Swallowing, Tristan closed his hand around the icy marble.
“Well, now, let’s see what you can do,” Brikkens said enthusiastically. “The amount of magic stored in a single orb isn’t enough to do any real harm, so give us a show, my boy!”
That was it? Had the professor given better instructions the week before, when Tristan had been dozing off? Why hadn’t he paid better attention?
Tristan took a steadying breath and looked around the room, hoping for inspiration. The curving walls shone white and empty, as blank as his thoughts, but as he turned his gaze to the ceiling, he remembered their first day of class. Brikkens had changed the color of the domed ceiling...but first, Eli had suggested he grow a tree.
Cradling the marble in the palm of his right hand, Tristan dug in his pockets with his left. After a moment he unearthed a handful of debris from botany; mixed into the dirt and pebbles were a few likely-looking seeds. He dropped the whole handful onto the clean marble floor behind his back.
Now what? The students were beginning to lose interest. When Brikkens had done his magic show, he’d blown on the marbles before dropping them, so Tristan did the same, just to be safe. Then he closed his eyes and tried to marshal his thoughts.
Slowly he managed to dull his awareness, until his mind was empty aside from the single desire. Grow, he thought, trying to be stern. I don’t know what kind of plant you are, but you’re getting plenty of sunlight and water and...
The marble began to change in his hand, growing warmer and warmer, while at the same time becoming less substantial. Tristan opened his eyes just to see that it was still there, and his concentration shattered. The marble hadn’t moved, though it was starting to cool already. He was losing hold of the spell.
Okay, Tristan continued, ignoring the thrill of anticipation that ran through him. He squeezed his eyes shut once again. This time you’re actually going to grow. He pictured a seed unfurling its leaves, easing its root into the earth, stretching a stalk towards the sky....
The marble was getting hot again, until it was like holding a naked flame. Now grow. He turned his hand over and let the weightless magic vapor slide away.
Shoulders tingling in excitement, Tristan opened his eyes and looked across the polished round table. Damian and Zeke were sniggering, and Eli had turned to mutter something to Trey. Leila shrugged and mouthed, it’s all right.
All at once, the room grew silent. Zeke sat up straighter in his chair, and Hayley’s round eyes widened until her eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. Tristan didn’t know what they were looking at. Could they see his scars? He pressed his hair into place again.
Then something nudged Tristan in the back of the knee. He jumped and whirled around—there was something shooting up from the ground.
His seeds were growing.
Shocked, Tristan stumbled away from the cluster of plants. The tallest was a pale, delicate tree that shivered as it grew, sending out leaves and new branches that uncurled faster than a lizard’s tongue. There was another plant blossoming to its rear, a tangled dark bush with thorns. As the bush crept its way up the tree’s thickening trunk, it budded and then erupted in scarlet blooms.
When the tree unfolded like an umbrella beneath the domed ceiling, Tristan’s spine tingled with power. In that instant he could feel magic coursing through his veins and hovering in the air, just beyond his grasp. This magic wasn’t frightening or confusing—no, it was subtle and potent and good.
Professor Brikkens began applauding, leaning his weight so heavily on one arm of his chair that the whole chair looked in danger of falling over. “Bravo, my friend! Really excellent! What a surprise!”
After a moment of bewildered silence, most of the class joined in Brikkens’ applause. Rusty grinned and said something to Leila, who scowled.
“I never expected you to succeed, Mr. Fairholm,” Brikkens said. “You clearly have a remarkable—”
He stopped short, hands frozen in mid-gesture. The plants hadn’t finished changing—the roses shuddered, and a moment later Tristan realized that the petals were withering. The flowers crumpled in on themselves until the petals began dropping to the ground, brown and dead. After sending out one last branch, the tree seemed to droop, its leaves drifting down to join the rose petals on the floor.
“What’s happening?” Rusty asked, his voice loud in the stunned silence.
