by S T G Hill
Belt could hear the impudence in her voice. The tone that implied she thought she could challenge him in this weakened state.
"You would be wrong to underestimate me. And my wellbeing is none of your concern. Tell your people they can rest assured that I will provide them with more power soon."
Below the level of the desk, Belt grip a curiously flecked stone that glowed with its own inner light.
He could feel its power melding, draining, into his own. He'd already drained so many of the artifacts in this place, and his own reserves still sat at a dangerously low level.
He needed something more potent.
He needed the Gem of Orlyon back. It would restore him fully, he knew.
But he couldn't get it. Not yet.
"We like this war. Your war," Marta said, "But we've made so much progress already. Many say it is time we call for an end to it. Keep what we've taken? It is much. Very much."
Belt's hands glowed, his fingers pressing into the rock. White veins of power ran up his arms, and he inhaled a sharp breath at the sudden influx.
When he looked up at Marta again, the Errant witch took a step back, her own breath catching in her throat.
Belt pushed to his feet, the magic strong in him. For a few moments, at least. He only needed a few.
"Do as you’re told or I'll make certain that not only will you keep none of what you've taken, but lose more than when you started," Belt said.
The Errants had captured two of the ancient magical academies spread across the world so far, and destroyed another. A feat unthinkable even a century ago.
"We only want—" Marta started.
Belt threw out a hand. The sharp smell of ozone filled the air, and a breach portal sliced open behind her, revealing a dingy warehouse.
"Get out of my sight and do as you're told," he said. He could already feel the strength granted by the stone flagging. It ran out of him like warmth fleeing in the face of cold.
His other hand glowed as he raised it. Her eyes widened at the threat, and she stepped back through the portal.
He dropped the spell and it closed. Belt sank back down into his seat, brushing the ashes left from the magical stone off the lap of his robe.
If the Errants dared this sort of attitude towards him, he knew he faced far worse from the elements on the Council who disagreed with him.
It's time I go back. It's time I send a message to everyone.
For he knew one person who possessed a reliquary that could restore much of his former strength.
Chapter 20
When Ellie saw Vine Hall, a strange tightness gripped her stomach.
The last she'd seen of it, the ivy-covered building lay in ruins following the attack by the Errant force. She could still recall the faint glow of magical fallout that had surrounded the rubble.
But now it stood before her as when she'd first seen it, all those months ago when she started at Sourcewell.
She took the teledoor up to the third floor, surprised that it still worked for her. She supposed its magic didn't come from its user.
As she approached Sybil's old room, nervous wings flapped in her stomach. She hadn't really spent much time alone with Sybil since she'd returned to Sourcewell.
And her six-month gap of time still disconcerted her.
Sybil's door was ajar, and when Ellie peered in she saw her friend pouring over yet another dusty old tome.
"Aren't you worried that people are going to recognize you?" Ellie pushed the door open a little more, but didn't step inside.
Sybil looked back over her shoulder, and when she saw Ellie she jumped up from her chair and hurried over. "No one knows I'm with the Resistance. And besides, even if they did I could just use a charm to hide my appearance. Like you."
"What do I look like now?" Ellie said. She'd been curious about that. "I looked in a mirror after Magister Cassiodorian said he used that on me, but I look like... me."
Sybil grinned, "You look like you to me, too. The charm only makes you look different to people who shouldn't see who you really are. Though I guess if anyone knew it would be easy enough to see through. Simple, but effective... Why are you standing there? Come here!"
Then Sybil yanked the door the rest of the way open and pulled Ellie into a hug. Ellie hugged back, trying not to think about how Sybil felt different against her. Thinner, leaner.
Her friend's face was also thinner and leaner, though she lacked those thin white scars that Thorn and some of the others had.
"Any luck getting your magic back?" Sybil stepped back and gave Ellie's hands a comforting squeeze.
Ellie shook her head, "None. Anything in the books?"
Sybil went back over to her desk, sifting through various stacks of paper and piles of scrolls. "I can never find anything."
"Gee, I wonder why?" Ellie nodded down at the mess.
"It's part of my process!" Sybil stuck her tongue out.
Then she gave up on manual sorting. Instead she held her hand flat out over the unruly pile.
The pile shifted furtively for a moment, as though some small critter wriggled around within. Then a couple sheets of paper dislodged themselves and floated up.
"Ah, my notes! Great!" Sybil grabbed the papers. "I found a mention of the Omenborn in this really old grimoire. The pages were so faded I could barely make them legible with the strongest reading spell I know..."
"What did they say?" Ellie stepped forward to get a better look when Sybil put her pages down on top of the pile.
Her friend's notes were neat. So neat they looked typed. She also couldn't read them.
Sybil saw Ellie's frown, "Oh, it's my shorthand. But anyway, it mentioned that the one 'Born of the Omen' was... let me see..." Sybil squinted down at her writing, "Both the key and the lock, the whole and the part, the salvation as well as the damnation, whichever they so choose."
The darkness behind her thoughts gathered at the same time a terrible tingle ran cold fingers up her spine.
