Abyssal Arcanist [Chapter 13]

Hey peeps!

Another chapter! I hope you all enjoy.

Shami

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

STRONGER TIERS

Twain fidgeted in my arms as he twitched his large lynx-like ears. “Headmaster Venrover, why did you let that Empire arcanist speak to you like that? And who does he think he is, threatening you?”

“Shh.” I held Twain tight against my chest. “You shouldn’t question him like that.”

Venrover placed a hand on his desk, his long fingers gracefully grazing the grains of wood. “There is nothing to be concerned about. This isn’t the first time someone has attempted to strong-arm Astra Academy into doing what they wanted.”

Twain bit my hand. I sucked in air as I loosened my grip. Once able to speak again, my eldrin puffed up his chest. “I remember! People came to the Academy and demanded you close down the Menagerie. I was there—they wanted to take me away.”

The headmaster chuckled. “Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten that incident.” He smiled, though I could tell he didn’t mean it. “I pay for the Menagerie out of my own personal coffers, but that didn’t stop some people from demanding I sell all the mystical creatures held there to help fund Academy projects.”

“What did you do?” I asked, now genuinely curious.

“Oh, I found funding in other places. I have plenty of powerful arcanist friends who don’t mind helping.” Venrover’s expression melted into something I couldn’t read. “Although, the Empire’s support was the greatest… I’ll just have to make sure some other arcanists are impressed with our students enough to donate.”

While I didn’t want Astra Academy to close—either due to financial hardship or attacks—I wasn’t sure how I could help in the situation. I knew exactly zero wealthy arcanists. I couldn’t even think of someone I could call on to help me make a sandwich, let alone keep an entire Academy afloat.

“Uh, I didn’t come here because of that,” I muttered. “I came here because today, while in Combat Arts, I used a bow for the first time.”

“And he was super good at it,” Twain chimed in. “So good. He used an ancient bow technique that impressed the professor and everything.”

The headmaster said nothing.

“I think it has something to do with Death Lord Deimos.” I held my breath afterward, hoping the headmaster would just know a solution to this problem.

And I hoped beyond reason he didn’t see me as the root of all this trouble.

Headmaster Venrover grazed his fingers on the desk a second time. He seemed to mull everything over before he said, “Professor Helmith locked a piece of the Death Lord’s soul away in your dreams… You see, a true form ethereal whelk arcanist—like all true form arcanists—gain a powerful new ability. And hers is to lock someone away in the realm of slumber. Forever.”

Twain gasped.

I nervously chuckled. “She can put people to sleep indefinitely?”

“That’s correct.” The headmaster pointed to his temple. “I believe the Death Lord can’t possess any part of your body because he’s essentially sleeping. His knowledge, and his presence, are still part of you, however.”

“So, learning things like ancient bow technique are just side effects of this?” I hoped nothing else would come of it.

The headmaster exhaled. “Well, learning something from him isn’t what I imagined would happen.” He met my gaze, his eyes cold. “I appreciate you telling me this, because I think I’ll need to find a way to reinforce Professor Helmith’s magic.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Death Lord Deimos is an abyssal dragon arcanist.” Venrover walked around his desk and stood in front of me. “You learned about the tiers of creatures, didn’t you? Ethereal whelks are weaker than dragons, which means their magic isn’t as potent.”

“But true form creatures are more powerful than their base forms, right?” I asked, trying to recall everything I learned in class.

The headmaster nodded. “They are… But I suspect abyssal dragons are creatures with magical abilities that affect the soul. Perhaps Death Lord Deimos is attempting to escape his dream prison, and his magic is slowly corroding Professor Helmith’s.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Not one bit.

Twain glanced up at me, his two-toned eyes wide with concern. I gently patted his head. What was I going to do about this? The headmaster said he would try to find a way to reinforce Helmith’s magic. He would come through for me.

Another thought crossed my mind.

“Uh, Headmaster?” I asked.

“Yes?” Venrover tilted his head slightly.

“Do you think I could visit my father on the Isle of Haylin? I… want to speak with him.” Ever since Professor Jijo made his observations, I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have been so hard on my father.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to leave the Academy,” Headmaster Venrover stated. “There are people who worship the Death Lords who obviously have their sights set on you. And there are still gate fragments we haven’t collected—which means your presence could activate them.”

“R-Right.”

That all made sense. But still.

I sighed.

Writing a letter to my father would have to suffice.

“We could invite your father to come to Astra Academy,” Headmaster Venrover said. He tapped the point of his chin. “It’s an expensive trip, but we have regular supplies who take the Gates of Crossing every month. Your family could ride on one of those boats.”

“Really?” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “I would like that.”

“I’ll send a note to both the suppliers and your father on Haylin. It will be official.”

That was kind of him. Perhaps I could show my father and stepmother around once they got here. It would shock them both—I doubted they had seen any building as large as the Academy.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Yeah.” Twain purred. “Thank you so much.”

***

I headed back to class, my thoughts on the Death Lord rather than on archery.

As I walked across the grass of the training field, a pool of darkness slithered across the ground and then circled around my steps. My brother’s knightmare was cute, when I thought about it—an adorable puddle of black void. Twain watched the shadow shift about, his irises growing larger like only a cat’s could.

“Your brother is worried about you,” Thurin said from the depths of the darkness.

“Tell him I’m fine,” I whispered. “And that our father will be coming to visit.”

