by D M Wozniak
“I will speak to the miller,” she says. “He is a righteous—”
The effulgent screams out in pain.
I had been looking at the graycloak the entire time, so I have no idea what is happening. All I can see is the pale, bald man dropping to his knees and reaching out behind himself, as if he’s trying to touch his arched back. His voice then becomes silent, as if he is holding his breath. The graycloak sees something that I cannot, and she screams too, but her voice is horrific, a high-pitched sound that makes my skin scrawl.
To the left, out of the corner of my eye, Chimeline scrambles backwards in her dark cell. Meanwhile, I rush forward to the edge of mine, as close as I can get to the effulgent.
He falls towards me, grasping the bamboo bars, and I lower myself down towards the dirt with him, our hands overlapping. That’s when I see it.
His pure-white cloak is turning red.
The small, tanned girl from the well stands behind him, her arms hanging at her sides like a ghost. Her face is soiled and as serene as death. She’s looking at the effulgent, and then I see the glimmer in the morning light.
Her right hand grasps a bloody knife.
“Good Unnamed! What did you do?” cries the graycloak. She begins screaming hysterically, not even concerned with the young girl. Kneeling down by the effulgent’s side, she gently touches the wound in his back, as if she doesn’t believe it’s real. Then, leaving the morbidity behind, she caresses his head in her hands.
The effulgent tries to turn himself over onto his back, and his face twists in agony. For some reason, his dark, wide eyes fix on me through the bars. Near his body, the graycloak’s tears fall, darkening the dirt like the first drops of an approaching thunderstorm.
As I silently watch all of this, the girl from the well springs into action, once again.
Quickly leaning over the other two, she tugs the cinched rope of the graycloak and slices it with the bloody blade. The burlap purse falls free, dropping to the ground.
Without any hesitation, the girl kicks it with her bare foot.
Judging by her aim, she’s intending for it to skid across the powdery dirt and land inside my cage.
But she sacrifices accuracy for speed, and the graycloak is prepared.
With a cry, the graycloak extends an outreached arm, connecting with the purse in mid-air using her open palm.
Instead of landing inside my cell, it ricochets off the edge of her hand, flying at an angle, and falls upon the dirt path directly between Chimeline’s cage and mine. The smallest of dust clouds rises in the calm, morning air, as it slides to a stop.
For an unmeasurable moment, everything is silent and still.
I push away from the bars and the effulgent, diving to the left and grasping the side wall. I pull my body forward, reaching as far as I can through the bars and onto the dirt path, until my shoulder and neck stretch in pain.
I shout out. The purse is at least a foot away from me. I can’t reach it.
But Chimeline is in the shadows behind her bars, her arm reaching through, just opposite mine. The purse landed closer to her cage than it did to mine, but her hand is not as long.
I watch, powerless, as she does the same as I did—stretch her body against the bars in order to gain a few precious inches. She screams in pain. I cannot see her broken hand, but she must put weight on it in the darkness to stretch this far.
Her slender fingers grasp the dirt an inch away from the burlap bag, but she cannot reach it either.
Shouts bring my attention back to the front of our cells.
The graycloak stands over the body of her father, simultaneously protecting him and blocking the bronzed girl from coming down the path in our direction. The woman’s hands are out, and she’s yelling at the young girl to drop her knife. The bronzed girl cries, her lips quivering in either regret or anger. It’s evident that even though the young girl is armed and the graycloak is not, the latter has the upper hand.
I look back to Chimeline as a breath catches in my throat.
She’s taken off her effulgency necklace of ivory beads, and is grasping the loop in her outstretched hand, beyond the bars. She’s using it as a net, casting it into the dirt to lasso the purse just out of her reach.
On her second cast, she surrounds it as I hold my breath.
Carefully, she drags the purse toward her across the dirt path. It passes between the bars and into the darkness of her cell.
A moment later, it reappears, sailing through the sunlit air between our cages, and I grasp it.
Rolling away into the center darkness of my own cell, I open the purse and pour out its contents onto the ground.
It’s my gold necklace. My voidstone.
Once the graycloak sees me with it, she backs away frantically. She utters new, incomprehensible screams of terror, pulling the effulgent’s body from my cell by his ankles. Next to her, the girl mindlessly drops the knife at her side, and the blade sticks into the ground.
Enough of this.
I drape the necklace over my head and touch the black stone, as the world disappears and the winds come. It’s been days since I last heard them, but it takes only a moment to acclimate to the world of black upon black.
I cut through the bamboo.
It takes no time at all. Stepping outside, the palm-frond roof collapses behind me. I cut Chimeline’s cage open as well, her bamboo bars splintering apart with a loud crack. Letting go of the voidstone, I rush over to the effulgent’s body. The graycloak screams again, but this time she directs her words at me.
“Don’t touch him!”
I pry her bloody hands from the man’s ankles, and push her forcefully. She loses her balance and falls backwards, down against the dirt.
