The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (21 page)

They crashed through the first door and into the vault’s office. The last time Ebon had passed through it quickly—once on the way in, and once while being escorted out by Jia and Xain. He remembered the two high, tall windows in the walls, which now were open, their shutters flapping. He remembered the wide wooden desk where Egil worked, and the several smaller desks around the room’s edges, where students performed their servitude.

But now his eyes were drawn to the student hovering in the air ten feet off the floor, body and limbs crushed by the wind gusting in through the windows, whipping him about in a spinning funnel of destruction. A lanky towheaded boy, eyes wide with pain and fright. Astrea’s friend, Vali.

And Vali was screaming as magic crushed the life from him.

Horror-struck, Ebon was so focused on Vali that at first he missed Lilith. Then he saw her—standing near the vault’s entry, the door open, her eyes glowing and her hands lifted high, commanding the squall as it battered the boy. Her mouth was open in a grimace, flashing her white teeth as she shouted at Vali: “Stop it! Stop it!”

Theren gave a wordless cry as her eyes sprang to light, and she leapt forwards to fight Lilith’s magic. Jia and Dasko stormed ahead, one of Jia’s massive paws catching Lilith in the chest and flinging her to the ground, while Dasko planted a clawed foot on her abdomen. But Lilith managed to keep an arm raised, and the glow in her eyes did not die. Her lips quivered with words of power.

Ebon searched the room for something, anything to do. He saw a number of other students who had gathered at the commotion—Lilith’s friends Oren and Nella were there, and some other members of the Goldbag Society. Isra was there, her dark brown eyes wide and staring, horror-struck, at Vali suspended in midair.

He leapt forwards and pushed the three of them to draw their attention. “Use your power! Stop her!”

Oren blinked without understanding, and Isra did not even look away from where Vali hung in the air. Ebon shoved Oren harder. “Stop her!” he cried again, pleading.

As though waking from a dream, Oren shook his head. He nudged Ebon aside as light sprang into his eyes. Nella, too, shook off her horror as a light sprang into her eyes.

But it was too late. With a cry, Lilith’s arm fell to the stone floor. Vali screamed as the wind blasted him towards the wall. He struck the stones with the force of a thunderbolt. A wet
snap
filled the air.

He crashed to the ground, head lolling to the side at a hideous angle.

The room fell silent for a long moment. Then a piercing scream stabbed the quiet behind Ebon. He turned, and his heart broke. There, in the vault’s outer doorway, stood Astrea, clawing at her cheeks and neck as her wail rose higher and higher on the air, until it seemed to be the only thing in the world.

“Get her out of here!” Jia had taken human form again, and she waved a sharp hand at Ebon as she spoke. Shaken from his inaction, he went forwards to take Astrea’s arm and pull her from the room. Isra darted to his side and reached down, sweeping Astrea up into her arms.

As he stepped out through the door, he took a final glance back. Lilith had been seized by the instructors and several students. Someone had found a gag and wrapped it around her mouth. She stood staring after Astrea with wild, sightless eyes. Theren stood to the side, stricken with horror.

Then the door closed behind him, and there was only Astrea’s scream. He tried to put a comforting hand on the girl’s arm, tried to speak words of peace. But Isra had very nearly enshrouded the girl, and her eyes filled with raw fury whenever Ebon tried to reach out.

“Astrea,” he said, trying to avoid Isra’s hateful glare. “Astrea, it is all right. It is all right.”

“It is not all right!”
Astrea screamed, slapping at his hand. “He is dead!”

“Go away,” Isra hissed. She turned back to Astrea, holding her closer, murmuring to her. Ebon barely made out the words. “Be calm. Be calm. Breathe deeply, and put Vali from your mind.”

Astrea’s breath came ragged, sucked in and pushed out between her teeth. Her hands shook where they clutched at Isra’s robes. But slowly the tears stopped pouring from her eyes. Slowly her look grew far away as she focused on Isra’s words. Her breaths grew deeper. Calmer.

“There,” said Ebon quietly. “Good. Well done.”

“I told you to leave us,” said Isra. She released Astrea for a moment and stepped towards him, pushing him hard in the chest. “You filthy goldbags. Can you not leave us alone? Can you create nothing but blood and suffering?”

