On the first afternoon I get a ride in a wagon that's heading north. It's not much faster than walking, but at least I don't have to walk and can get out of the rain, if there is rain. I travel with them, and help them with all the things people need help on the road for the evening and the next day. On Sunday morning we part ways, because my wagoners are turning towards west, and I'm heading as straight north as I can.
Sunday morning I spend walking down an empty road, alone. It's a beautiful weather, the sun is shining, but not too hotly, there are some wisps of cloud in the sky and a slight summer breeze waving the branches of trees by the road. I almost hum to myself while walking, almost burst out singing, but the grim mission of my journey keeps my mood too down for that, even if the weather is better than you could hope for.
Instead, since there is no one else on the road, I practise my magic. I try new things, try to figure out what I can do, what I can't. Most things I can't on the first try, but they give me a feeling I could, if I just kept practising, tried hard enough.
By midday it gets too hot. Even this far north the best days in the summer can get all too warm, especially if you're walking a dusty road with a heavy-ish backpack. Not that the things I own that I might need on a journey like this weight much. Luckily I have just figured out how I can move air, make my own wind. So I make the air move, just around myself, to make the heat more tolerable.
Some time in the afternoon I stop and eat some of the food my former travelling companions gave me. Nothing fancy, some apples, bread, hard cheese, dried meat. What ever I have learned is handy on the road. And I don't carry too much, because I don't want to carry the extra weight. I'll find food somewhere, eventually. I'm lucky I don't have to carry much water with me, since the road I'm travelling runs all the time near a river, in which the water isn't too bad. It doesn't exactly taste good, but it doesn't make you sick either.
I continue until the sun begins to set, as which point I decide it's time to start making camp. I have seen only a few travellers with me on the road, but when it begins to get dark, I spot a fire on the side of the road some way ahead. I walk up to the fire to find an old traveller, who tells me he has been on the road literally his whole life. He lets me stay with him at the fire and share some food. I sleep there with him, under a make-do shelter he's made from an old think cloth. It isn't much, but it does keep most of the rain our, if there is rain. And of course the two of us are safer together than either would be alone. The next morning I thanked the old man and we went our separate ways.
I spent my time thinking about Tauria, about Laelia. About the Academy, and all the things that have been going on there. About Omega and what he told me. I wonder what is going on at the school while I'm gone. The daily routines, classes, the full dining hall. I keep wondering who it was that poisoned Tauria. It had to be the nephew of the man selling the chocolate. It has to be someone quite close to us, so he could've known we were going to the market, that he would've known or at least guessed Tauria wanted to buy chocolate that day.
Or maybe he's just been spying on us, on me. A chill runs down my back at the thought. Maybe someone has figured out a way to listen in to people's conversations using magic. It wasn't impossible. I think. Though honestly, I wouldn't know. Even though I am getting better at my magic, I have hardly scratched the surface of what I can do I can feel that much. But since no one has ever taught me any of it, or even talked to me much about magic other than as a general thing on the list to be avoided, there is no way for me to actually know where the limits of magic lay.
It starts to rain. Heavily. I make a bubble around myself to avoid getting wet. This magic thing is proving to be very handy. And then I remember something. From the day Tauria was poisoned. I drew energy from the ground. I did it without even thinking about it back then, but with its help I was able to move faster, move longer without getting tired. So I concentrate on my feet, in the ground below them. I can feel the energy hidden deep in the layers of the ground being pulled up, rushing into my body. I start to jog, speed up to running. I keep speeding up, just to test my new advantage in travelling. The power is more than I thought it would. I actually run, fast, with the heavy bag on my back, without seemingly getting exhausted.
I stop again when the sun is getting low, but now quite setting yet. I've been running for hours, and I'm exhausted. I decide that tomorrow I can't run this fast, or I'll only make it half the day. Better to go slow and steady and get further than to wear myself out before noon.
This time there is no one else on the side of the road, no fire, no shelter. I walk some way into the woods, to the bank of the river flowing steadily back south where I came from. I make a shelter for myself under a tree from some huge branches, have some supper and try to sleep.
~x~
I wake up in the middle of the night to a growl. I open my eyes and lay still, listening. There is an animal outside my lousy shelter. A big animal. It sounds like a northern wild wolf. Those things are enormous. The shadow I can see through the branches supports my hypothesis. I breath in, deeply, steadily, slowly and silently. Not that it helps. The northern wild wolves are not only huge, they also have excellent sense of smell. The thing probably already knows I'm here. So I am not going to give it the advantage of attacking first.
I move fast, throwing my hands out, blowing up my shelter with the help of magic, right in the wolf's face. I'm up and running faster than I thought it would be possible for me to get up. I can hear the wolf howling behind me, and soon settling into fierce and fast run behind me. I draw energy from the earth beneath me as best I can, being still tired from the day. I'm getting terrified.
The fear of the enormous beast on my heels is jamming my thoughts. I realise that when I realise something else. Wolves never hunt alone. The one after me must have a pack, and they must have heard the howls. That moment I can hear more creatures appearing behind me, joining the one already chasing me. In a minute there must be a dozen chasing me.
I escape through the woods, terrified. By every moment I get more certain the wolves will catch me. They're not far behind anymore. I can barely see ahead of myself. I flick a magic glowing ball into existence on top of my head. Never in front, I remember being told when I was young. If you have a light between you and the rest of the world, you won't be able to see the world.
Just as I'm getting too exhausted to run anymore, I have an idea. I begin to head right, towards the river. The wolves are getting ever closer, and the rush and fear of the chase is unbelievable. I think they are the only thing keeping me moving.
The river comes by faster than I thought. I don't stop when I get to the bank, just continue straight, jumping into the cold water flowing down from the mountains still days away. I gulp a huge mouthful of water when I go under. It fills my mouth, my nose, almost my lungs, but I remember to breath out hard just in time. In a few seconds my head breaks the surface and I'm gasping for breath in the cool summer night air. I look around me while gasping for breath. There are no wolves in the water. They didn't follow me. They are still pacing back and forth on the bank, letting out an occasional howl. But apparently they don't care enough about me to follow, but instead move on to find easier dinner to catch for tonight.
I swim slowly to the other bank of the river, all too aware that the river is constantly taking me back south. It's not a big river, so the current isn't too fast, but it's there never the less. When I reach the eastern bank I'm simply of it. too exhausted to do anything other than crawl further away from the water and under a low hanging tree. There I lay, and soon fall asleep.
~x~
I'm dreaming. Even while dreaming, I can't remember what the dream is about. What is happening. I can't make sense of any of it. Tauria is there, and Laelia, and my sword partner Oz, and professor Cole. I can see there is something weird happening, even though I can't tell what or even where we are. An image of a mask with a purple eye on the forehead keeps flashing in my mind. It seems vaguely familiar, but I can't place it anywhere.
Then I fall. The way you fall only in dreams, deep into nothingness.
I jerk upright, breathing hard, shivering in my still-wet clothes. I can feel something is wrong. There is only one thing in my mind: I need to get back to the academy.
_________________________________________________________________
Hello again, I'm back!
I've been back since Moday, and I know I had to write that bit, but since I had only slept for an hour and a half and dad was kind of in the middle of something with his stuff, we decided it's better he writes one bore bit. But I am here now.
Italy was great, by the way. And so hot. You wouldn't believe, but I already told you. The one thing I won't miss about Italy is being sweaty literally all the time. I might do a post about the trip later, maybe after we finish up with the story, or an extra post about it once I get my thoughts about it somehow together and have time to go through the pictures and stuff. Or then I won't.
Either way, this is my first post for a while, and writing feels good. You did some really not-all-that-expected stuff while I was gone, but I guess that's how this story goes and I'll keep building from that.
Your next topic is Waking.
Bye now.
~matu
Friday, July 31, 2015
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
The Sorcerer, Part 34 - Sunbeam
Tuesday afternoon and we're sitting in the library for a change. We are doing actual school work this time, which is a nice change of pace from all the magical cramming we've been doing for five days now. Zeze is still hanging around though, acting as a constant reminder of things happening, but there's only so much research you can do about something before you run out of material. Even with Percy's more than impressive collection.
The rain that had still been pouring in the morning had died down around noon and by the late afternoon the sun was finally starting to peek through the clouds. We took the chance to move to sit at the table by the window, so we could enjoy what little sunshine came through it. Zeze had seemed particularly happy about the decision. She's been sitting on the windowsill ever since the first sunbeams peeked form their cloudy hiding spot.
"Enjoying the sun?" I ask her as she stretches and flops onto her stomach, flapping her wings around for a bit before relaxing them.
"Wait, what," Percy interrupts, his face falling serious. Zeze stops her scolding and flailing and quiets down. There is a tense moment when no one speaks. "Say that last bit again?"
The rain that had still been pouring in the morning had died down around noon and by the late afternoon the sun was finally starting to peek through the clouds. We took the chance to move to sit at the table by the window, so we could enjoy what little sunshine came through it. Zeze had seemed particularly happy about the decision. She's been sitting on the windowsill ever since the first sunbeams peeked form their cloudy hiding spot.
"Enjoying the sun?" I ask her as she stretches and flops onto her stomach, flapping her wings around for a bit before relaxing them.
"She said that she's happy she finally has time to relax in the sun. She's been traveling for a long time," Percy says. He's putting returned books back into the correct shelves.
"Really?" Percy asks, surprised. I raise my eyebrows, but he's looking at the faerie.
"What did she say?" I ask. Percy opens his mouth but doesn't say anything for a moment.
"Well, she said, that faeries draw energy from the sun, and if she doesn't recharge often enough she could fall into, like, a coma? I guess she'd wake up as soon as she gets more energy from the sun, or a 'strong enough magical presence'. She also mentioned that all Fae are like that, not just faeries," he explains finally. That sounds interesting, although somewhat impractical. I guess that's another explanation why there're no faeries here, the weather being what it is; when it starts to rain it's often several days before we see the sun again.
"Didn't you know that?" I ask.
"Hm?"
"Judging by your reaction, at least, you hadn't heard about that before." He looks away. He really hates to admit he wasn't aware of something.
"Well, no, I hadn't," he says. "Our collection on magical creatures is far more limited than on other animals, because magical creatures generally are very self aware and tend to dislike being studied. There's only been a few people who have studied them extensively, and they have all had very powerful magic themselves."
"That's true. I guess it's the whole magical presence thing, they get drawn to places with strong magic." Just like at the beginning of the term... It's possible that the faeries appeared, because they felt someone powerful use magic. Although... who? And how? Perhaps the leaves on the tree were the reason the faeries appeared, not the other way round? It's a possibility at least... We do now know that there is at least one person, Viper, in the school with magic that powerful, but what would be his reason to make a tree grow? Perhaps there is someone else, with magic as powerful. If we could only find them, maybe they could help us stop Viper, magic against magic.
"Why is she hanging around here though?" Alica asks, leafing through a book about international relations. "You know, she delivered her message, she doesn't really have anything else to do anymore, does she?"
Zeze props herself on her elbows and flaps her wings idly, watching as Percy, for some reason, becomes flustered and shuffles for an answer.
"Well, ah, I guess it could be... Maybe she... uh," he tries, and fails, to come up with something.
Percy swallows, a red tinge rising from under his collar. Whatever she had just said about him, surely garnered some interesting reactions.
"She, uh, says that she's going to wait here for the Grand Sorceress, because she really doesn't want to fly all the way back, and she usually goes where the Grand Sorceress goes anyway, so..." he says. I wait for a moment, to see if he'll elaborate on the second half of the little speech.
"And..?" I ask. He gives me a confused smile, but I know he knows what I'm talking about. "What did he say about you? I heard her say your name, so don't try to deny it."
"Oh, well, ahh," he says, flushing again. "She said that... she really liked how soft my hair was. She, um, likes to sleep in it."
"Pfft, really?" Alica says with a grin and he's up and running her fingers through Percy's hair in seconds. "Woow, she's right, this is so soft! I'd totally sleep in here too, if I were that that tiny!" She laughs, and he laughs too, a little awkwardly and the blush gets deeper. Poor sod.
"Uhh," says Percy, his eyes flicking to us in a panicky nature.
"Wait, what," Percy interrupts, his face falling serious. Zeze stops her scolding and flailing and quiets down. There is a tense moment when no one speaks. "Say that last bit again?"
The library doors slam open with a loud bang and we all practically jump out of our skins. Zeze is in Percy's hair faster than anything I've ever seen.
"Master Woodsham!" someone shouts from the front of the library. Eclaise. We rush to the front to find him standing there, looking distressed and slightly out of breath.
"Professor Eclaise, what's the matter?" I ask and he takes a deep breath when he sees me.
"Oh thank gods you are here!" he says, grasping the front of his robes. "I need to tell you something, and I might get into trouble for this, but Icthys be my witness, you are our best chance to get out of this mess. The principal is a good man, he really is, but he sees the world much too simply and right now we don't have time for dillydallying. Too much is at stake here, you understand, everything depends on this, and it's - "
He's started to ramble, a nervous tic, and I place my hand on his arm to catch his attention. He looks at me, snapping his mouth closed.
