Academy Arcanist [Chps 13-15]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A PUPPET

I ran.

Without looking back, I pushed myself to run full speed ahead. The memorial was dark and cold, but the light of the distant exit was plain as day. I headed straight for it, desperately craving an exit out of the shadows.

That was when I almost tripped over something. My foot caught an object, and I heard a distinct meow-yelp as I stumbled and flailed my arms. The click-clacking of the puppet didn’t stop though, even as I took a moment to regain my balance.

“What’s going on?” a child-like voice hissed. “You kicked me!”

I bent over, waving my arms until my hand bashed against the side of the kitten. Although the little hellion scratched me, I scooped him up into my arms and ran for the exit.

“What’s going on?” Twain shouted, his little kitten voice drowned out by the puppet’s clacking movements. “Put me down!”

Sorin had already exited the memorial. I rushed out the door, and few feet from the exit. Without slowing at all, I slammed into him. He grunted as he stepped forward once, but I practically bounced off him, losing my footing. Sorin grabbed me before I toppled over.

Twain shuddered in my arms, having no doubt felt the brunt of the collision. The dazed kitten didn’t say anything.

“Gray?” my brother asked, concern in his voice.

With shaky breaths, I tried to steady myself. Before I answered, Sorin turned his attention to the false sky overhead.

“Are those dark clouds? I wonder why the Academy would change the weather.” With a sigh, Sorin added, “It’s like the sky wants to write a poem for my mood.”

I grabbed his coat. “They’re here,” was all I managed to choke out. The click-clack of the monsters hadn’t stopped. I pointed back at the darkness inside the memorial. “We have to go!”

He glanced back at my, an eyebrow lifted. “Who’s here?”

“The monsters! From my dreams. Right over there.”

“Monsters?”

But we had run out of time.

The very same nightmarish creature that plagued my dream emerged from the darkness of the memorial. A spider marionette—a wooden doll held by invisible strings—clattered its way out the door. It had hands at the end of its eight, long legs, and its face was an emotionless stage mask, complete with circle holes for eyes and a line for a mouth.

If it were the size of a spider, it wouldn’t have been a concern, but the monster was slightly larger than a horse. It moved with jerked motions, its wooden hands clicking against the stone floor as it moved.

All of Twain’s fur stood on end as his kitten eyes went wide.

“What is that?” Sorin shouted. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the puppet. “Gray?”

“It’s a monster,” I said, unable to provide more of an explanation. “We have to run!”

The marionette spider lifted one of its legs. The fingers on its hand sprouted knives—long, sharp, deadly. A phantom pain shot through my back as I recalled the agony of its attack. I was frozen for a moment, caught in my own memories and dread, trapped in the quicksand of panic.

Sorin pulled me as he ran, and I was jerked back to my senses. With a deep gulp of air, I dashed away from the puppet as it made its first swing. The blades whistled through the air, but missed both Sorin and I.

We ran around the building, my heart pounding straight up my throat. Piper had said the arcanists of the Academy wouldn’t help us with the Trials of Worth, but wouldn’t they help us if we were in trouble? She had made some sort of comment about returning to her, hadn’t she?

Sorin must’ve had the same thought. He veered toward the location where we had first arrived in the Menagerie. I ran alongside him, but I was naturally faster. I pulled ahead as we ran down the hill.

The puppet chased us relentlessly, though slower than in my dreams. When it ran down the grassy hill, the knives of its hand slashed up the ground, leaving even the Menagerie wounded.

The illusioned sky had turned on us. Gone was the sunshine and warmth. It had all been replaced with dark clouds and an ominous chill. There was enough light to see, but just barely. I didn’t know my way around the Menagerie. Was there a way out of here that didn’t involve teleportation?

I hadn’t seen a door.

With a huff, I arrived at the starting location Piper had brought us to. I glanced around, my heart racing.

“Where is everyone?” Twain asked in a tiny voice. “I don’t see anybody…”

Sorin ran up to me, his breathing labored. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the grove of trees. Wasn’t there a kitsune there? Her fox fire could help!

“Gray?” my brother asked between gulps of air.

The puppet chased us toward the grove.

My heart sank when we reached the first grouping of trees.

No one was here. I glanced around wildly, trying to spot even a trace of their presence, but I saw nothing. No footprints. No kitsune fur. Even the grass seemed undisturbed.

“Help!” I shouted. “Anyone!”

But no one answered.

When I turned my attention to the branches overhead, it seemed as though a fog had settled over us. The Menagerie wasn’t as pristine or beautiful as it had been when we arrived—it was hazy, like a dream. Where were we? I hadn’t fallen asleep. Sorin and Twain were with me. What was this?

It had to be dream. But how did all three of us get here?

“Gray!”

My brother’s voice almost didn’t register. I turned on my heel just in time to catch sight of the marionette-spider rushing up on me. It lifted its bladed hand, and I didn’t have time to leap away.