“Unless Mr. Fairholm intended to kill his lovely new plants,” Brikkens said, “I would assume this comes from a gap in concentration. That’s only to be expected; I don’t know anyone who has performed such a large-scale spell within a year of learning the method. My dear boy, you have a remarkable gift.”
Slightly disappointed, Tristan slunk back to his seat. From here he had a better view of the tree—the tops of its dying branches had sagged over the trunk, casting an odd shadow across the dried rosebush.
“But how come that tree died?” Rusty said anxiously. Tristan heard a thud—Leila had kicked him under the table.
“Well!” Brikkens adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Lennox, you have just given me a splendid idea. I want each of you to come up here and try reviving the tree. It won’t require a great deal of magic; come up here, dear boy, you can begin.”
Looking startled, Rusty joined Brikkens at the front of the room.
“So, er...” He took the marble from Brikkens and turned to stare at the tree, fists on his hips. With a furtive glance at Tristan, Rusty blew on the marble, closed his eyes, and then let the ball drop. As soon as the marble left Rusty’s hand, Tristan knew the spell wouldn’t work. The marble fell just like a lump of metal, where it hit the ground with a heavy thud and rolled to the foot of Brikkens’ chair.
“Ah, well,” Brikkens said cheerfully. “Next!”
Leila was also unsuccessful; when she returned to her seat, she nudged Tristan in the side and whispered, “How did you do that?”
“No idea.” Tristan realized he was grinning, so he reached for his pencil, trying to straighten his face. “I just concentrated on what I wanted—it’s like Brikkens said.”
Leila was scowling at him, so he sighed and muttered, “Okay, he did a really bad job explaining it. I’ve just had a lot of practice controlling my thoughts lately.”
Brikkens called up every student without success, until he reached Amber, seated directly to his left.
“Well, we’re already out of time,” Brikkens said, “but you might as well give it a shot, Miss Ashton.”
Tristan sat up straight as Amber made her way uncertainly to the front of the room.
When she took her place in front of the class, eyes downcast, Amber smoothed a wisp of pale hair out of her face and studied her marble. After a moment her brilliant eyes grew clouded, and she poured the magic from her hand like water. As the golden vapor drifted towards the tree, something began happening almost at once.
The leaves on the ground swirled as though caught in a breeze, while the remaining dead leaves dropped from the branches. As soon as the dry leaves fell away, they were replaced by green tendrils that bulged and unfurled into glossy new leaves. The tree shot out another branch and began to grow bigger than ever, stretching up towards the high domed ceiling until it was fully twice as tall as Amber. Cloudy white flower buds sprang to life, hugging each branch like a robe of brilliant moss. A second breeze coursed through the branches, and as the petals swirled away in a honeyed rain, small yellow fruits swelled in their place.
Suddenly the floor creaked hideously, and the marble heaved—there was a deafening CRACK and the tiles split in two.
“Earthquake!” Brikkens shouted, surging to his feet.
As the marble floor splintered, the tiles pulling apart, something thick and brown shoved its way through the crack. It took Tristan a moment to recognize the wooden thing as a massive root.
Brikkens paled at the sight of his beautiful floor being ripped apart. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, struggling for words.
Tristan looked bac
k at the tree and saw that its branches were now drooping with lemons, the sweet smell wafting through the room. Smiling absently, Amber plucked one of the lemons and brought it to Tristan.
“Thanks—what’s this for?”
Amber shrugged. “They’re your lemons.”
“But...but...” Brikkens sputtered. “My room...my classroom!” His face turned from white to crimson. “Miss Ashton. Mr. Fairholm,” he wheezed. “Ten hours’ punishment for you both. If you had enough control over magic to grow that tree, you should have known better than to ruin my pretty floor!”
Tristan glanced at Amber in annoyance—this was by far the longest punishment he’d ever received. Amber didn’t seem to realize what Brikkens had said, or perhaps she didn’t care, because she was still gazing happily at her lemon tree.
Though they were already late in leaving for Grindlethorn’s second period class, Tristan and Rusty stayed behind to help Leila gather an armful of lemons for Quinsley.
