by B. J. Keeton
“Yeah,” Ceril said. That’s all he could say. “Yeah.”
“Now I have to get some sleep,” Swarley said. “Presentation is tomorrow morning. Get off my bed.”
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Ceril said. He had barely even thought about Presentation since he had been back at Ennd’s. Ceril went to his side of the desk and set the alarm so that he wouldn’t oversleep and miss Presentation. Or worse: be late.
Once he was satisfied that his alarm was reliable, Ceril settled into bed. Every time he closed his eyes, though, he kept seeing the mother and her child being impaled by the Flameblade.
“Oh, and Swarley?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I appreciate the heads up. I really had no idea.”
“Sure thing, bud. It’s what I do,” Swarley said.
The two boys lay there in silence for a while. Ceril tossed from one side to the other, unable to sleep. He said, “And thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.”
“Oh, I think you’re crazy, Ceril. I just don’t think you’re a terrorist.”
“Still, thanks.”
“Mmm hmm,” Swarley said. The next sound Ceril heard was his roommate snoring. He hoped that he would be soon, too. He lay his head on his pillow and lulled himself to sleep by replaying the events of the previous week in his mind.
Chapter Two
The next thing Ceril knew, sunlight gleamed through the wall-sized window at the head of his bed. Only one of Erlon’s twin suns had risen so far, which meant it was early. He sat up and grunted; his neck ached, and so did his shoulders. He grimaced as he tried to work the stiffness out.
Ceril was bent double over the side of his bed, stretching his back when Swarley came back into the room, already fully dressed. He opened the closet door, stood in front of the mirror, and attempted to get the slightly snug dress uniform to fit correctly over his summer growth.
His dress uniform. Oh, no.
Ceril threw himself out of bed, ignoring his aching muscles, and rushed to his bags and began digging through them for his own uniform. Swarley was already dressed, and that had to mean there was less than ten minutes before they had to be in the Library for Presentation. Ceril had known Swarley for long enough to know that he was notoriously last minute; punctuality meant nothing to him. If he was already up and about, then there was no way Ceril would have time to shower and groom himself for Presentation.
“Why didn’t you get me up?��� he asked Swarley, as he found the last piece of his uniform and headed for the door.
“Eh, you were sleeping,” Swarley said. “Finally. I knew you’d get up when you heard me come back in.” Swarley tugged at his collar. “Relax. We still have over half an hour before we have to be in the Library for Presentation.”
“What?” Ceril said, stopping and turning back toward his friend. “You’re never early for anything.”
“Phase II means more responsibility, Ceril. My dad said that if he hears about me losing any marks for tardiness this year, he’ll pull me out of Ennd’s and make me go to that military school my uncle teaches at. I’m a lot of things, Ceril, but a soldier I ain’t.”
“Me either,” Ceril agreed. Nothing in the world sounded worse to him than being a soldier.
Ceril’s alarm began to scream and ended their conversation. The noise validated Swarley’s claim they still had plenty of time.
“See?” Swarley said. “Not going to be late for Presentation. Now, does this collar look okay?”
Ceril grunted as he pushed past his roommate to head to the showers. How was it that Swarley had become the responsible one? He had always been the responsible one, waking Swarley up every day for years. He had even thought at one point that the boy couldn’t understand how alarm clocks worked. His friend’s newfound initiative unnerved him a little, but he didn’t know why.
Thankfully, Ceril was able to find the showers quickly. Every student at Ennd’s had to be immaculate for Presentation. Hair, teeth, breath, nails, clothes—everything about them had to be perfect. Or at least that’s the way it was during Phase I. Ceril assumed nothing had changed for Phase II.
***
He had assumed wrong. Everything had changed.
Stepping into the Phase II Library sent Ceril reeling. He followed the crowd of other returning students through the doorway to Presentation and felt a soft wafting of air as he crossed the threshold, which made his skin tingle and his ears pop. His eyes even began to water from the harsh light beaming from the center of the room.
Ceril found himself standing on a narrow metal platform overlooking a gigantic, upright cylinder of a room. The cylinder continued up and down as far as Ceril could see—miles above and below ground. The center of the room was a pulsing beam of light that shifted color almost imperceptibly. One moment it was green, then while Ceril watched, it became orange and blue and yellow without him ever actually seeing it shift.
The metal platform Ceril was standing on connected to a spiral ramp, which followed the outside walls of the cylinder like the threading on a screw. Bookshelves lined the walls too, and paralleled the ramp up and down. As the students filed into the Library, some of Ceril’s classmates paused for a second to acknowledge that they were in a new place, then kept on moving either up or down, taking a spot in line and waiting for Presentation to start.
Ceril, though, couldn’t just write this off. This wasn’t just some new place, some new Library. There was something completely different about this room from anything he had experienced during Phase I—maybe his entire life. He just couldn’t quite place what it was.
Stepping out of line so he didn’t cause a fifteen-student pile-up at the doorway, Ceril leaned over the guardrail in front of him to see if he could spot the top or the bottom of the room.
Not even close.
Now, the Library at Ennd’s Academy—for all phases, I through III—was part of the central spire, a tower easily ten times as large as the one his and Swarley’s dormitory was in. But even it wasn’t large enough to hold this.