"What has happened?" I ask and he nods, and rubs his hands together.
"Herbert Cole has been imprisoned," he says.
I... fuck. "Could... could you say that again?" I say, trying to understand what exactly made me hear something like that.
"Chief Wismuth has taken professor Cole into custody today, just a few hours back," Eclaise says and okay is this really happening? This has got to be a prank, this makes no sense whatsoever, if there's something Cole is not it's a criminal. Unpleasant, sure, but criminal? They'd arrest me before him, and the chances of that actually happening are very low.
"Why?" Gil asks. "I mean, what did he do?" Eclaise rubs his hands together.
"He caused a scene at the Pines' farm," he says. "He stunned three people. With magic."
I burst out laughing.
"Oh, that is rich," I say. "That is, that's a good one! Cole with magic, now I've heard it all. Next you're going to tell me he burned all his history books." My laughter dies quickly at the look on Eclaise's face. He is absolutely serious. "No," I say. "Really? Cole has magic?"
"But, that can't be," says Percy from beside me. He's staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. "He can't have, I... I don't understand, he..."
"Ah, a faerie," he says, and frowns. "Why is there a faerie here? This is quite unusual, isn't it? Why's she in your hair, Masters?"
"Ah, quite right," says Eclaise.
"Okay," I say, rubbing my face with my hands. I need to get a grip, I need to find out more. I need to... "Okay. Professor?"
He turns to look at me.
"Tell me everything."
________________________________________________________________
Dundundunnn.
I know I'm late, I got confused with the days. But at least it's not, like... midnight. Or four in the morning and the tears are pouring so I guess that's something.
I can't remember what the topic I gave you was, but I gave it to you and you know what it was, so it's no matter.
Zeze says all kinds of shit all the time, but finally it's something relevant huehue. Don't worry if you can't be bothered to try to decipher it tho, all will be revealed eventually. I also really wanna draw Zeze, but I haven't yet gotten to it. Maybe for Monday...
Well, I'm gonna go now. Can't wait for an update from Knute. Toodles~
Pie out.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
The Sorcerer, Part 33 - Wind
I have the three documents in front of me, and they all tell me a story that I have heard before but whose meaning never occurred to me before. The King and Sharon Rey tell about Hans Jacobs' death by using almost the same words. Neither of them cite any eye witnesses or other extra sources, both just state the same facts. And the same is true for the short manuscript that I found from my file about Mary Shannon. The manuscript contained some technical information about Mary Shannon's later activities during the Archibald Rey's trial, when she already had taken her husband's name and was defending him. It also mentions Jacobs' death as it was obviously a key issue during the trial. All tree sources just state facts.
This means that none of the writers had direct evidence about the event. They had a common source of information and they just relied on that. It was probably some kind of official report produced by the prison commander about the incident; it was clearly his responsibility to report what had happened. It's strange that no one had questioned the report, even Sharon Rey whose husband was in danger to be punished about a murder that was documented only in that one report. It must be that she was so preoccupied about how that murder happened that she did not ask whether it did happen in the first place. Well, I never questioned that either, and to my knowledge no one has.
I hear the clock strike twelve and realise that I should already be in the fourth term class. I'm late from the class twice during the same day! This is really not my day. I start heading out to run to the main building, but for some reason the dagger hanging over the mantlepiece catches my eye. It has been there for ages and I haven't thought of it for years, but I have a strange feeling that I need to take the dagger with me. I take it from the wall and push it to the sleeve of my boot. Then I run to the school. Only once I'm outside my vague thought starts to get shape and I understand what I need to do - and why I need the dagger.
~x~
The fourth termers also looked surprised when I showed up a few minutes late, although not as much as the sixth termers, as I had thought to change into decent clothes and wash the mud away. And the surprise had quickly turned into long faces when I assigned an essay to write by Thursday. Even though I take my teaching duties seriously, the hours today are much more precious than any other day and they must not be wasted. I briefly popped into Almeron's office to tell him my plan, and then I took a horse from the school stable. He is my favourite, called White Diamond, and he would win a horse race any day. And actually he did a few years back, as the stable master brought him to competitions a few times. The white diamond-shaped patch of fur on his forehead clearly shines against his otherwise black fur and gives him the looks of noble breed.
I ride back to the road where I lost Jacobs' track this morning and continue toward the town. Although there are too many tracks to follow any individual, I can at least make that a single horse has not turned away from the road. And it is as I thought, everyone is either going to the town or coming from there.
Luckily the rain has stopped, so it is easier to follow the tracks. The wind is clearly rising and it is pushing the gray clouds away. I have a feeling that today some dark clouds of the history could be blown away by a brisk wind as well. When I approach the market square, the first sun beams appear past the clouds since Sunday. They start to warm up the tents of the merchants, and soon enough the bright sunlight illuminates the vapor that starts to rise from the roofs.
I dismount White Diamond and tie him to a pole. Then I walk to Mr Steinwyg, who sells vegetables and wooden supplies on the market square every single day, no matter what. Except never on Sundays. He is also the best source of information about the ongoings in the town. I look around to see if anything suspicious is going on before turning to him.
"Good morning, Mr Steinwyg" I say politely.
"Ah, good morning, professor Cole. Haven't seen you since Friday morning. You seemed very busy then, I hope everything is alright. You didn't even stop to greet."
I laugh. "I'm quite alright thank you. You know me, when I am running, there is no stopping me."
"Yes, I know that very well. But I cannot say that I understand. I like to stay in one place, and that place is here." Mr Steinwyg smiles and raises to his toes for a second, and pats his belly gently. He indeed likes to be in the place where everyone comes and shares their information with him. With his charming friendliness he organizes and informs and helps many people. And it is very good for his business too.
"Luckily we are not all the same. Who would sell me those delicious carrots if you were running with me in the outskirts of Lonchester every morning?"
He smiles brightly. "You are quite right. And how many do you want?"
"I'll take one bunch, please. Oh and by the way, has anyone been asking me today? I heard that an old friend is coming to the town, and I am pretty sure that he knows I am living here. I hope that I could meet him while he is here."
"Sorry, professor Cole. At least I have not heard."
"Ah, okay. He is a bit strange man. He used to have a brown horse with gray hair. He rides the horse but does not use a saddle."
"Oh, he does not? That is strange indeed. But you are lucky, I think your friend was here just an hour or so ago. I think he talked with Robert. Hey Robert! Could'ya come here for a while?" He waves with his hand to the man in the next tent, who looks up and approaches us.
"Did you talk with the man without a saddle? He is a friend of professor Cole's!"
"Well, I kind of did. He really did not talk much, he seemed to be in a hurry. He just bought a knife and went on. He actually wanted a dagger but I don't have any."
"Did he ask for directions or anything? I don't think he knows this area well." I ask casually, although my heart is beating fast.
"Oh yes, he also wanted a bow and arrows to hunt for rabbits. That's what he said, although I thought that was kind of weird. Why doesn't he just use a snare like others?"
"So what did you tell him?" I ask.
"Well, I told him to go to the blacksmith at the end of the Birch Street. I think he is the only one who actually makes decent bows in this town."
"Did he go there, then? And did you see him talk with other people?"
"Yes, he left directly toward Birch Street from here. I saw him coming from the South Road, and I think he talked with those people before coming to me." Robert points at the merchants at the edge of the square.
"I think you don't need to find him, professor Cole. He will find you alright" Mr Steinwyg says brightly.
"Oh he probably will. But you see, I have to leave the town for a while and if I don't find him soon, I won't see him at all. And that would be a pity."
"Well, I agree with that. Seeing old friends is indeed a joy."
"Thank you very much for your help. It was very helpful talking with you, as always." I say and nod to them both.
"It's a pleasure. See you next time." says Mr Steinwyg.
I head toward the other merchants. I must keep calm, although it is now quite evident that Jacobs is not going to flee but instead is preparing for a fight. He did not have any arms in his wagon, so he clearly was not planning for this, but after seeing me, the first thing he does is to buy weapons. He wants me dead. That means that he thinks I am the only person who knows his true identity. Or the only person outside a conspiracy group?
I still don't have a clue why he is here in the first place, but that is a thing to be solved later. Now I must find him before he finds me.
"Good morning! A nice weather, finally," I greet the merchants.
"Good morning, professor. What would would you like?"
"I am actually looking for my friend. He was riding a brown horse without a saddle, maybe an hour ago."
"Yeah, he talked to us. He was asking where you live. Funny though, he was talking about lieutenant Herbert Cole, not professor. But it's you, isn't it?"
"Yes, he always calls me that. It's kind of an inside joke. So, did you guide him to the academy?"
"Oh yes. He seemed to be pleased with that information."
"Did you talk about something else?"
"Well he was asking about the surroundings of the Academia. I told him that it is a beautiful area. He has not been there before?"
"No, this is his first time here. And you gave him good instructions so that he can find there?"
"I hope I did, professor."
"Very well, thanks for your help."
Now I am in a hurry. Jacobs has a head start, but he went to buy a bow. Luckily the blacksmith lives in the opposite direction, so he has to go quite far around the lake and then come back. I must try to catch him before he enters the campus area. He is much too dangerous a man there.
I mount White Diamond and start to gallop towards the school a route that is different from the one Jacobs will most likely take from the blacksmith. This way, I will be between him and the school and know which way to go. I am glad I took White Diamond, because speed is exactly what I need now. Jacobs' horse is older, skinnier, and tired of pulling the wagon the whole morning and then escaping me. So I will be faster, if I just am able to cross his path.
When I come to the gate of the Academia, I notice that our gardener is still cutting trees and clearing bushes just beside the crossing outside the Academia wall. Lucky me.
"Hello, John!" I already should from the distance before stopping just beside him. "Have you seen anyone coming toward the Academia since I left?"
He looks up to me for a while, scratches his ear and says: "Well, several students have gone out, and professor Atwell came from the town. Are you looking for her?"
"No, I am looking for a man on a brown horse without a saddle. He was in the town maybe half an hour ago and he is probably heading to the Academia."
"No sir, I haven't seen anyone who's not from the school."
"Okay, now listen carefully. I need your help, and this is very important. This man is armed and dangerous but only when threatened. I will try to stop him, but if he comes here, he must be followed from a distance so that he does not notice. Don't try to stop him yourselves. If he comes to talk to you, don't let him know that he was expected."
"Oh gods, what is going on?" John looks worried but also excited at the same time.
"I have no time to explain. You must tell the principal and you must not let students know. And keep an eye on the road from the town."
"Yes, sir. I'll do my best."
John is a clever man, and I can trust that he will do what he promises. Now I head White Diamond to the other road that takes the lake route to the town. I need to avoid a situation where Jacobs would see me and have an opportunity to use his bow. So whenever I can, I ride small paths beside the road where I can quite well see the road but I am myself covered with the forest. I must still keep good speed, because the galloping of the horse can be heard and Jacobs gets some time to prepare.
I ride pretty far without seeing anything. I am already worried that I made wrong conclusions and Jacobs is actually elsewhere. If he is not heading to the school, where could he be?
Then, suddenly after a curve I see him. He has a bow on his left hand and a quiver on his back, and he sees me. I quickly turn the horse away from the road behind some trees but continue approaching him. Jacobs takes an arrow and prepares to shoot, but he cannot aim because of poor visibility.
"Jacobs, surrender!" I shout. "Several people already know you are alive! You cannot escape."
I don't see too well what he is doing, but then I hear a swish and a thud when he shoots his arrow, more or less in random, and the arrow hits a tree. Then I see him turning and galloping away. When I come out of the forest, Jacobs already is heading his way across the field on the other side of the road. I gallop after him. He has no chance to escape with a tired horse, and he cannot shoot when riding.
Jacobs aims directly to a nearby farm. He rides full speed to the yard, and I am very close but don't catch him quite yet. There is a maid walking on the yard, heading to the house with two buckets of water in her hand. Jacob rushes beside her, jumps off the horse and grabs the maid from behind her back. He has the knife in his hand, and he is keeping it on her throat.
"Nobody move!" Jacobs shouts.
The girl screams, and I stop my horse as fast as I can. I stare at Jacobs.
"Let her go, Jacobs." I say furiously. He has a determined looks in his eyes. Again, he is somewhere where he does not want to be, and he'll do anything to get out of there. He is now extremely dangerous. I raise my hands above my head.
"Look, Jacobs. I am unarmed. Let's talk." My dagger is burning in my boot, but of course he does not know it. And me being too far and him having the girl, the dagger is useless.
"Why did you come across my path? You should have left me alone," Jacobs says sourly between his teeth.
Suddenly there are voices around us. People heard her scream and now there are an old man and a young girl standing on the porch of the house, trying to understand what is going on. A farm-hand is coming from behind a storehouse behind Jacob. He sees him hold her, and starts running.
"Take your hands off her!" the farm-hand shouts. Oh no, he does not see the knife, he does not understand the danger.
"Stop!" I shout. "Everybody stop!"
He does not stop but runs madly at Jacobs. There is less than ten metres. Jacobs turns his head to see what is going on behind him and sees the farm-hand approaching. Oh my gods, why does he not stop? The girl will die! I feel the tickling behind my eyes stronger than for years. I point them with my right hand.