“That was completely unfair,” Leila said as they walked down the hall towards the kitchen. “Brikkens didn’t give you any instructions, so he can’t punish you for wrecking his floor! If he had any decency, he’d blame himself.”
“It does seem kind of unfair,” Rusty said consolingly. “You could always work off the hours with Gracewright, though—she hardly makes you do anything.”
“It’s not that,” Tristan fumed. “Do you realize how much time that is? It’s three hours a night if I’m going to be done by Friday, and that’s on top of homework and classes! I won’t be able to sleep!”
Leila paused to readjust her armful of lemons. “That’s the problem with this place. No matter how nice the teachers are, they all follow Drakewell’s orders.”
“You’ve gotta admit, though, we’re being treated awfully well,” Rusty said fairly. “We’re learning a ton, and I’ve never eaten so much good food in my life.”
Tristan shrugged. “We just need a bit more security,” he said, following Leila into the kitchen. “If we had a different headmaster, I’d ask for two separate bedrooms. I don’t like having Damian’s crowd so close—they make me nervous.”
They had reached the kitchen, so Tristan held the door for Leila. “Hey, Gerry,” she called. “Look what Tristan grew!”
Quinsley wiped his hands on his apron and turned to greet them. “Morning, Leila. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Then he noticed what the three of them were carrying. “Lemons! Good morning, Tristan, Rusty—I haven’t gotten a chance to talk with you two in ages! Did you really grow these, Tristan?”
Tristan nodded and dropped his armful of lemons at the edge of the enormous counter. “And if Grindlethorn punishes us for missing class, I’ll come back this evening and help you cook them.”
Quinsley beamed at him. “All right, now run along. I’ll see you all later. Thanks a bunch, Leila!”
As they hurried out of the kitchen, Leila muttered, “I wish we had separate bedrooms too.”
“What?”
“It’s like you were saying a moment ago—I don’t like sharing a room with Zeke and Damian. Last week I stopped by the bunkroom in the middle of dinner, remember, and I ran into Zeke there. He was standing over my bed and cutting a hole in my book-bag with a massive knife.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Rusty said, wide-eyed.
Leila turned onto the stairs, walking faster now. “Of course not.” Tristan and Rusty bounded ahead to catch up. “I pulled out a knife and threatened him—he ran for it.”
“So now you’re stealing knives, too?” Tristan asked, grinning.
Leila paused just outside the classroom. “I’m always in the kitchen. How hard do you think it is?”
That night they had lemonade for dinner and lemon pie afterwards, and when Tristan had finished eating, he and Amber made their way up to the greenhouse to work off their punishment with Gracewright.
It was a perfectly clear night, the black sky peppered with stars. Tristan lifted his head, the ever-present wind grazing his cheeks, and watched the full moon bobbing along the distant ridge.
“That lemon tree was really beautiful, once you saved it,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure Amber was listening. Her eyes were clouded and distant, just like when she’d done the spell earlier that day.
“You’re not mad at me?” she asked, surprising him.
Tristan shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
He had asked Gracewright at dinner whether she needed help that night, and she’d looked surprisingly relieved by the offer. Now the professor waved to them from the greenhouse door, her glittering silver shawl appearing to float above the ground in the dark.
“I’ve just been rearranging the greenhouse,” she said, “so I’ll need your help outside this evening.” Pulling the greenhouse door closed behind her, Gracewright crossed the lawn to join Tristan and Amber. “Auras tend to glow brightest under a full moon, so both of you should be able to distinguish magical plants from the regular varieties. I’m hoping to use whatever you find to restock the greenhouse, so be sure you dig up the roots as well.”
Tristan glanced at Amber, who nodded dreamily.
“I’m desperately in need of your assistance just now,” Gracewright continued, lowering her voice. “If you each put in three hours of good work tonight, I’ll give you credit for six. Sound good?”
“Thanks,” Tristan said fervently.
Amber had already wandered off into the forest, her dark coat and jeans melting against the black trees—Tristan could only make out her silver hair now, a small moonbeam against the soft forest darkness. He hurried after her.
