The Academy Journals Volume One_A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “We promise,” said Theren vehemently.

  Jia waved her hands quickly. “Then be off with you. It is nearly time for bed.”

  They turned and made off down the hallway. As soon as they had rounded the corner, they broke into a jog, and then a run once out of earshot. They did not stop until they reached the foot of the stairs leading to the dormitories.

  “That was a brilliant performance,” said Theren.

  Kalem looked at them both. His eyes were still tearstained, but he wore a broad grin. “It was, was it not?”

  Ebon shook his head. “I wish you had done it in front of Xain. His judgement is far harsher.”

  “Did you see the hate in his eyes? He would have shown no pity. Not like I knew Jia would.”

  Theren snorted. “Remind me never to believe a word that comes out of your mouth, Kalem.”

  They all burst out laughing.

  THE MOMENT EBON ENTERED THE dining hall the next morning, he felt many eyes upon him. He stopped in the doorway, looking at the other students in confusion—but the moment he looked at the students watching him, they quickly turned away. Some whispered to their friends behind their hands and turned back when they thought he might no longer be looking.

  He moved forwards again, frowning—and then it dawned on him. Word must already have spread of their exploits in the vaults. These were not looks of fear, or scorn—most were curious, and mayhap some even admired what he had done. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, which he quickly tried to suppress.

  Ebon reached the line of students who awaited their meal. There, just two students ahead of him, was little Astrea. Her frizzed hair stuck out even more than normal, as though she had not taken much care to brush it that morning.

  “Astrea,” said Ebon. She did not move. He tried again, louder. “Astrea!”

  She turned to look at him, and a chill struck his heart. Great bags hung beneath her eyes, which were bloodshot, and her skin was paler than could be explained by long hours of study. It did not seem she knew who he was at first, for she had to blink twice before recognition dawned in her eyes.

  “Ebon,” she said, trying to smile. She stepped out of line to join him. Her thin arms wrapped him in a hug, but it was a half-hearted thing.

  Credell’s death must have struck her far harder than he had thought. Guilt coursed through him, for he had not once gone to check on her since they saw the body. She was only a child. He opened his mouth to ask her how she fared, but then thought better of it. Instead he patted her hair and said softly, “I have greatly missed seeing you.”

  “I have missed you, too. But I will soon graduate into your class.”

  “Thank the sky,” said Ebon, giving an exaggerated sigh. “I need you to teach me. Perrin is a fine woman, but she does not understand the intricacies of my mind as you do.”

  That earned him a small smile, which warmed his heart to see. “I do not think your mind is very intricate.”

  Ebon clutched at his chest. “You wound me.” She giggled, and his smile broadened. “I hope you have been spending time with your other friends. I know they are not so entertaining as I am, nor as clever, nor handsome. But none of us should spend our days alone, especially now.”

  It seemed she understood his true meaning, for her eyes clouded. “I have been spending time with my sister,” she said softly. “She has been a great comfort to me.”

  He frowned. Then he remembered the night they had found Credell—the older student, Isra, kneeling beside Astrea and holding her away from the sight of the corpse. “Isra? She is your sister?”

  Astrea shrugged. “In a way. We both come from an orphanage in Feldemar. Or we did, until our sponsor found us. I suppose we should say we are part of her household, now.”

  “I did not know,” Ebon said quietly. The thought that Astrea was an orphan, bright-eyed and kind as she was, saddened him greatly. He tried to imagine himself in her place. She must have loved Credell very much, for he was always kind to the other students, and never feared them as he had Ebon. And now he was gone. No wonder Astrea looked so worn. Ebon wondered if he could even keep attending class every day, were their roles reversed.

  Astrea looked down at her shoes now, and her chin had begun to tremble as though she might cry. Quickly Ebon put a hand to her shoulder and smiled. “I cannot wait to study with you in Perrin’s class. There are three spells to learn before you can pass the second year. One is to change obsidian’s color to white. I have never heard of such a thing.”