Sorin pushed me out of the way just as the puppet swung. The blades caught Sorin’s shoulder, slicing through his clothing and flesh, splattering the ground with his blood. He yelled as he grabbed at his injured shoulder, his face contorted in pain.

The puppet-spider didn’t seem interested in my brother, though. It turned its facemask on me. But I couldn’t buckle, not now—not when I was so close to becoming an arcanist. I ran right toward it and the spider lifted its face, as though confused.

Twain dug his kitten claws into my arm, causing me to bleed. He, too, was probably confused.

I went for one of the puppet’s legs and kicked it on long, thin portion of the wood. I had given it my all, and the leg of the monster splintered under my boot. It didn’t break, but it had fractured. The cracking sound of wood filled the grove.

My leg hurt for a moment, but the pain was forgotten as I stumbled away.

The puppet didn’t cry out or flinch, but it did lift its leg and hold the broken portion in front of its mask. The thing had no eyes—the hole of the mask just showed more wood—but it “examined” the injury as though observing it like any normal creature.

“Let’s go!” I said as I grabbed Sorin’s uninjured arm.

Together, we ran out of the grove, but I was at a loss for where to head next. Instead of hesitating, I ran for the underground lake. It was near the marsh. I had seen a giant frog in the water. Would it still be there?

The marionette attempted to follow us, but its leg splintered even further when it took a step. The jerked motions of its movements, as though on strings, didn’t mean it was weightless, apparently. The spider examined its broken limb a second time, its mannerisms almost irritated.

“What’s going on?” Twain shouted. He still had his tiny claws in my arms. “Why are there monsters here? Where’s the headmaster? He’ll save us! He has to!”

I ignored the kitten’s cries as we made our way to the lake. Sorin huffed and puffed until we came to a stop. Then he inhaled at a fierce rate, his body shaky. Blood wept from his injured shoulder. The puppet had cut him deep.

I placed Twain down on the ground and examined his injury.

“Help!” Twain shouted. He bounded to the edge of the water. “Come out here, Itachi! We need your help!” The kitten pawed at the smooth waters. A slight ripple spread out from the shore. “Itachi? Can you hear me?”

The body of water was more an ambitious pond than a lake. It was only four feet deep, even in the middle. Decorative boulders were placed at strategic places around the edges, and a single weeping willow was positioned on the far side. The pristine waters were clear enough to showcase the beauty of the lake’s floor. There were colorful stones embedded in the dirt—a mosaic in the shape of feathered dragon.

But there weren’t any creatures swimming in the water. Whoever “Itachi” was, they weren’t here.

Sorin knelt on to one knee, his body shaking harder than before. “Gray… I feel weird…”

I grabbed under his arm, digging my hand into his armpit as I struggled to lift him. “Get up!”

The puppet was moving toward us at a slow but steady pace. It didn’t want to put weight on its broken leg, and it occasionally stopped to inspect the damage, as though it were a problem it didn’t know how to deal with.

“I’m cold,” Sorin said, his voice quiet. “Gray, just go. I’ll…”

Although the puppet seemed interested in me, it had also displayed some intelligence. If I left Sorin, would the monster use my brother as bait? Would it harm Sorin until I surrendered? I couldn’t take that chance. We had to stick together.

“Get up,” I commanded.

“I can’t. I… I feel weak.” Sorin scrunched his eyes closed. “Just go, Gray. I don’t… I don’t want to be responsible for your death, too.”

His words stabbed me, even through the sheer terror of the situation.

“The headmaster abandoned me,” the kitten muttered. Twain lied on the ground and pressed his paws over his ears. “Everyone always abandons me… This is it. This is how I die.”

Their despair was infectious.

For a flicker of a moment, I almost gave in and joined them—I almost wallowed in our seeming defeat. But that moment faded just as quickly as it had come.

I yanked on Sorin’s arm, forcing him to his feet.

“Gray?” he asked.

“We’re not giving up,” I said, practically shouting. “I don’t care what’s in our way! If it’s a wall, we’ll go left and walk around. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go right. If that doesn’t work, we’ll climb or dig! I’ll find a way to travel around the whole world and approach the wall from the other side if that’s what needed! So never give up, do you understand me? We’ll think of something!”

My brother and Twain both stared at me, their eyes wide. The kitten had mismatched eyes—one pink, and the other… gray. Not as pale blue as Sorin and I, but an unmistakable gray that caught my attention in that brief moment.

“You’ll find a way?” Twain whispered.

The puppet-spider approached us, its knife-hand lifted for an attack.

I pulled Sorin into the pond. We waded through the water as the monster swung and missed with its knives. Twain, panicking, leapt from the shore and hooked his claws into my arm. I sucked in air through my teeth as sharp pain flared through my body.

Twain clung to me, shivering. “I… I don’t want to give up.”

I plunged my hand into the pond and grabbed a mosaic stone. As the spider slowly crept into the pond, its mask facing me, I asked, “Do you have magic? Anything?”