Which meant there was only one explanation for how this room could even exist: Instancing.
There had always been talk among the students at Ennd’s that most of the school was Instanced; that different wings and sections of the campus were actually in the same space, overlapping and right on top of one another. They just couldn’t see, feel, touch, sense, or interact with anything not in their own Instance.
It sounded crazy, but it was a story that had to do with the technomages, so Ceril had to hope there was at least a little truth in it. Now, seeing the vastness and physical impossibility of the room he found himself in, crazy didn’t seem so…well, crazy.
Ceril knew that two entirely separate buildings like the Phase I and II Libraries could not very well be in the same place at the same time any more than Swarley could put his feet right where Ceril’s were without pushing him out of the way. It was impossible.
Except for how Ceril was standing in a monstrous well of proof that it wasn’t. His heart began to beat faster as he accepted what was going on. For the first time, he was undoubtedly in contact with a technomage artifact. If it had not been Presentation, he would have squealed in delight.
He couldn’t wait to tell Gramps that his stories were actually true. There were technomages! There were Charons!
That thought led to another, and eventually Ceril forgot entirely that he was in the Library for Presentation. His mind raced from the sword he had found in the garden, to the video Swarley had shown him the night before, to the implication this Library held about all the wonderful artifacts and technology he would discover during Phase II.
He was jarred out of his daydreaming by a hand grabbing him by the collar and pulling him upright. He whipped around to face a rather portly teacher with square glasses, shoulder-length hair, and an immaculately pressed faculty robe. Ceril recognized Professor Nephil at once.
The teacher frowned at Ceril, then pointed to an empty spot in the line of stu
dents. Each of them already faced the center of the room and stood at attention. Ceril’s awe at his discovery of Instancing must have made him stand out. With a nod, Ceril joined his classmates in line.
“It certainly is breathtaking isn’t it, Ceril?” asked the professor.
Ceril knew better than to respond. He stood at attention and waited like he had been trained to do during Phase I.
“But,” Nephil continued, “that is no reason for being out of line and not at attention. Stand here and wait for Presentation to begin.” He glanced down at the tablet in his hand and tapped the screen twice. “Where is Swarley Dann?”
Ceril blinked. He didn’t know. They hadn’t even come in together this morning, what with Swarley being ready ahead of time and all. Ceril looked around and found his roommate in line a little way around the cylinder’s ramp. Ceril pointed in his general direction for Professor Nephil.
“Thank you, Mr. Bain,” said the teacher and walked toward Swarley.
The beam of light in the center of the cylinder came to life and seemed to solidify. Inside it, a man floated in midair directly in front of Ceril. He flickered once before stabilizing. If the man had not flickered, Ceril would have never known he was looking at a hologram. It was by far the most advanced hologram Ceril had ever seen.
Ceril looked around, and all the other students were staring straight ahead, as though someone were directly in front of them, too. Some of them were talking. The floating man, Ceril assumed, operated on the same technology that the P.A. system did.
“Hello, Ceril,” the hologram said.
“Hello,” Ceril replied. He made eye contact and kept his arms at his side. He had never been anything less than perfect at Presentation during Phase I, and he was certainly not going to change that now. Especially after Professor Nephil hadn’t punished him for being out of rank.
“I’m Gilbert Squalt,” the man continued. “I’m the new headmaster at Ennd’s.”
Each student had their own private meeting with the headmaster this Phase? After the unsettling welcome message he had been given yesterday, speaking to this man in private was low on Ceril’s list of priorities.
“I hope the morning has found you well,” said Headmaster Squalt.
“Yes, sir. Well enough,” Ceril said. He was trying to keep his voice from cracking as the hologram's eyes inspected his uniform. He knew he had put it on properly, but with the headmaster’s attention on it, he knew he was going to get reprimanded.
“Good. I'm very glad to hear that, young man. So tell me, what do you expect out of Phase II?”
The question took him aback. Ceril wanted to say, “To know what I’m not ready for,” but he didn’t. Outside of that, he had no idea what to expect from Phase II. He knew what everyone else knew: it was the time when students at Ennd's specialized in an area and began training for their future. Gramps had gone to Ennd’s once upon a time, he had said, and even he wouldn’t tell Ceril anything about the nature of Phase II beyond that.
“I suppose, sir,” he said, “that I expect to learn.” His voice rose at the end of the sentence, as though it were a question.
The hologram grinned. “How very generic, Ceril. Though, I would certainly hope so. This is a school after all. Could you be more specific?”
“Y-yes, sir. I expect to learn about agriculture,” said Ceril. “I’m from Ternia, sir, and I want to learn what I can do to return to my grandfather and help him with his land. Maybe help him expand it to a full farm. We have already started by doubling the size of his garden this summer.”
“So you expect to specialize in agriculture, then?”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“Interesting,” the headmaster said. “A good choice.”
Ceril beamed.
“But I’m afraid that choice is not up to you.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
The headmaster folded his hands in front of him and said, “We choose for you, Ceril, based on last year's End of Phase aptitude examinations and a cumulative interpretation of your five formative years at Ennd's.”
