by CM Raymond
“Couldn’t? No, I could have,” Hadley responded. “But I didn’t. Hannah, I came to the temple to study the mystical arts. My training has taught me to question the cosmos, to unravel the known universe and create it anew, to travel the stars with my mind. I didn’t come here to peep on young naked ladies—beautiful, though you are.”
Hannah took a breath. Her heartbeat regained its normal rhythm. “Then why the hell did you freak me out like that? I’m getting pretty damn sick of your hazing rituals.”
Hadley laughed. “I assure you; this was no game, certainly not one at your expense. Your mentor told me that we don’t have much time; he also said that you are more than a little boar-headed. So, I thought I needed something to jump start your training. Seems it worked.”
“A short cut,” Hannah mumbled and looked aside, a little red in her own cheeks.
“Yes. Precisely. And you performed splendidly. Although, I do hope that you don’t hit me again. And… it seems you could have made something a bit more comfortable than that burlap thing.” Hadley nodded toward her cloak.
“It just happened like this.” Hannah looked down at her robe. “This is crazy. Looks and feels real, but I guess it’s only an illusion.”
Hadley shrugged. “It’s all in how you look at it. You’re right that it’s not real in the usual sense, but perception is a powerful thing. People’s senses tell them what is real and what isn’t, so if you can feel it, see it, and if it does the job it was intended for, then what’s the difference?”
Hannah smiled. “Well, for one, I’m freezing my tits off. This imaginary robe doesn’t do much for keeping the mountain draft out.”
Hadley laughed. “Yes, there’s that.”
“Wait. You’re all just walking around here naked all the time?” She glanced over at a set of mystics standing in front of the enormous window that overlooked the mountain range.
“Of course, not. But you wouldn’t know if we were.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “There’s real clothes waiting for you back in your room. Go get dressed. After breakfast, we continue your training.”
“OK. But no more tricks,” she grumped and turned around.
“Hannah, tricks are what whores—”
“I know, I know,” Hannah sighed, calling over her shoulder, “tricks are what whores turn for money. Ezekiel loves that line, too.”
****
Nearing the bottom of the wineskin, Ezekiel decided he should save some for his supper, which the growling in his gut told him was long overdue. The sun had set, leaving only his fire to light the camp.
The magician cupped his hands and moved them as if he were feeling the surface of an invisible ball. His eyes glowed red, and between his hands lit a perfectly round blue orb. It let off a faint light, one that only he could see. He tossed the orb in the air and nodded as it levitated precisely where he had placed it.
With adequate light, he went about his way of preparing for dinner.
Stepping to the edge of his camp, where the light from the fire met the darkness, he sat cross-legged and began to meditate. He placed his hands on the ground, and the connection to the surrounding natural world flooded over him.
He could sense every living thing in the proximity. His thoughts became a prayer, and within minutes, a rabbit hopped out of the darkness and scrambled into his lap. Ezekiel pet its head and sensed its heartbeat, which was many times his own.
It is said that many of the druids, the masters of nature magic, had become vegetarians decades ago. This was difficult for some, as the connection to the flora was just as strong with that of the fauna.
But most of the forest dwellers realized that death violated no bond. There was a certain balance between them and the animals who also acknowledged the relationship, including the roles that each played.
The druids certainly gave to the creatures, and the creatures gave back, many of them realizing that their offering was that of their bodies for food for the magicians.
“Thank you,” Ezekiel said to the rabbit, “for offering your life as a sacrifice to sustain mine. I will not soon forget you.”
The little creature sniffed the magician's hand, and then rolled over onto its back, offering the wizard its neck. With a swift twist, Ezekiel ended its life and then set to work preparing its meat for his dinner.
With a full stomach and thankful heart, Ezekiel extinguished the fire for the night. He swiped his staff in the direction of the smaller pines in his camping area, and they did his bidding, each bow leaning into the others, creating a roof of branches and needles that could keep out even a heavy rain. Unfolding his blanket and camp pad under his shelter, he settled in for a night’s sleep.
Tonight was a peaceful one; the next would not be. The next jump would take him close to his final destination, and he was going to need all the rest he could muster for the fight that was waiting for him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The final jump to the northernmost reaches of the Arcadian Valley required less energy than Ezekiel had expected. Nevertheless, he took the morning to rest on the lip of a grassy hill, looking down on a small castle surrounded by lush green farmland.
Sitting just outside of the city of Cella, the castle was built to resemble the country manor of some long-dead Duke, who ruled the region in the Old Days, before the Age of Madness, at least that is what the people said.
