Soon it was morning and soon I could hear the irritating chirps of the Montrose telling me to get up. Despite their persistent cries I continued to sleep. “I had done this. I deserve this.” I thought morbidly to myself. It was a weekend anyways. I was aloud to sleep for however long I wanted. “Why do these little runts think that I need to get out of bed?” I cracked a single eye open once I had realized I was alone, and found myself immediately blinded by the light trying to twist out my eyes. I threw myself under one of my bedsheets and kept my eyes open as the muffled glow of the outsize world sank through my duvet covers. Feeling suddenly much too hot, I threw the sheets off and stumbled to my feet, noticing with some shock how empty and light I felt. Umber groaned in weak distress.
“Are you alright?” I asked warily.
“F... Food,” Umber moaned as he fluttered into my view of the late afternoon room. I checked the clock propped beside my bed and gasped as I suddenly realized that I had missed both breakfast and lunch. “Food!” Umber insisted with greater urgency than before. I rubbed the side of my head and scowled.
“There is no food. We’ll just have to wait until dinner.” Umber ignored this, and continued to moan in distress. Eventually I conceded and began to look something to eat but before I had taken my second step, I felt my foot plunge into something thick, chunky and warm. I jumped back in alarm, but almost laughed when I realized I had simply stepped into a plate of pheasant and mashed potatoes. “Thanks Sebastian,” I said under my breath. After silencing Umber’s repetitive demands, I opened my closet and removed the handbag the professor had given me. Reluctantly, I opened it up and began to examine the contents. The first thing I read was a surprisingly legible note, that looked almost as if it was written a couple of years ago.
“Dear Jacob,
If you are reading this, then it is very likely that I’ve been taken in by the Grimlars. My condolences I couldn't be by your side, however as I may have told you, our operation needs a scapegoat who can take the blame for the stealing of the single most important artifact the Caterwaul has ever possessed. By now I assume you’ve guessed what this simple pendant actually is. Pride’s Grip happens to be the very same necklace worn by Iramare, goddess of distortion magic and anti-magic.
It is perfectly acceptable to be confused by a piece of news such as this. I knew I was when this object's existence was brought to my attention, but I learned quickly it’s better not to dwell on the history of an object than it is create a new one. This is an object of great power, but it is still only an object. You must learn to utilize it properly, else you’ll end up putting yourself in great danger. Take a couple of minutes every day when you know you’ll be alone and observe it. Perform some tests so that you’ll understand the workings of the charm, keeping in mind that an object such as this might have more than one use.
I understand the emotions you are experiencing at this particular point in time and I will do everything in my power to suppress these perfectly human feelings you are feeling. You feel deserted, anguished and uncertain. You may even question whether or not I am still alive, however this much I can promise: I will live. The Caterwaul won’t dare have the nerve to kill me until he can find out where his artifact is. I am quite a powerful distortion warlock, so I belief that I can ward off any kinetic Grimlars trying to scour my memories for a very long time. Hopefully before the time they’ll break me I will have regained enough strength to escape. I won’t lie, the teleportation spell I used on you will have seriously drained me of my stamina. It may be days from now before I regain consciousness.
You may be at a loss of what to do. In fact, I would be absolutely astounded if you had any sort of idea as what to do next. The first step from here on out requires you to win the competition, however after you are let outside into the world, there will be some things that you will need to do. Journey to the city of Calandia, and search out for a prophet by the name of Michelle. A prophet Jacob is a rare example of this ‘in between magic’ that I had briefly mentioned before. Neither mage, nor warlock, these once in a lifetime people are known to be able to see glimpses of the future so long as these images can be captured in a powerful containment spell. Usually, these containment spells can only be obtained from a strong distortion mage, however I was fortunate enough to come across a crystal ball with the enchantment during my travels which I am gifting to you.
This prophecy will likely show you where Orthonus resides and this will be essential for you in going through this quest as quickly and as quietly as possible. Once you have located the dragon, your trump card is stealth and surprise. Included in the satchel is a small flask of highly poisonous Stitchentine essence. It looks like water, but will turn into a noxious green gas when exposed to air. I can most certainly guarantee it would not be pleasant to inhale, so you will need to find a means of safely administering the drug to Orthonus while hopefully remaining unseen.
Don't trust anyone but yourself Jacob.
And may luck be ever with you.”
The professor’s signature was an elaborate W with a line segment through each slanted line. I took the time to carefully trace the entire letter with my pointer finger, and found it reassuring to go through all of the movements that the professor had gone through while writing the note. I examined each letter very carefully as my finger slowly ran across the page. The professor had a very particular way of scrawling his o's so that they looked like a's. Although very pretty, it made it quite difficult to read. After I had scanned the letter three times over, I sat back with my mouth open.
