winds from the upper mountains still managed to squeeze a shiver or two from his spine.

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

  Dorin, approaching from below replied for him. “He means he does not intend to stay, correct?”

  Nandor found himself surprised at the bot’s guess. “Correct. I have done what I can here. Froj is not in an ideal state, but at least they will receive a portion of what they so desperately need. It is all I can do. I might stay for a while, help get the college running and all that, but I am not meant to stay in one place. I never was.”

  Nixie’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Where would you go?”

  “This, the clockwork cities, the Crystal South, it is only one very small part of a very large world, Nix. I could go anywhere. I have learned much in my time here, but perhaps my knowledge
would now be better suited somewhere else. Perhaps I can take what I’ve learned and apply it better, if given a fresh start.”

  Clenching her jaw, she looked upwards. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said she was angry. “That’s the coward’s way out, and you know it. You can’t just leave. Not after everything we’ve done.”

  Her sour words caught him off-guard, and he had to cease tampering with the wind. “What more could I do? What might I change that I haven’t already tried?” He turned her sourness inwards.

  “There is still the goblin army approaching,” she reminded him. “And I still don’t trust Forojen,” this she spoke quieter, for although the grandmaster was standing far away, and focused on his work, he had the ears of an alert dog at all times.

  Nandor did not immediately dismiss her thoughts. “I’m sure you can handle all that without me,” he said softly.

  “I’m not,” water filled her eyes. “I’m not sure… I-I could even...” her voice faded into a slow sob, and Nandor found his arm pulling her closer.

  “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

  “I-I’m sure I don’t want to be without you,” she answered.

  He squeezed her into a hug. “Then don’t worry about it. I don’t have to leave immediately. Maybe I’ll even stay longer than I think.”

  Dorin approached his other side. It was holding its favorite book, Rorgjor’s Enlightened Powers. “I would hope that you would, sir. There is still much I have to do. I think that if we stayed together, we could turn this kingdom around in a much better direction. Just think on how much we’ve already done in a matter of weeks. Give us a few years, and the possibilities are endless.”

  “Maybe your right,” Nandor allowed, dreams of his own drifting up into his head. “I always wanted to travel into the great beyond, and find new lands. I wanted to be the first man to brave the morphic ice in years.” Glancing from Dorin, to Nix, a different sort of warmness entered his heart. “On the other hand, maybe right now I’m exactly where I’m needed.”

  Several minutes passed as they stood together—a strange set of companions in the beautiful field of green.

  In the distance, they saw Grandmaster Forojen lower his hands, and fall to his knees. Nix gasped, and Nandor erupted into a run towards the plateau.

  “Grandmaster!” Nandor thundered, rushing to his side. “What happened?”

  The old man was anything if feeble—he was grinning with pride, as he pointed upward from his knees. “See for yourself.”

  Nandor tilted his head, and glanced upwards. A magnificent shining citadel of crystal towering walls and gleaming towers burst into his view. He was overpowered by the sight, and fell beside Forojen.

  “The new college is complete.”

  Author’s Note:

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review to let others know. It helps. https://www.amazon.com/Nathaniel-Sullivan/e/B00FVBOK8G

  —Excerpt From—

  Morphic Ice

  3

  The Drake of Death

  Chapter 1: Harvest

  For a long time now I have questioned my decisions. As I watched over the construction of the new Crystal College, Grandmaster Forojen calling from beneath the ground as smooth, colored pillars erupted from the rocky earth, I found myself letting in the deep-rooted poisonous seeds of doubt.

  Am I doing what’s best for these lands? Have I forged the proper alliances with the right people?

  Should I even care?

  Is Marr still the prophet for my god, or am I fooling myself by saying I’m a believer?

  These questions plague me, but still, there is much to be done. I have students to teach. I have people who depend on me. Nix, Dorin, and the poor people of Froj. If I know anything, it’s that in times of doubt, focus on the now. The future will come, in time, and then perhaps I will face the consequences of my actions.

  But until then, I shall continue on the path before my feet, to whatever end it means...

  —The Journal of Nandor

  Grandmaster Forojen looked over at Nandor from across the new college’s crystal gates. A large sled full of over-ripe, not-quite-ripe, or near rotten vegetables and fruits of squash, yellowed melons, onions, and milled wheat larger than anything grown in the ice fields lay beneath the grim man’s feet. A team of sled-dogs anxiously whined and yipped as the hound-master clipped their lines into place. There wasn’t much but a dusting of snow near the college’s gates, but once they traveled out beyond the walls of the Green Forest, it would be a different situation altogether—a land of cold and snow as such that it could freeze a careless man or beast within moments.

