Professor Wenchenburg tuned and gave another rib-shattering cough.
“No.”
“Well how did you get it then?”
Professor Wenchenberg slouched a little and brought a finger to his temple as if remembering something fondly. “Before I became a professor, I worked for many years as a Grimlar.” He almost seemed to smile. “We were excavating old mage hideouts outside of the kingdom in a place called Lythia, when suddenly I felt the presence of a strong spirit nearby. I told my companions that I would be back and walked warily into the woods. I came to a very large tree and found the spirit resting underneath. I had found a dead dragon.” The professor’s voice quivered unexpectedly at the mention of a dragon. “I asked it about itself, but it didn't respond with its name. It said it only wanted to be reborn and without hesitation the dragon offered me its soul. Now you have to understand that this was an incredible offer for me, so without considering otherwise, I took his soul.”
“What happened then? Why did you never drink it?”
“Paranoia.” Professor Wenchenberg replied sharply. “I had no idea where this dragon came from, nor did I trust myself to survive drinking it. With the soul in my possession, I researched year after year to find as much about this dragon as possible, so I knew what I would be getting myself into. My main worry was that this dragon was evil beyond rational intent and would corrupt me by drinking it.” Noticing my expression of alarm, the professor calmly patted me on the back and continued to speak. “Many years of my study passed and I became an elder Grimlar during this time. Because of that, it seemed worthless to drink something I would not require later in life. I had done the research I needed and I was now sure that no malicious dragon had ever died in Lythia. Even though I still don’t know the specifics of the spirit within you. I knew it would be safe to consume.”
“So, let me see if I understand,” I said, wiping the bubbled sweat off of my forehead. “You wanted someone to help you. Someone determined and selfless. You would teach them how to read and think critically, however on top of everything else you wanted someone who could survive drinking the dragon soul,”
“Sharp as always,” The professor praised, tapping his pointer finger to the side of his head A deep sinking feeling tightened my innards as a new thought crossed my mind.
“So... It’s only because of the dragon soul that I have anti-magic?” I asked shakily.
Professor Wenchenberg thought about this intently. “Again, I’m not sure if I can completely answer this question, but I’ll try my best.” The professor chuckled at his words, as if finding it funny that there was still something he didn’t know. “Dragons are odd creatures. They’re not entirely magical, nor entirely anti-magical. Their sorcery seems to come themselves as much as their gold. It’s almost like they’re in some undefined ‘in-between state,”
“In-between magic?” I parroted, stifling a laugh.
“You have to be open-minded about these sorts of things,” Professor Wenchenberg replied cooly. “There’s still a lot we don’t know. I suspect that a dragon soul simply amplifies the potential of its host.”
“So the fact that I can use anti-magic now, means that I had traces of anti-magic even before getting the dragon soul?” I asked excitedly. The professor's upper lip twitched uncertaintly.
“Ah... Well... That’s the peak of the problem. Since there haven't been too many members of the Quenched throughout history, we don’t know whether or not the dragon gives magic or magnifies it. Personally I believe that everyone has traces of magic, however it’s usually not developed enough to be classified as magic or anti-magic. In that case, drinking the dragon soul may have prematurely developed your anti-magical abilities.”
“If that’s true, then why don’t I have magic instead of anti-magic?”
“What’s to say you can’t use magic?” the Professor asked coyly. I looked at him, completely flabbergasted by this suggestion. It took me three tries before I could make a coherent sentence.
“How... How can that be? It it even possible for someone to use both forms of magic?” Professor Wenchenberg shrugged.
“Unbeknownst to the Grimlars, It most certainly could be possible Jacob. However, we lack the means to test my theory. Magic needs arkoal after all.” I opened my mouth hesitantly
“The rock golems in the forest were powered by arkoal weren’t they? When I defeated one of the smaller machines, its arkoal reacted when it hit the forest floor. Could that have been me using magic?” The professor furrowed his brow in confusion.
“Jacob, when did this...” The Professor suddenly seemed to wither slightly. He stared at me with his mouth slightly agape. “Do you mean to tell me Jacob, you went into the No Man’s Land?” There was a certain fear lingering on the edge of his voice which alarmed me.
“It was a very large clearing, with nothing but the podium on the horizon.” I summarized quickly. “The only things there were the Grimlar’s golems disguised as boulders. They attacked me in the night.” The professor's lips pursed. He wiped his forehead with a pocket handkerchief, before taking a few heavy breaths.
“You were very fortunate to have survived Jacob. The No man’s land is so lethal that the Grimlars never bother to watch it during trainee examinations. They figure that any ickle-bit who goes in won’t ever come out.”
“Why have it in the first place?” I asked, rendered stiff by this news.