With a grunt, I threw the decorative stone at the monster. It clacked against its wooden body and did nothing.

“Mimics only have the power of the creature they’ve transformed into,” Twain said, his voice warbling. “I-I don’t know what to do…”

Twain was a mimic?

Oh, that was right! Professor Helmith had said that mimics were little copycats. They transformed into another mystical creature—exactly as they were. If the creature was old, the mimic would be old. If the creature hadn’t developed its magics, the mimic wouldn’t have any either. The mimic always transformed into the perfect replica.

“Transform into a mystical creature!” I shouted as I dragged Sorin deeper into the lake. He was resting more and more of his weight on me, as though he couldn’t hold himself up.

“I can only transform into something nearby,” Twain said as he closed his eyes. “There are so many!”

And they were all young.

The pegasi. The kitsune. All baby mystical creatures. And since they hadn’t bonded yet, all their magic would be weak.

But the professors were nearby. Piper had a rizzel. Captain Leon had a cerberus…

Then the answer came to me.

The puppet-spider reached it long leg out, slashing at me in a wide arc. I splashed backward, the cold water numbing half my body.

The cerberus had said Professor Helmith was nearby—in the Academy.

“Transform into an ethereal whelk!” I commanded.

Twain’s ears shot straight up. “R-Really?”

“Do it!”

Twain nodded once. Then his body contorted in my arms, his orange fur shifting and shimmering with deep power. He felt warm. And then cold.

Within the blink of an eye, Twain had shifted forms.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BECOMING AN ARCANIST

The little kitten transformed into… a sea snail.

A magical snail, but still a snail.

Twain formed into a spiral shell the size of a human head, the outside sparkling with rainbow iridescence. Tentacles, similar to an octopus, hung out of the shell as it floated through the air, completely unaffected by gravity. It moved as though it were a petal hovering back and forth on a gentle breeze. The snail’s eye stalks were tall, and the eyes a void-like black.

Twain had transformed into an ethereal whelk.

What a bizarre creature.

It was clearly magical, and I saw that it was almost transparent, as though made from light itself.

But I couldn’t dwell. The puppet splashed forward and slashed with its knives. I couldn’t move fast enough. A combination of the water, and my brother’s weight, prevent me from sidestepping the attack. The blades cut me across the chest, the searing agony enough that I cried out. I stumbled backward, taking Sorin with me. My brother grabbed my bloody shirt, his fingers twisting the fabric.

“Twain!” I shouted. “End this!”

The mimic floated around as an ethereal whelk. “How?” he asked, his voice now singsong and soft. “I can’t fight with a body like this!”

The marionette puppet swung at me again. I shoved Sorin into the water, and then I dove for the pond as well. The spider slashed at me and missed. When I emerged from the water, it swung again, faster than before. It nearly took a chunk of my face, but I leaned away.

“Twain! You can do anything! It’s a dream! Just control it! That’s what ethereal whelks do!” I didn’t have any more specifics than that. I wasn’t an arcanist—I didn’t know how to use magic. But I had seen Professor Helmith alter dreams many times. I knew Twain could do it!

“This isn’t a dream…” Twain whispered. “R-Right?”

“It’s a dream! Trust me.”

The spider grew bolder. It swiped again, and then again. I splashed through the water, half-swimming, half-standing, barely able to dodge. Sorin gasped as he surfaced, his blood blooding into a pink cloud that stained the water.

“Make anything!” I yelled. “Fire! A windstorm! A snake that specifically eats spiders, I don’t care!”

The monster stopped mid-swipe.

Then it slowly circled around to Twain, its facemask emotionless and unmoving, yet somehow the gears of its tiny mind were turning. It was intelligent. The puppet knew Twain could end this whole fight. And now the monster was going to do something about that.

“Twain! Curse the abyssal hells, just do it!”

He wiggled his tentacles, but nothing happened.

When the spider-puppet lifted its hand, I splashed through the pond, determined to protect Twain. The monster swung, but I lunged just in time, getting in the way of the attack. The beast caught me with its blades, but I grabbed its wooden leg at its bizarre wrist.

Blood gushed from the new gash across my ribs.

The marionette tried to yank its hand from my grasp, but I wrapped both my arms around its leg and held on.

Twain squeaked in fright. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ll hold it!” I shouted, my voice weaker than before. “C’mon!”

“You’re bleeding…”

The monster lifted another one of its legs, and a second hand sprouted knives.

I was going to get cut to ribbons.

But then a pulse of power filled the air. I held my breath, familiar with the sensation. I half-expected Professor Helmith to descend from the air and blast this puppet away, but… That wasn’t the case.

The water swirled and moved with a mind of its own. The puppet halted all its attacks, its facemask “glancing” around, as though confused. Sorin fell out of the pond, his breathing heavy. He rested on the mosaic stones, watching the event unfold with wide eyes.

The water congealed as it lifted and twisted together, becoming a semi-transparent serpent of ice and dread. It all happened with the speed and eerie orchestration only possible in a dream.

