The Schism (The Broken Prism Book 4)

by V. St. Clair

  He looked around the dining hall, noting that most of the Masters were conspicuously absent, and resolved to finish eating as fast as possible. The moment he was done, he told his friends he’d meet them at the obstacle courses in half an hour and left the dining hall in search of Master Graus.

  It was surprisingly easy to find him. As Hayden entered the pentagonal foyer with the five major arcana inscribed in the walls, he looked up and saw the Master of Scriptures ascending the main stairwell near the fifth floor. Not feeling up to running up five flights of stairs to attempt to catch him, Hayden tilted his head back and shouted, “Master Graus!” his voice echoing around the foyer.

  The Master turned at the sound of his name and looked down at him, leaning against the railing.

  “What?” he yelled back.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute when you’re not busy?”

  The Master seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged and withdrew a scripture from his robes.

  Then he jumped over the bannister.

  Hayden would have screamed if there had been time, but the Master dropped down five levels in seconds, activating the scripture at the last moment and slowing to a stop in mid-air, his feet hovering a few inches above the ground. He scratched the vellum and alit gently a few feet in front of Hayden.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  For a long moment Hayden just stared at him dumbly, trying to recover from his shock.

  “Whenever you’re ready…” Master Graus prompted gently.

  Hayden shook himself mentally and said, “Sorry, I’ve never seen anyone jump over the side of the stairwell before and I thought you were going to splatter on the ground right in front of me.”

  The Master chuckled at that.

  “I don’t always feel like walking down all those stairs, and I usually keep a few Slowing scripts on me in case I find myself being flung off of high places by whatever monster I’m fighting that day.”

  Momentarily diverted from his original purpose, Hayden asked, “I thought scriptures were used to create things, not to hold spells.”

  “They are,” Master Graus nodded affirmation.

  “But then how did you put a Slowing spell on it?”

  “Ah,” he seemed to understand Hayden’s confusion now. “It’s not a Slowing spell, per se, it just functions in the same way. What it actually did was create a counterforce from the floor to push against my weight and slow me down. Since things like force and updraft can’t really be seen, it often confuses people when they see those types of scriptures being used.”

  “Huh,” Hayden said appreciatively. “I didn’t know that you could make something so…intangible, or I might have taken the subject myself, but it seems late to just be starting with it now.”

  “It is, unless you want to be a student for life,” Master Graus agreed. Hayden only just noticed that they had left the castle and were walking towards the front courtyard full of pear- and cherry-blossom trees. “And creating less tangible things is very difficult—only mastery-level scripters can manage it.”

  “Ah, well I guess I feel better about missing out on it now.” Hayden paused for a moment, trying to think of how to segue back into his real question.

  Fortunately Master Graus said, “I don’t expect that’s why you asked to speak to me.”

  “No, sir. Actually, it’s about yesterday….Well, your hands have sorcerer’s siglas on them, and I saw you do magic without an instrument, which isn’t something we can do here. Master Laurren has taught us some about the northern sorcerers and how they use conduits to channel magic and that they can use other things like their own blood for spells if they’re missing an instrument. That’s what you were doing, isn’t it?”

  The Master of Scriptures glanced around briefly to make sure they were alone and then said, “Yes, that is what I was doing—who do you think shared that knowledge about the northern people with Laurren in the first place?”

  “So then…so you are a sorcerer?” Hayden asked slowly.

  Graus was watching his expression carefully.

  “I used to be, yes,” he admitted, then added, “Well, I suppose one can’t ever really stop being a magic user, so technically you could still consider me to be a sorcerer, if you’re determined to think of it like that.”

  About a million questions came to Hayden then, but the before he could ask any of them the Master said, “I imagine that you of all people have a lot of negative associations with sorcerers, and that you’re tempted to fight me now, or to run off and inform the school of my little secret?”

  A little startled, Hayden said, “I don’t want to fight you—! Though I do have some pretty hard feelings towards your people…” he admitted. “How in the world did you end up on the southern continent, teaching magic of all things? Do the other Masters even know what you are?”

  You’d think they would have gotten suspicious about a man who was always wearing gloves…Hayden thought to himself, wondering at the others’ lack of observational skills. Then again, he himself hadn’t given it much thought until he saw what was beneath the gloves.

  That accent isn’t from Osglen, it’s from the northern continent. He would have recognized it immediately if it had been more pronounced, but the Master was able to keep it barely noticeable.

  He forced himself to stop asking questions before it became a bombardment, giving Master Graus a chance to answer.

  “Yes, the other Masters know, and believe me, a few of them had reservations about hiring me at first. I spent most of my childhood on the northern continent, but due to some poor decisions on the part of my parents, my family fell out of favor with the Magistra in a very public and dangerous way.” He grimaced at some private memory. “Eventually the death squads were sent to eliminate my entire clan—that is to say, everyone who shares bloodlines with me and any strong allies—and my parents knew they had no hope of escaping with their lives. They were fairly powerful, however, and managed to bypass enough of the wards to open an oculus to this continent. Of course, opening said oculus triggered all sorts of alarms and brought the death squads upon us almost immediately. They had just enough time to shove me through and close the opening before they were doubtlessly killed.”