"Choose what? What am I supposed to choose?" Ellie rubbed at her temples, the pressure in her mind pushing at her eardrums like dropped down a long, steep hill.
It was Sybil's turn to shake her head, "If there's more, it's gone. The grimoire's more dust than paper now. You know how prophecy and prognostication are so hard though, right?
"I'll bet most of the prophecies are so full of riddles and figurative language because the prognosticators who made them couldn't be certain what they'd be having for dinner the next day, let alone any of this. It lets them be extra mysterious and all that."
"More like extra frustrating," Ellie clenched her jaw and laid her hand down over the page of notes.
Then she saw something from the corner of her eye. Something that made her ache for the days before the Trial.
Sybil stood there, trembling with the effort it took to keep her from bursting.
"What?" Ellie said, unable to keep from smiling.
"You have to spill it! You have to tell me!" Sybil said.
"Tell you what?"
Sybil cocked an eyebrow at her and crossed her arms, "What do you think? About working directly with Magister Cassiodorian! He hasn't taken on a pupil in... well... a long time."
Ellie turned and leaned against Sybil's desk, the pressure in her mind dropping when she put those strange words from Sybil's notes out of her thoughts.
"I don't know... I guess it kind of feels like what I thought having a grandfather might feel like."
"Yeah?" Sybil said.
"Yeah. It's hard to explain. What did you mean by a really long time?"
It felt nice to talk to Sybil. Like old times, but also not. Her apparent leap forward in time seemed to have changed everyone but her.
Sybil was still Sybil, of course. But also not. She got the sense that her friend didn't smile much anymore, and that bothered her.
"Well, I took a look at the records because I was curious, and the last time he had an officially registered apprentice was 147 years
ago."
Ellie goggled. "147 years? How old is he?"
She called his face to her mind. Sure, he looked old. Grandfatherly. But not ancient. If someone asked her on the street how old she thought he was, she'd have said maybe somewhere in his 70s. If that.
"You know, I checked for that, too, but his exact birthday isn't listed. As close as I could get would be sometime in the 1600s. I wonder if that means he's even older than Darius Belt?" Sybil said, those awful care lines on her face smoothing.
"I don't think so," Ellie said, a feeling in her gut telling her that Belt was older than he let on. Maybe even much older.
"Yeah," Sybil continued, "He's done a ton of stuff. Like apparently they used to leave poor pupils mostly untrained, but he made the Council and the school benefactors take everyone in and train them to their full ability. Also apparently he donated a ton of books from his personal collection to the school library."
"He likes books, I get it," Ellie said.
"There's nothing concrete, but I think he's done a lot more than that. Like how do you think he got that staff?"
Ellie shrugged, "I guess I thought it was a family heirloom or something."
She flinched a little, remembering the shock of electricity from the staff that almost pasted her against the wall.
"Well it was all hush-hush, but from what I can find, back near the end of World War 2 he personally defeated an entire squadron of Nazi sorcerers himself. He took the staff from them... Hey, whose side do you suppose Belt was on in that?" Sybil said.
Ellie's jaw tightened, "His own."
They stayed silent, the quiet swelling between them. Sybil went over to her dresser and shifted around a pile of papers without looking at them.
"I hope you get your magic back," she said.
"I do, too," Ellie replied. She did. At least, she thought she did. Seeing what Belt had done to everyone, thinking about what he'd done to her... Yes, she wanted them back. "Cassiodorian has a plan."
"I hope it works... because I'm not sure how much more of this war anyone can take," Sybil said.
"Sourcewell seems to be doing okay, at least as far as the buildings go, anyway," Ellie said, thinking about seeing Vine Hall restored.
"It's been attacked three times in the last two months. But it's not at the front, so Belt and the Council keep their garrison forces at a minimum. Each time Belt warned Cassiodorian that he received intelligence about the attack. Pretty funny, since he’s the one ordering them in the first place. Ellie, you haven't seen a true magical battle or its aftermath."
Sybil's busy hands became idle. Her eyes went glassy. Ellie ached inside to see her like that.
“No,” Sybil continued, “The buildings here are all fine. The campus is safe. But the spirit’s gone out of the whole place. And I’m not so sure anymore it’s coming back…”
She didn't tell Sybil about her doubts. About how even with her power restored she wasn't sure she could defeat Belt.
She thought of her confrontation with Belt following the Trial. The one where she'd called on her power and summoned that giant Minotaur. She thought about how Belt had just smirked a little and then shattered her spell with a wave of his hand.
Chapter 21
Ellie returned to the Magister's Hall feeling more useless than ever.
She wondered how things might have been different if she hadn't disappeared to wherever for six months.
In her room, she threw herself on her bed and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes until brilliant splotches of pink and purple exploded against the back of her eyelids.
"Come on..." she said, trying to remember something, anything of that time.
The only thing she felt was that presence in the back of her thoughts. The one blocking her magic. The one blocking her memories.
What do you want? she thought at it. Tell me!
It remained silent.
