Abyssal Arcanist [Chapter 5]

Hey peeps!

Happy May!

Also, I'm in talks with people to get a Kickstarter going for the Bestiary. I think it will be a fancy hard cover with books 1 + 2 from the Frith Chronicles, plus the massive list, artwork, and information about the creatures (so that anyone can back it, and get something cool).

Anyway, here is the next chapter of Abyssal Arcanist!

Shami

CHAPTER FIVE

BEDSIDE MANNER

The two strangers in our dorm turned to face us.

The first was a man as tall and as thin as a birch tree. He had a sharp nose and blue eyes that practically blended into the white around them. His black hair, slicked back into a tight ponytail, revealed his arcanist mark—a glowing seven-pointed star with the picture of a squirrel tangled between the points.

A glowing arcanist mark…

It meant his eldrin had achieved its true form.

The man wore a tailored suit of fine black cloth, and a silver pin in the shape of a hammer adorned his lapel. Everything about him screamed prim and proper, but his icy blue eyes seemed wide in both worry and surprise.

The woman next to him was much shorter, probably just five feet exactly, but there was a strength in her gaze that belied her size. Her dark hair fell loose around her round face, and she wore thick leather gloves, rough trousers, and a sturdy apron filled with measuring tools. The arcanist mark on her head was a normal seven-pointed star with a gargoyle clinging to the center.

She, too, wore a silver pin with a hammer, only hers was attached to the strap of her apron.

“Who are you two?” Raaza barked out. His kitsune stood between his legs, her fox face narrowed into a suspicious glare.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Miko said with a cute growl in her words. “This is a private area!”

“Oh, pardon us.” The man smoothed his vest. “We were told the students would all be in class. I’m Architect Slater, and this is my associate, Architect Joyce. We’re here to help Headmaster Venrover improve the Academy.”

“Improve its defenses,” Joyce added in a low and smooth voice. “Not the aesthetics.”

“Yes.” Slater cleared his throat. “Well, to be frank, we could improve some more things while we’re here.” He motioned to the dorm room around us. “This entire space lacks symmetry. It throws off the balance of the room, and I just don’t like it.”

“We should focus on the treehouse and the entrances to the Academy,” Joyce said, her voice as calm as ever, even if it was a bit critical. “That’s what the headmaster wanted.”

“Hm. What’s the point of doing a job if we’re not going to be thorough? The tree is wonderful. I know, I’m the one who grew it.” Slater stomped closer to the window. “Look at how marvelous that is. There’s nothing in the world like it, and that only came from complete dedication to the job.”

While the two architects bickered over the construction of the Academy, Twain the golem carried Nasbit’s trunk into the room. Sorin, Raaza, Nasbit, and I entered afterward, though we all came to a halt and stared at Nasbit. Which bed did he want? Six of them were completely unclaimed, and all identical. The only bed that had any prom or frill was Knovak’s. He was the wealthiest of us lowborns, a fact he somehow managed to slip into several conversations.

“That one,” Nasbit said, pointing to the bed directly next to Knovak’s. “I like being close to the door.”

Twain set the trunk down with a loud thump. It drew the attention of both Slater and Joyce. They glanced over.

“Careful there,” Joyce said. “If you chip the stone floor, I’ll have to smooth it all out with my magic.”

Sorin lifted both eyebrows and shot me a smile. “Gargoyles can manipulate stone.”

“I know,” I muttered. “Professor Helmith told me all about it.” And I was fairly certain I was the one who told Sorin.

Raaza lightly smacked my shoulder. Then he whispered, “What kind of arcanist is the man?”

Before I could answer, a mystical creature hopped along the treehouse walkway and came to a stop at our windowsill. The branch paths that led from the Academy to the massive tree trunk were impressive, but it paled in comparison to the bizarre and highly magical creature that was now in our midst.

It was a squirrel the size of a large housecat.

And not just any squirrel—the two stripes on its back glowed a vibrant emerald green, and its eyes were a shining ocean blue. Its crimson red fur gave it a look of elements, as though it were a mix of fire, earth, and water. It also had a tiny horn in the middle of its head, similar to a unicorn. It was made of crystal, and sparkled white.

“That’s a ratatoskr,” I whispered.

The ratatoskr leapt into the dorm and then scampered over to Slater. Its squirrel body matched the shape on Slater’s glowing arcanist mark.