The water-snake was far larger than anything around us, including the trees.

I released the monster just as the serpent lashed its tail and struck the wooden puppet. The ice of its body smashed the monster into splinters, breaking apart the mask and abdomen in one fatal blow.

I stumbled backward, shaken by the powerful blow. If I had been caught up in that, I would’ve surely been crushed.

“Ha!” Twain yelled. He lifted his tentacles. “Take that, vermin!”

The icy serpent lifted its tail and then smashed it back down on the shattered wood of the puppet, splintering it further. Then the serpent did it a third time. And fourth time. Breaking the marionette down into fragments smaller than firewood.

Twain cackled with delight, his laughing on the edge of maniacal. “You thought you could best me? I’m a mimic!Capable of all magics! And you? You’re just splinters.”

But right after he made his dramatic statement, Twain’s body bubbled. His shell, his tentacles—even his eye stalks. They warped and giggled as they slowly sprouted orange fur.

“Oh, no, I’m transforming back,” Twain said in a panic. “I’m too weak…”

“Wake us up,” I said. “Hurry.”

Twain, with the last of his ethereal whelk powers, waved his little tentacles.

The dream landscape faded away, melting all around us. My equilibrium became distorted. At first, I thought I was standing in the middle of an empty pond, but then it felt as though I were lying on my side. When I blinked my eyes, my entire surroundings changed. Darkness surrounded me.

And my eyes felt crusty…

I blinked harder until I realized I was on a cold stone floor in the middle of a dark room.

Had I been sleeping?

With a groan, I tried to roll over, but my injuries flared with pain. Blood pooled around my body as my heart beat furiously against my ribs. When I tried to call out, my lungs burned.

Was I back in the memorial? Yes. I was. Had I fallen asleep when I was in the darkness? I suppose I had. But how did that happen?

“Let me go, fiend!” I heard Twain call out.

Concern flooded me. I pushed myself to my feet, damned be my injuries. With a stumble, I groped around the darkness, wondering where twain had gone. Light sone from both ends of the memorial—the entrance and the exit—but it wasn’t enough to completely dispel the shadows. With the dim illumination, and my head spinning, I detected the silhouette of a person and maybe a kitten.

The person stomped on Twain.

Fueled by anger, I charged forward and threw a punch.

I wasn’t really a fighter. My father never taught me anything about combat. That being said, Sorin and I had wrestled a bit, as all brothers will. When I threw my punch, I managed to connect with a person’s head. They grunted—feminine sounding, even through the sound of grinding teeth. I had struck them in the side of the head. My knuckles hurt afterward.

Then I knelt and scooped Twain up into my shaky hands. “I got you,” I whispered. “Just hang on.”

The person—the mysterious someonewho had stomped Twain—threw a punch right back at me. Only instead of aiming for my head, they struck me in my bleeding ribs. I cried out as I stumbled back against the wall.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the person hissed under their breath, their voice feminine and distinct.

Could she see? How else would she know to strike me in an injury?

Twain didn’t move in my arms. I barely felt him breathing.

“What’s going on here?” someone shouted from outside the memorial. “What’s all these sounds and lights?”

My attacker cursed under her breath.

“We’re in here!” I rasped.

That was too much for my attacker—she ran. The sound of her shoes… they made a clack-clack-clack sound that was different from the puppets. She went straight for the exit, just as someone else appeared at the entrance.

It was Piper, the rizzel arcanist. Her and her eldrin stood at the door, the light shining behind both of them.

“Help!” I called out. “She attacked me!”

To my surprise, the tiny little ferret leapt off of Piper’s shoulder. With a puff of glitter and a pop of displaced air, Reevy the rizzel disappeared and reappeared near my attacker. After a deep inhale, Reevy exhaled a whoosh of white fire. It flooded the memorial—right near me, but never touching me—illuminating everything with an ivory, mystical glow.

The flames…

They weren’t hot. They disintegratedthings—breaking them apart, as though they were teleporting little bits at a time and displacing them around. Dust filled the air as the black rocks of the memorial were broken apart, bit by bit, by the deadly white fire.

The bright white allowed me to see a bit more.

Sorin was slumped on the ground, obviously still asleep. What had happened to us? Who put us into a forced slumber?

My attacker…

When I glanced over to catch sight of the woman who had attacked me, I saw nothing. Just the blazing ivory flames of the rizzel. The fire disappeared a moment later, casting us back into darkness. A mist hung in the air that smells of dirt and rock.

“Well, that was cathartic,” Reevy said, his little voice echoing in the memorial. “I haven’t been allowed to totally destroy a villain in quite some time.”

Had Reevy dealt with her? It appeared as though she got away.

Piper ran over to me. When she drew near, she asked, “Are you okay? What happened?”

But I wasn’t really in a place to answer. Now that the dangers had faded, my consciousness was going with them. My head felt light, and my injuries burned more than normal. I tried to hand her Twain—so that she could help him—but I felt myself slip.