When she sat up she noticed the pile of books at the foot of her bed. She knelt beside them, picking up the folded note left on top.
Miss Ashwood,
I know the dangers of idleness. If you choose, I believe these volumes may hold some interest for you.
Yours,
A. Cassiodorian
There were three books, two on the history of magic and one, curiously, not magical at all.
She picked this third one up, its glossy, modern cover a stark contrast to the thick, cracked leather binding of the other two.
It was a joke book. She opened the cover and saw the signature within, recognizing the hand from the note on top of the pile. A. Cassiodorian, 2002.
She thumbed through the pages, trying to bring the image of a stately sorcerer like Cassiodorian reading the jokes within.
Even though it wasn't late, she curled up on her bed and went to sleep with that book clutched against her chest.
***
The following day, another note fluttered its way through the air and nuzzled her awake, the thick paper rasping against her skin.
As soon as she took hold of it, it spread out into a flat, wrinkle-free sheet with a few neat lines of printing on it.
It told her to have breakfast and make her way to the testing room as soon as possible.
She got to the dining hall and found Thorn and his squadron seated in a small group near the far wall. They looked up when they saw her, falling silent.
Thorn's eyes in particular burned right into her.
She could see their thoughts plain on their prematurely old and weary faces.
What's taking so long?
Why aren't you helping us?
What good are you?
She got her tray, a bowl of Cheerios and a cup of orange juice, and sat by herself, hunching over to try and defend herself from those glares.
She ate without really tasting, wishing the whole while that she'd just left with her food. But she couldn't just get up and go then; it would look weird. The clack of her spoon against her bowl became the loudest noise in the room.
Someone's chair squeaked and Ellie sighed with relief. Good, they're going.
But no others chairs moved. Footsteps approached. Thorn sat across from her. Ellie looked up at him, her cereal-laden spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Cassiodorian told me it's happening today," he said.
Ellie bought herself some time by putting the spoon into her mouth and then chewing slowly. Her stomach didn't want the food, but she forced it down anyway. "You went on some sort of mission."
"We did," he replied.
"Are you okay? Is everyone else?"
Thorn shrugged, "Just a few more scars to add to the collection. I hope it works, Ellie."
"Me too," she said.
Thorn didn't let the silence grow between them. He pushed back his chair and left.
Ellie waited a while to make sure she didn't run into any of them outside the cafeteria then made her way to the library.
But when she got to the practise chamber she was alone.
Chapter 22
Ellie couldn't find Cassiodorian anywhere. Not in the library, not in the Magister's Hall, not down in any of the cafeterias.
A low, gnawing panic settled into the pit of her stomach. She wandered about the campus, hoping to stumble into him somewhere.
She thought of the long hours spent in the training room, and what he'd told her about Darius Belt.
She recalled a conversation she had with Cassiodorian in the training room:
"Who is Belt, anyway? Where does he come from? Why do people look up to him so much?" Ellie frowned at the hardboiled egg on the dish in front of her, trying to make it do something, anything.
Cassiodorian, who'd been perusing a tattered old scroll in the corner, looked up at her. "Darius Belt has always been a powerful sorcerer. Always in possession of various powerful reliquaries. Always in the middle of the affairs of the magical world.
"I met him myself in Vienna. I remember it well. It was 1673 and he attended a lecture I gave on the pitfalls
of the prognosticative school... He disagreed with me on matters of prophecy, and I thought him too young, too new to magic to really understand."
Ellie remembered the first time she saw Belt, back when he came to Sourcewell to meet with Cassiodorian. She remembered someone in the crowed nearby saying Belt was 400 years old. She said as much to Aurelius.
He rolled up the scroll. A troubled look passed across his face. "Had you asked me his age not even a year ago, I would've said the same. But now, I'm not so certain.
"Belt's always been powerful, you see. When magic ebbed, as it always does, he remained so. It let him insinuate himself into the academies, like Sourcewell. In times of low magic, many sorcerers sought him out for help with this or that. It allowed him to put many a sorcerer in his pocket."
"Did you?" Ellie said, "Ever go to him, I mean?"
"I counted Darius Belt a friend, even though I considered his use of magic to maintain his youth something of a waste. Concentrate on your egg."
Ellie turned back, not sure what to make of Aurelius not answering her question. And while what he'd told her helped, she found that the information asked more questions than it answered.
She let the memory fade.
That draining panic in her stomach wore her out. Ellie looked up from her memory and found herself in one of the rolling meadows on Sourcewell's grounds.
She recognized the place. It was the spot where she'd witnessed Cassiodorian summon that dragon to stop the Errant attack on the school.
But this time she was all alone. Just her and the light, sweet breeze that ruffled in the leaves of the oaks that never seemed to change color, or indeed to drop from their branches.
She went over to the nearest tree and sat against it, her hands pressed into her eyes.
What am I supposed to do? Did he just leave?
Then, a moment later, and much quieter, Did he give up on me?
It hurt her more than she thought it would to even consider that possibility. She was used to people giving up on her: caseworkers, foster parents, teachers.