“I inspected everything,” the ratatoskr said. He gave his arcanist a little salute. “The treehouse is in tip-top shape, but it, too, lacks major defenses. I recommend overhauling the main rooms in the trunk. Perhaps some atlas tortoise magic to create barriers, or even nullstone to keep tricksters from infiltrating the ranks.”

Slater smiled, his lips thin and practically a crude line. “Thank you, Rollo. We should write up our suggestions and assessments, since they’re becoming too numerous. The headmaster will want to hear all of this.”

Rollo, the little ratatoskr squirrel, saluted a second time. Then he tapped his back paws together, spun around, and leapt onto the window sill. “I shall investigate further, my arcanist. Perhaps there are weak points around the perimeter.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Joyce pointed to the far edge of the Academy. “My eldrin is checking the mountain peaks as we speak. You should focus on the building and foundation, especially the rooms that were apparently… uh…” She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew a piece of parchment. Then she frowned as she said, “The rooms that were exploded.”

Sorin cringed at the word. He turned to me and shook his head.

Fortunately, he said nothing on the matter. I really didn’t want to tell the two architects that the Academy was having structural issues because of an incident that involved me.

Nasbit unpacked some of his belongings from the trunks. While he worked, Twain bubbled and shrank down. His stone body shifted back into an orange kitten with a slight uttering of a warble.

“Is it true that you’re the man who made the treehouse?” Nasbit asked as he placed a small stack of clothing on his bed. “I’ve always wondered who did it.”

Slater turned on his heel—much like how his eldrin had—and nodded once. “That’s correct. Us ratatoskr arcanists are capable of growing gigantic trees. Our magical auras are specifically tailored for that purpose.” He stood a little taller. “I daresay this is the largest, and most beautiful, tree a ratatoskr arcanist has ever made. I’m surprised they have mentioned my name in a few of your classes.”

What a humble man.

The expression on Joyce’s face—her lips turned down at the corners—told me I was probably correct about my sarcastic observation. “Look,” she muttered. “We should focus on the task at hand. The headmaster specifically wanted an estimate to make all the repairs and changes, and he wanted it by this evening… We’re not going to get that if you keep talking to people. Or getting upset by the symmetry of the rooms.”

Slater waved away her concerns. Then he stomped to the window sill and stepped up to the branch pathway. “Come, come, then. We should examine the Academy from the outside and see what we can glean.”

The woman’s height became noticeable again when she hurried to the sill. It took a moment to get her leg up, and then her whole body onto the walkway. She followed after the other architect afterward, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder as she went.

The wide branch of the treehouse made for an excellent walkway, but there were no railings. The two architects pointed to the side and made notes before continuing their trek to the trunk.

“I thought they already repaired the Academy,” Raaza muttered.

Nasbit closed the lid to his trunk. “I’m sure it was a quick repair. If the headmaster is hiring architects to improve defenses, and strengthen foundations, he’s probably worried about additional damage in the future.”

Everyone awkwardly turned to face me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted an eyebrow. “What? I’m not going to destroy any more of the Academy, if that’s what you’re all thinking.”

Twain bounded over to me. Then he got up on his back paws and reached high up to my knee. I bent over and scooped him up. “We need more defenses,” he said with a purr. “What if more people come for you? We should be prepared.”

“Hm.”

“Okay, I can set up my belongings later.” Nasbit went to the door. “We should get back to class. What if the professor returned to find the room empty?”

Sorin opened the door for everyone, practically startling Nasbit with the burst of movement. “Definitely. We need to get back.”

Nini, who had been standing just outside, leapt backward into her reaper eldrin. The empty cloak was practically a curtain as she stumbled through him. Waste mumbled something under his breath as his arcanist untangled herself from the red fabric.

“S-Sorry,” she said. “I heard talking, so I thought I would listen in.”

We all exited the dorm, and I motioned to the hallway, trying to steer us all in the correct direction. “There were a bunch of architects in the dorm. Nothing to worry about.”

“They’re going to make the Academy safer.” Sorin walked closer to Nini and smiled down at her. “I think these are good signs.”

Nini smoothed her crimson hair. “I hope so.”

No one else said anything as we traveled to our classroom. When we arrived, I was shocked by how quiet and empty it was. Had Piper really not returned yet? Where was she? And while she wasn’t the most reliable professor, she wasn’t usually absent, not in the middle of class.