Piper tried to catch me.

Then my vision went black. Probably from blood loss.

***

When I managed to open my eyes again, the first thing I saw was a stone ceiling.

It was night. Light shone from a lantern by my bed, and one hanging on the far wall. With some effort, I rubbed at my neck and glanced around. Someone had placed me on a bed. The white sheets were soft and comfortable, and I almost wanted to pull them over my face and go back to bed.

But then the memories of the Menagerie came rushing back.

“Sorin?” I croaked, my voice rust. “Sorin?” I forced myself up into a sitting position.

“Ow!”

Twain tumbled off my chest and landed on the bed, right by my side. He flailed around the blankets for a moment, and then jumped to all four of his paws. His orange fur stood on end. He was so puffed, he looked like a living potato.

“Be gentle,” Twain said. “I’m recovering, too, ya know!”

With my head throbbing, I took in the rest of my surroundings.

We were in a giant room, one filled with many similar beds. At least three dozen. They were small—meant for only one person—and curtains were hung between most. This was an infirmary. A place for the sick and wounded. My island only had one physician, and he was older than everyone on the island put together, but his clinic was nothing this large or clean or decorative.

Pictures of calm skies hung on the walls, and at the far end of the room there were windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. The darkness of night greeted me beyond the glass, but I could still see that this infirmary overlooked the nearby mountain ranges that surrounded Astra Academy.

We were high above it all—overlooking the peaks, with a view straight into the darkness between the individual mountains.

Twain and I were alone in the infirmary. No one else slept on the beds, and I didn’t spot a physician anywhere around.

“What happened?” I asked.

Twain de-puffed himself. Then he licked the back of his paw and wiped his face with it. “Apparently, we were in a dream. And then we were attacked by a gigantic child’s toy.” Twain sat and narrowed his little eyes. “Was it your fault? It feels like it was your fault.”

“Is my brother okay?” I glanced around again, hoping to spot Sorin. “Where is he?”

“He got up a long time ago. You were way more injured. The doctor said you needed to rest more.”

I rubbed my face. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“I dunno. Maybe eighteen hours?”

“Eighteen hours?” I balked. “Really?”

“The dream monster cut you so much… I didn’t even know wounds in a dream could follow you back to the waking world!”

The statement reminded me of my injuries. I threw the blanket off and glanced down. I wore a pair of white, flowing pants—pristine and loose—but nothing else. The slashes across my ribs and chest were healed, but not forgotten. My skin had white scar lines everywhere the monster had attacked me. I touched the faint reminders of the fight, grazing my fingertips along the entire length of a single scar.

“What was that?” Twain asked as he tilted his head to the side. “I’ve never seen a monster like it.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“And who attacked me?” Twain huffed and then arced his back. “Someone came out of nowhere and tried to squish me after I woke up! What a dastardly tactic. If it had been straight fight, I would’ve vivisected them.”

“I don’t know that either.”

Twain eventually calmed enough that he lowered his back and returned to his sitting position. For a quiet moment, he said nothing. Absentmindedly—because he looked so much like a normal cat—I gently petted his head.

Twain purred. I stopped, mildly surprised by his reaction. He shot me a glare, his two-colored eyes reminding me he was, in fact, a mystical creature and not a common house cat.

“Listen,” Twain said as he stood, turned around, and then sat with his back to me. “The Trials of Worth in the Menagerie are all over.”

“They are?”

“Yup. Everyone has bonded. Eleven new arcanists.

My heart beat hard again. I clenched my jaw, worried that I had failed my brother. Had he gotten back in time to bond with a creature? What if he had been stuck in the infirmary the whole time, and he missed his chance?

What if I had missed my chance?

“I’ve been in the Menagerie for years,” Twain stated matter-of-factly. “Headmaster Venrover said I would find someone to bond with eventually… But that day never came.”

With an exhale, I leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Why not?”

“Well…”

“Well?”

Twain sighed and his ears drooped. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise never to repeat what I’m about to say.”

With half a smile, I said, “I promise.”

“It’s because… I don’t have a Trial of Worth.”

I propped myself up on my elbows to stare at him. “What? Really?”

“Yes, really!” Twain huffed. He straightened his posture and then glanced at me. “All the other mystical creatures… They all know who they want to bond with. The pegasi want loyalty and physical prowess, and the kitsune wanted cleverness, and the golem wanted someone who was reliable and steadfast. But me…”

Twain didn’t finish his statement.

“You went years without bonding because you didn’t have a Trial?” I asked. “Why not bond with anyone? That’s how mystical creatures grow, right? Don’t you want to grow older and more powerful?”

Twain shuddered. “I can’t just bond with anyone! It’s a lifetime commitment. And every person I’ve ever met has always left me.” He jumped onto my chest and then lied down. “Even my mother. Left me… I just…” Twain nuzzled my shirt. “I’m afraid.”