  Nandor grabbed his snow shoes and secured them on the sled, and lay his mammoth-fur robe next to them, then he returned the grandmaster’s look. “There a problem?” he asked.

  “Several,” Forojen nodded, his eyes darting from the sky, back towards the sled. “Though I doubt my words could stop you, so I shan’t waste my breath.”

  Nandor’s head tilted, “You speak of the drake?” He waved a dismissive hand, “Bah, I wouldn’t worry. The scouts haven’t seen any trace of it in days, neither north, south, east nor west. Wherever that foul creature came from, I’d say it’s returned by now.”

  The aging grandmaster didn’t look as sure. A spark of flame erupted from a crank in his hand and he channeled the power into a pipe resting on the left side of his mouth. “Could be,” the first few puffs of flame hissed as the pipe came to life, in the same moment, a small cloud of green smog burst from his lips. “But that wasn’t my concern, and you know it.”

  “Do I?” Nandor had to fight an unconscious urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I do. There’s always something with you people, isn’t there? Always one way or another in which you think I’m screwing up. So what would it be this time? You think it’s unwise for me to return to Froj? You think I should send another in my stead? You’d have me hide in the Crystal College rather than see the fruits of my labor finally delivered to those who’ve been promised them?”

  Forojen’s face became stern. “They’ll get their food, Nandor. What little good it will do, but they’ll get it. You have no reason to oversee this. It’ll only cause problems. Do I have to remind you of your promise to Lady Mikja? Or your reputation in Froj?”

  Nandor immediately averted his gaze.

  “I thought not,” the grandmaster proclaimed through a certain measure of satisfaction. “Just because you fought for those people, doesn’t mean they see it that way. You killed their lord, you insulted their new lord, and now they’re all hungry, angry, or worse. What do you expect? To be met with flowers and praise?”

  “I expect neither,” Nandor spat. “Contrary—I expect less. I expect there to be trouble no matter who goes, which is why I am going. Another would only turn at first sign of problem, and then where would that leave those who truly need this food? Hungry for another night—one which could lead to the death of more innocents. Is that the way you would rather this go?”

  “I would rather you listen to reason,” the old man grumbled. “Though seeing as how that’s clearly not going to happen, I’ll simply bid you good day, and if I can manage it, I’ll try to keep the sky clear on your journey.”

  “Eh,” Nandor grunted, taking his position on the sled. “Thanks.”

  A small troop of five men joined him, they were wearing chain armor, with swords at their belts and skis slung over their backs. “Out into the cold again, I suppose,” one of the men complained.

  “It’s what you’re paid for,” Nandor reminded him, then he offered a sympathetic shrug. “It should be a fast job, at any rate. Up to Froj and then back into the forest. We’ll be back by supper, with any luck.”

  “You reckon?”

  “I hope,” Nandor corrected, then averted his gaze. “So long as nothing goes wrong...”

  ***

  Outside of the walls guarding the green fields, it was a mild day, neither abnormally warm nor cold, wi
th only scattered clouds of softly falling snow. The mountain city of Froj was still a three hour trudge away if they made good time, and it appeared as though they would. The sled dogs were eager and fast, and the five soldier’s steam-powered skis were all functioning correctly. The thin metal tread engaged in the fine-packed snow, pulling them upwards. Nandor rode on the sled, guiding the dogs with his voice, but they did not need much guidance. A simple command to the left or right was it. They knew what they were doing, and it wasn’t a complicated journey. Up, up, and further upwards on the gradual inclining pathway towards Froj. Traffic up to the city was scarce anymore, and they encountered but a few, dreary souls along the way.

  At their backs, two more mountains with two more cities shimmered in the distance, Norda, and Winfrost—now the only two human cities that mattered in all of the Crystal South. Over the past season of growth and harvest, Norda and Winfrost had grown in strength, while Froj became ever more brittle and broken.

  Anyone with the ability fled from Froj, seeking better opportunities in the rival cities who were enjoying the first harvest yielded from the Green Forest.

  For Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone, it had been a good season. Within just three months they had tilled the ground and sectioned it off into endless fields, planted the precious seeds that were locked away in their castles vault, creating rows and rows of mounded dirt. Trenches were constructed along the fields to capture snow milt, and fine nets placed over the fruit fields to keep away the growing population of invading insects.

  Quickly, first harvest came, and although it was not the best harvest a green forest had ever yielded, it was still a solid first harvest, and with it held a promise of better times. Glorious food abounded within the green land, fields of wheat higher than the heads of men, melons the size of children, and berry vines so burdened by the weight of their fruit that poles had to be constructed to keep them from toppling over.

  The rich feasted and celebrated in the valley, and even those less financially inclined enjoyed the bountiful leftovers in Winfrost and Norda.