Auratus nodded.
“Then go,” said Yorak, gesturing in the direction of the Institute students who were still listening to Kuroshio's story. “And make sure that everyone is ready to go. I want no dilly-dallying, no unnecessary delays. Understood?”
Once again, Auratus nodded. Then she left, running toward the group of Institute students with more grace than the average aquarian showed on land. The Magical Superior almost called her back, but he restrained himself. Even if he did call her, she would not have listened. Auratus listened only to Yorak, her master and teacher.
“I need to tell the pilot to get the engine running,” said Yorak, turning in the direction of the sports field, where their airship was still landed. “He's still on the ship, if I'm not mistaken, and no doubt wondering what is going on here and what we are going to do next.”
The Magical Superior held out a hand. “But Yorak, could you please reconsider? I want both of our schools to get to know each other better. Isn't that better than remaining separate, as we have for so many years?”
He did not expect her to listen to that, but much to his surprise, Yorak did look a little hesitant, as if she was second-guessing herself. Of course, the Magical Superior was one of the few mortals who could ever pierce her confidence like that, although he did not push the point, knowing as he did that Yorak did not appreciate that kind of pushing.
Yorak's small whale eyes closed for a moment before she opened them again. This time, she looked as firm as she always did, the way she did the first day the Magical Superior had met her so many decades ago.
“I, too, would like for our schools to get closer,” Yorak admitted. “But I am not willing to risk the wrath of the gods—and the lives of my students—by getting in the way of some god's strange plan. I have a feeling that, whoever this god is, he will not hesitate to snuff us out if we prove a threat to him.”
“Not unless I can find out who he is and what he is up to before he succeeds in it,” said the Magical Superior. “I know how you feel about getting in the way of the gods, but I believe it is of utmost importance that you stay. We might need your help.”
“Help with what?” said Yorak. She gestured at the Arcanium. “Help with getting your students in the medical wing? Help with angering the gods? I suppose you must be getting senile, Chen, because you don't seem to remember Auratus.”
The Magical Superior had not heard his full name uttered by anyone in years. Even his deceased younger brother, Nijok, had not called him Chen Wirm when they had met for the very last time thirty years ago. He blinked once or twice, wondering if he had misheard, but when Yorak did not correct herself, his shoulders slumped.
“Yorak, you know I don't go by that name anymore,” said the Magical Superior. “I am the Magical Superior of North Academy. I abandoned that name long ago, after I devoted my life fully and completely to the service of the gods.”
“Maybe so,” said Yorak. “But I still think of you as Chen Wirm. Besides, if you had truly devoted yourself to the gods, you would do as I am doing and get out of this god's way.”
Before the Magical Superior could respond, Jenur Takren appeared, like she had teleported, in front of him and Yorak. She looked harried, with her curly dark hair smelling like smoke and soot. Her robes were stained with ash, which told the Magical Superior that she must have just gotten back from the ruins of the Third Dorm.
Panting, her hands on her knees, Jenur took a moment to catch her breath before she looked up at the Magical Superior and asked, “Darek. I was told Darek is hurt. Where is Darek?”
She must have heard about his battle with the chimera, the Magical Superior thought, but aloud, he said, “In the medical wing of the Arcanium, where Eyurna is looking after him.”
Jenur let out a powerful sigh of relief. “Oh, that's good. I thought he might be … but never mind. I am going to go see him now.”
“I hope your son recovers,” said Yorak, who looked a little annoyed at how Jenur had ignored her. “What he did was foolish yet brave. Let him know I am thankful that he stopped the chimera before it caused more trouble or harmed any of my students.”
“Why?” said Jenur. “Can't you tell him yourself? It's not like he's going anywhere.”
“I will be leaving soon,” said Yorak. “I and all of my students. We're going back to the Institute. Today, most likely within the next hour.”
Jenur stood up, a look of confusion on her face. “But … why?”
“Because this school is dangerous,” said Yorak. “First, one of your dormitories blows up, leading to the injury of one student. Then two katabans destroy your Guardian machine. And then this chimera attacks and almost succeeds in killing another student.”
“None of that is our fault, though,” said Jenur. “It's … well, I don't know whose fault it is, but it's not ours. Why not stick around a little while longer until we get this all figured out?”
“I already had this discussion with the Superior,” said Yorak, gesturing at him. “I already made my points to him and I do not wish to rehash them for an arrogant, disrespectful teacher like you.”
“Arrogant? Disrespectful?” said Jenur, her eyes widening in anger.
“Jenur, please calm down,” said the Magical Superior, holding up one hand. “Yorak is very stressed out at the moment, as we all are. She did not mean to insult you.”
“I only spoke the truth,” said Yorak. She spread her arms, as if to encompass the whole school. “And the truth is, North Academy is right in the middle of something far worse and far deeper than I care to find out about. And even worse, this situation may result in the deaths of my own students if we stay here but a moment longer than we have to.”
Jenur opened her mouth, most likely to make the same arguments that the Magical Superior had already made. The Superior did not want her to waste her time, however, or to anger Yorak further, as he did not want to destroy all ties between North Academy and the Undersea Institute.
