The Firemage's Vengeance

by Garrett Robinson

  fourteen

  THE NEXT MORNING, EBON FELT his heart in his throat as he approached the dining hall. He found Theren within, already sitting with a plate of food, but Kalem was nowhere to be seen. Theren had great bags under her eyes, and her fingers were twitching. Ebon wondered if she had slept at all the night before. Very soon now, they would learn if the scheme had worked. Quickly he fetched his own food and joined her at table.

  “Have you heard anything?” he said.

  “Who do you think I speak to, other than you and Kalem?” said Theren irritably. She stabbed her spoon into her oatmeal. Ebon smirked at her words—until he realized how true they were, and how he, too, had precious little conversation within the Academy unless it was with his two closest friends.

  It seemed an age before Kalem arrived. When he did, they tried to wave him over to the table, but he only waved back and set off to get food. Theren gave an angry growl and made to go after him, but Ebon urged her to remain seated.

  “Let us make no more commotion than we must,” he said. “Waiting a little while longer will not change the answer.”

  At last Kalem joined them at the table, and the moment his rear touched the bench, Theren had seized his arm to drag him close. “What have you heard?” she said. “Has the rumor flown yet?”

  “Let go of me,” Kalem groused, pulling himself from her reach. “Am I your only source of news? There are hundreds of students in the Academy.”

  “Pretend, for a moment, that you are indeed the only one,” said Ebon. “Now speak, and quickly.”

  “Yes, the rumor has flown. They are saying that Dasko was found under the influence of mindwyrd, and suspicion has fallen upon Isra, as it should have.”

  Theren gave a happy cry, slapping her hand down on the table. Ebon quickly tamped down his own smile, leaning in to hiss at her.

  “Be silent. We are trying not to draw attention, remember?”

  Theren grew quiet, but could not remove the smile from her face. Nor could Ebon blame her for that. She tore through her breakfast and stood at once, grinning down at them.

  “I fancy a walk upon the grounds. Do either of you care to join me?”

  Ebon waved her off. “We are still hungry. Go, and enjoy yourself.”

  But just then, Lilith appeared just behind Theren. Theren turned to leave and ran straight into her, forcing her to take a step back. Lilith winced and seemed for a moment as if she might fall, but Theren gripped her arms and held her upright.

  “Lilith! I am sorry. Forgive me.”

  “It is nothing,” said Lilith, turning aside as her cheeks filled with color. “May I sit with you for a moment?”

  Theren gave Kalem and Ebon an awkward look. “Of course. I shall see the two of you in the library.”

  “Actually, I meant the three of you at once,” said Lilith.

  “Oh! Oh, of course. Here.”

  Theren held out an arm, helping Lilith as she settled herself down onto the bench. She leaned forwards, prompting Ebon and Kalem to do the same from the other side of the table.

  “I have visited my family—at least those who dwell upon the Seat, and who I may speak to openly.”

  “And?” said Ebon. “Does anyone know aught of Isra?”

  “No one seemed to,” said Lilith. “Of course, I could not interrogate everyone. But if she is being held in some place owned by my kin, some would know about it. And I heard no breath of such a thing, nor saw the downcast eyes of a liar. If indeed someone in our clan is working alongside her, that truth is buried deep. Deeper than I can dig, at any rate.”

  “Blast,” said Kalem. He leaned back, crossing his arms with a pout. “I suppose that would have made things too easy, and fate has no wish to make our lives convenient.”

  “I am sorry,” said Lilith. “I wish I had a different answer, but I do not.”

  Theren cautiously put a hand on her arm. Lilith stiffened in her seat, but did not pull away. “Thank you, Lilith. You have done us a great service, and more than we should have asked of you in the first place. We will not forget it.”

  Silence ruled for a moment, until Theren gave Ebon and Kalem a hard look. The two of them quickly murmured their assent.

  “It was the least I could do, after Oren,” said Lilith. “Good day to all of you.”