Everyone took their seats. Raaza leaned onto his table, his chin in his hand. “You think she was attacked by an abyssal monster or something?”

Nasbit held the collar of his robes. “Don’t say things like that.”

“What? It isn’t outside the realm of possibility. Maybe we shouldn’t sit around like chumps. Maybe we should do something.”

Before we could get into an argument about the best course of action, the door opened to reveal Piper. She hurried into the room, her black hair tangled, her rizzel bounding along the floor like only a hyper ferret could. Then her eldrin disappeared with a pop of silvery glitter. He reappeared on her desk in a flash.

“We’re here,” the rizzel said.

Piper chuckled as she hustled her way around the desk. “Yes. Thank you, Reevy. We’re here. Everyone is here. We’ve always been here.” She still wasn’t wearing her robes, and instead, her dress was now visibly wrinkled. “It’s time to continue the lecture.”

I exchanged a questioning glance with Sorin and Nini. The two of them half-shrugged.

“Where were we?” Piper stepped closer to the chalkboard. She read her own notes and then nodded. “Right. We were discussing the evolution of arcanist guilds and the importance of picking a role that best suits your magics…” She faced everyone with a forced smile. “Take notes. I’ll giving you another quiz when we meet again.”

***

After class, and after dinner, I separated from the others. I told Sorin and Nini I wanted to take a shower, but that just wasn’t the case. I held Twain tight in my arms as I walked the halls of the Academy, heading beyond the infirmary to Doc Tomas’s office.

Doc Tomas, a golden stag arcanist, was Astra Academy’s medical expert. He seemed rather skilled, even if he appeared elderly. Arcanists didn’t really age, but apparently, golden stags only bonded with people who were older. It was an odd Trial of Worth, but who was I to criticize it? If I were an old geezer, I’d bond with a golden stag in a heartbeat.

Doc Tomas’s office was just down the hall from the infirmary. I stopped at the door, set Twain down by my feet, and then knocked.

When the door opened, a tranquil feeling came over me. The soft sounds of a babbling brook also rang in my ears, though I saw no water.

Doc Tomas met my gaze. His eyes were paler than most, but still bright with intelligence.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice rusty.

He wore a long, brown robe, but that didn’t hide his hunched back or lopsided stance. His rat nest of a beard had been trimmed down, though despite that, it still seemed out of control. It was as white and wispy as the hair on his head, and his ashen skin appeared purple in some spots.

“I wanted to know if Professor Helmith and Knovak were doing any better?” I glanced over his shoulder.

His office contained hundreds of books, a cabinet filled with medical tools—including jars of medicine—a desk, and a wide couch. His golden stag rested on the cushions of the couch, the stag’s thin frame light enough not to break the furniture.

Petrichor—that was the stag’s name. And he was beautiful. His horns were made of the purest metallic gold, and his hooves were a mix of brass and copper. I figured he was heavy, but his slender legs were tucked under his body, and his ears twitched in my direction the longer I stared.

“Rylee and Knovak aren’t here, my boy.” Doc Tomas chuckled. “And your classmate is perfectly fine now. I sent him back to his dorm. He was feeling a little under the weather, both with his health and his magic, but after some time, it faded. Nothing to worry about.”

That was good to hear, considering when I saw him last, I had been the one to attack him. Well, not me. Death Lord Deimos attacked Knovak with my body, but still. I had see it all, and I had failed to prevent it. I wanted to apologize.

“What about Professor Helmith?” I asked.

“Ah. Rylee is a slightly different story, I’m afraid.” Doc Tomas held both his hands behind his back. When he smiled, the lines on his face betrayed the fact he was a naturally happy individual. “She’ll need more rest, but I suspect she, too, will recover.”

“Can I see her?”

“Normally, I tell my patients not to have too many visitors, but Rylee said if you came asking, that I was to permit you.”

That was a relief. I worried she blamed me for the attack. Was it my fault she was injured? It felt like it, and that feeling was like a poison burning my veins whenever I thought about it.

“Where is she?” I whispered.

“Just down the hall. Second door on the left. I keep longer-term patients close, just in case.”

“Thank you.”

I turned away from the door, and Doc Tomas closed it with a gentle click. As I walked, Twain kept pace. He rubbed his orange fur on the side of my leg whenever he could.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” he said.

I nodded once. “Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t look so worried when you see her. She’s trying to recover. If you’re gloomy, it won’t help.”