  She blinked, banishing tears as he drew her interest once more. “I know,” she said, and then leaned in to whisper. “I have even been trying to practice the spell. Let me see if I can …”

  Her brow furrowed, and she put one of her fingers to the edge of the wooden bowl. For a heartbeat, light flashed into her eyes and then faded. When she withdrew her finger, the spot was a shade lighter.

  Ebon gawked. “That is incredible, Astrea. But how can you be so far advanced, and still not perform the passing spell for the first-year class?”

  Astrea shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “Some wizards take more easily to one spell than another. But I am almost done with the testing spell, too. I meant it when I said I would join your class soon.”

  They had reached the table at last. Attendants scooped porridge into their bowls, and they made their way through the dining hall towards their friends. When they reached the center of the room, Astrea gave Ebon a final smile.

  “I will see you soon,” he promised.

  “And I you,” she said, wandering off.

  Kalem was waiting at their table when Ebon sat down. “Good morn,” he said, speaking around cheeks filled with food.

  “Good morn,” said Ebon. “Did you have as much trouble sleeping as I did?”

  “I cannot know, for I was not there. But most likely, yes. I kept starting awake with thoughts that Dean Forredar might change his mind and expel us after all.”

  “I thought he might abduct us in our sleep, and have us thrown into the Bay,” muttered Ebon. That, indeed, had plagued his nightmares. He had seen it, like the day he had fought Cyrus on the cliffs, except that he was Cyrus and Xain was the one on the ground. The dean gripped Ebon’s ankles and turned them to stone, and then he was falling, falling into the ocean, where dark waters swirled around him and crawled down his throat.

  “But morning has come, and still we reside within these walls,” said Kalem. “I, for one, am grateful.”

  “And I,” said Ebon. “But we must decide what to do next.”

  Kalem fixed him with a glare. “Ebon.”

  “Come now, Kalem. A thief is still on the loose, and a murderer. And we know Lilith must have been the one to tell the instructors what we were up to. It is another sign of her guilt.”

  Leaning forwards, Kalem spoke in a harsh whisper. “And what do you mean to do about it? I mean to do exactly what we should have done from the first: nothing.”

  “You were eager enough to pursue Lilith before. What of her guilt? What of the family Yerrin’s treason against the High King?”

  Kalem shook his head. “I was a fool before, and so were you, for agreeing to Theren’s scheme. We are Academy pupils, Ebon, and hardly advanced in our training. We only barely escaped with our skins intact. We have landed ourselves in as much trouble as I have ever been, and I will not do anything to make it worse.”

  Ebon opened his mouth to answer, but then he heard raised voices a few tables away. He turned and saw Astrea standing beside the table where she had been eating, facing another student her age. Ebon recognized him as a boy named Vali, a weremage, and one of Astrea’s friends. But now the boy stared at Astrea with cold eyes while her face contorted with tears. It was her voice Ebon had heard.

  “What do you mean?” said Astrea, shaking. “You are not making any sense.”

  “I am not your friend.” Vali’s voice was odd, monotonous. “I do not wish to see you.”

  “We are in the library together
every day, you idiot,” said Astrea, her voice cracking.

  “I am not your friend,” Vali said again, and then turned to leave her. Astrea burst into tears and slumped back down to her bench.

  Something was wrong. Ebon frowned, trying to place it. He took a step forwards—but before he could go to Astrea and comfort her, the dining hall door burst open.

  Theren flew by him in a rush, her face twisted in rage. Ebon and Kalem glanced at each other and then scrambled to follow. Soon they were a half-step behind her. Finally Ebon saw where they were headed: Lilith, sitting with some other seventh-years. Her back was to them, so that she was unaware of Theren approaching from behind. Too late, her cousin Oren looked up and saw them. He tapped Lilith on the shoulder to warn her. But Theren was already there, snatching Lilith by the back of her robe and dragging the girl to her feet.

  “You flap-mouthed sow!” she cried, shoving Lilith back so that she nearly fell across the table.