When she looks up at me, I see wrath in her eyes, but she does not attack me. There is no fight in her. Violence seems as foreign to her as using a voidstone. Instead, she gets up on her knees, closes her eyes, and begins praying.
Just don’t interrupt me.
Kneeling down next to the effulgent, I analyze the wound. There is a small rip where the blade went through, so I take my fingers and place them there, tearing the cloak apart.
“Let me be!” he grimaces, his face sideways against the ground, the veins on his forehead pronounced. “Do not use your black arcana on me!”
Ignoring him, I clutch my voidstone again and study his body.
The indivisibles of his skin. His veins and muscles and the tighter-packed forms of his ribcage. Moving between them all, I see where the blade entered. It left a black valley between colorless mountains, where a lake is deep and cold.
The lake goes straight into the bottom of his right lung.
This is not going to be easy.
Voidreaming
Marine rips off her backpack, fur coat, hat, and mittens, quickly tossing these snow-damp belongings on my bed before warming her hands by my fire.
“Good Unnamed, it’s freezing out there,” she says, cupping her hands around her mouth and blowing into them.
I walk over to my terrace. It has been glassed in for the winter, but I close the damask curtains nonetheless. The bluish light of the midwinter afternoon is replaced by the flickering glow of my meager fire, and I have the sudden urge to pour myself a glass of redcurrent wine.
Which I do.
“Do you realize this fireplace is larger than the one we have in the dormitory commons?”
I let out a quick laugh, despite my heavy heart. “You should see the one in the king’s dining room. It could swallow you whole.”
Drink in hand, I walk back across the room, but I suddenly stop in my tracks. The silhouette of Marine’s shapely body against the fire is so perfect that it momentarily eclipses all other thoughts.
But then they return, with one concern leading the way: It is becoming more and more difficult to think of her as a mere student.
What in Temberlain’s Ashes are you doing, Dem?
Her passion for voidance and eagerness to le
arn is attractive in itself, but if that weren't enough, she is simply the most stunning woman in the citadel.
Because her back is to me, she’s oblivious to my gaze, but if she saw my face, she would see a man full of longing and dread.
This cannot continue.
I hate that it’s cold out. I wish that I had ended this weeks ago, when the leaves were still falling from the trees and the air was crisp and sunlit with limitless possibilities. I wouldn’t feel as guilty. Now, it feels like I am kicking her out into the snow-filled gutter to freeze to death, alone.
“I think it could use another log,” she says, rubbing her palms together and extending them towards the fire.
Without thinking, I touch my voidstone and make the flames roar back to life, and she jumps back in surprise.
“That’s against the rules!” she says before settling into a cunning smile.
My mind races as I study her face. It’s as if she knows I am trying to impress her, and enjoys having me wrapped around her finger.
“Not for me.”
“But why can’t we do that at the dormitory?”
“Can you imagine a hundred students trying to play with fire? The dormitory is made out of wood, and it’s been burnt down three times. My rules are to prevent a fourth.”
Two blood-red leather armchairs flank the fireplace, facing it at a forty-five-degree angle. I tap the one on the right and say, “Take a seat, Marine.”
“But my notes are in my—”
“No notes today,” I say, as I walk over to the left chair and collapse into it.
“What’s wrong?” she asks softly. She must sense that something is different. Maybe it’s my curt tone, or the drink in my hand.
“We can’t keep meeting like this,” I say.
For a long time, silence fills the room and the bitter wind howls outside it. I hear it through the heavy curtains and the glass enclosure. I even hear it echo down the chimney between us. It sounds almost as it does in the void.
“Is it because I am not good enough—”
“No,” I say loudly. “It has nothing to do with your gift. You are an excellent student, Marine. I am honored to have you at the university.”
“Why, then?”
I shake my head. “You are the only student that I privately tutor in my bedchamber. It's just not appropriate. As master voider, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh?” she says playfully, but I see through her desperation. She is trying to brush off this important conversation with her charm. And on any other day, it just might work. But not today—I look away in order to steel myself.
“Just think about how people perceive what is occurring here.”
“But nothing is happening.”
“That doesn't matter. Perception can make or break a person—especially a man in my station.”
“But you are the master voider.”
“Exactly. All the more reason for me to manage perceptions.”
I look back at her, and her smile is gone.
“A few of the submasters have approached me.” I down my glass of wine, stand, and walk back to my dresser to pour myself another, before continuing. “Let me put it bluntly: I have to choose. I don’t want to, but I have to. And the university—it’s everything that I stand for.”
As I pour myself another glass, Marine speaks up softly behind me.
“You want me to go?”
I look back at her, nestled in her armchair. She’s wearing a cream sweater that almost covers her entire body and brown leggings. She has kicked off her boots, and she curls her barefoot feet beneath her. The leather armchair looks massive with her on it.
“Of course I don’t,” I say.
I down half of the glass of wine and refill it before walking back to my chair.
“But there's a difference between what I want, and what is right,” I say weakly, falling into it again.
“And what is it that you want?”
I turn to look her, and become paralyzed at her expression. The way she looks at me with the firelight dancing on her face is so bold I am at a loss for words.
