by Raymond Cain
“I’m here to demonstrate one of our most sacred artifacts,” the historian continued. “We call it the Altar of Arcane Sight. This school has used it to measure the potential of our students for centuries.”
Ms. Clutchfeather pointed at the bowl in the altar. “You will notice the bowl is full of water and glass tubing rises from it. There are numbers on the tubing to indicate the strength of your connection to aquazite. All you must do is to lay your hands on the spheres and the device will do the rest. The stronger your connection, the higher your score will be. For those of you who wish to enter the Sorcery Academy, a score of eighty or higher is required. With any luck, there might even be one or two Gifted among you.”
Those who scored one hundred were referred to as Gifted, a person with the strongest possible connection to crystal. Gifted warriors had the strongest bond with their weapons, Gifted engineers created the most powerful items, and Gifted wizards cast the most powerful spells. Most chose to attend the Sorcery Academy.
Except for Tasker. Flynn’s brother was the only Gifted person he knew. Despite Tasker’s young age, his extraordinary intellect and powerful connection to aquazite made him one of the most sought-after engineers in the city.
The students formed a line and began taking the test one by one. Dean Martigan called out their scores and Ms. Clutchfeather wrote them down in a leather-bound tome. Most of the students scored over fifty.
“Fifty-two for Mr. Brandleberry, thirty-eight for Mr. Cutter, seventy-three for Ms. Purpleton, seventy-five for Mr. Rocknugget. . .”
There was only one person ahead of Flynn, the same blonde girl with carefully braided hair that he overheard earlier. As he looked over her shoulder at the altar, he suddenly felt very anxious. Something inside told him he should not take the test.
“Ms. Clutchfeather. . . ”
Flynn was surprised by the girl’s name. He guessed she was the historian’s granddaughter. As the girl took the test, it seemed to Flynn that the water paused about halfway, then continued to rise.
“Eighty. . . Mr. Arcturus. . . ”
“You know,” Flynn began, “I don't even want to enter the Sorcery Academy so there's really no point in me taking...”
“Mr. Arcturus,” the elderly woman interrupted in a no-nonsense tone. “All students are to take the test regardless of where their motivations lie. And besides,” she narrowed her eyes, dangerously, “your brother is Gifted so I'm sure you’ll do fine.”
Any ideas Flynn had about Ms. Clutchfeather being senile were discarded. She knew exactly who he was—and who his brother was—and he had the distinct impression she was not someone to trifle with.
Flynn laid his hands on the spheres and concentrated on the water. He was curious to see how high the water would go and in moments, he had his answer.
The water didn’t move.
Flynn stared incredulously at the altar. With renewed effort he tried to drive the water out of the bowl through force of will. Again, nothing happened. He tried to form some connection with the crystalline material and felt nothing. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to create the tiniest ripple.
There was an awkward silence until the Dean quietly spoke. “Mr. Arcturus, zero.”
There was murmuring and snickering amongst the students and Titus let out a belly laugh. Flynn was humiliated. He didn't expect to score as high as Tasker, but...zero? He had never heard of anyone scoring zero before. He couldn’t understand how he could be so different from his brother.
Titus punched Flynn in the shoulder. “Zero, Arcturus? You scored zero? Nobody scores zero!” Titus laughed and his friends, the same ones he sailed with earlier, laughed with him.
The rest of the students were tested. A handful scored over eighty and would likely join the Sorcery Academy, much to the envy of the others. The dean announced a score of one-hundred for one of the students but Flynn was no longer paying attention. All he could think about was his own score.
It was discouraging to know he would never cast spells, create magical items, or form a bond with crystal-enhanced weapons. He could still use crystal items that were already enchanted, such as breathing helms and swimming boots, but he would never be able to craft such an item himself.
Ms. Clutchfeather brought the students into other rooms in the lower levels of the academy. Paintings and tapestries along the walls depicted battles their people fought during the previous four hundred years. She emphasized the importance and effectiveness of the wizards in those battles. Flynn was in a daze, too distraught over his recent test results to pay attention to the lecture.