  She stood and left the table, joining Nella, who sat a little distance away.

  “That is a disappointment,” said Theren.

  “Indeed,” said Kalem. “I suppose we must rely on Mako now. And on Adara, though I wonder if the lover’s guild reaches as far as your family.”

  “Hm? Oh, yes,” said Ebon. In truth he had barely heard them, for he was watching Lilith and Nella. The two of them sat at a table with many other students, but separated from them by a little distance. They were more than alone; they were lonely. Each fixed a somber stare upon their breakfast bowls, and when they raised their eyes to speak, their words were clipped and muted.

  They looked nothing like the girls who had tormented Ebon when he first arrived. And that should have seemed like a good thing, but there was no joy in his heart. Instead he felt hollow—but likely only half so much as they did, for they had lost Oren.

  He glanced at Kalem and Theren, who had kept on talking despite his distraction. What would it be like, he wondered, trying to carry on with one of them dead? He tried to imagine sitting here, eating his porridge with Kalem, or with Theren, and the third seat empty. Would he ever be able to look away from it? Or would it loom between them, vacant and filled with presence at the same time, as though a spirit sat between them, invisible and silent, watching?

  Ebon shuddered, and his thoughts returned to Oren. Despite Lilith’s words, he believed Mako: Yerrin had to be behind this. He wondered how a family could be so cruel, concocting schemes that led to the death and torture of their own children. The thought of Isra striking again made him quail, and he imagined her crushing the life from one of his friends as her eyes glowed black.

  He could not allow it.

  “Magestones,” he muttered.

  Theren and Kalem jumped in their seats, and both looked quickly all about them.

  “Be silent, you idiot,” growled Theren. “You should know better by now than to say that word aloud in this place.”

  “Oh, who cares for that anymore?” said Ebon, leaning forwards. “Xain himself told us all that we cannot keep hiding from the truth about magestones and their effects—though no doubt he would roast me if he heard me saying the word, unjust as it might be. I think Lilith may be able to help us find Isra after all—if she can find where the stones are coming from.”

  Kalem looked to Theren. “He might be right. If someone is helping her, and they are wise, they will not deal with her closely. They may funnel the stones to someone outside the family, and that person may bring them to Isra.”

  “I know it is a great thing to ask,” said Ebon. “But it could help.”

  Theren’s eyes shifted back and forth, and though she said no word of argument, neither did she rise at first. “She has likely taken a great risk already.”

  “I think she is clever,” said Ebon. Theren’s nostrils flared, and he held up a hand. “No, do not misunderstand me. I only mean that I am sure she can ask about such things without endangering herself. Lilith is no fool. And if she does attract some attention, it can be no more dangerous than the peril facing the Academy and all who dwell here.”

  Theren’s jaw clenched. “We should not discuss this here. I will ask her to see us in the library this afternoon.”

  She rose and went to Lilith’s side, leaning down to whisper in her ear. After a moment she straightened and left the dining hall. Lilith looked over her shoulder, giving Ebon a small nod.

  fifteen

  THAT MORNING IN PERRIN’S CLASS, Ebon found himself endlessly distracted by thoughts of Lilith and the family Yerrin. He tried to concentrate, shutting his eyes tight to block out the buzzing of his worries.

  “You are preoccupied t
oday.” Astrea’s words held no judgement, nor much interest. She spoke in the same dead monotone he had come to expect from her recently.

  “It is … well, it is all the business going on about the Academy these days.”

  “You mean with Isra. I am no fool.”

  Ebon frowned. He had not wanted to bring that up. He chose not to answer, instead looking down at the rod in his hand. Turning it from wood to stone was now as easy as blinking. But he had not yet managed to turn it the other way, though at times he felt as if he was close. Some other spells he had grown more proficient in—after the night with Matami, he could shift stone much more easily. But transmuting up, the colloquial term for turning simple matter more complex, still eluded him.