“Do you think I’ll be able to see the plants?” he asked.
“Of course.” Amber stopped and put a hand lightly on his shoulder, turning him so he faced a gap between two trees. “You simply need to learn how to look. Concentrate now, just like when you grew the tree.”
“But what—”
Amber touched a finger to his lips, stopping his question; then she pulled her hand away and looked down. It was too dark to tell whether she was blushing.
Tristan didn’t know what he was supposed to concentrate on, so instead he tried emptying his mind. From far away came the melancholy hooting of an owl; he followed the hollow note until it faded, until the only sound was the wind sighing through the pines. He looked down, running his eyes across the featureless dirt—and stopped, surprised. Ringing the base of the closest pine was a wreath of glowing blue leaves, speckled with white flowers.
“Whoa,” Tristan said. He dropped to his knees beside the plant, afraid the glow would fade if he blinked. “So what is this, anyway?”
Amber’s lips twitched. “I understand magic, not plants. I have no idea.”
Just as he was easing a section of leaves from the earth, Tristan heard voices from the clearing.
“Who’s that?” he whispered, pausing with one hand in the dirt. One of the voices definitely sounded like Merridy, and he was certain the other ghostly figures were teachers as well.
Amber was no longer paying Tristan any attention; while she made her way deeper into the forest, Tristan abandoned his plant and hurried back towards the clearing.
The teachers were wending their way towards the greenhouse now, and Tristan recognized dark-haired Alldusk and bald, mustached Delair accompanying Merridy. He followed them around the clearing, hiding just within the trees.
Gracewright emerged from the greenhouse as the other professors joined her, almost glowing in the light that spilled from the open doorway.
“So good of you to come,” Gracewright said. “I trust (she lowered her voice and whispered something that sounded like ‘Drakewell’) doesn’t know about this?”
“Of course not,” Merridy said brusquely. “Though why you’re afraid of him, of all people...”
“Fear has nothing to do with this, Darla,” Gracewright said, her white hair bobbing as she shook her head fiercely. “I just think we should observe caution, as long—�
�� She pulled the greenhouse door closed behind her, cutting off the end of her sentence.
Cursing under his breath, Tristan ran around to the back of the greenhouse. The trees brushed right up against the glass behind the greenhouse, so he crouched in the shadow of a towering pine and brought his face close to the opaque glass. After trying for a moment to register the confusion of voices, Tristan noticed a small pane of broken glass level with his shoulder. He stood cautiously, trying not to rustle his feet against the dry mulch, and pressed one eye to the edge of the cracked pane.
The greenhouse had been completely torn apart. The long wood table that spanned the room had collapsed, as though someone had chopped it in half with an axe. The ground was strewn with wreckage, both dirt and shards of pottery from the flowerpots that had lined the walls and shredded leaves from the plants that had hung from the ceiling.
The professors were silent and ashen, gazing around the room. Merridy muttered to herself in distress, glancing over her shoulder as though she expected Drakewell to swoop down from the ceiling. When she turned to look at the broken pane behind her, Tristan barely managed to duck out of sight in time.
“You must realize how insecure this school is,” Alldusk said gravely. “Perhaps we should look into a few safety measures—keeping the location secret was a good idea, but it only goes so far.”
“The caves are entirely protected,” said Professor Delair.
Tristan got back to his feet and chanced another look through the broken pane.
“Thank you, Osric,” Gracewright said tiredly, “but the caves are the least of our worries. Unless you’ve run into a colony of trolls or something ridiculous like that, there’s no way we could be attacked from underground.” She looked unhappily around the greenhouse; even her flyaway hair seemed to droop.
Delair shrugged. “I was merely suggesting that certain metallic compounds could be arranged to protect this place. Of course, this method needs a great deal of work, and it may—”
“Thank you,” Gracewright said more firmly. “Unless you have anything relevant to contribute, you’re welcome to return to your coffee. I’m very sorry I disturbed you.”
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 39