I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I slowly brought my hand to his head and scratched him behind the ear. The little kitten leaned into my palm. With a purr, Twain closed his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just make up a Trial of Worth?” I asked. “I mean, some of the Trials seemed simple enough. A race? A scavenger hunt? Surely you could’ve thought of something.”

Twain pulled out of my hand and then stood tall on all four legs. “But all the other creatures knew their Trial of Worth in their hearts. They just knew. That’s what they told me. They never needed to think something up. It came to them through magic itself.”

“Interesting.”

“I never felt that. I never knew.” Twain pawed my chest, like he was stomping in anger, but it was too cute to be considered aggressive. “What if I’m defective? What if that was why my mother left me? Why everyone eventually leaves…”

I said nothing. The quiet of the infirmary was almost oppressive. What was I supposed to say?

Twain took a breath and then stared at me. “But… when I saw you fighting the dream-puppet, I just had this feeling. You… How do I put this…? You just didn’t stop. You thought of new tactics. Tried different things. That was when I knew, in my heart.”

“Knew what?” I asked.

“That you were worthy of being my arcanist,” Twain whispered.

I held my breath, mulling over everything he had said. With a mimic arcanist, I could use ethereal whelk magic, just like Professor Helmith. Actually, I could use any magic, so long as a creature was nearby for Twain to transform into.

It would be the perfect fit.

“I agree,” I said. “Does that mean… I’ve passed your Trial of Worth?”

“I just told you I didn’t have one!” Twin shook his head. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Nobody has to know that.” With a sarcastic sweep of my hand, I motioned to the empty infirmary. “I’ll just tell everyone that you have an epic Trial of Worth that I passed after I woke up.”

Twain tilted his head to the other side. “Do you think people will believe you? They won’t think I’m just defective?”

“Oh, trust me. People will believe. I’ll spin a tale so enthralling, they’ll all wish they had been here to witness our glorious Trial.”

Twain chuckled. Then he pawed at his whiskers. “Yes. I like this plan. I want everyone to think I had a challenging Trial. So difficult.” He widened his eyes. “The more powerful the mystical creature, the more dangerous and deadly the Trial of Worth. Did you know dragons almost always have a Trial that claims lives? What a bunch of goons!”

“Dragons sound high maintenance,” I quipped. Then I petted Twain a third time. “But don’t worry. Everyone will think your Trial of Worth was just as epic.”

With a purr, Twain said, “Excellent.” Then he stopped and stared me dead in the eyes. “Very well. Gray—I deem you worthy of becoming a mimic arcanist.” He glared as he finished, “You better not think of ever abandoning me, either.”

I was about to reply, but twist in my chest caught my breath. There was an unasked question in my mind and heart. A question of bonding. I accepted, no hesitation, and a powerful sensation—a change within me, altering everything—rippled through my whole body. My forehead hurt, but only for a split second.

A seven-pointed star etched itself int my skin, marking me as an arcanist.

I rubbed at my forehead, expecting another image to lace itself into the star. But no other image appeared—I didn’t get a little kitten pr a large cat. Piper had a rizzel, and Captain Leon had the cerebus, and Professor Helmith had her snail, but my arcanist star…

It was blank.

Nothing happened to Twain. He was same orange kitten with lynx ears and a bob tail. But when he met my gaze this time, his eyes sparkled brighter than before.

However, I couldn’t celebrate yet.

“What happened to Sorin?” I blurted out, my thoughts returning to my brother as soon as I realized I was definitely an arcanist. “Tell me… Did he bond with anything from the Menagerie?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HEALING UP

“I don’t know if your brother bonded,” Twain replied. “I wasn’t there. I’ve been with you the whole time.”

That bothered me. If Sorin wasn’t an arcanist, I couldn’t stay here at the Astra Academy. I’d travel with him to locate other mystical creatures so that he could attempt another Trial of Worth. Anything until he became an arcanist as well. Then I could return to the Academy, and we could both attend.

Before I voiced my plan to Twain, the far door to the infirmary opened.

An elderly man hobbled into the room, followed closely by an ancient golden stag. I sat up on my bed, my eyes wide as the man and the deer strode through the infirmary, straight to my side.

The man was odd. He wore a long brown robe, but his body seemed lumpy and lopsided. He had the physique of a potato sack, and a beard that resembled a long rat’s nest. His face was etched with laugh lines and creased with age. The arcanist mark on his forehead was a seven-pointed star with a deer wrapped around the points.

The golden stag seemed just as old as the man. Its shimmer fur was long on his neck and near his hooves, and the antlers carried scars. Despite that, the stag was still impressive. Its horns were made of the purest metallic gold, and its hooves were a mix of brass and copper. Each step on the stone floor resulted in a loud clack that echoed throughout the room.

Its eyes were blue, but glazed over, almost blind.

According to Professor Helmith, the golden stag was a creature of harmony, healing, and nature. I believed her. The moment the stag drew near, a gentle wave of stillness came over my body and mind. I was more content and at peace than I had been in months.