“Dem?”
I must look surprised. Nobody has ever called me that, except for my closest friends. Certainly, no student.
But then again, Marine isn’t just any student.
This is wrong.
Before I can say anything, she gets out of her chair, walks over, and gently sits on my lap.
I swallow and put my wine glass down. I can hardly think with her so close to me, but I try to focus on her last question.
What is it that I want?
This is wrong.
Despite all logic and reason, I know what it is. Or, more accurately, who it is. My feelings for Marine have slowly grown to the point where they now threaten everything.
I am the head of the university, which is, quite possibly the most important institution in the Northern Kingdom. My responsibilities are unmatched, save for the king’s. Every day of every week is full of meetings with submasters, dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, philosophers, effulgents, and the like. My mind is bursting with the theoretical applications of voidance. My submasters execute my strategy. My students travel the lands in my name.
But all of this pales in comparison to the rare, intimate time I spend with this untamed woman, talking about nothing at all. Because this is what makes me feel alive.
Marine has become my indivisible.
Leaning forward, my body acts on its own. Softly cradling her pale face in my hands, I forget that I am the master voider. I forget she is my student.
I kiss her on the lips.
And I feel her return it back to me.
Without breaking contact, she moves her body, straddling me on my chair. We embrace even tighter, pulling our bodies into one, until the fullbell rings out in the distance and the fire next to us dies.
Where do we go from here?
She gets off me and walks to the opposite end of the room, as if none of the past fullbell ever happened. She begins to organize her notes and books that lay strewn on the bed. I get up and tidy up my desk by candlelight.
I feel as though I have been washed up on the beach by a towering wave, sand in my pockets and saltwater in my mouth. I see another wave coming in the distance. It is not here yet, but it’s unstoppable.
The question is, I don’t know if I want to stand on this beach when the next one crashes in.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Hmmm?” she says, not looking up.
I both love and hate how she has not thought this through. On one hand, it's maddening how blind she is to the judgmental wrath coming our way. On the other hand, her free spirit and confidence are her most attractive qualities.
“We can’t keep meeting like this,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“It looks bad. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Marine shrugs indifferently as she continues shuffle through notes.
“I’m serious, Marine. This is a problem.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
I shake my head. Her stubbornness tries my patience.
“It doesn’t look that great for you, either,” I add.
She stops what she is doing and looks at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I sigh. “Never mind.”
“No, Dem, tell me,” she snaps. “We make love, and now you want to toss me aside?” She releases the papers from her hand to emphasize her point.
I approach her. “No. I’m not suggesting that we stop seeing each other. I just...I just don’t want to risk my reputation. The other nobles, here in the citadel, they’ll—”
“Well, what are you suggesting?”
Now that I am in front of her, I tenderly touch her cheek and rake my fingers through her golden hair. My heart and my mind tell me two different things.
I don’t want to lose her. It is now clear to me that in the past few days I h
ave fallen deeply for her. It isn’t only her beauty. I am captivated by her spirit—her passion to learn, her ambition.
But what will the court think? The master voider, dallying with a student...
“We have to be more discreet, that’s all,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow.
“We can meet somewhere else,” I continue. “Somewhere private. Where servants and submasters will not see us.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and begins to throw her books inside of her backpack. She forcefully ties up the drawstrings.
“I see. So, we’ll sneak around, behind everyone’s back,” she says with a tone that leaves no question to her feelings on the matter. “That way you can keep your reputation, but still sleep with me.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I understand completely,” she says, grabbing her backpack and turning toward the door.
“Marine, wait,” I grab her arm.
She stops, but doesn’t look at me. She’s looking at the floor.
“What do you want from me?” I ask quietly. “If you want my heart, you’ve got it. If you want my body, you’ve got it. If you want my soul...you’ve got that too.”
Her expression softens. She looks up at me with an ever so slight smile. Touching the button on my shirt, she idly adjusts it. “What if you graduate me early? Before everyone else.”
I frown. “Graduate?”
She nods. “That way, I wouldn’t be your student. I could move in with you, and you could continue to teach me privately.”
I shake my head, unsure of which point to address first. “To graduate, you would need to pass the final tests. And that would require using a real voidstone.”
“I can do it. I have memorized all of the voidance structures—”
“None of that matters if you can’t control yourself in the void. There is both a mental and physical aspect to voidance.”
“I can control myself just fine.”
I walk over to her, fish my voidstone out from underneath my flaxen cloak, and lift the entire necklace over my head.
“Hold out your hand,” I say.
She does as I say.
“Palm up.”
I lower the gold chain into her outstretched palm. It puddles there, and I make sure the voidstone is facing upwards as it lands, centered within its gold setting and not touching her skin. It is as large as the pit of a peach, and it looks absolutely enormous in her hand. As it drops, I can’t help but notice her long fingernails, which are painted bright pink but chipped on the edges. It’s a perfect symbol of where she is in this world. She is half woman, half child. Half ready for anything, half vulnerable to everything.