  Oren leapt forwards, trying to shove Theren away. She caught one of his wrists and twisted it, kicking his leg as he recoiled in pain. He fell back, his rear striking the bench hard. Lilith’s friend Nella stood to the other side, but she seemed reluctant to enter the fray. Ebon realized her gaze was on him. When the Seat had been attacked, she and Ebon had stood together against the Shade soldiers. Now they looked at each other uncertainly, neither willing to leap in on behalf of Lilith and Theren.

  But the girls did not need the help. Lilith had found her feet, and she stared daggers into Theren’s eyes. Theren’s nose was less than a finger’s breadth from Lilith’s, and she matched the girl’s stare with equal hatred.

  “You were a fool to go along with the Drayden boy,” said Lilith.

  “Do not dare to point fingers.” Theren shoved her again. Oren shot to his feet, but he seemed reluctant to take another trouncing from Theren. “No one would have known if you had kept your fat lips together. Have you forgotten all the things I might tell them about you? One stray whisper—”

  “You should be thanking me. Now you have been kept out of his schemes—whatever they might be.” Lilith looked past Theren to glare at Ebon. He tried not to shudder. “You have called me an adder, but you ignore the snake in your own pocket.”

  The students all around were on the edge of their seats, some with their mouths hanging open, as though they could not wait for the argument to burst into a fight, mayhap one of spells. Cautiously Ebon reached out and took Theren’s arm.

  “Come, Theren. Leave her be, and get some food in you.”

  “Yes, heed the words of a sniveling Drayden,” sneered Lilith. “Only do not be surprised or come running to me when you find his knife between your shoulder blades.”

  Theren had drawn back a step, and though her fists were shaking at her side, her face was an impassive mask. “You are the one who has shown herself faithless, and not for the first time.”

  To Ebon’s shock, Lilith grimaced in obvious pain. Her eyes glistened, though he could not believe there might be tears in them. “You have tried endlessly to paint me as an agent of evil. It will never work, and that infuriates you. One day you will see how wrong you are. I only hope it will not be too late.”

  She turned sharply, robes flapping out like a cloak, and resumed her seat. Oren still gave them a sullen look, while Nella breathed an audible sigh. Theren looked as though she might push the matter, but Ebon and Kalem took her arms and turned her gently away. They made their way back to the table and sat, while nearby students discreetly averted their eyes.

  “Here,” said Ebon, pushing his plate in front of her. “I was finished anyway.”

  Theren stabbed the gruel with her spoon but did not scoop any to eat. Kalem was staring down at his hands, mouth working as though searching for words to say.

  “We might have gotten away with it,” said Theren. “Damn her.”

  “All ended well enough,” said Ebon. “It is done.”

  “So I should forget it?” said Theren. “I will not. She must have had something to do with the theft. Why else would she have warned Xain?”

  “To spite you, or mayhap for pure mischief,” said Kalem. “You said yourself that you could not sense her power in the vaults.”

  “Mayhap she learned to hide it.” But even Theren did not sound convinced by her own words.

  “You spoke of things that you know about her.” said Ebon. “Why do the two of you hate each other so? Her loathing of me, I understand. My family and hers have—”

  Theren shot to her feet and stalked away from the table, leaving Kalem and Ebon to eat their breakfast alone.

  FOR MANY DAYS AFTERWARDS, THEY had to remain on their best behavior. Jia, or mayhap Xain, must have passed word to their instructors. Ebon found that Perrin now watched him closely, and was reluctant to let him leave class for any reason, even to visit the privy. When they met and studied each day in the library, Kalem and Theren told him that their classes were much the same. Under such careful watch, it was impossible to continue searching for the thief who had broken into the vaults.

  Since Shay had not come with the rest of his family, Ebon did not fear to see Adara, and so he visited her every other day or so. Upon one such visit he at last arranged for her to meet Kalem and Theren for dinner. They decided to see each other upon the last day of Febris, the eve of Yearsend.