The sounds of babbling river water entered my thoughts. I knew there were no brooks or streams nearby, but I still delighted in the tranquil melody of the outdoors.

“Good evening.” The elderly man smiled. “I’m Physician Tomas Dravon, the golden stag arcanist. You can call me Doc Tomas. All the students do, after all.” He chuckled at his own comment, and his whole body got in on the mirth. He practically jiggled.

“My name is Petrichor,” the deer said, his voice ancient and rumbly. It reminded me of storm clouds just before the rain. “I’m Doc Tomas’s eldrin and assistant.”

“Why are you two so old?” Twain asked, his ears back. He glanced between them. “Arcanists don’t grow old.”

“I bonded with Petrichor when I was already in my twilight years.” Doc Tomas patted his stag on the shoulder. His hands shook, either from arthritis or old age, I wasn’t certain. “And becoming an arcanist doesn’t de-age you, much to my disappointment, ha ha!” Again, he laughed at his own comment for some time, even though no one else joined in.

Twain glanced over at me with a look that said, “Are you seeing this?”

I replied with a shrug.

Finally, Doc Tomas calmed himself. “You see, golden stags are one of the few mystical creatures who only bond to those advanced in age, like myself. Their Trial of Worth requires the knowledge of a life well lived.”

His statement added to my growing understanding of mystical creatures. They all seemed to have preferences that complimented their magics or nature at a deeper level than I first expected. The golden stag only bonded with elderly individuals? It made me wonder what drove the creatures to see these traits and virtues.

Perhaps Professor Helmith would know.

I needed to speak with her.

The elderly physician stepped close to my bed. He leaned in close, squinting at me. His eyes were a dark green, and his hair as gray as seafoam. The scent of lilacs wafted around him. I said nothing as he examined the scar lines on my chest. He didn’t touch me—he just stared intently.

Then he glanced up to meet my gaze.

“You have unusual eyes,” Doc Tomas muttered.

I rubbed the ride of my face. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

Doc Tomas leaned away. “I have good news, and even better news.”

“No bad news, huh?”

“I never said that,” Doc Tomas said with a chuckle. “But for right now, I think you just need to hear all the good things.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Okay. What news do you have?”

Doc Tomas lifted up a single trembling finger. “You’re going to make a full recovery.” Then he raised a second finger. “And it’ll be just in time for the Astra Academy orientation. Very fortunate, I’ll say.”

“Gray was sleeping for eighteen hours.” Twain curled up on my lap like any good cat. “Did everyone just wait to have orientation until he was better?”

“Apparently, the Menagerie needed to be thoroughly investigated after that heinous assault.” Doc Tomas frowned, his whole face sagging from the effort. He looked dramatically sad with all the folds and wrinkles around his mouth. “That took most of yesterday to accomplish. The Academy decided to hold the orientation in the morning in order to allow everyone to recover.”

“Did they find anything?” I asked.

Doc Tomas shook his head. His stag eldrin walked around to the other side of my bed, his gait slow, and his metallic hoofs sounded as hard as I suspected they were.

“You are stressed,” Petrichor said, his regal tone melodic. I’d love to listen to him read a book or give a speech. “Please, relax. The arcanists of the Academy will handle the matter.”

For some reason, my anxieties bled away. I leaned back on the bed and gently patted Twain. He purred under my touch, his whole kitten body vibrating.

Then Petrichor bowed his head until his antlers came down to my chest. The tip of one prog touched my skin. I almost knocked his head away, but the tranquility in the air calmed my aggressions. Why fight the deer? What would be gained from that?

The thoughts in my head almost didn’t feel like my own.

A burst of warmth flowed through my body, starting from the antler. The golden stag flooded me with magic, and I took a deep breath afterward, all pain gone from my body.

“Did you just heal me?” I asked, breathless.

“As best I can,” Petrichor said as he lifted his head. “My arcanist and I have healed you several times. For some reason, the scars on your body won’t entirely fade. I apologize. No injury has ever withstood our magic.”

I glanced down and touched the thin white lines where the dream-puppets had cut me. They were still there.

“I’m looking into the matter,” Doc Tomas said. He lifted his finger again and smiled—he looked so much more joyous and full of life when he grinned. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve never failed to solve a medical mystery. There’s a reason I’m here at Astra Academy.”

“Many reasons,” Petrichor said as he trotted around the bed and returned to his arcanist’s side.

Doc Tomas grabbed the blankets I had thrown off the bed. He slowly tugged them over my legs but stopped once he reached Twain. As though he were tucking in the kitten, Doc Tomas carefully set the blanket down on Twain and patted it into place.

“There, there,” Doc Tomas said. “All comfy. You two should rest up. At dawn, you’ll be guided to the main hall, given a tour of Astra Academy, and then served breakfast. After that, you’ll be given your schedules, your semester goals, and introduced to your class professors.”

Twain nestled himself under the blanket.

But I wanted to push it all away. The golden stag’s calming presence was all just a mind trick—I had important matters to deal with.