Ceril folded his own hands behind his back momentarily, but moved them back to his side as the rule entered his mind unbidden: During Presentation, you should stand at attention, with your hands at your sides at all times. His ears and cheeks felt warm, and he couldn’t help but feel a little sick at his stomach.
“We choose for you,” the headmaster continued. “That way, you can be sure that you are well suited for whatever field you pursue. If we were to allow you to choose your specialization, then there would be some very poor professionals out there doing their jobs primarily for the love of it. And I don’t think I have to tell you, but that is simply not an efficient use of resources.”
Ceril was speechless. He had his future planned out, or at least he assumed he had. He wanted to spend his life working with his hands, feeding people, helping people, and being with the little family he had. He just wanted a simple life. However, the headmaster’s declaration stopped his plans in their tracks.
You are not ready. The headmaster’s P.A. address came back to mind. Ceril began to understand it a little better. He took a couple of deep breaths to make sure his voice didn’t break or sound rude, and said, “What would you have me study, sir?”
The headmaster laughed, and as he did so, the hologram bounced slightly up and down. Ceril would have been amazed if he weren’t so disgusted. “I would have you study nothing, my boy. It is not my place to interpret a student’s future. The committee would have you study—” The hologram froze. The headmaster’s eyes darted to the left, and he stared at something that was obviously not in the same Instance as Ceril, then the hologram disappeared.
Ceril blinked and looked around, but did not relax. The other students were still chattering away in their own, private meetings with the headmaster.
After a few seconds, Headmaster Squalt reappeared to Ceril. He looked toward Ceril, but not at his face. At his feet. The headmaster spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “What…is that, Ceril?”
Ceril looked down and his jaw dropped at what he saw: the golden metal of a Flameblade.
That was impossible. Gramps had made him leave it at home. It had to be another hologram, and this was just a test for Phase II. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. What is what?”
“At your feet. What is that?”
Ceril looked down again. He blinked three or four times. The sword was still there. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir,” Ceril said. As he stared at it, the sword seemed to gain a slight glow, a hazy green aura.
Headmaster Squalt’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed. He stared at Ceril and said, “I think you do. Do not lie to me, Ceril.”
Ceril looked down again. “Um, i-it looks like a sword, sir.”
“Yes, Ceril. Yes, it does,” the hologram said. The headmaster became distracted again and quickly turned to look at something behind him. He said, “Would you mind telling me why there is a sword lying at your feet at Presentation? A sword that—unless I am terribly mistaken—was not there a few moments ago?”
“I wouldn't mind at all, sir. I just don't know,” Ceril said.
The headmaster’s voice came back stern. “Have you ever seen this sword before, Ceril?” The headmaster looked behind him again. Why is he doing that? Ceril wondered. Was he nervous or angry? Why was he so twitchy?
“I'm not sure, sir,” Ceril said. It was not technically a lie. The sword looked like the one he found with Gramps, but he had left that one in Ternia with Gramps. It couldn’t be the same sword. On top of that, it looked like the ones in Swarley’s video, too, and Ceril sure wasn’t going to mention that to the headmaster.
“You're not sure?” Squalt said. Ceril thought the man’s tone mocked him.
“No, sir,” Ceril said. ”I’m not sure. I have seen a sword kind of like this one, but there’s no way I can say it’s the same one.” Ceril swallowed and said a silent prayer that honesty would indeed be the
best policy here.
“And where have you seen such a similar sword?” asked the headmaster as his attention once again moved from the sword at Ceril’s feet to whatever was behind him.
Ceril said, “At my Gramps' house, sir.”
The headmaster visibly tensed. He asked very deliberately, “Was it this sword, Ceril?”
“I'm not sure, sir.”
“Did you bring that sword with you to school?”
“No, sir,” Ceril said. His response was immediate. He hadn’t. That was the truth. Maybe he was going to get out of this by telling the truth after all. Maybe he wouldn’t have the new headmaster think he was a murderer and a terrorist on the first day of school after all.
“Are you sure?” the headmaster inquired. “Are you sure you did not bring it with you?”
“Yes, sir,” Ceril said. “Absolutely.”
“So this is not the same weapon that set detection sensors off in your dormitory last night?”
Ceril flinched. What detection sensors? He hadn’t heard any alarm. “I don't know what you mean, sir.”
“Of course you don't,” the headmaster said. He turned around again. With his back turned to Ceril, he said, “Ceril, can I ask you to please reach down and pick up the weapon?”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
Headmaster Squalt did not turn around. “I asked you if you could reach down and pick up the weapon.”
Sweat began to bead on his forehead. His heart beat harder and faster, and he could feel every beat in his ears and cheeks. His stomach churned, and he thought for a moment that he was going to vomit. Through gritted teeth, Ceril asked, “Why?”
“Just do it, Ceril,” the headmaster demanded.
Ceril took a deep breath and leaned down to grab the hilt of the sword. The moment his hand wrapped around the hilt, the light green aura flared. The light green was much brighter now, and a hint of purple was mixed with it. The effect was unlike anything Ceril had ever seen before.