“You may have noticed,” the historian continued, “that some of the wizards in these paintings are barely into their teens. During those dangerous times, it was deemed necessary to equip our young with skills in the magical arts in order to defend the city. Now that Seahaven is better equipped to handle outside threats, it is forbidden to teach magic to anyone before they are mature enough to wield such power. The penalty for teaching magic to someone before they are old enough to attend college is life imprisonment.”
“Ms. Clutchfeather,” a young lady said, raising her hand. “All of this art depicts events within the last few centuries. What happened before that time? Have our people always lived here?"
A flicker of irritation passed over Ms. Clutchfeather’s wrinkled face but she quickly hid it. The historian looked at the girl with a forced smile, the corners of her mouth quivering as though they were unaccustomed to turning upward.
"Those are good questions,” the historian said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “But, unfortunately, I don't have many answers for you. Much of our history books were lost in a tragic fire in the Seahaven library three centuries ago. An ancestor of mine, Gerdie Clutchfeather, was the Head Librarian at that time. She risked her life to put out the flames but she could not save our most precious volumes, the ones that contained the histories of our people."
Flynn felt a tiny tremor in his pocket, reminding him that he still carried his mother’s compass. Careful to avoid letting anyone else see it, he opened his pocket wide enough to glimpse the compass. He gasped as the compass needle pointed firmly in one direction. He walked around the room, checking the compass every few steps, and it unerringly pointed at a blond boy named Arthur Graymantle.
Arthur was a handsome young man with broad shoulders and short-cropped hair. Flynn did not know the boy very well, but the Graymantle family was highly respected in Seahaven due to the great number of talented wizards they produced. Flynn could not imagine why his mother’s compass would point at the boy.
“I don’t know what you have in your pocket,” Ms. Clutchfeather said, staring hard at Flynn with cold blue eyes. “But it’s clearly more fascinating than anything I have to say."
Flynn was startled by her words but he couldn’t agree more.
Ms. Clutchfeather steepled her wrinkled fingers together and narrowed her eyes at Flynn. “Perhaps you’d like to share what it is with the rest of us so we can be entertained as well.”
“It’s nothing, Ms. Clutchfeather. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing?” she said, scrunching up her lips skeptically. “If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind showing the rest of us.”
Flynn jumped back, out of her reach. “No!” he said, and silently scolded himself for shouting. “It’s just a pearl I found yesterday.”
The historian sniffed derisively. “A simple thing to fascinate a simple mind.”
The students snickered and Titus let out another belly laugh at Flynn’s expense.
Flynn clenched his jaw in frustration but he was glad that they were more interested in insulting him than in discovering what he was carrying.
Except Arthur Graymantle. He did not snicker with the others. Instead, he stared hard at Flynn with a serious expression.
Chapter Twelve
The Sorcery Academy was the tallest building in Seahaven, but it was not the largest. Ms. Clutchfeather led the students over the moat and
down the street to the Engineering Academy, a five-story, cube-shaped structure larger than any other building in the city. Its grey, featureless walls made it resemble a huge stone block.
Most ships, bridges, and other constructions in the city were designed within those grey walls. The front entrance was a twenty-foot-tall, round steel door with no latch or hinges. A depression in the wall beside the door contained three numbered dials. Flynn guessed that spinning the dials in a certain way would open the door and he wondered if Ms. Clutchfeather knew the combination.
As the students approached, the round steel door split vertically into two semicircle doors. They swung open and a middle-aged man wearing a white lab coat stood in the doorway. He was an obese man with a red face and a bulging neck that looked as though a pink eel was strangling him. His hairline receded so far back it may have run off his skull entirely, and he wore a pair of round spectacles with crystal lenses. He pushed the glasses on top of his round head and Flynn wondered what properties its magical lenses granted.
