Prodigy of Thunder, page 15
“Thank you kindly, Father, Mother, and Panza,” Anna said and struggled to push her winter coat aside to stuff the pouch into her rucksack, already brimming with personal items—including those two daggers she had pilfered from the robbers, which she had brought in secret—and books, the latter hand-me-downs from her sister for standard compulsory classes Deya had taken when she had been an aspirant.
Deya’s face soured upon opening the pouch. “It’s a pittance!”
“Attachment to possessions is a terrible thing,” Panza noted, gumming his pipe.
“ ‘A soul of thrift cannot be bought,’ ” Father said for the umpteenth time, adding, “You can earn more by charging for your arcane services, as is tradition.”
Anna bobbed her head at her sister in a just desserts fashion. Deya replied by making a show of looking Anna from foot to head and scoffing. Anna subconsciously hid her hands behind her back. Her nails were painted with that opalescent enamel, but she knew the contrast of such a rich enamel against her rag of a hand-me-down robe would only confuse people. But she had painted the enamel on nonetheless because she wanted to appear somewhat presentable.
“Just be sure to keep that money safe,” Mother said.
Deya rolled her eyes. “Mother, there’s hardly any thievery in the academy.”
“Not based on my court experiences with recalcitrant students, young lady. They just keep those stories from the heralds. And you watch over your sister.”
“Ugh.”
“I can take care of myself,” Anna said.
“See? She can take care of herself.”
“She’s your younger sister and you will watch over her,” Father said. “And you will respect your older sister, Anna. You must both love each other, for you are all each will have after we are gone.”
Mother and Panza nodded along to this sage wisdom, but the girls only folded their arms and looked away.
Father took in the great loaf-like wings of the academy and heaved a sigh. “Sure brings back memories, doesn’t it, Thelma?”
Mother only grunted.
Father glanced over at her, sighed again, then opened his arms to the girls. “Now come shower us with hugs.”
The girls hugged each of them, getting final advice, but their eyes were already on the throng gathering at a series of tables.
“I’m head of the student council so I have to run,” Deya finally said, wrenching free of Panza. She didn’t even wave as she ran off.
Anna took her time, giving each an extra squeeze for good measure. “I’ll miss you all,” she said, trying to hold back tears.
“We shall see each other once a month,” Mother said.
“At the very least,” Father added. “And we’ll write.”
“Be very careful pushing your arcane bounds—”
“That’s right. We don’t want another privy incident, do we?”
“Ugh, that was one time …”
Panza tapped his chin with his pipe. “My people have a saying, Anna. Our thoughts dye our soul. Discipline them so that the cloth of your spirit shines brightly.” He extended a hand.
Anna took it. “I will, Panza. And … thank you. For everything. Couldn’t have gotten here without you.” The old monk smiled. She hauled her rucksack up, turned on her heel, and strode off.
“Farewell and good luck!” Father called after her. They all waved at her, and Anna walked backward and waved back, heart panging bittersweetly.
After picking up that day’s agenda, a school map, a booklet of school rules, and her personalized class schedule, Anna was herded into a large group of aspirants who looked as lost as the day they were born. Some wore different cuts of robes, further varied by embroidery and stitching styles, and some were older, a couple even having gray hair. All stirred with anxiety as they looked over their class schedules.
But it was the returning kids—and some adults among them—who drew all the attention. Not only did they seem tall and smart and accomplished, what with their higher-degree-colored robes, but scary too, for many brandished scars. Fire warlocks and lightning warlocks in particular possessed an inordinate amount, with the former wearing burns and the latter branch-like scarring. A few even lacked hair, for their scalps had been badly wounded. And these were just the visible scars. Who knew what torments their bodies hid underneath the heavy robes …
Anna examined her schedule as she waited for their group leader to arrive. She saw that meals were always at the same time every day, even on Study Days—breakfast was at the seventh morning bell, lunch at the noon bell, and supper at the sixth afternoon bell. There were two classes before lunch and one class after lunch, followed by after-class activities. Classes were two hours, after-classes typically one hour. In their spare time, students were expected to be either studying or performing proata mentora. The map detailed the important parts of the academy, and the parchment booklet outlined rules, expectations, a general school schedule of assemblies and special days, and the Pupil Code of Conduct. Anna pored over it all.