"Stun!" I shout. Jacobs, the maid, and the farm-hand all become limp and fall on the ground unconscious.
~x~
This is really a day for Chief Wismuth. Not only was he able to make an arrest by himself, but to arrest a man who almost killed a girl. These things don't happen often in our small town. He will surely forget to mention that the criminal was already lying on the ground when he arrived. On the other hand, the old farmer will most likely tell his version of the story to anyone in the bar for a beer. Indeed, he was standing just a few metres away when it happened, while the Chief only arrived afterwards.
But the best thing is that the Chief arrested a scary sorcerer with bare hands. I can already imagine him telling a story where stunning spells were cracking all around him but he just confronted the sorcerer and stymied him. I don't care about his ridiculous stories, as long as I can tell my story to Almeron.
"I must see the Academia principal immediately. It is urgent," I say to Wismuth.
"Well, I'll see what I can do." He replies lazily. He is not much of a help. Luckily Jacobs is no longer running loose. He is still weak and disoriented but already able to walk. Wismuth is giving him a helping hand as we walk down a corridor in the castle dungeon.
"I think you should tie our hands. Who knows what we might get up to when you turn your back," I say.
"Well well, you may be right. I must say that I couldn't have guessed what you were up to today. A respected professor, stunning innocent people with spells. Now I have seen it all."
He takes a rope hanging on a nail on the wall and ties my hands tightly. I try to loosen my hands but they are too tight. Wismuth knows his knots. Then he takes another rope and ties Jacobs' hands as tightly. That was exactly what I hoped for. I don't care for being with him if he is untied. Then Wismuth takes a large key from his belt and opens a squeaking door.
"Please welcome to our humble hotel." Wismuth says and points a windowless cell to us. The only one in the town, other rooms down here are used for all kinds of storage. We walk in, Jacobs still needing some guidance by Wismuth, and then he bangs the door closed and turns the key.
"I need to talk to the principal!" I shout through the door.
"I'll let him know." I barely hear Wismuth's voice through the thick door. I hope he does.
Then we are alone, just the two of us, in a dark cell in the castle.
________________________________________________________________
Your topic is Sunbeam.
This means that none of the writers had direct evidence about the event. They had a common source of information and they just relied on that. It was probably some kind of official report produced by the prison commander about the incident; it was clearly his responsibility to report what had happened. It's strange that no one had questioned the report, even Sharon Rey whose husband was in danger to be punished about a murder that was documented only in that one report. It must be that she was so preoccupied about how that murder happened that she did not ask whether it did happen in the first place. Well, I never questioned that either, and to my knowledge no one has.
I hear the clock strike twelve and realise that I should already be in the fourth term class. I'm late from the class twice during the same day! This is really not my day. I start heading out to run to the main building, but for some reason the dagger hanging over the mantlepiece catches my eye. It has been there for ages and I haven't thought of it for years, but I have a strange feeling that I need to take the dagger with me. I take it from the wall and push it to the sleeve of my boot. Then I run to the school. Only once I'm outside my vague thought starts to get shape and I understand what I need to do - and why I need the dagger.
~x~
The fourth termers also looked surprised when I showed up a few minutes late, although not as much as the sixth termers, as I had thought to change into decent clothes and wash the mud away. And the surprise had quickly turned into long faces when I assigned an essay to write by Thursday. Even though I take my teaching duties seriously, the hours today are much more precious than any other day and they must not be wasted. I briefly popped into Almeron's office to tell him my plan, and then I took a horse from the school stable. He is my favourite, called White Diamond, and he would win a horse race any day. And actually he did a few years back, as the stable master brought him to competitions a few times. The white diamond-shaped patch of fur on his forehead clearly shines against his otherwise black fur and gives him the looks of noble breed.
I ride back to the road where I lost Jacobs' track this morning and continue toward the town. Although there are too many tracks to follow any individual, I can at least make that a single horse has not turned away from the road. And it is as I thought, everyone is either going to the town or coming from there.
Luckily the rain has stopped, so it is easier to follow the tracks. The wind is clearly rising and it is pushing the gray clouds away. I have a feeling that today some dark clouds of the history could be blown away by a brisk wind as well. When I approach the market square, the first sun beams appear past the clouds since Sunday. They start to warm up the tents of the merchants, and soon enough the bright sunlight illuminates the vapor that starts to rise from the roofs.
I dismount White Diamond and tie him to a pole. Then I walk to Mr Steinwyg, who sells vegetables and wooden supplies on the market square every single day, no matter what. Except never on Sundays. He is also the best source of information about the ongoings in the town. I look around to see if anything suspicious is going on before turning to him.
"Good morning, Mr Steinwyg" I say politely.
"Ah, good morning, professor Cole. Haven't seen you since Friday morning. You seemed very busy then, I hope everything is alright. You didn't even stop to greet."
I laugh. "I'm quite alright thank you. You know me, when I am running, there is no stopping me."
"Yes, I know that very well. But I cannot say that I understand. I like to stay in one place, and that place is here." Mr Steinwyg smiles and raises to his toes for a second, and pats his belly gently. He indeed likes to be in the place where everyone comes and shares their information with him. With his charming friendliness he organizes and informs and helps many people. And it is very good for his business too.
"Luckily we are not all the same. Who would sell me those delicious carrots if you were running with me in the outskirts of Lonchester every morning?"
He smiles brightly. "You are quite right. And how many do you want?"
"I'll take one bunch, please. Oh and by the way, has anyone been asking me today? I heard that an old friend is coming to the town, and I am pretty sure that he knows I am living here. I hope that I could meet him while he is here."
"Sorry, professor Cole. At least I have not heard."
"Ah, okay. He is a bit strange man. He used to have a brown horse with gray hair. He rides the horse but does not use a saddle."
"Oh, he does not? That is strange indeed. But you are lucky, I think your friend was here just an hour or so ago. I think he talked with Robert. Hey Robert! Could'ya come here for a while?" He waves with his hand to the man in the next tent, who looks up and approaches us.
"Did you talk with the man without a saddle? He is a friend of professor Cole's!"
"Well, I kind of did. He really did not talk much, he seemed to be in a hurry. He just bought a knife and went on. He actually wanted a dagger but I don't have any."
"Did he ask for directions or anything? I don't think he knows this area well." I ask casually, although my heart is beating fast.
"Oh yes, he also wanted a bow and arrows to hunt for rabbits. That's what he said, although I thought that was kind of weird. Why doesn't he just use a snare like others?"
"So what did you tell him?" I ask.
"Well, I told him to go to the blacksmith at the end of the Birch Street. I think he is the only one who actually makes decent bows in this town."
"Did he go there, then? And did you see him talk with other people?"
"Yes, he left directly toward Birch Street from here. I saw him coming from the South Road, and I think he talked with those people before coming to me." Robert points at the merchants at the edge of the square.
"I think you don't need to find him, professor Cole. He will find you alright" Mr Steinwyg says brightly.
"Oh he probably will. But you see, I have to leave the town for a while and if I don't find him soon, I won't see him at all. And that would be a pity."
"Well, I agree with that. Seeing old friends is indeed a joy."
"Thank you very much for your help. It was very helpful talking with you, as always." I say and nod to them both.
"It's a pleasure. See you next time." says Mr Steinwyg.
I head toward the other merchants. I must keep calm, although it is now quite evident that Jacobs is not going to flee but instead is preparing for a fight. He did not have any arms in his wagon, so he clearly was not planning for this, but after seeing me, the first thing he does is to buy weapons. He wants me dead. That means that he thinks I am the only person who knows his true identity. Or the only person outside a conspiracy group?
I still don't have a clue why he is here in the first place, but that is a thing to be solved later. Now I must find him before he finds me.
"Good morning! A nice weather, finally," I greet the merchants.
"Good morning, professor. What would would you like?"
"I am actually looking for my friend. He was riding a brown horse without a saddle, maybe an hour ago."
"Yeah, he talked to us. He was asking where you live. Funny though, he was talking about lieutenant Herbert Cole, not professor. But it's you, isn't it?"
"Yes, he always calls me that. It's kind of an inside joke. So, did you guide him to the academy?"
"Oh yes. He seemed to be pleased with that information."
"Did you talk about something else?"
"Well he was asking about the surroundings of the Academia. I told him that it is a beautiful area. He has not been there before?"
"No, this is his first time here. And you gave him good instructions so that he can find there?"
"I hope I did, professor."
"Very well, thanks for your help."
Now I am in a hurry. Jacobs has a head start, but he went to buy a bow. Luckily the blacksmith lives in the opposite direction, so he has to go quite far around the lake and then come back. I must try to catch him before he enters the campus area. He is much too dangerous a man there.
I mount White Diamond and start to gallop towards the school a route that is different from the one Jacobs will most likely take from the blacksmith. This way, I will be between him and the school and know which way to go. I am glad I took White Diamond, because speed is exactly what I need now. Jacobs' horse is older, skinnier, and tired of pulling the wagon the whole morning and then escaping me. So I will be faster, if I just am able to cross his path.
When I come to the gate of the Academia, I notice that our gardener is still cutting trees and clearing bushes just beside the crossing outside the Academia wall. Lucky me.
"Hello, John!" I already should from the distance before stopping just beside him. "Have you seen anyone coming toward the Academia since I left?"
He looks up to me for a while, scratches his ear and says: "Well, several students have gone out, and professor Atwell came from the town. Are you looking for her?"
"No, I am looking for a man on a brown horse without a saddle. He was in the town maybe half an hour ago and he is probably heading to the Academia."
"No sir, I haven't seen anyone who's not from the school."
"Okay, now listen carefully. I need your help, and this is very important. This man is armed and dangerous but only when threatened. I will try to stop him, but if he comes here, he must be followed from a distance so that he does not notice. Don't try to stop him yourselves. If he comes to talk to you, don't let him know that he was expected."
"Oh gods, what is going on?" John looks worried but also excited at the same time.
"I have no time to explain. You must tell the principal and you must not let students know. And keep an eye on the road from the town."
"Yes, sir. I'll do my best."
John is a clever man, and I can trust that he will do what he promises. Now I head White Diamond to the other road that takes the lake route to the town. I need to avoid a situation where Jacobs would see me and have an opportunity to use his bow. So whenever I can, I ride small paths beside the road where I can quite well see the road but I am myself covered with the forest. I must still keep good speed, because the galloping of the horse can be heard and Jacobs gets some time to prepare.
I ride pretty far without seeing anything. I am already worried that I made wrong conclusions and Jacobs is actually elsewhere. If he is not heading to the school, where could he be?
Then, suddenly after a curve I see him. He has a bow on his left hand and a quiver on his back, and he sees me. I quickly turn the horse away from the road behind some trees but continue approaching him. Jacobs takes an arrow and prepares to shoot, but he cannot aim because of poor visibility.
"Jacobs, surrender!" I shout. "Several people already know you are alive! You cannot escape."
I don't see too well what he is doing, but then I hear a swish and a thud when he shoots his arrow, more or less in random, and the arrow hits a tree. Then I see him turning and galloping away. When I come out of the forest, Jacobs already is heading his way across the field on the other side of the road. I gallop after him. He has no chance to escape with a tired horse, and he cannot shoot when riding.
Jacobs aims directly to a nearby farm. He rides full speed to the yard, and I am very close but don't catch him quite yet. There is a maid walking on the yard, heading to the house with two buckets of water in her hand. Jacob rushes beside her, jumps off the horse and grabs the maid from behind her back. He has the knife in his hand, and he is keeping it on her throat.
"Nobody move!" Jacobs shouts.
The girl screams, and I stop my horse as fast as I can. I stare at Jacobs.
"Let her go, Jacobs." I say furiously. He has a determined looks in his eyes. Again, he is somewhere where he does not want to be, and he'll do anything to get out of there. He is now extremely dangerous. I raise my hands above my head.
"Look, Jacobs. I am unarmed. Let's talk." My dagger is burning in my boot, but of course he does not know it. And me being too far and him having the girl, the dagger is useless.
"Why did you come across my path? You should have left me alone," Jacobs says sourly between his teeth.
Suddenly there are voices around us. People heard her scream and now there are an old man and a young girl standing on the porch of the house, trying to understand what is going on. A farm-hand is coming from behind a storehouse behind Jacob. He sees him hold her, and starts running.
"Take your hands off her!" the farm-hand shouts. Oh no, he does not see the knife, he does not understand the danger.
"Stop!" I shout. "Everybody stop!"
He does not stop but runs madly at Jacobs. There is less than ten metres. Jacobs turns his head to see what is going on behind him and sees the farm-hand approaching. Oh my gods, why does he not stop? The girl will die! I feel the tickling behind my eyes stronger than for years. I point them with my right hand.
"Stun!" I shout. Jacobs, the maid, and the farm-hand all become limp and fall on the ground unconscious.
~x~
This is really a day for Chief Wismuth. Not only was he able to make an arrest by himself, but to arrest a man who almost killed a girl. These things don't happen often in our small town. He will surely forget to mention that the criminal was already lying on the ground when he arrived. On the other hand, the old farmer will most likely tell his version of the story to anyone in the bar for a beer. Indeed, he was standing just a few metres away when it happened, while the Chief only arrived afterwards.