“Welcome, students, to the Engineering Academy. I am Dean Haster, but you can call me Haster.”
“You’re looking well, Haster,” Ms. Clutchfeather began. “Did you lose weight?”
Dean Haster scowled slightly. He waved a pudgy hand in Ms. Clutchfeather’s direction, rudely indicating that she should leave. “You can go now, Ms. Clutchfeather. Thank you.”
The Historian’s nose wrinkled in contempt and she walked back toward the Sorcery Academy.
“I’m sure the instructors at the Sorcery Academy tried to dazzle you with their parlor tricks,” Dean Haster began, shooing students into the square building with his pudgy arms. “Their displays are good for show but their spells last only an instant. Why would you want to waste your energy on something that disappears in a moment when you could create something that lasts forever? In the Engineering Academy, you will learn to craft wonders that even your great grandchildren can enjoy and remember you by.”
The main floor of the academy contained vessels constructed from steel and crystal. The ships included bulky transports, fishing vessels loaded with nets and traps, and warships with thick steel hulls. Haster seemed most eager to show off a bulky warship large enough to hold a dozen men. Six crossbows were mounted on each side. The top and bottom of the ship housed four large aquazite propellers. The vessel was an impressive combination of speed and weaponry.
The next ship they were shown was a sleek vessel with six propellers. Nearly half of the hull was crystal, rendering it both very powerful and extremely expensive.
“This is a Marlin III,” Haster said, proudly. “Because of their expense, we will only make a handful of these. They will be ready next year and they're guaranteed to be the fastest ship in the ocean.”
Titus shoved Flynn out of the way to get a closer look at the Marlin III. The dark-haired boy brushed his fingers along the hull and stared intently into the cockpit. Tendrils of magical energy danced within the crystal. It was a truly magnificent craft.
“How much for this one?” Titus asked.
“This isn’t for sale,” Haster replied. “It’s a prototype, and we’re still testing it. Like I mentioned earlier, they’ll be ready next year.”
Titus narrowed his eyes threateningly at the obese man. “We’ll see about that.”
“I suppose we will,” Dean Haster replied, evenly. The portly man slid his aquazite glasses from the top of his balding head down onto the bridge of his nose and turned his back to Titus. The man didn’t seem concerned by Titus’ threatening tone and Flynn’s impression of the man improved immediately.
“In this next area,” the dean continued, “we have a variety of interesting items.”
The Dean led the students onto a wide disc that carried them up to the next floor. When it stopped, Flynn was startled by a hulking, twelve-foot-tall water golem looming over him. Its torso, shins, shoulders, and biceps were armored in blue-tinged, icy plates. In its right hand, it wielded an ice-axe with a blade wider than Flynn was tall. The ice was enchanted to be as hard as steel and he could feel cold emanating from it. The golem turned its watery head in Flynn’s direction and he cautiously backed away from the construct.
“Another prototype,” Dean Haster explained, indicating the golem. “We’ve been commissioned to build one hundred of these for protecting the city. They’re nearly ready.”
Past the golem there was a stone manikin garbed in robes made entirely from water. The material flowed in more ways than one and the aquazite that enabled it to keep its shape cast a soft blue glow. Flynn pinched the watery material, sending ripples through the garment. It was the most beautiful robe he’d ever seen.
Everywhere Flynn looked there were fascinating inventions. One engineer proudly displayed a swimpack—a backpack with propellers. He claimed it enabled the wearer to move as fast through water as a mermaid. Another engineer showed off a pair of swimming gloves. They functioned like ordinary gloves in an airy environment, but when they came in contact with water, the fingers became webbed. Another station displayed a collection of water-powered mining tools designed to shatter stone and clear away rubble. Some of those last items could make his job easier in the mine and Flynn made a mental note to talk to Tasker about it when he had the chance.
The next section contained a rack of longswords with aquazite crystals built into their pommels. The swords were designed for senior student warriors in the Citadel. The Engineering Academy was responsible for collecting crystals and building weapons to house them. A warrior bonded to such a weapon would be capable of faster, deadlier strikes.