After a long exhale, I stopped in front of the door. Twain had a good point. I shouldn’t be sad when I see her. That wouldn’t help. I took a moment to gather all of my cheer before gently tapping my knuckles on the door. It was made of thick oak and solid black iron for the hinges. Would she even hear me knocking?

“Come in,” came a melodious voice from the other side.

Helmith…

I pushed the door inward and tiptoed inside.

The room was illuminated with the soft glow of candles. A single lantern—one with stained glass around the sides—sat in the corner, the multi-colors of the glass cascading onto the wall like a watercolor painting. It was beautiful, and reminded me of dreams.

Professor Helmith rested back on her bed at the far end of the room. Blankets were pulled up to her armpits, and her head was cradled by three fluffy pillows.

But…

Her once-vibrant and tanned complexion was now pale, her skin gaunt. Her hair, normally silky and flowing like inky waterfalls, was tangled and unkempt. My heart practically clenched in my chest at the sight of her.

“Kristof?” she whispered as she turned her head. “I told you, there’s no need to knock.” But then her violet eyes landed on me. “Oh, Gray. I was wondering when I would see you.”

Professor Helmith’s body was wracked with shivers as she struggled to sit up.

I leapt to the side of her bed and motioned for her to just rest. “Don’t get up because of me,” I said, trying my damnedest to smile. “There’s no need. Really. I just came here to visit, and see if there’s anything you need.”

Helmith stared up at me. And unlike me—who pretended to wear mirth—her smile was genuine. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay,” she whispered.

Her arcanist mark glowed with a bright, intense white. A spiral shell was between the points. She was a true form ethereal whelk arcanist.

Twain leapt onto the foot of her bed. He slowly made his way to her side, careful to never step on her actual body. Professor Helmith brought one of her hands to his head and gently patted him.

“I’ll be better than the good winds before long,” Helmith said.

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to apologize, but how? “Uh…”

“Hm?”

“The h-headmaster is improving the Academy’s defenses. Isn’t that interesting?”

Helmith’s vibrant purple eyes practically lit up. “Oh, yes. It’s about time. I believe he’s going to call an assembly to announce some of the changes tomorrow.”

I hadn’t heard about that, but it fascinated me. What kind of changes?

But now wasn’t the time to talk about that.

As I stared down at Helmith, I realized it was a struggle for her to take deep breaths. A surge of emotion hit me—a sense of protectiveness—as I watched her fight for precious air. And although I had never really felt a powerful urge to hurt or destroy, my thoughts went straight to dark places.

Like maybe I should hunt down anyone who had ever harmed her.

And make them pay.

The thought process startled me enough to rock me out of the sensation. I rubbed at my temple, and Twain glanced over, his ears laid back, his eyes narrowed.

“You okay?” Twain whispered.

I nodded. Then I forced another smile for Professor Helmith. “Um, why do you think… your recovery is so difficult?” I hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but my curiosity was killing me. Why was everyone else recovering so much faster than she was?

Professor Helmith ran a hand down the blankets. She had been stabbed by Death Lord Deimos across her gut. “I suspect it’s because Death Lords—all abyssal dragon arcanists—have some ability to harm souls. And when Deimos holds his weapon, his magic is more potent. He was… holding it when he struck me.”

I gritted my teeth and said nothing.

My heart hurt.

With raw emotion in my voice, I said, “I’m sorry. This is… all my fault.”

Professor Helmith reached her hand to mine. When she grabbed my knuckles, I realized how cold she was. “It wasn’t your fault, Gray. Never assume the blame for the wicked actions of others. I would change none of my actions, and I will soon recover. You have nothing to apologize for.”

She said everything so confidently. Even her voice, which had been softer before, was louder and firm. But her icy touch, and her inability to sit up straight, betrayed the truth.

Another feeling flooded me—one that I wasn’t entirely familiar with. It was a desire to be stronger. I didn’t want anyone to be bedridden because they were harmed protecting me.

I wanted to protect her from danger. I tightened my grip on her fingers, hoping my hand would warm hers.

“If there’s anything I can do for you…” I smiled. “I’ll happily do it.”

“Kristof is here to care for me,” Helmith said.

Then the door squeaked open. Twain’s eyes went large.

“There he is,” Professor Helmith said with a smile. “Gray, you should meet my husband, Kristof.”