“I will.” Thurin’s tone was rather matter-of-fact, almost too serious for our conversation. Then the knightmare slid across the ground with all the ease of a shadow, darting back to his arcanist.

Everyone still had bows, and they took aim at cloud targets across the other side of the field.

Curiously, three people I didn’t recognize stood at the very far end of the field, observing the class. They all stood with arms crossed—all of them wearing the robes of second-year students. Who were they? I shook my head, not really caring. They probably just came for some equipment and stayed to watch the class.

“Gray!” someone called out, breaking me out of my thoughts.

Phila waved to me, smiling wide. She pointed to her bow. “You need to try some of the techniques the professor is teaching us! Look.”

She squared her feet, tensed her back, and then fired an arrow at a cloud a good thirty feet away. She evoked wind as she fired, carrying her arrow farther and faster than anything I had seen before. The arrow tore through the cloud with surprising accuracy and power.

Then Phila turned on her heel to face me as I walked over. “Did you see that?” she asked.

“I thought you hated the idea of using a bow,” I muttered.

“Oh, I did. But that was before I realized how good I am with it.”

“Evoking wind is a tricky magic,” Professor Jijo said as he paced behind the class, never getting in the way of anyone firing. “Wind, by itself, is not typically seen as particularly dangerous until you can create gale force gusts. But that won’t be for a long time—not until you train, and your eldrin grows older and more capable. So, while you only evoke weak winds, you can use it to make other things more dangerous.”

“It’s not that the wind is blowing, it’s what the wind is blowing,” Phila said with one finger up.

Jijo snapped and pointed to her. “Exactly. All projectile weapons, including pistols, can be enhanced with a bit of wind trickery. That will be our goal with you, young arcanist.”

“Heh,” Raaza said—louder than needed, obviously wanting the attention of the class. “Big deal. I can make my own arrows.”

He waved his hand and evoked fox fire, a type of illusion that took on the physical properties of the object. The red flames flashed blue, and then disappeared to reveal an arrow in the palm of Raaza’s hand.

He was getting a lot better with his magic. For a long time, the only thing he could create were gold coins.

Raaza nocked the fox fire arrow and then shot it at a cloud. He hit the side of the vapors, dispelling the target with a semi-skilled shot. Then he waved his hand again, created anotherfox fire arrow, and shot a second time.

Then he glanced over at us all with a smirk. “Seems more useful than some wind, if you ask me.”

Knovak wore an expression that screamed, Are you kidding me? That’s It? He huffed and dramatically rolled his eyes. “If wind is useful, then my magic should be twice as good.” He aimed his bow and then fired.

Unicorn arcanists evoked force—just an invisible blast of magic.

When Knovak evoked his magic while firing, the arrow tumbled through the air, half-shattered, and then collided with the target in such an awkward manner, I wondered if it would’ve hurt anyone upon impact.

The class was silent for a few seconds afterward.

Then Raaza laughed. He even snorted; his chuckling became so hard.

Professor Jijo cringed a bit as he walked over and picked up the broken arrow. “Now, now. Wind works with projectiles because it eliminates resistance. The wind engulfs the arrow, and carries it along. Your force carries nothing—it just pushes. So, just like the arcanists who evoke terror, you shouldn’t use your evocation with the projectiles. You should use your evocation on your target first, to weaken their ability to dodge properly.”

Knovak’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“Unicorns are also weaker creatures,” Raaza chimed in, for seemingly no reason whatsoever. “Like, tier two? Maybe tier one? Trying to combine it with any weapon feels like a waste of time.”

Knovak shot the other man a glare that could kill.

But that didn’t stop Raaza from chortling. He returned to using fox fire to create arrows.

Professor Jijo held up a finger as he paced behind everyone again. “Clever arcanists can use weaker magic to great effect. Never underestimate the power of creative thinking. Now, let’s continue to combine our magic with our archery skills, shall we?”

I set Twain down on the grass, grabbed my bow and another arrow, and quickly glanced around.

Raaza’s fox fire was useful. The ability to infinitely create ammo whenever needed was a boon. But we already had all the arrows we needed here.

Nasbit’s evocation was slow and terrible. He could create little pebbles? Or something? It wasn’t useful.

Both Nini and my brother evoked terror. And if we were shooting at live targets—like highwaymen who were trying to rob us—their magic would be the best. I could terrorize the robbers and then shoot them while they were immobilized. But the clouds couldn’t feel terror.

Knovak’s force was even worse. And he did have the weakest eldrin here.

Phila’s evocation was the best for this scenario.

I closed my eyes and thought about the threads of magic that connected me to everyone else’s creature. I tugged on Phila’s coatl magic, and my forehead burned as a snake with wings appeared in my blank arcanist star.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed that Twain had transformed from an orange kitten into a corn snake with parrot wings. He was an exact duplicate of Tenoch.

With my new magic, I nocked an arrow, took aim at a cloud, and then evoked wind as I fired. Just like with Phila, my arrow was carried along and shot through the air without trouble. I blasted a cloud target, no problem at all.

“That was amazing,” Sorin called out. “Gray, your mimic powers are really useful.”

Again, Raaza huffed. “They’re not that great.”

But my shoulders twitched slightly, like my body wanted to go back to using the jarmakee style. I ignored the urge, determined to push the influences of the Death Lord away. Everything would be fine—I just had to continue learning.