“The Grimlars need a large empty space to test their war machines. For safety reasons, the golems only activate in the night. Even when they’re moving around, they’ve been enchanted to stay within their enclosure.”
Comprehension dawned on me, as my recollections within the dry space suddenly began to make sense. When I had dropped the arkoal onto the ground, a small part of the earth turned into a normal section of land. The golems couldn’t touch me back there because they were made to avoid the regular ground. I quickly explained that happened to me in the No Man’s Zone while the professor's eyes bore into me with unsettling focus. When I finished, Professor Wenchenberg clasped his hands together.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I admit, it was my mistake not to warn you about the No Man’s Land, but at least you’ve returned regardless. Perhaps you’re even stronger than I thought,” he remarked, beaming brightly. I smiled bashfully in return.
“So what happens now?” I asked, trying to look past my bed and through the tunnel.
“You return to the camp, move into the school, and begin learning distortion anti-magic from me,” he responded happily. “Since we can’t prove your magic I say we leave that question in the air.”
“But...” I suddenly dropped my volume down to the fraction of a whisper. “what about stopping the Grimlars? Don’t you have a plan?”
“I do,” Professor Wenchenberg replied, looked both bemused and affronted. “In fact, the first part of my plan has already been in motion for five years. The next part will come soon enough.” The professor winked slightly, before standing up and straightening his overcoat.
“Sir...?” I asked, stopping all of his careless movements. He looked back to me waiting patiently for me to ask my next question.
“What about the Caterwaul? He’s much too clever to trust me. Shouldn’t I be worried about him? And Gregor!” My body temperature fell just thinking about him. “It’s because of me that he’s still a tier three trainee! It’s absolutely certain he’s going to want revenge. What if I’m in danger?” The professor fixedly glared off in the direction the elder Grimlars had gone.
“Gregor won’t try to harm you within the concentration camp. Not physically anyways. I would make an effort to avoid him at all costs. Do you understand Jacob?” I bobbed my head nervously. “As for the Lozenge, You needn’t worry about him.”
“Lozenge?” I asked, not initially understanding the satire of the Caterwaul’s name.
Professor Wenchenberg smiled slightly and stood up. “I’ll be going now, he told me, fixing the collar of his
robes. “Some nurses come by soon to properly tend to your wounds. You’ll be taken to the school where you’ll move into your new dormitory. Best of luck be to you.” Professor Wenchenberg began to walk off but stopped himself after a few paces.
“Everything all right sir?” I asked, somewhat tempted to stand up as well. The professor cocked his head and shifted his weight to one foot. For the first time ever, it seemed as though he didn’t know what to say next.”
“All members of the Quenched have addressed their dragons by name. Might I ask what yours is called Jacob?”
“He’s forgotten,” I replied uncertainly.
Professor Wenchenberg considered this. “Strange,” he remarked, placing his limp hands behind his back. “I don’t suppose you know what you’re going to call him then?”
“Umber.” I told him quietly.
“Umber? Why Umber?” the professor wondered, genuinely curious.
“That’s the colour of his eyes.” I clarified quickly. “They’re sort of Umber in the middle.”
The professor involuntarily jerked his chin upward as if pleased with my decision. A lengthy silence swam by before he spoke again. “That’s a good name,” he said, nodding to himself slightly. “Maybe the two of you were meant to be together after all.” Professor Wenchenberg tightened his grip on his copper studded cane and strode off without another word. I listened to him tap off into the darkness like a pendulum clock. Only when I couldn’t hear him anymore, did I turn my head the other way and fall back to sleep.
Chapter Seven
Unexpected Gifts
I’ve a lot it my pocket,
So I’ll never get old.
Your smarts may be silver
But my life is all gold.
Within minutes after Professor Wenchenberg’s departure, multiple male nurses appeared by my bed to take care of my wounds. Their collar bones poked out through their uniforms like daggers and their arms were etched with deep purple veins. Every movement they made was strained and stilted, as if they were moving through a pool of mud. Their faces were focused despite their eyes looking dead and immobile. During those infrequent moments when they blinked, I could see them relax just enough to make them look normal.
I said hello but got no response. I glanced round at them a second time and frowned. These nurses looked far too young and thin to be Elder Grimlars. “Who are these people?” I wondered to myself nervously. I didn’t have long to wonder though, because at that moment they began to tear my bandages off. The nurses rubbed a minty smelling cream onto my scabby arms that made them completely numb within minutes.
After my chest brace was taken off, I gasped in relief, now able to take normal sized breaths. The nurses forced me to sit up where they examined my throbbing skull. They spoke to each other in hushed whispers that sounded more like a smoky wood fire than a human conversation. They poked and prodded me, obviously not caring how I felt as they did their jobs. I heard a nurse behind me uncork a large bottle and pour a bit onto a ratty washcloth. I felt someone grab my jaw and jerk my head back into the rag. I yelped in pain, however my cry was stifled by their thin dry hands covering my open mouth.