“I have to go,” I said.

The deer stared at me with his milky blue eyes. “You must find peace of mind. You will not recover without it.”

“No, I need to find my brother.” I threw off the blanket, disturbing Twain. “And then I need to find Professor Helmith.”

Doc Tomas frowned once again. It almost made me empathetically sad to look upon him. Like he was a sad clown mirror, and I was unable to glance away.

“You are filled with anxiety, young man,” Doc Tomas said. “It isn’t anxiety that kills us—but the way we choose to react to it. You are doing no one any favors by rushing from the infirmary. I can assure you that your brother and the professor are okay.”

His words carried with them a sense of gravity. I was in control. Even if I feared, fretted, and worried, I was still capable of choosing how to react to those emotions. Would I cave into them? Or would I follow the recommendation of Astra Academy’s physician?

The old man and his ancient deer didn’t stand in my way. It wouldn’t take much to run from the infirmary.

Twain clawed at the blankets with grumpy huffs. I grabbed them from him and tucked us both back in. He stared at me for a long time and then returned to purring.

“All right,” I finally said. “I’ll stay here.”

Doc Tomas nodded once. “Excellent, excellent. You’ve made a wise choice, young man. Sleep well until morning.” With shaky movements, he headed for the door, his deer eldrin trotting beside him. After a few steps, I caught my breath and held up a hand.

“W-Wait,” I called out.

They both turned to face me, their eyes wide.

“What if something attacks me in my dreams tonight?” I asked.

Doc Tomas and Petrichor glanced at each other. Then they turned their gazes in my direction. “We will inform the other professors that you need additional protection. No need to create more worries for yourself.”

I almost protested, but I decided against it. A woman had attacked me and Twain in the Menagerie. Had she been killed by Piper? I hoped so. Perhaps the nightmares would stop now.

Before Doc Tomas left the infirmary, he rubbed his wizened hands together. “Ooh, and I look forward to having you in class with me next year. You seem like a bright young man. Full of potential.”

Next year?

I wondered why, but Doc Tomas didn’t elaborate. He hobbled off, leaving just me and Twain inside the infirmary.

He seemed like a pleasant physician.

“I like him,” Twain mumbled into the blanket, as though he were reading my thoughts. “And his deer. They’re both nice.”

The tranquil feeling had disappeared, but my anxieties had faded. Somehow, reaffirming that I could control my actions, despite my worries, made me feel more confident. Everything would be okay.

I was finally at Astra Academy.

I was finally an arcanist.

What could possibly go wrong?

Then I closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall asleep.

***

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding.

“Where am I?” I blurted out.

Soaked in sweat and panting, I glanced around. My heart settled back into place as everything came back to me. I was in an infirmary. Twain was rolled in my blankets so tightly he resembled a fish wrap—a special delicacy on my home island. He woke up blinking back the morning light. The mountains just beyond the window shielded us from the worst of the sun’s rays, but it was still bright enough to illuminate everything.

Twain attempted to leapt from the bed but instead threw himself to the floor, still caught in all the blankets. “We’re going to be late!” he yelled as he sailed through the air. He hit the tile floor with a huff and then attempted to barrel roll his way out of everything.

It wasn’t working.

Twain hissed and spit and kissed some more.

“Calm down,” I said as I slid off the bed. “I’ll—”

But then the arcanist mark on my forehead burned. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the mark, confused by the sudden shift in power. The etching on my forehead changed shape. Instead of an empty star, I now had a golden stag wrapped around the points!

Twain shimmered and grew in size. He became Petrichor, the elderly golden stag. He became so big, in fact, that he ripped through the blanket as though it were a brittle leaf. Once freed from the bedding, Twain trotted around for a few moments—practically dancing with delight—and then transformed back into his normal kitten form.

It all happened within a few seconds.

The moment Twain was a cat again, the mark on my head burned. I rubbed at my forehead. It was a blank star.

Interesting.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Twain turned to me, his ears perked upward. “Hm? Of course. Didn’t you see me burst out of those blankets?They didn’t stand a chance.” Twain’s fur stood on end as he growled at the pieces of shredded cloth. “That’s what they get for trying to trap me, the great Twain!”

I chuckled as I strode over and scooped Twain into my arms. Then I patted his head. “Yeah, you sure showed that inanimate object. I’m very proud of you.”

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” Twain muttered, his eyes squinted.

I strode for the door out of the infirmary, but at a slow pace. No one was here. It was an empty room—no clothes for me, no map of the Academy. No guide.

Why hadn’t anyone come to find me?

“Did you notice anyone come into the infirmary this morning?” I asked.

Twain shook his head. “No. I was sleeping. Cat naps are deep, I’ll have you know.”

I placed my hand on the handle to the exit. It was morning. Doc Tomas said orientation would be starting. Although I was only wearing a pair of flowing white pants, I figured I had to find someone who could help me.

“Let’s go, Twain,” I said. “We have an Academy to attend.”