  Astrea soon graduated into the second-years’ class with Ebon, performing the same graduation ceremony as he had. Ebon was surprised to find her presence a great comfort, for he had not had any luck making friends among his new classmates. Though he was unable to speak with her often, or for very long, she would always smile at him as they passed each other in the classroom—though he could see how tired her smile had become, for she went about her days haggard and careworn, showing a glimmer of life only in his presence or Isra’s.

  After sneaking into the vaults, Ebon often felt that the eyes of all the faculty were upon him, especially Xain’s. But in a way that was a blessing, for it made him focus upon his studies, and under Perrin’s tutelage he found a renewed passion for learning that he had not felt since before the Academy. Credell’s sniveling had made him doubt he would ever become a true wizard. But now his childhood dreams were rekindled, and they burned twice as bright. Often he would study halfway through the midday meal, poring over a tome until his groaning stomach forced him to leave.

  In addition to studying books, he was thrilled to be practicing his spells. Now that he could shift stone, Perrin encouraged him to do it a bit every day. Shortly after the incident in the vaults, Perrin presented a small wooden box and set it on the desk. It was less than a handbreadth wide, and hollow, yet it had been filled with stone in some manner Ebon did not understand. That is, until Perrin placed her fingers upon it, and the stone began to shift and ripple like water. “Practice moving the stone out of the box. That should be easy enough. But then—and this shall be the hard part, at first—put the stone back in.”

  Ebon soon learned the truth of her words. Shifting stone away from him was simple: he touched it, and it radiated from his fingers like brushing away dust. Yet whenever he tried to put it back into place, the stone rippled away from him and around his skin. He could not try for long without growing frustrated.

  “This is often the way of it for transmuters,” said Perrin. “When first we learn to shift stone, or anything at all, we can only push it away like an infant batting at a coin held before its face. Eventually they learn to take hold of things and move them where they will.”

  Ebon glared when she said that, not sure he enjoyed being compared to an infant. Fortunately for him, there was much else to learn.

  Before the attack on the Seat, Kalem had taught him to spin mist from the air. Now Perrin let him practice it in the classroom. The first barrier, and the greatest, was learning to spin it more than a few inches from his body. Theren and Kalem had laughed when he first cast the spell, for the mists clung to him and made him look like a man made of smoke. Try as he might, E
bon could not seem to push the mists farther out. When he attempted it, they simply vanished to nothing.

  “You are thinking with your skin,” Perrin told him. “Your own magic is a conduit. You cannot turn all the air in a room to mist just by touching it—that would require you to be as large as the room. You must learn to see the mists you have created as an extension of you. Follow it out from yourself in your mind’s eye, and turn the air it touches into still more mist.”

  Ebon felt his head spinning, but he tried it anyway. Mist clung to his hand, and he focused until he could see the mist, hovering in the air, clinging to his skin. Then he tried to feel the air beyond it, but he saw only darkness. He grit his teeth and thought harder. The mist vanished.

  “No, use the mist. It is not your tool; it is a part of you.”

  “I am trying,” said Ebon.

  Perrin sighed and stood. “Practice will help. You remember how much easier your testing spell became after you cast it for the first time. They will all be like that, for a long while at least. And then, one day, your mind grows used to the process, and learning new spells is no longer so taxing.”

  Ebon crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin upon them. “And when will that happen? After my fortieth year?”

  Perrin slammed her meaty hand on the table. Ebon jumped and sat straight on his bench. “None of that,” said Perrin. “You will learn nothing by moping. You will learn only through effort. Now try it again.”

  Day after day Ebon struggled with his mists. Perrin spent more and more time watching him, lips pursed and brow furrowed beneath her massive shag of hair. Each time he became aware of Perrin’s gaze, Ebon’s concentration began to waver. Soon the thin fog he had managed to wrap around his arm would vanish entirely. Then he would groan with frustration and fight a mighty urge to flip his table over.

  “Mayhap it would be good to distract yourself with another lesson,” said Perrin one day.

  Ebon frowned. “Another one? I have not mastered the mists yet, nor shifting stone. Would it not be better to focus on them rather than take on another spell?”