But the best thing is that the Chief arrested a scary sorcerer with bare hands. I can already imagine him telling a story where stunning spells were cracking all around him but he just confronted the sorcerer and stymied him. I don't care about his ridiculous stories, as long as I can tell my story to Almeron.
"I must see the Academia principal immediately. It is urgent," I say to Wismuth.
"Well, I'll see what I can do." He replies lazily. He is not much of a help. Luckily Jacobs is no longer running loose. He is still weak and disoriented but already able to walk. Wismuth is giving him a helping hand as we walk down a corridor in the castle dungeon.
"I think you should tie our hands. Who knows what we might get up to when you turn your back," I say.
"Well well, you may be right. I must say that I couldn't have guessed what you were up to today. A respected professor, stunning innocent people with spells. Now I have seen it all."
He takes a rope hanging on a nail on the wall and ties my hands tightly. I try to loosen my hands but they are too tight. Wismuth knows his knots. Then he takes another rope and ties Jacobs' hands as tightly. That was exactly what I hoped for. I don't care for being with him if he is untied. Then Wismuth takes a large key from his belt and opens a squeaking door.
"Please welcome to our humble hotel." Wismuth says and points a windowless cell to us. The only one in the town, other rooms down here are used for all kinds of storage. We walk in, Jacobs still needing some guidance by Wismuth, and then he bangs the door closed and turns the key.
"I need to talk to the principal!" I shout through the door.
"I'll let him know." I barely hear Wismuth's voice through the thick door. I hope he does.
Then we are alone, just the two of us, in a dark cell in the castle.
________________________________________________________________
Your topic is Sunbeam.
Friday, July 24, 2015
The Sorcerer, Part 32 - Rain
It's raining on Monday. Not the sad kind of pathetic drizzle we've been getting throughout the spring, nor the freezing, near horizontal storm rain typical for the cold autumns, but a proper summer pour. And it is pouring, big, fat raindrops plummeting from the sky like Agnid herself had opened up the skies and let everything fall. It's the amazing kind of rain, the one that will soak you to the bone in two minutes flat, but doesn't make you cold and miserable, but warm and happy and young, cradling you in its arms and you feel like you've never been more alive before.
We go to the library straight from class, and then after supper Alica follows to our dorm room and I just know she's going to finally drag us outside with her. She's been staring out windows for the whole day, almost vibrating with excitement and barely paying attention in class. I find it amusing to be honest; she was like a little kid waiting anxiously for when school is out. She's grinning like a madman.
"Come on, guys, let's go, let's go!" she says as I drop my bag on the floor by the bed. Gil gives her an amused smile.
"Where're we going then?" he asks. She huffs.
"Outside! To the rain! Let's go dance in the rain!" She twirls around, her skirt spinning and wrapping around her thighs. "It's the first proper rain all summer, we can't waste it!"
"Waste it? Sometimes I really wonders about your priorities," Gil says with a shake of his head, but I know he's going to come too. He often tries to act all mature and responsible, but I know he still enjoys things like this.
"Well, I'm ready," I say, emptying my pockets onto the desk. I turn to Gil, who sighs, gives me a smile and then takes out the notebook and pencil from his pockets. "Let's go then."
She lets out a small squee of joy, clapping her hands together and she then spins around and is out the door. Gil and I follow as she leads us through the corridors and out of the dormitory.
Most of Academia buildings are connected to each other, meaning that - if you know the way - you can go from just about anywhere of campus to anywhere else without stepping outside (the teacher's living quarters being the exception, as they have a different building a little ways off), although in some cases cutting through the inner courtyard significantly shortens the trip. There are doors from all separate wings directly outside too, and Alica takes us out from the main door of the dormitory building.
She runs into the rain as soon as the door is open enough for her to fit through.
"Come on!" she laughs, pushing her already wet hair out of her face. She's skipping and spinning with her arms spread wide and she's laughing, enjoying herself with every ounce of her being. She's completely drenched now, which is good because that way, when she does a cartwheel, her skirt sticks to her olive legs. I shoot Gil a quick grin and then run after her.
The rain hits me like a wall when I exit the canopy. I can feel the warm water seep into my clothes and hair, making them cling to my skin as I stand under the shower. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of the droplets as they hit my skin and bounce off, over and over, all over my body. I focus on the sound, the soft drumming all around, and the laughter and cries of joy Alica lets out into the world. Gil is laughing too, he's joined us in the rain and they're splashing in the puddles that are quickly forming on the ground. I smile to myself and open my eyes again, my worries washing away with the rain.
We stay outside for a long time, I don't even know how long exactly, but it's much, much later when Alica sneezes and shivers and we decide it's time to go back inside. Alica sneezes a second time once we're inside and leaves for the girls' dormitory after promising Gil she'll dry herself as soon as she can and put some warm clothes on when she goes to bed. Gil and I return to our room, dripping water all over the corridor floors and smiling like idiots. He fetches our fresh towels from the wardrobe while I go to the bathroom to set up a clothesline to hang our wet uniforms on.
I've already hung up my shirt and vest when he comes in and presses up against my back, hands looping loosely around my waist. I shiver, his clammy shirt cold against my bare back, which makes him laugh softly and press a kiss on my neck. I turn around in his arms and pout at him, before grinning as my hands snake their way up to his throat and loosen his tie, pulling it free from inside his vest. He goes to lick his lips and I take the opportunity to pull him into a kiss with a yank on the tie and he chuckles against my mouth. It quickly turns into a moan.
We break apart after a while and I pull open the knot on his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. His hands have settled on my hips by now and they don't move from there until I tug the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and slide my cold hands underneath it, at which point he raises his arms over his head so I can slip off the affronting garments and toss them on the floor. He gives me a glare and I spurt out a laugh.
"Really?" I ask with a smile. He gives me a look and leans in for a quick kiss before slapping my hip gently. "Alright then," I shrug before picking up the two shirts from the floor and separating them. I hang them on the line next to my own and then turn back to Gil. "Better?"
"Much," he says and with a single steps he's in my personal space again, gripping my face and claiming my mouth. My hands travel along his back, touching, feeling, caressing. My fingers brush along the waist of his trousers and then they get to work on his belt buckle. It opens, and I slip the belt out of the belt hoops and let it drop on the floor.
"I suppose," I say in between kisses, my hand hovering over the only button keeping his trousers up anymore, "you want to hang up your pants as well?"
He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to, I knew the answer before I asked, he just gives me one more kiss and looks at me with a lopsided grin and the button is opened with a flick of my fingers. His pants drop to the floor, pooling around his ankles and he steps backwards out of them while I bend down to pick them up and turn back to the clothesline, hanging them up before slipping out of my own.
"I'm going to start the water," he says behind me as I'm smoothing out the final piece clothing hung onto the line. I hum in response and soon I hear the shower as it sprays its water down. It's a different sound to the rain: continual, localised, and with more pressure. But in a way it's similar, I suppose. They're both cleansing. The tone changes as Gil tests the temperature, the water hitting warm flesh instead of cold tiles. "It's all warmed up now," he says finally and gets in.
I pick up the hand towel from the counter and stuff it under the door to make sure no water accidentally spills under it, before pulling back the shower curtain and poking Gil in the side. He lets out a small yelp, slaps my hand, and then moves over.
The shower is not made for two people, but that hasn't stopped us before. The water is warm, almost hot, as it beats down against my skin, numb from the cold. I'm leaning against the side wall while Gil washes himself, the tiles a bit cool against my back, but they warm up quickly with contact. He's humming under his breath, one of the songs Alica always sings and he's taking painstakingly long. I rub my toes against his calf, trying to get his attention, but he's having none of it.
"Wait your turn," he says calmly, scrubbing the soap on his arms. I groan impatiently, but it's mostly for show and he knows it, paying me no mind. I settle for watching the foam as he washes it off, how it slides along his sides and down his leg, until finally swirling out of sight into the drain. It's almost hypnotic, really.
Finally Gil is done and he turns to me, smiling brightly. I look down the few centimeters' difference in our height, waiting. His tongue darts out to wet his already wet lips. I bite the inside of my cheek to stay still.
"Good boy," he says finally and I laugh. My laugh is cut rather short though, when Gil pushes me against the wall, his hand on my face and his lips on mine. I card my fingers into his dark hair, pulling softly and his mouth moves to my neck, nipping and kissing. I let my head fall against the wall with a moan, because dear gods how did he learn to do that, and when he pulls at my earlobe with his teeth I swear my legs almost buckle under me.
When we finally emerge from behind the shower curtain, our fingers long past wrinkly and a big red mark on my collarbone, the whole room has filled with steam from the shower and the mirrors on the walls are a foggy white. Gil wraps me up in a huge, fluffy, white towel, ruffling up my hair as he dries it. As soon as he lets go of me I grin stupidly at him, before shuffling over to the mirror and writing "Gilbert Amsel is the best at sex" in big letters across the middle, with my very best cursive to boot. I draw a small heart after it for emphasis.
Gil just laughs and ushers me to bed. Though not on my own.
~x~
It keeps raining on Tuesday too. Nothing much of consequence happens during the first few lessons, but as the clock keeps ticking more and more past 11 it becomes clear that professor Cole is going to be very late. Professor Cole is never late. When he finally arrives at 11:23 he's clearly wet, muddy, still in his jogging attire, and has a very weird look on his face. Something has happened.
The students jump up as he walks in, to greet him, but he dismisses us with a wave of his hand.
"Please be seated," he says. He composes himself, standing up straight and looks at the class. "First of all, I apologise for being so late. Some urgent things appeared related to my history research, and it was of utmost importance to deal with those first. I will do all I can to prevent such things from happening again during a class. But I still need to deal with one thing, so I ask you to take your books and start studying in groups of two or three the following topic: 'Political and diplomatic relations between Caldoria and Zanland during the previous century'. I encourage you to cooperate with other groups and pick different decades to look at, so that the whole century is covered. Please write and essay by tomorrow, and I will read them by Friday's class when we will have a more detailed discussion. Any questions? Then, let's get started."
The students start to move into their groups and I turn to Gil. Urgent things related to his research? What is his topic? What has happened? Research in history is hardly urgent, why would he -
"And mister Woodsham, I'd like to have a word with you. Could you please join me outside."
Shit.
He's pointing to the door. I give Gil a quizzical and lowkey panicky look and he shrugs at me, and I then follow Cole outside. He closes the classroom door behind us and turns to me.
"Mr. Woodsham, I need to ask you something," he says, simply.
"Okaay," I say, somewhat suspicious.
"I need to contact Sharon Rey."
Oh. Well, I wasn't exactly expecting that.
"And you expect me to know how to reach her because...?" I ask, looking at him with a slightly amused expression. If he thinks he's getting anything out of me easily, he's wrong.
"Well, she is your aunt, and if someone in this school knows how, it is most likely you," he say. I shrug. It's hardly surprising he figured that much.
"Seeing as you know of my relation to her, surely you know that my family cut ties to her during the battle." It is true, although not the whole story.
"Yes, I know, but you still know what she did during the battle. I expect that your parents did not tell you that. You have heard it from her directly." He sounds like his patience is running a bit thin, but honestly I can't be bothered to care.
"Sure, but it's not like I've kept in touch with her. I've met her twice and that was over ten years ago." This is true as well, at least partially.
"Do you know where she lives now or where she lived at the time?"
"Back then I think she had a cottage on the outskirts of a fishing town somewhere on the eastern coast of Ferland," I say with another shrug. "But I don't think she's lived there for a long time."
"And what was the name of the town?"
"Codcliff."
"Is there anyone in the town to whom I could send a letter so that they would bring it to her?"
"I really wouldn't know. But I did get the impression she kept mostly to herself, so..."
He pauses then, to think things through. I don't know what he wants with Sharon, but I don't trust him enough to tell him anything useful. His stance on magic is well known, and at least I'm aware of his military background, and I'll be damned if I tell a man like that where to find my sorceress aunt.
"Why do you need to find her anyhow?" I ask after he says nothing for a while.
"Well, some new data related to my research on the battle showed up," he says. Interesting... I'm assuming that is the Great Battle. This can't be about Viper though, because his use of the Geltoech mask is already old news (or old enough to not warrant running around in the rain and being late for class), so clearly something else happened, probably this very morning. I'd want to ask him about it, but I really can't and I doubt he'd tell me either way. 30 years ago this thing happened and suddenly it's popping up in the span of a week all over the place. Amazing. "She is very well informed about those events and I must confirm a few things from her."
"You do know that she wrote a book about it, right? The battle?" I say with a sneer. "Even though most of them were burnt, I'd wager you can still probably find one somewhere. A less bigoted country, maybe?" I smirk, but he ignores it.
"Although Sharon Rey has not been my favourite historian, I have done my homework. I am quite familiar with her writings," he says instead and isn't that interesting as well. Cole has always been quick to jump into the defense of official reports, especially concerning the military and the country's stance on magic... What has changed? Did he uncover something about the Great Battle that made him question the government? Or the military? Was the whole thing a mistake, a hoax, a coverup? Did he find evidence that the murder of private Jacobs was wrongfully pinned on sorcerers, like The History of Sorcery and the Great Battle claims? Oh, wouldn't that be the day.