  Now he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pressed his fingertips to the rod, peering into it with his mind’s eye. The room grew brighter with his magelight. He saw the rod, the simple parts that made up its stone, small and solid and clinging together tightly.

  He changed them.

  Nothing happened.

  He changed them.

  The rod rippled. A fine sweat broke out on Ebon’s brow. His teeth pressed so tight together that his chin began to hurt. A little gasp burst from his mouth, unbidden.

  He changed them.

  Wood rippled along the rod in an instant, and with a snap the magelight died in his eyes.

  “Yes!” Ebon crowed, leaping from his bench and holding the rod aloft. Then he froze. The whole classroom had fallen silent around him while every student stared. Near the back of the room, Perrin fixed him with a hard look—though he thought he saw some trace of amusement in her eye.

  “Well, Ebon?” she said. “Now that you have all of our attention, what do you mean to do with it?”

  “Nothing, Instructor,” Ebon stammered. He proffered the wand. “Only I have turned my rod to wood at last.”

  “That is well done. And what are the rest of you staring at? Get back to your lessons.”

  Around the room, everyone jerked in their seats and turned their eyes back to the spells on the desks before them. Perrin murmured some final words to the student she was with, and then lumbered to the front of the room.

  “Well, change it back,” she said.

  Ebon focused, and in a moment the rod rippled back to stone.

  “Good. That comes easily to you now, as it should. And the other way again, so that I can see it.”

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Then he stared at the rod—no, glared at it, every muscle in his body tensing, his knuckles white as he gripped it. It did not take quite so long this time, but still it seemed an eternity before wood rippled down along its length, transforming it.

  “Very well done indeed,” said Perrin. “It took you perhaps a little longer to learn the spell than it should have, but with your skill at shifting stone, I should say you are right on course to finish this class in a year.”

  Ebon groaned. “I thought this took no time at all! It has not even been two months yet.”

  “But this is the easiest of your testing spells. You had better get to work on the next, for it will take you far longer to learn.”

  He slumped back down onto his bench, dejected. Perrin clapped him gently on the shoulder—gently for her, though Ebon thought she might break his collarbone.

  “No need to look so crestfallen. You are a wizard just like any other, Ebon, and that is something remarkable, even if you do not have the strength of some Wizard King.”

  “Of course, Instructor.”

  “Do you remember your second test?”

  He searched his mind and looked away, embarrassed. “I … I confess I have forgotten. I remember I have to change a stone’s color, but I think that is the third one.”

  “Right you are,” she said. “Now you must learn to turn a flower to ice, without changing its shape. There is a vase of them near the front of the room. Go fetch one.”

  She left him to help another student, while he went to do as she commanded. When he returned, he gave Astrea a rueful look. She returned only a dead-eyed stare.

  “There is always another lesson to be learned, I suppose,” said Ebon.

  “Always,” murmured Astrea. She reached out for his wooden rod, which now lay on the desk before her. With a flash of her eyes, she turned it stone—and then, with another flash, she turned it back to wood.

  Ebon gawked at her. “What … how did you do that?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile, but she crushed it at once. “You have just done the same thing.”

  “I have been practicing longer than you, and it is a great effort. You did it as easily as flipping a coin.”

  She frowned and looked about. “Some spells come more easily to some wizards, they say.”

  “Of course, I did not mean offense,” Ebon said quickly. But he thought, How could I not have seen the great strides she has taken in her learning? Am I so poor a friend? “What else can you do? Have you been practicing other spells?”

  Rather than draw her out, that seemed only to make her retreat further into her shell. Her shoulders hunched, and she pushed the rod away so that it rolled down the desk. “No. That one just came easily.”

  Guilt struck him like a blow to the ribs. He had been so preoccupied with Isra and Lilith the last few days, he had almost forgotten Astrea entirely. The girl she had once viewed as an older sister now ran amok, threatening all who studied at the Academy. How must she be suffering? She needed him now more than ever, but he was off spending his evenings with Adara instead.

  “I am sorry I have not come to see you as much,” he said in a low voice. “There is no excuse, for I know your heart must be greatly troubled.”