“Professor Wenchenburg had planned this,” I said out loud. It wasn’t a question intended for anyone, just a simple truth that just happened to escape my lips. “He planned this just so that I could escape.” As I wrote with my finger, I even found myself smiling. The professor had made his plan seem almost effortless. He even made it sound like even he could one day escape. I tried to cry with relief, however not a single tear snuck out. Suddenly realizing I was quite thirsty, I looked around the room to see if Sebastian had left me some water, but unfortunately found none. I maneuvered over to the professor’s handbag and briefly identified the crystal ball.
It was far heavier than I expected but was clear enough to have been mistaken for water. I wiped my fingerprints off and polished it furiously, before holding it up to the light and observing how the sphere was able to wrap the entire contents of the room into a single circle. Placing this to one side, I carefully held up a dense looking green glass flask with a thick skin coloured warning stuck onto its front. I tenderly placed the Stitchentine essence to one side and continued to rummage through the bag.
I carefully removed three fresh looking maps that looked to have been drawn by the professor. One was a map of the concentration camp, another was of the underground and the last was a map of Zaphris. As was normal for the last map, the Grimlar concentration camp was nowhere to be seen on it. Although irritated the professor hadn’t specified where the camp was located, I set these maps aside and removed a thick green book which at first I didn’t recognize.
Suddenly remembering my encounter with the Minfrillis, I opened the heavy cover up, and was somewhat surprised to see a thin wooden bookmark near the halfway. I turned to that page and found myself staring at an unusually thin skeletal like snake, with coarse blue fur running down its entire length. Large leathery wings were fastened on to the creature at regular intervals, stopping only at its barbed tail and bony skull.
“The sandworm is a ferocious breed of sea serpent, relying mostly on the toxins it emits from its mouth to kill prey. Its incredible length is due to its deadly respiratory system, which needs to be kept away from its digestive tract in order to avoid poisoning itself. Some of the smallest sandworms range from twenty to twenty five meters long, with the largest sighting being over one hundred metres in length. (It is thought thought that this witness was at the time drunk out of his wits.)
Despite being a close relative of the sea serpent, the sandworm
(As the name suggests) lives in the sand. Because of this, it is very quick to burrow through deserts and can use shaking grounds and pitfalls to its advantage. Should you encounter one, it will most likely have an underground chamber nearby.
Sightings of sandworms have been rare, and most of these meetings were merely encounters. Perhaps the most effective way to kill a sandworm, (Recommended only for archers and professional exterminators) would be to cut it directly in the gap of armor on the top of its head, or the incision between it’s exoskeleton like armor at the second wing down where its heart resides. Do not try to pierce through the armor, and do not try to cut anywhere on its lower body, as that might release the massive amounts of toxins from the incision
As I skimmed over the last few sentences of the paragraph, Umber clicked in what sounded like mocking pity. “I may recall actually eating one of these in life,” he mused thoughtfully. “Whatever you do, don’t let them trick you into believing that they’re rare. They breed like maggots and taste horrible,” Umber added with a snicker. “It caused me indigestion for weeks.”
“I don't want jokes of any kind!” I snarled. “Remember that we’re going to be the ones fighting this and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m nowhere near the size of a dragon.”
“Again mortal, I’ll point out that this has never before stopped you.” The pupils of the spirit rolled in boredom. “But I believe the last time I told you that, you ended up trying to murder me with your bare hands.”
I scowled and bore my gaze down into the floor. “That was different and you know it,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Ah, oh well,” the spirit sighed to himself. “Food for thought. Speaking of which, dinner is in two hours. You might consider seeing if you can swipe anything from the kitchen during this time.”
What I’ll do instead is try to figure how how Pride’s Grip works like the professor wanted me to,” I insisted without a great deal of enthusiasm.”
Umber sighed in disappointment, however watched in contained silence as I reached into the side pocket of the bag to remove the fantastic pendant.
I pressed my finger into each of the individual gems, however this didn’t seem to do anything. Flipping the pendant around, I forced my fingers around the intricate engravings on the back but disappointingly, saw that nothing about the necklace changed. I perched myself on my bed and continued to run my fingers over it for hours, looking for hidden meaning of any kind. I contemplated putting it on, but decided against it at the last moment.
“Why are you so hesitant to wear it?” Umber said, scoffing at my cowardice. “You’re far stronger now than you were below Castle Lambalatrate. I hardly think there’s anything that could stop you from taking the pendant off if you so choose.”
“But why?” I demanded, punching my pillow in irritation. “Why did it nearly kill me in the first place?”
“Perhaps it was just adjusting to your body,” Umber suggested, floating closer to me. I shook my head, and pinched Pride’s Grip by the chain.
“Possibly, but it felt for a minute its enchantments were starting to take effect. Why did they suddenly wear off?”
Umber faded out of view slightly as he wavered uncertainty. “It seems likely that the pendant only gives you the impression that you’re not fatigued. Maybe the enchantment stopped because there simply wasn’t much more it could do to convince your body you were fine.”