Ebon blinked at her. “I ... I had nothing to do—”

“Be silent!”
Isra cried.
 

Her eyes blazed with light. Fear seized Ebon’s heart as an unseen force hoisted him a foot above the stone floor, and he knew it was her magic.

“You never fail to find ways to kill us without blame. How many died in the attack on the Seat? Who started this war? Who will die on its battlefields? Not you, goldbag.”

He tried to speak, but could not. Some students stood within sight of them, but they were frozen in horror. Ebon swallowed hard and tried again. “I want nothing of this war,” he said, every word quivering. “I am sorry. I know not what madness seized Lilith, I swear it.”

For a moment she only stood there, chest heaving with her breath. But then she let the glow slip from her eyes, and Ebon fell to the floor, only just managing to keep his feet. “Leave,” she rasped, and then turned to Astrea, who clung to her once more. “Leave, goldbag. You can do nothing to help. Only hurt.”

Ebon wanted to answer, but had no words to do so. Instead he turned and moved off down the hallway.

twenty-two

Ebon woke to a dark day at the Academy.

It was the first day of Yearsend, but there was no celebration. Ebon was grateful that classes were suspended for the holiday, for he could not imagine trying to sit in Perrin’s classroom and read tomes of magic.

Instead he, Kalem, and Theren went out into the gardens. Many students had chosen to remain inside, for it was now the dead of winter, and so they were alone among the hedges and bare rosebushes. For a while they said nothing, listening only to the crunch of their shoes in the snow, watching only the mist of their breath upon the air. Ebon had his hood up against the weather, as did his friends, and so they rarely even looked at each other.

“She stole more artifacts from the vaults,” Theren said at last. “From what I can tell, the count is more than half a dozen. I no longer serve in the vaults, but I spoke with Egil, and he let it slip. She must have gone back and forth a few times, emptying rooms until Vali ...” Her words tapered off.

Ebon shrugged his shoulders, hunching them as though against a bitter wind. He could scarcely close his eyes without seeing the boy’s head twisting to the side and hearing the snap of a neck. Credell’s death, at least, had happened out of sight. And he was an instructor. To murder a child so young ... it made him heartsick to imagine the letter that must have been sent home to Vali’s family.

Lilith had been dragged off and delivered to the Mystics. They would not kill her at once, though the penalty of death was certain. First, they would try to learn where the stolen artifacts had gone. He had been there when they took her away. Before they managed to gag her, she had muttered, “He was supposed to join us,” over and over again. As she passed him in the hall, she had still been trying to repeat it around the cloth that gagged her.

“Credell was a tragedy,” said Theren, the words quivering. “But had I ever imagined she might kill a boy so young, I would have stopped her. I would have snapped her neck mys—” Her voice shattered at last, and she hid her face behind her hood, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Ebon had only seen Theren weep once before, and like then, it was an unnerving sight. He and Kalem looked away, feeling suddenly awkward.

Footsteps crunched across the snow towards them, and they looked up, grateful for the distraction. To Ebon’s surprise, he saw Dasko. The instructor came forward with his hood up and hands tucked into sleeves, shielding them from winter’s chill. He stopped a few feet away and nodded to each of them in turn.

“Well met,” he said softly. “I had hoped ... I am sorry I could not come and see you earlier, Ebon. But I wondered if I might still speak with you, as I requested some time ago? I would not think to trouble you now. But perhaps tonight, after the Yearsend feast?”

Ebon glanced at Kalem and Theren. “Of course, Instructor.”

“Very good.” But Dasko remained, fidgeting with his hands and tugging on his thumbs. Then his head jerked up, and he winced.

“I have an unpleasant question. Might I ...?”

He waved a hand. Ebon glanced at Kalem and Theren, and then stepped away with Dasko. The instructor’s grey eyes wandered for a moment before he spoke to Ebon in a low murmur.

“Last night ... I know that after you left the vault’s office, you and Isra had words.”

Ebon’s ears flushed with shame. “We did,” he muttered.

Dasko’s frown deepened. “We know she struck at you. With her magic.”

“I cannot blame her for that,” said Ebon. “What we had all seen ... and then, I would not leave her and Astrea be when she asked me to.”