  “And do you think you can rid me of that trouble?” To his surprise, Astrea’s voice had gone cold and bitter in an instant. “Or do you mean to protect me? If so, you need not waste your effort. I do not believe Isra means to hurt anyone, though it seems clear you think she does.”

  Ebon frowned. He knew Astrea must be troubled about this, but her words were ridiculous. “Why do you think she is here, then?”

  “Mayhap she has come to clear her name. Lilith cleared hers, when everyone thought she was a villain. Why not Isra?”

  “Lilith only had to prove her innocence because of Isra,” said Ebon. “This is not the same thing.”

  Astrea gave no answer, but only turned away to hide behind her wild, frizzy hair. Ebon sighed, feeling his quickened pulse gradually slow.

  “Isra tried to kill me, Astrea. My friends as well. When we saw her in the kitchen, she tried to destroy us. We only escaped through sheer luck.”

  She turned on him, her wild eyes sparkling in anger. “You cannot know that for certain. None of you can. None of you are trying to help her. Did you even try talking to her? Or did your friend Theren attack her on sight?”

  Ebon went still, mouth open. The first thought that came to his mind was that yes, Astrea was right, Theren had attacked the moment she saw Isra. But that was only after they had fought Isra in Xain’s home, where she had made every effort to kill them all, and had placed Theren under mindwyrd. He could not say so, however. And so he had nothing to say at all.

  “I thought so,” said Astrea. She turned away and buried her face in her arms where they were crossed upon the desk.

  Heavy footsteps preceded Perrin’s arrival. “Astrea, would you go and help Dorna with her shifting? She is not yet so proficient as you are.”

  For a moment Astrea only glared up at the instructor. But then she rose and went towards the back of the room, giving no answer aloud. Perrin settled down onto the bench beside Ebon, making it groan and crackle in protest.

  “I know you mean well, Ebon. But you must leave off trying to convince Astrea of Isra’s evil. Remember, Isra was like a sister to her.”

  “Yes, but Isra is also an abomination,” said Ebon. “Is it not important that she knows that?”

  Perrin sighed. “Is it? Imagine
yourself in her shoes. Imagine your kin were dark figures who committed dark deeds, and you were but a child—not nearly a man grown, as you are now. Would it help you to know of the evil things they did in the shadows? Or would you be a happier child in ignorance?”

  She fixed him with a look, and Ebon felt as though the ground had vanished beneath him. For of course, he did come from a dark family, and he had been ignorant of it when he was Astrea’s age. He tried to imagine knowing the truth about his father, and Mako, and yes, even Halab, and the things she sometimes ordered Mako to do, when he had seen only eleven years. Would it would have made him happier.

  He knew at once that it would not.

  “But … but this is different,” he said. “I mean, this is not quite what you describe. Isra’s darkness is not hidden. She wears her evil like a cloak for all to see.”

  “You cannot think of it that way. Astrea certainly does not. Remember, she has grown up with tales of Isra’s suffering, knowing of the great injustice done to Isra’s parents. You have heard the tale.”

  Ebon stared at his fingers. The way Isra’s parents had been killed still made his gorge rise. “I have.”

  “None would call that anything but a grave evil. That is the Isra that Astrea knows, and has heard about since she was a little girl—an even littler girl, I mean. And so, naturally, no matter what she hears of Isra now, she will only see this as another great injustice, something suffered but not deserved.”

  “But it is not,” Ebon said helplessly.

  “But she is eleven,” said Perrin. “Do not hold her to the same standards you expect of yourself. You are a man grown. Astrea is still a child. It is the job of elders—not just parents—to keep children from the burdens of adulthood, and Astrea is overburdened already.”

  Perrin pushed back and stood, the bench moaning in relief. She strode off towards the next student with a hand raised, leaning down to resume another lesson. And Ebon stared at the wooden rod before him, though he did not see it, or anything else at all.

  sixteen