Titus punched Flynn in the shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise. “I guess you’ll never wield one of those swords, hey?” he said with a belly laugh, and his cronies laughed with him.
The punch hurt but not nearly as much as the words did. Titus was right, Flynn would never be able to bond to aquazite like others could.
Rubbing his shoulder, Flynn moved on to the next section. He jerked his head back in surprise when he saw his brother standing on a wooden stage with a weapon secured to his chest. It was the size of a crossbow, and it was constructed from an aquazite tube. There was a crystal handle attached, and one of the tubes was filled with water. The gleaming weapon had a liquid strap attached to it that was looped over Tasker’s head and shoulder.
Dean Haster struggled to join Tasker on the stage but the obese man had difficulty climbing onto the platform. Once he got up, the dean removed a seaweed handkerchief from his lab coat and mopped the sweat from his round face. “This is Tasker Arcturus, one of our former Gifted students.”
The dean put a reassuring hand on Tasker’s shoulder and Tasker flinched away as though it was a venomous eel.
Flynn snickered; his brother never did appreciate being touched. Or social etiquette. Or being talked to. Or being exposed to people in general. It must have taken a substantial sum to convince Tasker to attend.
“And I asked him here to demonstrate one of his inventions,” Haster finished, dropping his hand awkwardly to his side.
Tasker scowled at the group. “Haster insists I begin by asking if there are any questions. Are there any?”
Many of the students raised their hands.
Tasker scowled. “Perhaps I was a little vague. How many of you have questions that aren’t stupid?”
Many of the students looked taken aback and most of their arms lowered. They looked at each other, questioningly.
Tasker grimaced. “None? Good. Because there is another group coming after you and I can’t spend all day answering silly questions. Let’s begin.”
There was muttering among the group and Haster appeared as though he was about to say something, but Tasker spoke first.
“I call it Stingray,” Tasker said, holding out an empty hand. The water strap securing Stingray to his chest split apart and moved as though alive. The strap slapped Stingray’s handle into Tasker’s outstretched palm, drawing oohs and aahs from the students. Tendrils
of energy danced within the shell of its crystalline barrel and the weapon gleamed like a shining jewel.
One of the students, a chubby red-headed boy with freckles, raised his hand. When Tasker ignored him, the boy frowned and spoke anyway, in a voice that sounded like there was a slug trapped in his sinuses. “Isn’t a stingray that big flat fish that looks like an ogre sat on it? Why would you name your weapon after that?”
Tasker rolled his eyes. “It is disc-shaped due to its enlarged pectoral fins, yes. But it also has spines on its tail that can stab you so quickly, at first you won’t even realize it happened. Like this!” He lunged forward and poked the chubby boy in the side with a finger, mimicking a stinger. The boy jumped back in surprise and clutched his side.
“It won’t hurt at first,” Tasker continued. “Until you start bleeding on the inside, your organs rupture, and they spill out their juices. As your body begins to shut down, the pain begins and it will be so intense…”
The boy paled and Dean Haster cleared his throat, hinting at Tasker to change the subject.
Tasker paused, taking the hint. “Moving right along, then.” He held out the gleaming weapon in front of his chest. “This is a solid crystal assembly capable of launching projectiles like a crossbow. The water-filled barrel provides the necessary force to propel the bolt. It does this by condensing the water inside and drawing the bolt back for launch. When the liquid retracts, it does so in a spiral motion, creating torsion that spins the bolt in flight. This gives it a straight trajectory and provides enough velocity to...”
“Ahem,” Dean Haster interrupted, clearing his throat loudly. “Just shoot, Tasker. They don’t need all the details.” The chubby dean smiled apologetically at the crowd and mopped another handkerchief full of sweat from his brow. He removed his glasses, used the handkerchief to clean the aquazite lenses, and donned them. The blue circles contrasted the rest of his pink, pudgy face.