"Well then, seeing as you're just as much informed on this subject as I am, if not moreso, I suggest you go do some more of that homework and let me get back to mine. You did just assign us an essay due tomorrow, did you not?" I say and cross my arms. His eye twitches. I know he wants more, it's all over his face, but I'm not going to give it and he knows it.
"Thank you, Mr. Woodsham," he eventually grits out. "Your information may prove very important. I will let you know if I am successful with my effort."
I look him up and down a few times, studying him, trying to determine something more about what he got up to this morning, but there aren't many clues and he probably doesn't take too kindly if I stay here much longer, so I turn around return to the classroom. He doesn't follow. I peek out of the class room once I notice it and can see him hurrying along the hallway though it is impossible to know where.
"What the hell?" Gil whispers when I sit back down.
"I don't know," I whisper back. "He was asking me about my aunt and where to find her."
"The aunt?" Alica asks. I nod. She frowns. "What does he want with her? It's been 30 years, just leave the poor woman alone!"
"He said he's found some new evidence concerning the Great Battle, and wanted to get her opinion on it," I say.
"Actual new evidence on the Great Battle?" Gil asks. "That's huge if it's true!"
"Yeah, I know! If there was something fishy going on during the battle, it could mean a big change in magical legislation of the kingdom! We play our hand right, we can change the course of history!"
I pause. Change the course of history..?
"Big change is coming," I say. Gil and Alica exchange a confused look. "A change that can make things as they should be. Make things as is desired. A new beginning!" I grin. "The fortune! That's what the fortune said, it has got to be about this! We can actually make magic legal again!"
"What about the part about the danger and destruction and chaos?" Gil asks. "And consuming the world?"
"That's probably Viper, right?" Alica says. I nod.
"Has to be. But didn't she say that as long as I stay alert and take action, it won't happen?" I say. Gil shrugs. Alica looks thoughful.
"The only thing we can do right now is keep doing what we do," she says. "One day at a time, you know."
"Yeah," I say. "One day at a time."
________________________________________________________________
Omg look at that, no Percy this time. Also what time is this to update, it's actually daytime! Well, it was daytime when I'm writing this, we'll see what the train's internet thinks about me posting this now. (if I can't do it now, it'll probably have to wait until the evening, sorryyyyy)
Anywhoo, I have some doubts about the, uh... shower scene. I swear to gods, I don't know why those two can't keep their hands off each other! It just keeps happening! (hanging up clothes to dry is a really weird form of foreplay tho lol but to each his own) But y'know, they're both consenting adults, so what they do on their free time isn't really up for me to criticize. I'm just not sure how much I should write in here about it..... I mean the first scene back in the, what, part 14? 16. Anyway, I tried to leave is kinda vague, but this scene here? It turned out kinda graphic... Oops. I did leave the actual sex part out, but I did actually write it, so.... if you wanna read it, drop me a comment and I'll add it? (I feel kinda weird about this, 99% of the people who read this are my relatives..... ://)
But hey! Sex is great and those two are totally having it, in case you hadn't realised it by now. So suck it. (just like Gil does eyoOOOOOOOO) SORRY
i'm just... i'm gonna go now. the next topic is "wind".
Pie out.
P.S. Just my fucking luck, the one day I finish this thing in the afternoon I have no internet until the evening... hnnnnggggggh. ANYWAY. Enjoy~<3
We go to the library straight from class, and then after supper Alica follows to our dorm room and I just know she's going to finally drag us outside with her. She's been staring out windows for the whole day, almost vibrating with excitement and barely paying attention in class. I find it amusing to be honest; she was like a little kid waiting anxiously for when school is out. She's grinning like a madman.
"Come on, guys, let's go, let's go!" she says as I drop my bag on the floor by the bed. Gil gives her an amused smile.
"Where're we going then?" he asks. She huffs.
"Outside! To the rain! Let's go dance in the rain!" She twirls around, her skirt spinning and wrapping around her thighs. "It's the first proper rain all summer, we can't waste it!"
"Waste it? Sometimes I really wonders about your priorities," Gil says with a shake of his head, but I know he's going to come too. He often tries to act all mature and responsible, but I know he still enjoys things like this.
"Well, I'm ready," I say, emptying my pockets onto the desk. I turn to Gil, who sighs, gives me a smile and then takes out the notebook and pencil from his pockets. "Let's go then."
She lets out a small squee of joy, clapping her hands together and she then spins around and is out the door. Gil and I follow as she leads us through the corridors and out of the dormitory.
Most of Academia buildings are connected to each other, meaning that - if you know the way - you can go from just about anywhere of campus to anywhere else without stepping outside (the teacher's living quarters being the exception, as they have a different building a little ways off), although in some cases cutting through the inner courtyard significantly shortens the trip. There are doors from all separate wings directly outside too, and Alica takes us out from the main door of the dormitory building.
She runs into the rain as soon as the door is open enough for her to fit through.
"Come on!" she laughs, pushing her already wet hair out of her face. She's skipping and spinning with her arms spread wide and she's laughing, enjoying herself with every ounce of her being. She's completely drenched now, which is good because that way, when she does a cartwheel, her skirt sticks to her olive legs. I shoot Gil a quick grin and then run after her.
The rain hits me like a wall when I exit the canopy. I can feel the warm water seep into my clothes and hair, making them cling to my skin as I stand under the shower. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of the droplets as they hit my skin and bounce off, over and over, all over my body. I focus on the sound, the soft drumming all around, and the laughter and cries of joy Alica lets out into the world. Gil is laughing too, he's joined us in the rain and they're splashing in the puddles that are quickly forming on the ground. I smile to myself and open my eyes again, my worries washing away with the rain.
We stay outside for a long time, I don't even know how long exactly, but it's much, much later when Alica sneezes and shivers and we decide it's time to go back inside. Alica sneezes a second time once we're inside and leaves for the girls' dormitory after promising Gil she'll dry herself as soon as she can and put some warm clothes on when she goes to bed. Gil and I return to our room, dripping water all over the corridor floors and smiling like idiots. He fetches our fresh towels from the wardrobe while I go to the bathroom to set up a clothesline to hang our wet uniforms on.
I've already hung up my shirt and vest when he comes in and presses up against my back, hands looping loosely around my waist. I shiver, his clammy shirt cold against my bare back, which makes him laugh softly and press a kiss on my neck. I turn around in his arms and pout at him, before grinning as my hands snake their way up to his throat and loosen his tie, pulling it free from inside his vest. He goes to lick his lips and I take the opportunity to pull him into a kiss with a yank on the tie and he chuckles against my mouth. It quickly turns into a moan.
We break apart after a while and I pull open the knot on his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. His hands have settled on my hips by now and they don't move from there until I tug the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and slide my cold hands underneath it, at which point he raises his arms over his head so I can slip off the affronting garments and toss them on the floor. He gives me a glare and I spurt out a laugh.
"Really?" I ask with a smile. He gives me a look and leans in for a quick kiss before slapping my hip gently. "Alright then," I shrug before picking up the two shirts from the floor and separating them. I hang them on the line next to my own and then turn back to Gil. "Better?"
"Much," he says and with a single steps he's in my personal space again, gripping my face and claiming my mouth. My hands travel along his back, touching, feeling, caressing. My fingers brush along the waist of his trousers and then they get to work on his belt buckle. It opens, and I slip the belt out of the belt hoops and let it drop on the floor.
"I suppose," I say in between kisses, my hand hovering over the only button keeping his trousers up anymore, "you want to hang up your pants as well?"
He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to, I knew the answer before I asked, he just gives me one more kiss and looks at me with a lopsided grin and the button is opened with a flick of my fingers. His pants drop to the floor, pooling around his ankles and he steps backwards out of them while I bend down to pick them up and turn back to the clothesline, hanging them up before slipping out of my own.
"I'm going to start the water," he says behind me as I'm smoothing out the final piece clothing hung onto the line. I hum in response and soon I hear the shower as it sprays its water down. It's a different sound to the rain: continual, localised, and with more pressure. But in a way it's similar, I suppose. They're both cleansing. The tone changes as Gil tests the temperature, the water hitting warm flesh instead of cold tiles. "It's all warmed up now," he says finally and gets in.
I pick up the hand towel from the counter and stuff it under the door to make sure no water accidentally spills under it, before pulling back the shower curtain and poking Gil in the side. He lets out a small yelp, slaps my hand, and then moves over.
The shower is not made for two people, but that hasn't stopped us before. The water is warm, almost hot, as it beats down against my skin, numb from the cold. I'm leaning against the side wall while Gil washes himself, the tiles a bit cool against my back, but they warm up quickly with contact. He's humming under his breath, one of the songs Alica always sings and he's taking painstakingly long. I rub my toes against his calf, trying to get his attention, but he's having none of it.
"Wait your turn," he says calmly, scrubbing the soap on his arms. I groan impatiently, but it's mostly for show and he knows it, paying me no mind. I settle for watching the foam as he washes it off, how it slides along his sides and down his leg, until finally swirling out of sight into the drain. It's almost hypnotic, really.
Finally Gil is done and he turns to me, smiling brightly. I look down the few centimeters' difference in our height, waiting. His tongue darts out to wet his already wet lips. I bite the inside of my cheek to stay still.
"Good boy," he says finally and I laugh. My laugh is cut rather short though, when Gil pushes me against the wall, his hand on my face and his lips on mine. I card my fingers into his dark hair, pulling softly and his mouth moves to my neck, nipping and kissing. I let my head fall against the wall with a moan, because dear gods how did he learn to do that, and when he pulls at my earlobe with his teeth I swear my legs almost buckle under me.
When we finally emerge from behind the shower curtain, our fingers long past wrinkly and a big red mark on my collarbone, the whole room has filled with steam from the shower and the mirrors on the walls are a foggy white. Gil wraps me up in a huge, fluffy, white towel, ruffling up my hair as he dries it. As soon as he lets go of me I grin stupidly at him, before shuffling over to the mirror and writing "Gilbert Amsel is the best at sex" in big letters across the middle, with my very best cursive to boot. I draw a small heart after it for emphasis.
Gil just laughs and ushers me to bed. Though not on my own.
~x~
It keeps raining on Tuesday too. Nothing much of consequence happens during the first few lessons, but as the clock keeps ticking more and more past 11 it becomes clear that professor Cole is going to be very late. Professor Cole is never late. When he finally arrives at 11:23 he's clearly wet, muddy, still in his jogging attire, and has a very weird look on his face. Something has happened.
The students jump up as he walks in, to greet him, but he dismisses us with a wave of his hand.
"Please be seated," he says. He composes himself, standing up straight and looks at the class. "First of all, I apologise for being so late. Some urgent things appeared related to my history research, and it was of utmost importance to deal with those first. I will do all I can to prevent such things from happening again during a class. But I still need to deal with one thing, so I ask you to take your books and start studying in groups of two or three the following topic: 'Political and diplomatic relations between Caldoria and Zanland during the previous century'. I encourage you to cooperate with other groups and pick different decades to look at, so that the whole century is covered. Please write and essay by tomorrow, and I will read them by Friday's class when we will have a more detailed discussion. Any questions? Then, let's get started."
The students start to move into their groups and I turn to Gil. Urgent things related to his research? What is his topic? What has happened? Research in history is hardly urgent, why would he -
"And mister Woodsham, I'd like to have a word with you. Could you please join me outside."
Shit.
He's pointing to the door. I give Gil a quizzical and lowkey panicky look and he shrugs at me, and I then follow Cole outside. He closes the classroom door behind us and turns to me.
"Mr. Woodsham, I need to ask you something," he says, simply.
"Okaay," I say, somewhat suspicious.
"I need to contact Sharon Rey."
Oh. Well, I wasn't exactly expecting that.
"And you expect me to know how to reach her because...?" I ask, looking at him with a slightly amused expression. If he thinks he's getting anything out of me easily, he's wrong.
"Well, she is your aunt, and if someone in this school knows how, it is most likely you," he say. I shrug. It's hardly surprising he figured that much.
"Seeing as you know of my relation to her, surely you know that my family cut ties to her during the battle." It is true, although not the whole story.
"Yes, I know, but you still know what she did during the battle. I expect that your parents did not tell you that. You have heard it from her directly." He sounds like his patience is running a bit thin, but honestly I can't be bothered to care.
"Sure, but it's not like I've kept in touch with her. I've met her twice and that was over ten years ago." This is true as well, at least partially.
"Do you know where she lives now or where she lived at the time?"
"Back then I think she had a cottage on the outskirts of a fishing town somewhere on the eastern coast of Ferland," I say with another shrug. "But I don't think she's lived there for a long time."
"And what was the name of the town?"
"Codcliff."
"Is there anyone in the town to whom I could send a letter so that they would bring it to her?"
"I really wouldn't know. But I did get the impression she kept mostly to herself, so..."