Orientation would take up the first two hours of the day in place of History class. The regular schedule would thence kick in—two hours of Arcaneology: An Introduction, a one-hour lunch, then a two-hour class of Mythology: An Introduction. For the after-class, Anna would have her very first Trainer lesson with Headmistress Roth, something that stirred her blood with excitement.
“ ‘Unauthorized use of arcanery of any sort against fellow students, faculty, or Ordinaries can result in caning or expulsion,’ ” a familiar voice said. “Bah, what’s the fun in that?”
Anna turned around to find Jordan grimacing while flipping through the booklet—and this time, his hair was dyed a bright red. “ ‘No practicing any of the forbidden skills—arcane lock-picking, arcane pickpocketing, illusory arcanery with the intention to mislead, port ’n’ dumps, graffiti of any sort, any criminal behavior as laid out in kingdom law, and so on and so forth.’ ” He slapped the parchment with the back of his hand. “How am I supposed to pilfer crowns from unsuspecting marks?”
Anna gaped, whispering, “You’re a thief?”
“You don’t come from a family with humor, do you?”
“We’re actually all straw dummies.”
He snorted. “And what’s with the rags?” His own robe was immaculate.
“Courtesy of my lovely sister.”
“Sarcasm is poison for the soul.”
Anna gave an elegant curtsy. “I’m a walking hand-me-down, Jordan. A. Walking. Hand-me-down.” She’d already drawn looks from passersby but had also received a compliment on her nails from a fellow aspirant.
“You’re clever. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” His eyes zipped to her staff, tied to the back of her rucksack like a hermit. “Staff, huh? I’m a bowman myself. It’s definitely the weapon I’ll be summoning when I learn Summon Weapon.”
“That’s not for five degrees.” Three if one started legally learning ahead at the 3rd degree, but she didn’t raise the point, wanting to keep far away from that particular topic.
Jordan drew back an invisible bowstring and let it loose, mouthing, “Twang.” He smiled. “My soul yearns for the bow. I know it’s the weapon the spell will summon.”
“Fair enough, just as I know it’ll be the staff for me.”
“Anyway, look at this. Practically everything fun results in a written warning, detention, or caning. And who could possibly perform a port ’n’ dump? Group Teleport is 17th degree!” He snorted. “But would you look at that. Seems we can demand a duel of honor if someone besmirches our name.” He glanced over at her parchment. “That your class schedule? Let me see.”
“I shouldn’t really be showing—” but she let Jordan snatch it from her.
He flicked a hand at the first classes of that day. “Boring, boring—but nice that we share those two together.” He flicked at the third one. “Mythology? Pfft, boring—whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the reins, is this what I think it is?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “The fabled Trainer sessions?”
Anna shrugged. “Maybe.” At least she could be proud of something.
“Aren’t there only, like, a few handfuls invited every year?”
“Maybe.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow at her. “You really are one of those brainiac-gifted sorts. I suppose I should have known when you strutted out of the examination room before anyone got a sense of the exam. Yes, you definitely are with that clever little smirk you’re trying to hide. All right, let’s see what your second day looks like. Written Word—another one we share. Can’t wait to snooze through that one. Oh, and here we have Theory of Standard Spellcraft, also together. How wonderful.” His tone changed to that of a snooty highborn snob as he raised his nose. “And hark! Prithee, what do mine eyes see before me? An elective dubbed Arcane Servitude? Art thou training to be a maid?”
“Gimme that,” Anna muttered, snatching the parchment back.
“Aww, poo. I did see you took Dueling Club as an after-class.” He rose onto his tippy-toes and preened with a smile. “I did too.”
Someone clapped loudly. “Eyes on me, aspirants!”