  Hayden listened in fascination. He didn’t bother asking what the death squads were since it seemed self-explanatory, or about the wards the sorcerers apparently had in place to prevent contact with the southern continent.

  “So there I was, thirteen years old, in a random field in some strange land full of foreigners.” Master Graus allowed himself another small grimace. “I spent most of the next year sneaking into libraries to learn the language here and changing my appearance as much as possible so that I would blend in. Then I was able to enroll in school—most of the Great Nine have an allowance for poor students as long as they seem promising. So I got my education and made a life here, and the rest is history I suppose.” He shrugged.

  Hayden was fairly certain that was the most horrible story he’d ever heard, including his own family tragedy.

  “And here I thought living at the orphanage in Merina for two years was rough. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been being abandoned on a different continent full of people who are inclined to hate you, without speaking the language or having anyone to help you.”

  The Master gestured to his gloves.

  “It’s why I prefer to keep my hands covered—fewer awkward questions and death threats.” He didn’t seem bothered by it. “I don’t typically discuss my origins with students, and would appreciate if you didn’t mention it either.”

  “Of course,” he agreed immediately, glad that he hadn’t spilled his guts to his friends earlier. “Out of curiosity, why did you tell me all of that about your past? I mean, you could have just lied or made something up and I wouldn’t have known any better.”

  Master Graus considered him for a moment.

  “My entire family was wiped out by the Magistra’s people, and you are cred
ited with thwarting her campaign here and most likely killing her. I suppose I felt like I owed you the truth.”

  Hayden rarely felt good about himself when people reminded him of the things he’d done last year, so it was a welcome change to be glad that he could help someone find closure.

  “Well, thanks. Always nice to be appreciated,” he allowed. “By the way, I’m not sure I’ve said this yet, but thanks for saving my life last night. I’m usually pretty good with hydras, but I’ve never fought one with that many heads before.”

  “Yes, the six- and seven-headers can be a real pain,” Master Graus said with a grin, picking a stray blossom off of the nearest tree and examining it minutely. “And you’re lucky you summoned me when you did—I was just getting ready to take a shower and I would have been a bit slower in responding if you’d pulled that torch about two minutes later—or at least a lot less clad.”

  Hayden laughed at how awkward it would have been if the Master of Scriptures had shown up to save him naked.

  “I would have been happy to summon a few more people to help, but getting to those torches was surprisingly difficult while I was trying not to get killed by that stupid hydra.” He scowled. “Have you all had any success fixing the magic around the opening to keep more creatures back?”

  Graus winced and said, “Not at all, actually. We’ve been taking it in rotations to always have a Master out there at the aperture for the time being, to fight off the increasing number of monsters that attempt to come through while we try to find some new magic that will keep the stupid thing blocked.”

  Hayden made a face and said, “I’ll bet the other Masters are loving the extra work.” More seriously, he asked, “Have many other monsters have made it across the aperture?”

  “Enough to be a nuisance,” Master Graus replied evenly. “Speaking of which, I am supposed to be retrieving more materials so I can assist the others. Are you finished with me for the time being?”

  Feeling guilty for making demands on the Master’s time when he had much more important things to attend to, Hayden said, “Yeah, sorry…and thanks.”

  He watched the Master of Scriptures return to the castle, and since he had a few minutes before he had promised to meet with his friends by the obstacle courses, he decided to go check things out at the schism for himself.

  Walking around the eastern side of the school, he jogged back towards the cliffs that overlooked the Gawain Sea, treading the now familiar path to the aperture of the schism. There were newly-erected signs that cautioned all students to stay away from the area, and as Hayden walked past them he felt a strange ripple of magic in the air that resisted him, like walking through syrup. A moment later the sensation cleared and he continued up the dirt path to join the group at the opening.

  Master Sark was the first to notice him, and approached him with the customary scowl of displeasure that the sight of Hayden seemed to evoke.

  “How did you get back here, Frost?” he snapped.

  “Uh, I walked?” Hayden replied, not sure what the Master of Powders was getting at.

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy—I haven’t slept in two days. How did you get through the wards?”

  Confused, Hayden asked, “What wards?” Then, remembering the strange feeling of resistance he’d experienced, he added, “Oh, you mean that weird feeling near those signs?”

  Master Asher joined them then, yawning sleepily and looking no more rested than his colleague.

  “That ‘weird feeling’ should have been enough to knock you to the ground if you tried to cross the barriers,” Sark snapped at him.

  “Oh, then, uh…I’m not sure your wards are working properly,” Hayden offered apologetically.

  Asher chuckled tiredly and said, “The wards are Foci-penetrating, Kirius— I suspect they aren’t working properly on Hayden because his Foci are trash.”

  Sark scowled again and Hayden glanced down at his wrists.

  “But I still have my correctors on, sir, so shouldn’t it still have worked?”

