Academy Arcanist [Chapter 15]

Hey peeps!

I might start uploading 3 chapters at a time of this. I'm getting close to the end of writing the first draft, lol

Hope you all are enjoying the weekend!

Best,

Shami

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 onlybond 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.”