So he said, “Jenur, I see you must have just returned from the ruins of the Third Dorm. How is the investigation going?”
Jenur turned her attention to the Superior as she dusted some ash out of her hair. “About as well as you'd expect. So far, we haven't found any clues as to the identity of the attacker … well, except for this.”
Jenur pulled something small and round from out of her robes' pocket. She held out her hand toward the Magical Superior and opened it. The Superior leaned forward to get a better look at the clue. He heard Yorak leaning forward, too, but he did not look at her because his eyes were focused entirely on the object in Jenur's hand.
Lying in the palm of her hand was a stone that was blackened on one side, but blood red on the other. It was perfectly round, like the beads crafted by the Divine Carvers, but the Magical Superior at first did not know what it was.
“It's a blood tear,” said Jenur, though neither the Superior nor Yorak had asked. “A magical item that's usually associated with Mica, the Goddess of Stone and Ink. It was found in the wreckage of Darek and Jiku's room, hidden under the remains of their bunk bed.”
“What is so impressive about this?” said Yorak. “Do either of them own blood tears?”
“That's the thing,” said Jenur. “Neither Darek nor Jiku have ever owned a blood tear. We think it was left by the attacker.”
Pulling back, Yorak said, “Surely you must know which one of your students owns a blood tear, shouldn't you? After all, this is your school, isn't it, Superior?”
The Magical Superior also pulled back. He stroked his chin, deep in thought. “I do not keep track of every little physical possession that my students own or bring with them from the outside world. It could belong to one of the Micans, but that's unlikely because all of the Mican students were gathered to greet the Institute mages earlier.”
“So the only clue you have to the identity of the attacker, and it is completely useless,” said Yorak. She rubbed her large nose. “That's it. If even the only clue we have is usel
ess, then that must be a sign from the gods that I and my students must go.”
Yorak walked past the Magical Superior, brushing against him roughly. He did not turn to watch her go, because he was still looking at the blood tear, trying to think of who could be its owner. He heard Jenur make a noise of disgust at Yorak's leaving, but that was all she did.
Blood tears are very rare, the Magical Superior thought. Whoever dropped theirs must have been in a hurry. They had somewhere they needed to be, somewhere they could not afford to be late to. Otherwise, the suspicions of every person in the school would fall on their shoulders, thus ruining their schemes.
Although the Magical Superior had one of the most brilliant minds in the world—there was no point in being modest about it, it was a fact that had been confirmed again and again in his lifetime—this mystery stumped it as easily as if it were one of the dumbest.
And then, without warning, an explosion erupted behind him. Whirling around, the Magical Superior saw Yorak standing there, frozen in fear and shock, staring up at the massive pillar of fire shooting into the air hundreds of feet away from them, the flames showing over the top of the First Dorm.
It took the Magical Superior's brilliant mind another moment to realize that the explosion was coming from the sports field. In the exact spot where the Soaring Sea had landed.
Chapter Eight
Darek's dreams were strange, to say the least, although he supposed that dreams were always strange. Still, these dreams were even stranger than normal. Whereas in most dreams he was not aware that he was in a dream, in this one, he was. That may very well have been the strangest part of this whole affair.
He was standing in the Arcanium's lobby, looking up at the Wall of Mastery, a wall that was normally covered with gold-framed pictures of the greatest students to graduate from the school. In real life, the Wall of Mastery normally held paintings of hundreds of past students, all of which looked as new as the day they had been painted. This in spite of the fact that many of those paintings had been painted centuries ago, although it made more sense when you considered that the paintings had been made using a special type of paint that did not age.
But today, the Wall of Mastery was completely black, with no sign of the paintings to be seen. It was an inky, purplish, ugly black, like the skin of a snake. Not only that, but it moved and groaned, like it was a living thing. Morbid curiosity compelled him to touch it and find out what it would do, but Darek's deeper instincts told him to stay as far away from the strange, seemingly organic wall as he possibly could.
Because Darek was not the adventurous type, he decided to stand at a distance and look at it. He had no idea what he was looking at, in all honesty, but as long as it didn't try to attack him, he knew he would be okay.
Besides, Darek thought, this is just a dream. Even if it was hostile, who cares? I'll be fine either way.
I wouldn't be so confident in yourself, young mortal.
Darek froze. Unless his ears were playing tricks on him—always a possibility in his dreams—that voice had sounded like it was coming directly from the 'wall' in front of him, like the 'wall' had spoken.
That's ridiculous, even for a dream, Darek thought, shaking his head. I am alone here in the Arcanium's lobby. I must be going crazy.
Then the voice spoke again, immediately wiping away all of Darek's lingering doubts about its true origin. Alone? I would question the usefulness of such a concept. No one is ever truly alone, even at the end of the world. We are always surrounded by someone or something, even if that someone or something refuses to acknowledge us or share its presence with us. You are not alone, Darek Takren, adopted son of Jenur Takren.
Darek felt his heart beat increase. What are you talking about? Who are you? Why are you in my dreams?
A wave of anger crashed over Darek, like the waves of the ocean. Only, it was not his anger, but someone else's.