He pauses then, to think things through. I don't know what he wants with Sharon, but I don't trust him enough to tell him anything useful. His stance on magic is well known, and at least I'm aware of his military background, and I'll be damned if I tell a man like that where to find my sorceress aunt.
"Why do you need to find her anyhow?" I ask after he says nothing for a while.
"Well, some new data related to my research on the battle showed up," he says. Interesting... I'm assuming that is the Great Battle. This can't be about Viper though, because his use of the Geltoech mask is already old news (or old enough to not warrant running around in the rain and being late for class), so clearly something else happened, probably this very morning. I'd want to ask him about it, but I really can't and I doubt he'd tell me either way. 30 years ago this thing happened and suddenly it's popping up in the span of a week all over the place. Amazing. "She is very well informed about those events and I must confirm a few things from her."
"You do know that she wrote a book about it, right? The battle?" I say with a sneer. "Even though most of them were burnt, I'd wager you can still probably find one somewhere. A less bigoted country, maybe?" I smirk, but he ignores it.
"Although Sharon Rey has not been my favourite historian, I have done my homework. I am quite familiar with her writings," he says instead and isn't that interesting as well. Cole has always been quick to jump into the defense of official reports, especially concerning the military and the country's stance on magic... What has changed? Did he uncover something about the Great Battle that made him question the government? Or the military? Was the whole thing a mistake, a hoax, a coverup? Did he find evidence that the murder of private Jacobs was wrongfully pinned on sorcerers, like The History of Sorcery and the Great Battle claims? Oh, wouldn't that be the day.
"Well then, seeing as you're just as much informed on this subject as I am, if not moreso, I suggest you go do some more of that homework and let me get back to mine. You did just assign us an essay due tomorrow, did you not?" I say and cross my arms. His eye twitches. I know he wants more, it's all over his face, but I'm not going to give it and he knows it.
"Thank you, Mr. Woodsham," he eventually grits out. "Your information may prove very important. I will let you know if I am successful with my effort."
I look him up and down a few times, studying him, trying to determine something more about what he got up to this morning, but there aren't many clues and he probably doesn't take too kindly if I stay here much longer, so I turn around return to the classroom. He doesn't follow. I peek out of the class room once I notice it and can see him hurrying along the hallway though it is impossible to know where.
"What the hell?" Gil whispers when I sit back down.
"I don't know," I whisper back. "He was asking me about my aunt and where to find her."
"The aunt?" Alica asks. I nod. She frowns. "What does he want with her? It's been 30 years, just leave the poor woman alone!"
"He said he's found some new evidence concerning the Great Battle, and wanted to get her opinion on it," I say.
"Actual new evidence on the Great Battle?" Gil asks. "That's huge if it's true!"
"Yeah, I know! If there was something fishy going on during the battle, it could mean a big change in magical legislation of the kingdom! We play our hand right, we can change the course of history!"
I pause. Change the course of history..?
"Big change is coming," I say. Gil and Alica exchange a confused look. "A change that can make things as they should be. Make things as is desired. A new beginning!" I grin. "The fortune! That's what the fortune said, it has got to be about this! We can actually make magic legal again!"
"What about the part about the danger and destruction and chaos?" Gil asks. "And consuming the world?"
"That's probably Viper, right?" Alica says. I nod.
"Has to be. But didn't she say that as long as I stay alert and take action, it won't happen?" I say. Gil shrugs. Alica looks thoughful.
"The only thing we can do right now is keep doing what we do," she says. "One day at a time, you know."
"Yeah," I say. "One day at a time."
________________________________________________________________
Omg look at that, no Percy this time. Also what time is this to update, it's actually daytime! Well, it was daytime when I'm writing this, we'll see what the train's internet thinks about me posting this now. (if I can't do it now, it'll probably have to wait until the evening, sorryyyyy)
Anywhoo, I have some doubts about the, uh... shower scene. I swear to gods, I don't know why those two can't keep their hands off each other! It just keeps happening! (hanging up clothes to dry is a really weird form of foreplay tho lol but to each his own) But y'know, they're both consenting adults, so what they do on their free time isn't really up for me to criticize. I'm just not sure how much I should write in here about it..... I mean the first scene back in the, what, part 14? 16. Anyway, I tried to leave is kinda vague, but this scene here? It turned out kinda graphic... Oops. I did leave the actual sex part out, but I did actually write it, so.... if you wanna read it, drop me a comment and I'll add it? (I feel kinda weird about this, 99% of the people who read this are my relatives..... ://)
But hey! Sex is great and those two are totally having it, in case you hadn't realised it by now. So suck it. (just like Gil does eyoOOOOOOOO) SORRY
i'm just... i'm gonna go now. the next topic is "wind".
Pie out.
P.S. Just my fucking luck, the one day I finish this thing in the afternoon I have no internet until the evening... hnnnnggggggh. ANYWAY. Enjoy~<3
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
The Sorcerer, Part 31 - Wagon
It's raining, but it is alright. I'll take my leather riding hood to cover my head and shoulders. It is small enough not to disturb running but large enough to prevent rain from falling on my face. Tuesday is the only weekday when my first class starts at eleven, and I will not miss the opportunity for a longer countryside running.
I take my favourite route toward south, although the low hilly landscape does not offer its best views on this gray foggy morning. I could run through the Black Forest to the hill area, because the view from the Peak Hill is magnificient and you can even see the Town Tower over the forest. That is, if the rain stops by then.
The road is completely empty. I run forward and listen to the sounds of my movements. The hood makes my clothes and breathing sound much louder, and the sheep on the meadow much softer than usually. I hear the raindrops fall on the hood, and my shoes splash on the dirt. Actually, the roadmakers have done good job, because the road surface is hard unlike in most places, where a rain like this would turn roads into mud and impossible to run.
I come out of the forest and start climbing the first hills. After a while I see a wagon approaching in the distance. It seems to be similar to those which with the caravaners move around, except that I cannot see any colours or decoration. It disappears behind the hill. A few minutes later I am reaching the top of the hill, and the wagon reappears. A lonely man is sitting on the bench, hanging his head sadly in the rain. He is definitely not one of the caravaners, those happy campers. Then he sees me.
"Hey, sir, excuse me!"
I feel a vague familiarity with that voice, but I cannot relate it to anything.
"Is this the way to Lonchester?"
The voice is like someone's who is a talented complainer practicing that skill a lot. Even the corners of his mouth seem to have turned downward permanently. But now I am quite sure I know that voice.
"Yes, it is that way. Less than an hour from here."
Now I am only ten yards away from the wagon. I take off my hood to hear the man's voice more clearly. He is at his fifties at least, intense sun has made his face dark and older than his age. His eyes are sharp and gray, like streaks. And he has a scar on his left cheek.
It's like a thunderbolt from the sky. I suddenly feel my feet turn soft and weak and I stop. This man is dead. A dead man is talking to me.
"An hour still? Damn it. Thanks anyway."
The man starts to turn back to his horse, but he notices the strange looks on my face and hesitates. I am now just beside his wagon.
"Jacobs!?"
My unintentional blurt changes him completely. First his eyes are filled with horror, but less than a second later he raises the whip he had in his right hand to lash the horse. Now he aims at me with desperate force. I barely manage to raise my left forearm, luckily covered with the hood, before the whip cracks painfully. I manage to grab the whip before he pulls it for a new hit, and it slips out of his hand.
His face is now very pale, maybe both because he realises that he lost his weapon and because he now seems to recognise me. I start to collect the whip into my hand to be prepared for whatever comes next. But he is clearly not for fighting, as he hits the horse with the rein and forces it galloping. I try to grab the wagon with my hand, but he throws a bottle that happened to lie in his feet at me. I have to duck and barely miss the handle at the rear end of the wagon.
When I get up, the horse is rushing downhill already twenty yards ahead of me. I have no chance of catching up to it here. If the road wouldn't be so darn good, I could easily catch the heavy wagon in the mud.
I stop to pant. Confusion and anger fill my head. I don't understand anything. Hans Jacobs is dead, and everyone knows that. And yet, here he is, quite alive. And it definitely is him, with the scar and face and eyes and voice and all. He even recognised me.
Oh my gods. I don't know what to think of this, but I must not let him go. Although his horse runs faster than me, the downhill part ends in the forest so that will slow him down at least a bit. And I can follow the wagon trail at least a while before rain flushes it away.
So I start running again, trying to keep good speed but not too much to be exhausted. The wagon is only maybe a hundred yards away but the distance is growing. Jacobs peeks backward around the corner of the wagon cabin. He sees me following, and I can hear him curse and then shout to the horse and spank it with the rein. He really does not want to meet me.
Hans Jacobs is alive. It's impossible but it is true. It means that all facts that proved his death are wrong. How many people know this? Where did these false facts come from and why? These questions circle in my head like bats when I run, but all answers are missing.
I enter the forest, and soon the downhill ends. The wagon disappeared from my sight only a few minutes earlier. Now I might start catching him. I turn around a curve and stop abruptly. The wagon is there.
The wagon is standing still beside the road just after a thick bush. Is this an ambush? I look around and listen carefully but I don't hear anything except the rain softly drumming the leaves. I walk closer cautiously. The horse is not there, and also the man is gone.
Jacobs probably realised that I was following him and I might catch him when his speed went down in the forest. He was really quick in unharnessing the horse, as his lead was not that long. He had no time to make any other moves. He just abandoned the wagon to flee quicker. Now that he is riding, it's impossible to catch him up, so I must follow his track to the town, which was clearly his destination. So, I might as well spend a few minutes here examining his wagon.
I go to the wagon, listen once more, and then open the small door. There is a chaos inside, as all things have jumped up and down during his escape, if not earlier. There are not that many things: a matress, a few kettles and kitchenware, an axe and other tools, dirty clothes, and a trunk. I pull the trunk closer to inspect it better. I open the lid, as it is not locked. There are shoemaker's equipment, pieces of leather and a few shoe trees. Jacobs seems to be a shoemaker nowadays. The trunk has a name on the inside of the lid: Josef Murdoch. Also the equipment have the same initials. He has either got the whole trunk from someone, or he is using a false identity. I look at the whip in my hand: JM. Why would he get a whip from a shoemaker? More likely that is his current name.
I am already closing the trunk when I notice that there is something under the shoe trees. I pull it out. It is a book. The History of the Great Battle. I look at it carefully. That too belongs to Josef Murdoch. I turn the pages carefully and notice that the book opens easily from a certain place. He seems to have read the part that tells about the murder of Hans Jacobs.
Otherwise, I cannot find from the wagon anything that would link the owner to Hans Jacobs. He seems to have been very quiet about that.
I think this is all I can learn from the wagon. I leave the whip in it, as I don't need it any more, but I take the book and stuff all other items back to their places. I take off my hood and wrap it around the book. Then I start running again. I can still see the hoof prints on the wet ground, so I start following them. I run toward the town well past the school crossing, but then there have been more people on the road, and the track is getting blurry. Finally I have to admit that the hoof prints are indistinguishable from others, and there is no telling which are which. So, rather than trying to chase him down in the town with pure luck, I might do wiser things. I turn back to the school.
~x~
I knock and enter without waiting. Almeron looks up behind his desk. It is only four days ago when I did the same with the posters.
"Hans Jacobs is alive. He was not assassined" I say. Then I pause for panting, and water is dripping from my clothes and muddy shoes. There is a silence that is only disturbed by my heavy breathing.
"Do you have good evidence?"
"I saw him. I talked to him. I used to know him. It is the same man."
"How did you know it was him? How do you know Jacobs?"
"He used to be in the same troop when I was in the army. But when the battle started, he was in Kalehar unlike the rest of us. I still recognise him, and he recognised me."
I briefly tell him what happened and what I saw in the wagon. I unwrap the book and show it to him. He takes the book on his palm spine down and slowly lets the pages open.
"You are right. This book has been opened from the same place often, while the pages at the end of the book are stiff. He probably was fond of that particular part only."
"This makes no sense. His death is well documented in the history books."
"Herbert, I know you well and you are an excellent observer. Even after thirty years I think you are likely to recognise such a distinctive character. And besides, he clearly reacted to his true name, which he apparently wants to keep secret. Which is not a wonder, as it would cause all kinds of effects if the truth was found, not least to himself. The wonder is how he actually escaped death."
"That is a mystery. He was killed on duty, and he was found dead in front of the Kalehar prison, with a blow in his head. It was such a clear case that mistakes are virtually impossible."
"Maybe. But given that he is alive, it must be either a miserable mistake or a hoax, with probably several people lying. You need to find out which. I think you have the best books and resources for such work in this town. But first, tell me what kind of a man Hans Jacobs was."
"Well, with a single word: negative. He started at the same time as I, and his motivation to join army was clearly not honour or passion for his country. I think he was there only because he liked even less the other places he had been to. He worked enough not to get into trouble, but quite soon it became evident that he was not going to proceed in his career any further than a private. Not that he didn't want to command or control people, but he was not skilled enough to do that for the common good.
"After the first two months, I headed for officer training and saw him less, but we were in the same troop again later. He was short-tempered and unforgiving. Once he was punished for organising a fist-fight."
"So he was selling bets for the fight?"