But it’s perfect lines, and the fact that the place was even still standing, was a testimony to the fact that its resident had the castle erected within the past four decades—and that the person who commissioned the build was a very rich man.
From his vantage point, Ezekiel could see people walking about, tending to the rows of crops. There were servants in the yard surrounding the mighty home, likely hanging the wash and tending to other outdoor chores. It was an idyllic scene, but Ezekiel knew the peaceful demeanor only went skin deep. There was evil here, and Ezekiel had come to rectify that.
Feeling his strength returning, Ezekiel stood and headed down the hill toward the manor.
The workers of the castle quickly glanced up at him and then back down at their tasks. Ezekiel risked a wave, but received no reply. It was as if they were afraid of him. As he passed near to the laborers, each one looked worn out; a few appeared to be on death’s doorstep.
Their master was a cruel man, and his cruelty was obvious to Ezekiel just from looking at his people. They were malnourished and overworked.
“Excuse me,” Ezekiel said to a young man pushing a wheelbarrow full of crops, “Could I—” But the young man moved on without even a second glance. Ezekiel approached a few other laborers, but they all responded like skittish cats. “Will no one speak to me?” Ezekiel finally shouted in frustration.
In response, a stout woman with a face that had seen plenty of trouble, stood up from her spot tending a garden and approached. She wiped her hands on her apron and bowed low to greet him.
“You’ll have to forgive the others, sir. We don’t get many strangers here. The Lord of the house doesn’t allow it, but he’s away for the day in Cella. Is there something I might help you with?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Ezekiel returned the expression. He knew that if this woman was talking to him against her master’s orders, then her hospitality was quite a risk. “Thank you, milady. But that’s an unusual expression, ‘the Lord of the house.’ Funny, where I am from, Lord has a very different meaning.”
The woman’s sharp eyes narrowed, her brow knit. “How do you mean, sir?”
“The only Lords I have ever known are the Matriarch and the Patriarch. But I am from a long walk from here. Perhaps you’ve never heard of them.”
A look of pride filled the woman’s eyes. She stood, just a bit taller. “We know of the Mother and Father here, sir. All blessings come from them... and all true justice.”
Ezekiel nodded, his smile softening. “Truer words have never been spoken. But since you are familiar with them, you’ll understand my confusion. They have cl
early blessed this land—” Ezekiel swung his arms wide, pointing to the prosperous farm “—and yet, all of you look ill-fed and uncared for. How someone could dare call themselves a Lord, compare themselves to the Matriarch and Patriarch, and yet treat their workers like this... It is beyond comprehension.”
The woman’s eyes squinted in suspicion. She looked Ezekiel over, assessing the strange man who had wandered into her life. “You really must be a stranger to these parts, sir. This is the way it has always been. The powerful eat plenty, and the rest of us are forced to make do. But we’re tough. And we’ve put up with far worse than a little hunger.” Her eyes turned cold as they looked off into the distance, remembering some pain or trauma.
Finally, she snapped back to attention. “But forgive me, sir, it isn’t right to talk about one’s Lord—I mean one’s master that way.”
“But why?” Ezekiel asked. “Why put up with these conditions? You could leave, find work elsewhere. Find someone else to serve.”
She looked up, anger now replacing suspicion on her face. “It’s been tried. Those who run and are caught are beaten—sometimes even killed.” She shook her head. “Not worth the chance. And if someone did run and made it to freedom, the rest of us would pay. No one wants anyone else’s blood on their hands. Liberty is a fiction in this part of Irth.”
“Not for long it isn’t,” Ezekiel said through his teeth. He nodded good day to the lady and walked with haste back up the hill away from the manor. A dark storm cloud began to form overhead as he worked out his plan.
He would show this place the Matriarch’s justice.
****
Adrien stood at the bottom of the steps outside of the Academy’s main building. His tower stretched into the heavens behind him. The beginning of the new semester was only days away, and he could already feel the energy—both magical and mundane—buzz around the campus.
A fresh start was always invigorating for the Chancellor, and the initial days, when the first years were invited to arrive early, was especially exciting. He would keep his eyes open, scouting those that would be future Hunters, teachers, and engineers. They were all pieces in his game to use at his disposal.
With the development of his weapon ramping up, he and Doyle had agreed to admit the largest class the Academy had seen in decades. Although apprehensive about opening the doors so wide, Adrien knew that they would need the workforce as more and more young magicians were burning out in the lower levels of the Academy.
And he was confident he could keep even this large of a group under his control.