I shook my head for a second time. “That would have only applied if I was doing something that could make me that tired. In truth, I was just standing there. No, there had to be a reason why I was suddenly drained of my last remaining strength.” The both of us stayed silent for a few more minutes.
“Put it on,” Umber insisted.
I shook my head and put the pendant away back into its pocket, before hiding the whole thing under a pile of my dirty clothes.
The spirit groaned, and turned to face me. “Your next competition is tomorrow, and yet you don’t want to try to uncover the secrets of one of the most legendary enchantments in the world?”
I said nothing in response to this comment and shuffled outside the room to look for something to do. I stepped into the distortions common room and stopped to look at a hastily written notice which rested on a nearby table.
“Assembly at 3:00 for all distortion trainees. Meet in the Montrose room.”
“What’s this about?” I wondered, examining the paper from both sides. I noticed with some alarm that the crisp, official looking message bore no signature whatsoever.
“It’s obviously to do with your professor Mortal,” Umber chided from nearby. “Did you honestly think that a missing well liked distortion master would go unnoticed by the students?”
I folded my arms and bobbed my head from side to side. “What you you think they’re going to tell us then?” I wondered quietly.
Umber snorted. “Anything but the truth. You should walk in expecting any number of possible fibs.”
I cringed slightly and rubbed my eyes. “And if he’s actually...?”
“Your professor has said that he will live. I’m sure that that statement by itself is enough to give you the hope you seek.”
“But what if he only said he’ll live to make me feel better?” I protested loudly.
“Then obviously he’s done a pretty poor job of it,” Umber growled as if suddenly sick of the conversation.
I brushed him off of my shoulder in a huff before walking off to the Montrose room. I could hear the commotion inside the classroom before I could see it. Carefully opening the door I was instantly swamped by a wave of irritated chatter. At the front of this commotion was a bored looking elder whose face had been sculpted into permanent expression of exhausted patience. Behind him on the chalkboard, written in perfect handwriting was the name: Professor Quantivle.
“Where’s Professor Wenchenberg!?” Sebastian demanded over the din of the nine boys. Professor Quantivle sighed and rubbed his forehead calmly.
“Look,” he said in a surprisingly high pitched voice. “I’ve told you several times that Professor Wenchenberg is indisposed. As such, I will be taking his place as distortion master--and no!” He added fiercely. “I don’t know when he will be coming back.”
“What’s happened to him!?” Sebastian asked, throwing his hands on the desk. Professor Quintaval looked rather confused as to why a young Grimlar trainee was asking him such demanding questions.
“That is for the Caterwaul to answer, and the Caterwaul only,” he insisted fiercely. “I was hoping to take this time to get to know you all a little bit better but it seems that I’m just wasting my time here.”
“Give us the professor back!” Igor demanded as if this new professor was keeping him hostage.
Professor Quantivle turned a deep shade of violet and desperately fumbled around with his notes, looking for something to say to the angry masses. Someone threw a crumpled sheet of paper which narrowly avoided the head of the new professor, however he didn’t seem to notice.
“Over the next few years!” he began, desperately trying to raise his voice above the swamp of sound.
“YEARS?!” Sebastian exclaimed angrily. “You can’t take our professor’s spot for more than a month!” The rest of the Montrose cheered in agreement however this too was ignored by the elder.
“I hope to develop your skills through study and theory of anti-magic.”
“We never did any theory!” Pasha insisted from the far left corner of the room. Igor stood up and pointed sharply. “You can learn all the theory you want, but we want to use our anti-magic!”
The new professor threw his hands up in outrage.
“That’s it. Group dismissed! Your seniors will be hearing of this!” he said, pointing to each of us in turn, despite the fact that I hadn’t said anything since entering the room. Moving quite unexpectedly, Professor Quantivle fled the room, causing the Legion of the Montrose to cheer in unison.
Now noticing me for the first time, the group gathered
around me, asking a barrage of questions I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Sebastian silenced them with a powerful shout. “Hey Jacob,” he mumbled after the room had fallen into silence.
“Hey Sebastian,” I responded in turn. The boy bit his lip and shook his head.
“I’m sorry I mistreated you while you weren’t feeling well.”
I dismissed his apology with a wave of the hand, and a slight smile. “I needed it anyways,” I admitted softly.
Sebastian’s eyes suddenly misted.
“The professor’s gone,” he said weakly. Before I had time to respond he had thrown his arms around me into a deep embrace and begun to weep. The action was so startling I nearly fell to the ground. The other members of the Montrose quietly joined in, until I was at the center of an entire crowd all facing the same detrimental loss I was going through.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” I assured them all quietly. My lower lip quivered as I tried to find the right words to say.
“Where has he gone?” Luka asked in a muffled voice. I pursed my lips and patted his head softly.
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 30