"Oh no, it was not organised in that sense. He was mad at a sergeant for I don't remember what. So he started to spread word about the sergeant, some nasty rumours. But he was playing it cleverly, so the sergeant thought that the rumours were spread by another person, and the fight was between them. Jacobs must have watched that fight with a crooked smile. But the captain of the troop, Morris was his name, was clever enough to figure out what was actually going on. Jacobs and the sergeant were both punished. So that's what he is like. He was really not my friend at the time."
I pause for a while as there seem to be some untied threads in my story. Then I remember what it is.
"Yes, actually that punishment was that they were sent to Kalehar prison as guards for a month. It is a low-respect position for a soldier. That is the reason why they were there in the first place when the battle started."
"This Jacobs does not sound like someone you want to confront. You must be careful because we don't know what he is up to. We need to find out soon why he is here, and why he is alive. What you witnessed today has a wide relevance, although we don't quite understand what it is."
~x~
I am already awfully late and I hate it. I should go and clean myself but then I would be even more late, so I decide to ignore my squalid appearance and walk directly to the classroom. Luckily my clothes are no longer dripping water, although they are far from dry. The students jump up when I enter and greet me.
"Please be seated. First of all, I apologise for being so late. Some urgent things appeared related to my history research, and it was of utmost importance to deal with those first. I will do all I can to prevent such things from happening again during a class. But I still need to deal with one thing, so I ask you to take your books and start studying in groups of two or three the following topic: 'Political and diplomatic relations between Caldoria and Zanland during the previous century'. I encourage you to cooperate with other groups and pick different decades to look at, so that the whole century is covered. Please write and essay by tomorrow, and I will read them by Friday's class when we will have a more detailed discussion. Any questions? Then, let's get started."
When the students start moving into groups, I say: "And Mr Woodsham, I'd like to have a word with you. Could you please join me outside."
I point to the door with my hand, and Osborn Woodsham glances at Gilbert Amsel before he stands up looking confused. When we are outside, I close the classroom door behind me and turn to him.
"Mr Woodsham, I need to ask you something."
"Okaay," he says.
"I need to contact Sharon Rey."
He pauses for a heartbeat and then gives me an amused, though still suspecting look. "And you expect me to know how to reach her because...?"
"Well, she is your aunt, and if someone in this school knows how, it is most likely you," I say. He shrugs.
"Seeing as you know of my relation to her, surely you know that my family cut ties to her during the battle."
"Yes, I know, but you still know what she did during the battle. I expect that your parents did not tell you that. You have heard it from her directly."
"Sure, but it's not like I've kept in touch with her. I've met her twice and that was over ten years ago."
"Do you know where she lives now or where she lived at the time?"
"Back then I think she had a cottage on the outskirts of a fishing town somewhere on the eastern coast of Ferland," he says with another shrug. "But I don't think she's lived there for a long time."
"And what was the name of the town?"
"Codcliff."
"Is there anyone in the town to whom I could send a letter so that they would bring it to her?"
"I really wouldn't know, but I did get the impression she kept mostly to herself, so..."
I pause to think. If there is no contact person, the probability of a letter sent to a post office or the mayor ending up to Sharon Rey is unfortunately low.
"Why do you need to find her anyhow?" Woodsham asks.
"Well, some new data related to my research on the battle showed up. She is very well informed about those events and I must confirm a few things from her."
"You do know that she wrote a book about it, right? The battle? Even though most of them were burnt, I'd wager you can still probably find one somewhere. A less bigoted country, maybe?" Woodsham says with a small smirk on his face. I decide to ignore that, because based on the new evidence today I am reluctant to defend the official policy any more until I have wrapped my head around this.
"Although Sharon Rey has not been my favourite historian, I have done my homework. I am quite familiar with her writings," I say instead.
"Well then, seeing as you're just as much informed on this subject as I am, if not moreso, I suggest you go do some more of that homework and let me get back to mine. You did just assign us an essay due tomorrow, did you not?" he says, crossing his arms across his chest.
I realise that this is about as much as I can get from him. Actually, he was more helpful than I thought he would be, but also just as annoying.
"Thank you, Mr Woodsham. Your information may prove very important. I will let you know if I am successful with my effort."
He looks me up and down a few times, and then returns to the classroom, while I go back to my apartment to clean, change clothes, and then take the two history books of the battle side by side. I must now compare the specific details presented in them about Jacobs' death. I should also find other sources for comparison.
________________________________________________________________
Your topic is Rain.
I take my favourite route toward south, although the low hilly landscape does not offer its best views on this gray foggy morning. I could run through the Black Forest to the hill area, because the view from the Peak Hill is magnificient and you can even see the Town Tower over the forest. That is, if the rain stops by then.
The road is completely empty. I run forward and listen to the sounds of my movements. The hood makes my clothes and breathing sound much louder, and the sheep on the meadow much softer than usually. I hear the raindrops fall on the hood, and my shoes splash on the dirt. Actually, the roadmakers have done good job, because the road surface is hard unlike in most places, where a rain like this would turn roads into mud and impossible to run.
I come out of the forest and start climbing the first hills. After a while I see a wagon approaching in the distance. It seems to be similar to those which with the caravaners move around, except that I cannot see any colours or decoration. It disappears behind the hill. A few minutes later I am reaching the top of the hill, and the wagon reappears. A lonely man is sitting on the bench, hanging his head sadly in the rain. He is definitely not one of the caravaners, those happy campers. Then he sees me.
"Hey, sir, excuse me!"
I feel a vague familiarity with that voice, but I cannot relate it to anything.
"Is this the way to Lonchester?"
The voice is like someone's who is a talented complainer practicing that skill a lot. Even the corners of his mouth seem to have turned downward permanently. But now I am quite sure I know that voice.
"Yes, it is that way. Less than an hour from here."
Now I am only ten yards away from the wagon. I take off my hood to hear the man's voice more clearly. He is at his fifties at least, intense sun has made his face dark and older than his age. His eyes are sharp and gray, like streaks. And he has a scar on his left cheek.
It's like a thunderbolt from the sky. I suddenly feel my feet turn soft and weak and I stop. This man is dead. A dead man is talking to me.
"An hour still? Damn it. Thanks anyway."
The man starts to turn back to his horse, but he notices the strange looks on my face and hesitates. I am now just beside his wagon.
"Jacobs!?"
My unintentional blurt changes him completely. First his eyes are filled with horror, but less than a second later he raises the whip he had in his right hand to lash the horse. Now he aims at me with desperate force. I barely manage to raise my left forearm, luckily covered with the hood, before the whip cracks painfully. I manage to grab the whip before he pulls it for a new hit, and it slips out of his hand.
His face is now very pale, maybe both because he realises that he lost his weapon and because he now seems to recognise me. I start to collect the whip into my hand to be prepared for whatever comes next. But he is clearly not for fighting, as he hits the horse with the rein and forces it galloping. I try to grab the wagon with my hand, but he throws a bottle that happened to lie in his feet at me. I have to duck and barely miss the handle at the rear end of the wagon.
When I get up, the horse is rushing downhill already twenty yards ahead of me. I have no chance of catching up to it here. If the road wouldn't be so darn good, I could easily catch the heavy wagon in the mud.
I stop to pant. Confusion and anger fill my head. I don't understand anything. Hans Jacobs is dead, and everyone knows that. And yet, here he is, quite alive. And it definitely is him, with the scar and face and eyes and voice and all. He even recognised me.
Oh my gods. I don't know what to think of this, but I must not let him go. Although his horse runs faster than me, the downhill part ends in the forest so that will slow him down at least a bit. And I can follow the wagon trail at least a while before rain flushes it away.
So I start running again, trying to keep good speed but not too much to be exhausted. The wagon is only maybe a hundred yards away but the distance is growing. Jacobs peeks backward around the corner of the wagon cabin. He sees me following, and I can hear him curse and then shout to the horse and spank it with the rein. He really does not want to meet me.
Hans Jacobs is alive. It's impossible but it is true. It means that all facts that proved his death are wrong. How many people know this? Where did these false facts come from and why? These questions circle in my head like bats when I run, but all answers are missing.
I enter the forest, and soon the downhill ends. The wagon disappeared from my sight only a few minutes earlier. Now I might start catching him. I turn around a curve and stop abruptly. The wagon is there.
The wagon is standing still beside the road just after a thick bush. Is this an ambush? I look around and listen carefully but I don't hear anything except the rain softly drumming the leaves. I walk closer cautiously. The horse is not there, and also the man is gone.
Jacobs probably realised that I was following him and I might catch him when his speed went down in the forest. He was really quick in unharnessing the horse, as his lead was not that long. He had no time to make any other moves. He just abandoned the wagon to flee quicker. Now that he is riding, it's impossible to catch him up, so I must follow his track to the town, which was clearly his destination. So, I might as well spend a few minutes here examining his wagon.
I go to the wagon, listen once more, and then open the small door. There is a chaos inside, as all things have jumped up and down during his escape, if not earlier. There are not that many things: a matress, a few kettles and kitchenware, an axe and other tools, dirty clothes, and a trunk. I pull the trunk closer to inspect it better. I open the lid, as it is not locked. There are shoemaker's equipment, pieces of leather and a few shoe trees. Jacobs seems to be a shoemaker nowadays. The trunk has a name on the inside of the lid: Josef Murdoch. Also the equipment have the same initials. He has either got the whole trunk from someone, or he is using a false identity. I look at the whip in my hand: JM. Why would he get a whip from a shoemaker? More likely that is his current name.
I am already closing the trunk when I notice that there is something under the shoe trees. I pull it out. It is a book. The History of the Great Battle. I look at it carefully. That too belongs to Josef Murdoch. I turn the pages carefully and notice that the book opens easily from a certain place. He seems to have read the part that tells about the murder of Hans Jacobs.
Otherwise, I cannot find from the wagon anything that would link the owner to Hans Jacobs. He seems to have been very quiet about that.
I think this is all I can learn from the wagon. I leave the whip in it, as I don't need it any more, but I take the book and stuff all other items back to their places. I take off my hood and wrap it around the book. Then I start running again. I can still see the hoof prints on the wet ground, so I start following them. I run toward the town well past the school crossing, but then there have been more people on the road, and the track is getting blurry. Finally I have to admit that the hoof prints are indistinguishable from others, and there is no telling which are which. So, rather than trying to chase him down in the town with pure luck, I might do wiser things. I turn back to the school.
~x~
I knock and enter without waiting. Almeron looks up behind his desk. It is only four days ago when I did the same with the posters.
"Hans Jacobs is alive. He was not assassined" I say. Then I pause for panting, and water is dripping from my clothes and muddy shoes. There is a silence that is only disturbed by my heavy breathing.
"Do you have good evidence?"
"I saw him. I talked to him. I used to know him. It is the same man."
"How did you know it was him? How do you know Jacobs?"
"He used to be in the same troop when I was in the army. But when the battle started, he was in Kalehar unlike the rest of us. I still recognise him, and he recognised me."
I briefly tell him what happened and what I saw in the wagon. I unwrap the book and show it to him. He takes the book on his palm spine down and slowly lets the pages open.
"You are right. This book has been opened from the same place often, while the pages at the end of the book are stiff. He probably was fond of that particular part only."
"This makes no sense. His death is well documented in the history books."
"Herbert, I know you well and you are an excellent observer. Even after thirty years I think you are likely to recognise such a distinctive character. And besides, he clearly reacted to his true name, which he apparently wants to keep secret. Which is not a wonder, as it would cause all kinds of effects if the truth was found, not least to himself. The wonder is how he actually escaped death."
"That is a mystery. He was killed on duty, and he was found dead in front of the Kalehar prison, with a blow in his head. It was such a clear case that mistakes are virtually impossible."
"Maybe. But given that he is alive, it must be either a miserable mistake or a hoax, with probably several people lying. You need to find out which. I think you have the best books and resources for such work in this town. But first, tell me what kind of a man Hans Jacobs was."
"Well, with a single word: negative. He started at the same time as I, and his motivation to join army was clearly not honour or passion for his country. I think he was there only because he liked even less the other places he had been to. He worked enough not to get into trouble, but quite soon it became evident that he was not going to proceed in his career any further than a private. Not that he didn't want to command or control people, but he was not skilled enough to do that for the common good.
"After the first two months, I headed for officer training and saw him less, but we were in the same troop again later. He was short-tempered and unforgiving. Once he was punished for organising a fist-fight."
"So he was selling bets for the fight?"
"Oh no, it was not organised in that sense. He was mad at a sergeant for I don't remember what. So he started to spread word about the sergeant, some nasty rumours. But he was playing it cleverly, so the sergeant thought that the rumours were spread by another person, and the fight was between them. Jacobs must have watched that fight with a crooked smile. But the captain of the troop, Morris was his name, was clever enough to figure out what was actually going on. Jacobs and the sergeant were both punished. So that's what he is like. He was really not my friend at the time."
I pause for a while as there seem to be some untied threads in my story. Then I remember what it is.
"Yes, actually that punishment was that they were sent to Kalehar prison as guards for a month. It is a low-respect position for a soldier. That is the reason why they were there in the first place when the battle started."