One such first year saw the Chancellor standing there, and stumbled up by his side. “Hello, Mr… um… Chancellor. It’s good to be here. You're thankful that I decided to take a chance on you…” Adrien raised an eyebrow, and the kid flushed. “I mean, a chance on me… you know.”
Adrien nodded. The new students could be so pitiful, and he wondered if this one should have been admitted, even if he did enjoy the fact that the kid was clearly afraid of him. There was also something familiar about the boy that Adrien couldn’t quite place.
“You’re here on your merits,” Adrien said with a closed mouth smile. “And if your potential doesn’t manifest itself, you could be out as quickly as you entered.”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“Run along. You should be at orientation.”
Adrien watched the kid scramble up the stairs and into the main building. It took only a second to realize why the new student was so familiar. His name was Gregory, and he was the son of Elon, Adrien’s new Chief Engineer. Adrien was glad that Elon’s son was admitted. He would keep the kid close. If the Chief Engineer failed him, Gregory would be a useful tool for applying some pressure—or punishment to the man.
But so far, Elon had accomplished everything Adrien set before him. And his final project was less than a month away from completion. If the boy, Gregory, was even half as talented as his father, Adrien could find some use for him.
As the quad quieted, Adrien turned back into the building that housed his office and his home. Walking the pristine marble floors in the long hall of the academic wing comforted the man.
With the shit storm that was going on in and around Queen’s Boulevard, he could find solace in his ivory tower, as if the world outside never existed.
Intent on making his way back to his office in the tower, he almost forgot his true reason for coming down in the first place. He changed his course and turned for the Dean’s office. He’d put off the meeting too long, and with the new recruits now filling their residence halls and classrooms, it was high time to have the talk.
“Come in,” the Dean’s familiar voice said after Adrien rapped on her door.
Adrien stepped in and stood quietly as the Dean held up a finger indicating that the visitor should wait. She was reading a large book, completely engrossed by its words. Turning a page, the Dean looked up and jumped in surprise by the Chancellor and the fact that he had been kept waiting.
When Adrien accepted Amelia to the faculty, she was a bit of a token hire. He knew that appearances were seventy-five percent of the battle. A woman on the faculty looked good—made him seem inclusive—which would help him shut up some of the grumblings that he heard from the other nobles.
But her good looks weren’t just in terms of representation. There were plenty of attractive women in Arcadia, but Amelia stood above most.
She was in her forties, though looked a decade younger. With shocking blue eyes, blond hair, and the fact that she was taller than most of the men on the faculty, she looked like she was from the land to the north, beyond the borders of the Arcadian Valley. If the stories about the northern people were true.
Although she was hired as the token female in their ranks, her gifts extended beyond the fairness of her gender. She was whip smart, a fast learner, and a better teacher than Ezekiel himself. Due to all of this, and the fact that Adrien trusted her as far as he trusted anyone, Amelia quickly climbed the academic ladder and now ran the school’s day to day operations as the Dean.
It took her out of the classroom as her primary responsibility, which was a loss, but he had bigger plans for her.
“Shit. Sorry, Chancellor, I didn’t know it was you. Please sit.”
Adrien lowered himself into the soft leather chair across the desk from Amelia. She waited for him to settle in before she returned to her seat.
“Thank you, Amelia. And now that you are Dean, we are academic administrative colleagues. It’s time for you to call me Adrien.” He smiled, which smoothed out the rough edges of his face.
“Only if you’d like, Chanc… Adrien.” She flushed. He was attractive, not just because of his position and power, but Adrien was the most powerful magician she had ever met.
The man was on the level she hoped to be. The Dean position would be challenging, but it should also allow a bit more time for magical scholarship, something the overworked faculty rarely had time to enjoy. “They’re all here. Biggest class since I started at the Academy.”
“Yes,” Adrien said, still smiling. “It is always my favorite time of the year. Reminds me of myself when I met the Founder so many years ago. I, too, was filled with hope and vigor.”
Amelia nodded. “I won’t soon forget my first day. Probably shouldn’t have been here. If it weren’t for Reston taking me in after my parents died, who knows where I would be. Out there on a farm with a hundred kids.” She paused, for a moment, lost in memory. “Not to mention Uncle Saul pushing me toward you and the Academy.”
Feeling a twinge in his stomach on hearing his old friend’s name, Adrien inspected the Dean’s face. Virtually no one knew that it was Adrien that removed her uncle from the Governor’s seat—and from the face of Irth for that matter—and he intended to keep it that way. But her face showed no hint of accusation.