A sigh slipped from Dasko. “Then you do not wish to punish her?”

Ebon blinked, looking at him with wide eyes. “Punish her? No, of course not. Sky above, how could I think to do so?”

The instructor’s shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Thank goodness. She broke the Academy’s rules. If you wished it, you could ask for punishment to be meted out. But I am greatly relieved you have no such wish. You are right that last night would have put a terrible strain on anyone, and for Isra in particular.” He shook his head.

Curiosity poked at Ebon despite himself. “What of her? I have never thought she viewed me very highly.”

“Indeed not,” said Dasko. “It is not a happy tale, and mayhap it is not mine to tell. But it might shed some light on her actions, and since you have shown her mercy, I see no reason not to tell you. Isra was sent her an orphan, as was Astrea.”

“I heard something of that from Astrea herself.”

Dasko grimaced. “She likely did not tell you—perhaps she does not even know—why Isra came to that orphanage in the first place. But her parents were killed by the royalty of Wadeland.”

A chill crept up Ebon’s spine. “What? Murdered?”

The instructor looked away. “As with many things, the truth is not so simple. Her father was crushed under the prince’s carriage. When her mother sought recompense, the king tired of her pleading, and had her executed.”

Ebon stared at him. “But that is monstrous. The King’s law—”

“Provides for no such thing, I know,” said Dasko. “The king of Wadeland is foul indeed, but the High King cannot interfere with every injustice across Underrealm. Especially when no witness remained to bring word of this misdeed to her.”

“I cannot believe ...” Ebon shook his head, afraid he might be sick. The way Isra spat every time she said the word
goldbag—
at last he felt he understood.

“I told you it was no happy tale,” Dasko said quietly. “But I have taken enough of your time. Be with your friends, and be grateful you are all whole. Also, I have this for you.”

From an inner pocket of his robes Dasko produced a letter and placed it in Ebon’s hands. Ebon broke the Drayden family seal and unfolded a letter from Halab, inviting him to the manor for lunch to celebrate the holiday.

Hot fire burned in his veins, and he could not stop his hands from shaking. Lunch with his family would mean he would have to see his uncle, Matami, and Matami might have been involved in Lilith’s crimes. That truth might come out in her questioning, but then again it might not. From what Ebon knew, the Mystics were not seeking accomplices, but only where she had taken the artifacts. The thought of sitting across from Matami’s haughty, smirking face for an entire meal made him want to melt a stone and throw it in the man’s eyes.

He forced himself to stay calm. Matami’s presence might be unbearable, but it would be good to see Halab and his mother, and especially Albi. “Thank you, Instructor. May I send a reply?”

“Of course.” From a pocket, Dasko produced a bit of charcoal and gave it to him.

Ebon walked back to Kalem and Theren. “I am invited to a meal with my aunt. When last I saw her, she invited me to bring any friends from the Academy I might wish. What say you? Will you come with me?”

They both nodded, so Ebon scrawled his answer on the parchment and handed it to Dasko.

“Very good, Ebon. We shall speak on the morrow.” He gave Kalem and Theren a small nod before leaving.

“What did he have to say to you?” said Theren. “You spoke longer than I thought you might.”

But Ebon had no wish to speak of Isra’s story, which still turned his stomach. He only said, “In her anger, Isra used her magic upon me last night. It was a small thing, and no harm came of it. But Dasko wished to make sure I did not want to see her punished. I told him of course I did not. It is Yearsend, after all. A time for forgiveness.”

“Yearsend,” said Kalem with a sigh. “It seems such a hollow thing. Who can care for a holiday now?”

“Mayhap we need it,” said Ebon. “Something to take our minds from the darkness we have borne witness to. What better for the purpose than a celebration?”

“Midday meal in a goldbag’s manor, and the Yearsend feast for supper,” said Theren. “Fine distractions indeed. Yet I do not think they will rid me of the darkness.”

“Try to let them,” said Kalem. “It is not as though we can blame ourselves for what happened.”

Theren chewed at her cheek. “We knew what she was up to. We might have done more to stop her.”

“You did all you could—we all did,” said Ebon. “We were very nearly expelled because of it.”

But Theren only shook her head and looked away.