"This Jacobs does not sound like someone you want to confront. You must be careful because we don't know what he is up to. We need to find out soon why he is here, and why he is alive. What you witnessed today has a wide relevance, although we don't quite understand what it is."
~x~
I am already awfully late and I hate it. I should go and clean myself but then I would be even more late, so I decide to ignore my squalid appearance and walk directly to the classroom. Luckily my clothes are no longer dripping water, although they are far from dry. The students jump up when I enter and greet me.
"Please be seated. First of all, I apologise for being so late. Some urgent things appeared related to my history research, and it was of utmost importance to deal with those first. I will do all I can to prevent such things from happening again during a class. But I still need to deal with one thing, so I ask you to take your books and start studying in groups of two or three the following topic: 'Political and diplomatic relations between Caldoria and Zanland during the previous century'. I encourage you to cooperate with other groups and pick different decades to look at, so that the whole century is covered. Please write and essay by tomorrow, and I will read them by Friday's class when we will have a more detailed discussion. Any questions? Then, let's get started."
When the students start moving into groups, I say: "And Mr Woodsham, I'd like to have a word with you. Could you please join me outside."
I point to the door with my hand, and Osborn Woodsham glances at Gilbert Amsel before he stands up looking confused. When we are outside, I close the classroom door behind me and turn to him.
"Mr Woodsham, I need to ask you something."
"Okaay," he says.
"I need to contact Sharon Rey."
He pauses for a heartbeat and then gives me an amused, though still suspecting look. "And you expect me to know how to reach her because...?"
"Well, she is your aunt, and if someone in this school knows how, it is most likely you," I say. He shrugs.
"Seeing as you know of my relation to her, surely you know that my family cut ties to her during the battle."
"Yes, I know, but you still know what she did during the battle. I expect that your parents did not tell you that. You have heard it from her directly."
"Sure, but it's not like I've kept in touch with her. I've met her twice and that was over ten years ago."
"Do you know where she lives now or where she lived at the time?"
"Back then I think she had a cottage on the outskirts of a fishing town somewhere on the eastern coast of Ferland," he says with another shrug. "But I don't think she's lived there for a long time."
"And what was the name of the town?"
"Codcliff."
"Is there anyone in the town to whom I could send a letter so that they would bring it to her?"
"I really wouldn't know, but I did get the impression she kept mostly to herself, so..."
I pause to think. If there is no contact person, the probability of a letter sent to a post office or the mayor ending up to Sharon Rey is unfortunately low.
"Why do you need to find her anyhow?" Woodsham asks.
"Well, some new data related to my research on the battle showed up. She is very well informed about those events and I must confirm a few things from her."
"You do know that she wrote a book about it, right? The battle? Even though most of them were burnt, I'd wager you can still probably find one somewhere. A less bigoted country, maybe?" Woodsham says with a small smirk on his face. I decide to ignore that, because based on the new evidence today I am reluctant to defend the official policy any more until I have wrapped my head around this.
"Although Sharon Rey has not been my favourite historian, I have done my homework. I am quite familiar with her writings," I say instead.
"Well then, seeing as you're just as much informed on this subject as I am, if not moreso, I suggest you go do some more of that homework and let me get back to mine. You did just assign us an essay due tomorrow, did you not?" he says, crossing his arms across his chest.
I realise that this is about as much as I can get from him. Actually, he was more helpful than I thought he would be, but also just as annoying.
"Thank you, Mr Woodsham. Your information may prove very important. I will let you know if I am successful with my effort."
He looks me up and down a few times, and then returns to the classroom, while I go back to my apartment to clean, change clothes, and then take the two history books of the battle side by side. I must now compare the specific details presented in them about Jacobs' death. I should also find other sources for comparison.
________________________________________________________________
Your topic is Rain.
Monday, July 20, 2015
The Sorcerer, Part 30 - Button
The rest of Saturday evening (Percy keeps the library open later than
usual, just for us, bless him) and the majority of Sunday morning and
afternoon is spent holed up in the library, digging up any and all
information still to be found on Geltoech, the Great Battle and this new
"Grand Sorceress" character. There isn't much to be found though, as no
religion or sorcerer group I can find info on have a "grand sorceress".
A "grand priestess", yes, and one tribe way down south whose leader is
someone called "the greatest merecat sorcerer". I don't even know how to
begin to understand that one.
The faerie decided to keep hanging around the library, taking a particular liking to Percy, no doubt because he's the only one who can understand her. She tried to teach us her name, but it was very hard to pronounce, with a lot of z's and t's and d's, and in the end she gave up and told us to call her Zeze. She tends to keep hidden whenever someone else comes in, but considering it's Sunday, and the weather is amazing, hardly no one drops by in the many hours we sit in the library, and so she hangs out freely by the table we're occupying, studying and playing with our stuff. She seems very curious about, well, everything.
She also seemed extremely happy when, after ages of fidgeting, Gil finally asked if he could draw her. Apparently the amount of glowing she gives out depends on how much she's using her powers (she was glowing so much yesterday because she was straining herself to keep afloat after days of flying to get here) and now that she's just sitting on the table, the glowing is particularly nonexistent. She is about 15 centimeters in height and rather humanoid in shape, with slim limbs and a very androgynous look - no discernible sex characteristics at all. She is wearing a dress, although without any knowledge about faerie fashion, we only have Percy's word for her preferred pronouns.
What's amazing is that everything about her is some hue of green; even her skin has a greenish tint, which I find endlessly fascinating. Especially her eyes, which are an intense green, and they remind me of something, though I can't quite put my finger on what.
In the midst of research I jot down a letter to send my new friend. After meeting her yesterday I am now almost completely convinced that it was Laelia Salvai who wrote the extra letter I found on Friday. So much has happened since, it's hard to believe that was just two days ago. Still, I figure it would be best to write her now that I have some time off, because who knows when the next time that'll happen is.
I'm not sure if I should include the very end, but decide to go through with it. It's all or nothing now.
There's a soft 'cluck' on the table and I look up from the letter. Zeze is placing something on the table, something small and shiny and purple.
"What's that?" I ask, leaning in.
"Looks like a button," says Gil. I snatch it up from the table and Zeze makes a small protesting sound. Gil was right, it's a button, with a weird symbol on the front.
"That's weird, where did you get it?" I ask the faerie and she frowns.
"She said she found it on the floor in the corner," Percy shouts from the front desk. Zeze nods and points over to the back, where Percy's magic books are.
"Over there, you're sure?" I ask. No one ever goes there...
"Hey, Percy?" I shout. He peeks his head around the bookshelf. "She found it over at the, uh, the special books. Has someone been over there recently?"
Percy frowns, thinking. "Not that I know of... But I'm not here all the time, and it's not like it's a restricted area. People don't really go there, because there's not really anything worth going there for. Well, for most students anyway. I think sometimes people sneak into the back to, emh, to get some privacy. I've been trying to get people to stop it, this is a public place after all, but I guess some people get off on stuff like that."
"That... is more information than I wanted, thank you," I say and rub my forehead. Although doing it in the library doesn't seem like such a bad idea. It could be rather exciting really, in the right circumstances and the right people....
"Now I've heard everything," says Alica with a grin. "Information that Osborn Woodsham, the great intelligence hoarder, doesn't want!" Gil laughs and I think I can hear Percy sniggering at the counter. I give her a mock glare and she blows me a kiss.
There's a tug at my hand and before I have time to react Zeze has pulled the button from my fingers and hugs it tightly against her chest.
"She's saying it's her button and you have to get your own, jerk," Percy calls from the front. My mouth falls open in surprise and I give out a small laugh. Zeze sticks out her tongue (also green) and then flies over to bury herself in Percy's hair again.
"Is it just me, or is that faerie way ruder than you imagined a faerie would be?" I ask.
"Oh, don't worry, that's just a typical reaction people sometimes have when they see you," Alica says and grins again. I flick a crumpled up piece of parchment at her and hit her square in the face. Ten minutes later Percy has to come physically remove us from each other but by gods, it's been a while since I've laughed so hard.
~x~
It's almost four when the principal arrives, miss Graysmith and professor Atwell on his heel. I guess these were the teachers he wanted Percy to teach as well.
"Good afternoon, Masters," the principal says. "Are you free right now?"
"Good afternoon, sir," Percy says, not quite as tense as yesterday, but still clearly a little uncomfortable. "I think I have time, the library has been virtually empty the whole day."
"With a day like this, it's no wonder," miss Graysmith says. "I'd rather be out there too, but we need to get this dealt with."
"R-right..." Percy says and then guides them to the other tables, across from the front desk instead of behind it where we're sitting. I can just make out what they're saying, though I can't see any of them. "So... what exactly do you want me to tell you?"
"We want to be able to connect with these youngsters, to know what it's like to live with magic. To understand how they think," the principal says.
"Well, I, uh, I've read a few books on the subject, though I can't remember their names. The previous master librarian left quite a collection of, of books on the topic to me when she left," Percy says.
"Ah, yes. Good old Mrs. Phazira. She was never biased when it came to knowledge," the principal says before pausing for a moment. "She left you books, you say? On magic?"
"Oh, well, uh, yeah. Sort of," Percy tries. He clears his throat. "Anyway, for someone to grow up as a child and even a young adult in a land where a significant part of their lives, of their personality and identity is deemed illegal is, it's very hard. It's taxing, mentally and sometimes physically. You have to physically hold yourself back to make sure you don't accidentally spill your magic out in the open, and you have to concentrate all the time to not let anything slip. It can also be very lonely, because you can't know who you can trust with such information and it can make you feel like you're alone in the world. Some people handle it better than others, obviously. Some people don't feel the need to have a connection like that and some people don't mind that there is a part of them they can never share. But for some people, it's the worst thing that could happen. To be unable to talk honestly with anyone, it's... It's unimaginably terrifying."
They are all quiet for a while. I can almost see in my head the frowning, sad face Percy is likely making.
"That was... incredibly insightful, Masters," the principal says. "I am very impressed you've been able to find information like that."
"Oh! Oh, well, most of it is just my interpretation of how I would imagine the situation going. I'm just saying, if I had a secret that big, I know it would be eating me up every second, especially if I had no one to talk to about it."
"So, we should have someone the students could talk to about these things? Like a... confidant!" professor Atwell says.
"How do you suppose we arrange that?" miss Graysmith asks. "It is our duty to inform the King's Guard if we find evidence of magic use or sorcerers and it's not like the students would trust us with something like this even if we could promise we'd keep their secret."
"But clearly we need to talk to the students about this! If they're not warned about - !"
"The students are told as little as possible," the principal says, his voice loud in the quiet library. "The last thing we need is a panic. What we need is a way to communicate with these people, the ones that have magic, and understand them. We need to snip this rebellion in the bud, before any young minds get infected with the terrible thoughts like 30 years ago."
"That... might be hard," Percy says quietly. "Well, you see, every person is, is different. Whether they are magic or not, what they want and what they need is completely different from the next person. And yes, some people need a lot of guidance, some people need someone to talk to, but some people don't need anything at all. They don't need you coddling them, nor do they need anyone to talk to about their feelings, or maybe they already have someone. The point is, you can't really make a plan and expect it to work 100% when you don't even know who these people are. It seems to me that you're trying to understand a group of people when what you have are individual persons, all different from one another, with just one common denominator. Sir."
"Well," says the principal after a while. He seems rather speechless. "I suppose you are correct... But what are we going to do about this threat of an uprising..?"
"With all due respect, sir," Percy says and I can hear the distinct screech of his chair scraping the floor. "I think you're underestimating your students. I don't belive for one second that there is anyone in this school that would join in on this madman's mission."
"You seem awfully sure about that," the principal says and three more chairs scrape the floor.
"I have faith in my peers," Percy says, and he sounds so convincing and... authoritative, it's almost weird.
"Let's hope it's not in vain," says the principal. "Thank you for your insights, Masters. I hope you'll be open for more discussions, should something come up."
"Of course."
All four of them walk back to the front desk and then the teachers leave. I get up and round the shelf. Percy looks deflated, like all the air in him had just seeped out. Zeze flies over from under the counter, where she'd hid when the principal had opened the door.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
"I'm alright, thanks," he says. Then he sighs. "I don't think he had any bad intentions, it's just... I think he's approaching this with a wrong perspective. As if all sorcerers and magic people are this one singularity. The most dangerous thing is forgetting to view people as people. Because that's what we are, what we all are, right? People."
"Right," I say. Zeze flies up to his cheek and caresses it a few times with her tiny hand before zipping up to his hair again. With nothing more to say I leave Percy to his thoughts with a reassuring hand on his shoulder and then return to the table.
Much later we wait for Percy to close up the library before heading out for supper with him.
________________________________________________________________
Wah.
Zeze has
Shit happens idk. Your last post tomorrow. Topic is "Wagon".
Pie out.
P.S. That's what the text was supposed to look like in the previous part whenever the faerie spoke. Sorry for mobile users, the images are probably kinda stupid, but meh.
P.P.S. I'm probably gonna do a similar floor plan of the library like I did with Oz and Gil's room, but I've just hadn't manages yet. Also maybe a campus map who knows.
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