They looked over, only for Anna’s stomach to plummet, for their group leader was none other than her cursed sister, who surely must have arranged to oversee Anna. She wore her usual emerald robe, with a white sash with the words Head of Student Council emblazoned boldly in gold lettering.
“My name is Deya Atticus Stone. Yes, I am that champion. No need to gawk, thank you very much. And I hate to admit it, but I am related to that noodle of a girl there in the rags—” She opened her hands in mock welcome at Anna. “—who is my bratty little sister, Anna. You may make fun of her at your leisure.”
People glanced at her, and the prettier girls in particular took a step back.
“She’s daddy’s special little girl, aren’t you, little sis? Do you have Bun-Bun with you? I bet you do, don’t you? Bun-Bun is the name of her stuffed rabbit. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t so pathetic.”
Amused faces gawked at Anna, who stood fuming with balled fists. But she certainly didn’t want to cause a scene on her first day, so she kept her mouth shut.
“What’s her problem?” Jordan whispered.
“It’s complicated. Ugh, I hate her so much.” It wasn’t complicated—Deya wanted Anna to fail so that whatever Father had would pass on to her. But Anna couldn’t get into it with Jordan as both parents had repeatedly made her promise not to talk about family issues with anyone, a promise she doubted she could keep if Deya kept acting like such a jerk.
“Well, I can certainly see the family resemblance,” Jordan added as Deya droned on about student expectations.
“What do you mean?”
“Same sharp face and blue eyes. You do realize you two have, like, the bluest eyes in the academy. Freaky, actually.”
“Ugh.” Who cared about the color of eyes?
“You will stick with me at all times,” Deya continued. “No scurrying off to do as you please. This is the Academy of Arcane Arts, and you could die wandering these halls.” She snapped her fingers at a startled girl with unruly hair. “That means you, bedhead. Some doors open to Hell itself, so don’t wander.”
“Exaggeration, if I ever heard it,” Jordan muttered as Deya went on about school policies already detailed in the booklet.
“And now let’s begin the tour, starting with the infamous and spooky Hall of Rapture.” She raised her hands and went, “Oooooo.”
The pupils exchanged anxious looks, but Anna and Jordan only rolled their eyes at each other.
Deya led them through one of the three massive portals and they stepped into a hall Anna had read about. There was a collective gasp as necks craned skyward. Although the hall was impressive with its hundred-foot-wide black basalt flooring, polished to a mirror shine, it was the ceiling that gave the hall its name—for it stretched up to infinity.
“No one’s actually gotten to the top,” Deya noted as they ambled forth to make room for other groups being given the same speech. “But nobody really knows for sure, and more than a few expedition groups have gone missing trying to climb it. Now and then an ambitious fool tries to teleport up there, only to—” She whistled and smacked her hands together. “—slap into the floor.”
More than one student swallowed as they gawked with wide eyes.
“And trust me, that’s a mess you do not want to see. Takes hours to clean up. Anyway, you’re lucky as there’s usually fog, but today you can see all the way to infinity. There’s an old academy legend that says dragons roost up there.”
“Is it out of bounds?” a boy squeaked.
Deya glanced his tiny frame over. “To climb it? No, but good luck trying. And neither is it out of bounds to journey—” Deya pointed down the hall, which was so long it narrowed into a thin black line that went up forever. “—that-a-way. They say it takes a month to walk to the other end, which apparently goes all dark. Some say it is a gateway to the demonic realms of Hell. Few know for sure because every year a handful of fools wander down there—” She spread her hands theatrically. “—never to be seen or heard from again.”
A collective shiver went through the throng—those impressed by Deya’s theatrics, that was. But Anna knew it was all exaggeration, for the long hall had multiple functional uses generations ago.
“What are all those rooms?” a girl asked, nodding toward the occasional black oak door.
“Those are your standard—that is, non-element—classrooms. There are many doors at first, but they start thinning out the farther you go. We at the student council recommend that you first learn where your room is using the provided map instead of trying to find it at the last heartbeat prior to class.” The group chortled as Deya flashed a simpering smile that revolted Anna. But it did interest her to see this other side of Deya, the side that made her so popular. “Now let’s go back, as I apparently have to show you the Elements Wing.”