  “Probably, which goes to show you just how damaged your Foci are, even with correction. Good thing too, or you’d probably be dead—anyone with a Source powerful enough to overcome that much damage would probably burn up from casting the simplest spells with intact Foci.”

  Hayden made a face at the thought. Sark, unwilling to be diverted from his annoyance, said, “Go away, Frost. You’re not wanted here.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed.”

  “Did you perhaps stop and read the signs you so easily walked past?” the Master of Powders questioned sardonically.

  “Well, yes…”

  “And you didn’t think they applied to you?”

  “Honestly, no,” Hayden admitted. “I figured it was for everyone except people who have been doing rounds here all year. Are we not doing patrol duty anymore?”

  Master Sark looked like he was getting ready to shout at him, but at that moment Asher said, “Kirius, go to bed. If you and I have to deal with each other for long periods of time until this thing is contained again, we’re going to both need all the rest we can get or one of us is going to die.”

  “Feel free to do the world a favor,” Sark grumbled, though he stalked off without a backwards glance.

  “Still best friends, I see,” Hayden said as soon as the Master was out of earshot.

  “We’re thinking of getting matching tattoos inked into our skin to commemorate the bond,” Asher answered with a tired smile. “Now come on, we’d better get you out of here before the others take the time to come chastise you.”

  He led the way back down the hill towards the castle, looking paler and older than Hayden had seen since they got back from the Forest of Illusions last year.

  “Have you been up all night working on the schism?” he asked curiously. It suddenly occurred to him that Asher would have normally visited him in the infirmary if he’d heard Hayden was injured.

  “Yes, and for several nights before that working on other urgent matters.” He yawned again. “I’d normally hold up better than this, but I was casting for most of the night and my Source is running low at the moment.”

  Hayden raised an eyebrow at that.

  “It’s that hard to put up new protections around the opening?”

  “The problem is that we’re trying to outsmart something that is very adaptable. Our first attempts at containment were very simple, but then the schism got smarter and we had to think of something more complex. We’re through four or five rounds of dreaming up progressively more extravagant magic, and we’re having a bit of difficulty coming up with something powerful enough to contain it now. So yes, it is that hard.” He frowned at his empty belt. “I went through twelve prisms last night and accomplished almost nothing. I’ll have to visit the shop for more before my next shift.”

  “You went through twelve mastery-level prisms in one night?” Hayden asked incredulously. “No wonder you’re exhausted! Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you can find me someone capable of sealing the stupid thing once and for all,” he groused. “No,” he continued, “while I appreciate the offer, it’s too dangerous right now. Best to just savor the temporary break from your patrol duties and find a way to enjoy your extra free evenings.”

  “Is anyone else planning to lead an expedition inside there?”

  Asher glanced at him and said, “There’s enough pressure coming in from the magical community by now that yes, the Council of Mages is getting desperate. They’re going to have to start going into it in person—even knowing that they’re almost certain to fail—just to prevent themselves from being stripped of their rank for inaction.”

  Hayden thought briefly of Magdalene Trout and frowned at the thought of her being forced to choose between certain death and disgrace. Knowing her history, he had a fairly good idea of which she would choose.

  “Is this the only large schism left, or are there others like this still open
around the Nine Lands?”

  Asher answered around another yawn, entering the castle.

  “Most of the others are much smaller and have either closed by now or are in flux—which means they’ll likely close themselves before too much more time goes by.” He sighed. “There is one other one that is problematic like ours, in Sudir, but I’m told it’s gotten so large that it’s beginning to become unstable, so there’s hope for it collapsing in on itself as well. Sorry to cut our conversation short, but I’m going to go collapse for a few hours before I have to look at Sark’s ugly face again.”

  Hayden said goodbye and watched his mentor walk away, only then realizing that he was late to meet his friends. He jogged through the school and out the front doors, waving at Zane to catch his attention from the opposite side of the lawn as he hurried over.

  “I was going to punch you in the face if you forgot about our agreement half an hour after you made it,” Zane greeted him cheerfully, watching Felix the fox scale a climbing wall by jumping nimbly from one rung to the next.

  “Sorry, I got sidetracked talking to Master Graus and then I went to check out the schism,” Hayden apologized, sitting down in the grass. “Where’s Bonk?”

  “He took off before lunch ended, I think to find Cinder,” Tess explained, joining him and Zane on the ground after encouraging Mittens into a set of tunnel-like tubes.

  Sure enough, Bonk and Cinder flew into sight barely a minute later, turning to their favorite leisure activity—trying to beat the snot out of each other. Watching them attack each other while shrieking like banshees used to terrify him, but now he was used to it and knew that they never really hurt each other.

  “I thought you hated guarding the schism opening,” Zane changed the subject back. “Why would you volunteer to go there during your free time?”

  “Graus said the Masters haven’t found a way to contain it yet, so I wanted to go see how things were progressing. Asher looked dead on his feet—I think he’d been working on it with Sark and some of the others all night, and he must have burnt through most of his Source power.”