Who am I? the voice said. You ask who I am? I should not be here. You should not be here. We should not even be talking. By becoming aware of my existence, you are jeopardizing my entire plan, the plan that will restore the world to the way it once was.
I didn't come looking for you, whoever you are, Darek said, feeling somewhat annoyed. Actually, I was hoping for a dream-less sleep. I nearly froze my hands off earlier, you know.
I am quite aware of what you did, Darek Takren, said the voice, which was now clearly coming from the wall. It was I, after all, who had sent the chimera. I did not think it would do much good, and I was correct, but it lasted long enough to allow my servants to escape. That's all I really wanted in the end.
So you're the one behind the chimera, Darek said. Are you also behind the explosion at the Third Dorm? Just who are you, anyway?
A superior being like myself does not need to answer such silly questions like that, the voice said. I am trying to figure out how we even managed to cross paths like this. Far more importantly, I am trying to figure out how to break this connection between us.
No, Darek said, pointing at the wall. You're going to tell me who you are and what you are trying to do. Otherwise, I'll—
You'll what? the voice jeered. This is a dream, after all. Even if it wasn't, you are still far beneath me in terms of sheer power. The power I command is the kind that your kind only ever dreams of. I am the first, the one who existed before all of this infernal, ugly creation. You are an ant whose life will be snuffed out shortly if you continue to get in my way like this.
The one who existed before creation? Darek repeated. Are you some kind of god? Or maybe one of the Powers?
Nice try, the voice said with a sneer. I am not going to let you know who I am. If—no, when—my plan succeeds, then all of the world, including you, will know who I am, will know and tremble before my might.
Darek didn't like the sound of that one bit, so he decided to do something about it. Remembering his oneiromancy lessons with Noharf Ximin, Darek held out his hand and willed his old wand into existence. It popped into his hand like it had always been there and began to glow with suppressed energy as he held it out in front of the wall.
Your wand? said the voice, sounding not at all afraid of it. Do you honestly believe that that little piece of wood will help you in the slightest? This is a dream, after all, and in dreams, you cannot actually hurt anyone.
I know, said Darek. I remember what Noharf always taught me. But I'm not going to hurt or even kill you. I'm going to expel you from my mind.
You mean you don't want to know what I am going to do? the voice asked. You aren't going to ask about my plans?
You've already made it clear that you aren't going to tell me a thing, Darek replied. Therefore, why waste my time talking to you when I could spend it waking up and finding out what's going on in the physical world?
The voice seemed genuinely shocked by that, but it said, You are pragmatic. I like that in individuals, even in inferior individuals like yourself.
A cold wind blew from the voice, making Darek shiver, even though it was just a dream. It was like standing bare naked in the Great Berg on a cold winter day, almost causing Darek to drop his wand.
But Darek managed to gather the strength necessary to keep holding his wand. He said to the voice, I don't care what you like in people. The point is, I don't want you in my mind infecting my dreams anymore.
Infecting? I am doing no such thing, said the voice. I am still not even sure how we became tied like this. If I had to guess, I would say you must have fallen unconscious at the exact same time I was contacting one of my pawns. Perhaps it was the excess magical power you used that caused your mind to link with me, at least temporarily.
That theory seemed reasonable to Darek. It was similar to something that Noharf had once taught him ages ago. Occasionally, it was possible for two mages who fell asleep at the same time to enter each other's dreams, especially if one or both of them were oneiromancers. It was an extremely rare phenomenon, not very well understood even by the best oneiromancers, but
it was known to happen and when it did, it often linked the two mages for a long time, sometimes for life.
Because Darek did not want to be linked with this voice for life, he aimed his wand at the wall again, ignoring the cold wind that continued to blow from it. Your theory might be correct, but I'm not going to stand around here and find out.
With a practiced twist of his wrist, Darek fired a blast of fiery energy at the wall. It was a spell Noharf had taught him, which, if used correctly, would expel unwanted visitors from his dreams. Darek had used this spell only a couple of times before, during his classes and training sessions with Noharf, but he remembered the basics of it well enough to understand how to use it.
The blast of fiery energy slammed into the wall, causing the voice to scream in pain as the flames enveloped him. Of course, the voice was not actually being burned alive, but the spell was supposed to emulate that feeling in order to get the intruders out of one's dream.
The dream fire sparked and crackled, but it was silent in comparison to the voice's screams. Darek had to put his hands over his ears to save them from getting hurt, although it was mostly out of instinct he did it because he was in no danger of permanently losing his hearing in a dream.
And then, without warning, Darek awoke.
Gasping for breath, Darek did not understand where he was at first. He felt soft sheets, saw a bright yellow light reflecting off the white walls of the room he was in, and could barely feel his hands. His senses were completely disoriented, yet for some reason, he felt as cold as if he had been sitting outside in the snow all day.
It took him a few moments to gather his senses back into something halfway coherent. Even so, his memories of the dream—and the voice—were already rapidly fading, like memories of dreams always do whenever you awake, and he had no way to write them down so he could recall them later. Even if he did have a pen and paper on hand, his hands felt so uncooperative that he didn't think he'd be able to write for a long time.
The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 Page 9