They trounced through the snowy courtyard and entered the third portal, emerging onto a stone floor of shimmering opal with an incredibly high vaulted ceiling. “And these are your practical sorcery classrooms, as well as your element-specific classrooms.” She flicked a hand at doors as they passed. “1st degree Sword and Sorcery, 1st degree Theory of Elemental Spellcraft, portal rooms that link to incredible caverns like the War Pit, where we perform mock battles, and so on and so forth.” The students ooh’d at each interesting room.
They soon came upon a wider hallway, this one with an enchanted glass floor. Everyone gasped, for underneath lay a vast night sky brimming with glittering stars. Some people wobbled with vertigo and had to hold on to one another. The walls were made of single pieces of arcanely smoothed glass, behind which sat various historical displays. Glass gallery benches lined the hall so people could sit and gaze at the academy’s treasures.
“And here we have the Hall of Heroes. There’s Attyla the Mighty’s Dreadnought dagger, named Blackbite. It’s a piercing blade that can penetrate armor—even arcane armor. You can bet there have been countless attempts to steal it. And over here we have a statue of each of the original seven scion holders, including Atrius Arinthian and Rebecca Von Edgeworth.”
“Aren’t the Von Edgeworths famous duelers now?” a boy asked.
“They are. And I’ll be facing one in the arena.” She flicked a fist and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “And I plan to crack his skull with my staff.”
As the nervous laughter died, Deya led the group to a pumpkin-sized orb sitting on a tasseled pillow. “And here’s the Orb of Orion, gifted to the academy upon its founding. It’s said to summon dragons, but no one’s ever figured out how to make it work. But then a quarter of the items here are yet to be understood.”
As Deya yapped on about some famous jester’s hat, Anna wondered where she could delve into the history of her bloodline—and if her sister even knew the secrets of their parents’ lineages. She could almost imagine seeing her parents, who had met in the academy, standing here holding hands, whispering secrets—even smiling lovingly into each other’s eyes. Yet when she tried, Anna couldn’t remember the last time they had been warm to each other.
“Anyway, I won’t show you the actual elemental portion of the wing,” Deya said, “as we will leave that as a nice surprise for your first elemental class. So back to the Student Wing we go, aspirants!”
Deya showed them the voluminous Supper Hall, the Grand Theater, the sprawling academy library, the claustrophobic Disciplinary Hearing rooms, Shoptown—with its colorful academy shops—the hall that led to the arcanist dorms and the headmistress’s office, and lastly the student dorms, separated by degree, with amenities like a stunning common room, numerous bathing rooms, student council offices, and others. There they were each assigned a room, the girls in the Women’s Dorms and the boys in the Men’s Dorms.
Deya slapped her hands together. “That’s it! Go buy what you need from Shoptown, grab your dorm room keys from our student council office, drop off your stuff in your room, then hurry off to your first class. That means you too, little sis. No running off to cuddle your stuffed bunny.”
“Whatever,” Anna muttered, and she and Jordan and the others giddily hurried to Shoptown, located in one corner of the sprawling labyrinthine wing. It was a cozy area of tight, castle-like streets crammed with ancient storefronts. Each had an iron-strapped black oak door and a large window displaying wares. Enough students attended the academy for the remaining shops to survive, and certainly more than enough to cause serious congestion in some of the tighter alleys—especially when carrying supplies.
A few stalwart shopkeepers lived above their shops, but most lived in the city. The majority of the old-blood families had long moved on due to the lack of sunlight that came with living indoors—and the lack of demand, for Shoptown had teemed with students back when the academy had housed vastly more students—thousands more—and could thus sustain those shops. But warlocks had been steadily dying out for hundreds of years, some falling at the hands of superstitious Ordinaries, who coveted warlock blood as the blood of the gods, others to incompetence, and others still to wars. The Academy Herald had called it “the quandary of the times”—how to boost the warlock population, postulating that if things continued, it was only a matter of time before academy attendance was whittled down to only a few hundred students.