They left after about a half an hour and not long after, a mule driven cart stopped at the foot of my bed. I stared at it confused, until the man driving the cart pointed to me and curled his finger. Nervously moving, I stepped out of my bed and found my boots resting just off to one side. I hastily stuffed them onto my feet and clambered into the back of the wagon which rank of mildew and manure. We moved through the tunnels for what felt like hours. There was no indication of how far we had gone, or how much further we had to go. We could have been moving in circles and I wouldn't have even noticed.
What I did notice, was a crate of apples and bread, innocently hidden under a cotton cloth. I swiped one of each, and tried to eat as as quietly as possible. Fortunately for me though, the driver didn’t seem to notice or care what I did, so long as it didn’t disturb him. The tang of the apples and the starchy sweetness of the bread nearly brought me to tears, however to my discontent, I could hardly eat without feeling terribly sick.
Every minute that passed reminded me of just how far I had traveled through the forest. I wondered solemnly what the Grimlars had done with the people that didn’t survive their examinations. Would they do anything at all? Were there even bodies left over? Three or four times during my ride through the underground, I thought I could see a dead hand, reaching down from the ceiling. I knew it was just part of the rock formation, yet I couldn’t get the vision out of my head.
There was nothing to hold onto in the back of the carriage. There was nothing that would really support my weight without toppling over, so I had to keep perfectly still while my mind played tricks on me. I needed someone to talk to, yet there was no one with me but Umber.
I gave a great sigh of relief as I looked out of the wagon and saw a small pinprick of light off in the distance. The opening to the outside word gradually grew larger and larger until I was finally smothered in the thickness of the day. I scrunched my eyes and shielded my face, however after a few minutes of furious blinking, I regained my vision. The driver wordlessly stopped the carriage and stared at me with feigned patience as I quietly slipped out of the compartment. After watching the cart pull away, I turned my attention to The Clog and all of its workings.
Me going into the school meant that another kid could be taken in. He’d come in just like me; lost, afraid and alone. After a few weeks, I expected he would die and be replaced again. I felt sick thinking about this, so I diverted my attention to the very large building behind me which was sealed off by two towering iron studded doors. Aside from the time I spent in Professor Wenchenberg’s office, I had never been into the school. What was supposed to happen now? Was I in the right place? Where else should I have been?
“Jacob Ofpacis?” A strained voice came from behind me.
I startled slightly and staggered back a couple of feet before locking eyes with a stout elder who looked hardly impressed with my reaction.
“It’s my job to show you around the school, and lead you to your new quarters,” he said before striding towards the double doors.
“Wait!” I called out, taking a hesitant step forward. “What about my belongings?”
The elder stopped and stared at me in disbelif.
“You’ll be getting new clothes. You’ll be getting new armor. On top of all that you’ll be getting your own books, sword, sheild, and sleeping area. What could you possibly want from that place?” he asked, spitting towards the direction of The Clog. “If anything, leaving all your old belongings is an act of charity to the Ickle-Bit taking your place.”
I sighed, and glanced desperately towards my old quarters off in the distance. Unfortunately though, I couldn’t deny that the elder was right. With some degree of resentment, I followed him into the large school building.
The room that I stepped into rested at a temperature just a few logs too hot. I counted eight fireplaces which all stood equidistant from each other in the massive rectangular area. The walls were littered with the portraits of lazy faced Grimlars, who looked down at me with bored eyes. Below these paintings were dozens of sofas and tea tables that looked well cared for.
All chatter in the room stopped as I stepped in along with the pudgy elder. A crowd of trainees laughing loudly by one of the fires went quiet as they turned to look at me with sinister curiosity. As I walked past, they began to whisper furiously among themselves, even pointing fingers in my general direction. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
A small trainee passing by with an armful of books stopped in his tracks to stare at me with wide eyes. Noticing the elder in front of me, he promptly swiveled on the spot and dashed away in the opposite direction. As corners were cut and turns were made, the elder quickly explained where everything was in this school. I knew I should have been paying better attention but I was too tired to really care either way.
“This is the one that stopped Gregor from promoting?”
“Apparently he went a night in the No Man’s Land and survived.”
“What’s his name again?”
I flinched terribly at these few sentences. It wasn’t even a day past the king’s exams and I was already being gossiped about like some strange new sickness. Was it because I had stopped Gregor from reading my mind? Was it because of the hole that I made through the silver plate?
“They recognize my talent,” Umber boasted, floating slowly into view. “While it’s true they can’t see me, they definitely notice what I can do.”
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 12
