Chapter 27 #2
The rebels wanted to disrupt that unbalance.
They also believe that because there is not a seat for each subrace opinions are mute.
Fliers and waterways are both shifters, but they have been enemies of each other since they were first created.
The rebels do have a point in each race and subrace should have a seat, but the Mage Board does not want to change.
At least the mages don’t.
But it would be obvious if she was a rebel, and they wouldn’t send a fucking vampire.
My questions need to stop. I shake my head slightly at myself and right my thoughts. She is not my business, she is not my concern. She said she only wants to make it these five years and then leave. There was truth spoken when she said those words.
Finishing writing my lesson for today, I turn back towards the class. I consciously make sure I do not look towards her, and for good measure I don’t look at Callahan either. I’m about to open my mouth when a hand shoots up.
“Mr. Rothwhile.” I nod my head to the tiger shifter who looks like he’d be better suited to some sort of thin, long-legged creature. Normally he’s silent in class and turns every assignment in long before it’s due.
He shifts in his chair and for a millisecond glances at a certain bloodsucker.
“Well. . . “ He swallows thickly and faces me but avoids eye contact. “I know today’s lesson is on thirteen goddesses, but. . . well, I wanted to ask if there was ever a record before of the spirits of the Willow of Lore changing their aura color?”
Several bodies sit forward at that and curiosity about the event that happened Monday night emerges in the air. I should have anticipated this question being asked. We’re not allowed to explicitly teach about the Willow of Lore unless directly asked, but most know all there is to know about it.
Stories being passed down through the generations of the first sign of life birthed after the destruction of the War of Gods. Where each race and subrace that were left after the war came together. A symbol of renewal, growth, friendship, family, and home after tragedy.
Each year the spirits of the willow waking and reminding us with their song and dance about the costs that were paid to ensure we all lived.
A song with words that have not been sung since the blood witch who first created them did so.
A lullaby that had been passed down from daughter to daughter from Syngenia the first Vampyr.
Not only did she know the words, but the spirits accompanied and harmonized with her. They changed their blue and fluttering purple aura – which is the only aura anyone is able to actually see because of the potency of their magic – to red. To a color that could only be meant for a bloodsucker.
Of course, they have questions.
The only problem is I have no idea about the answers.
Not even the Dean knew what to make of it, and Edmond and Aslan had no words.
The blood demon and devil chairholders of the Mage Board’s only comment had been that the force of the magic was felt all the way past this world and onto Earth.
That Esmirra of Ebony confirmed she felt it – the only bone witch who resides on Earth and somehow is familiar with Edmond.
Which, a bone witch and a blood demon being familiar is unheard of and peculiar on a whole different level. Though it could explain Thorne’s progressive mental shields and control. Since he grew up with the witch.
But the power of the Willow of Lore passing universes is. . .
“There is not,” I finally answer. “However, the spirits of the Willow of Lore are a species unto themselves. They are as mystic as the gods and goddesses and have a will undefined by the fates. There are many things we do not know, and many things we will never know about them.”
He shoots his hand back up into the air and I nod for him to ask whatever question he will. The sooner I can get through this curiosity the sooner I can be done with it.
“But isn’t there a Prophecy of Old about a fortune teller and a red sun?
It goes. . . when aura’s bright with blue wisteria light, roaming through under a glowing new moon, a fate with knot and lore of old, shall turn the burning sun into bloodred gold.
A god forgotten, killer of all, fallen and bound by her blue flame and blue belladon, will rise with wrath and sanivin of roi, devouring this world in cursed blood moons and noise. ”
A chill goes through the room that raises the temperature after he finishes reciting the prophecy. It happens every time someone mentions the damned thing.
“For the first time ever,” he continues, “not only did the Willow of Lore’s ceremony happen two and a half months ahead of its set time, but it happened on a new moon.”
I shake my head and the action catches pale pink eyes that are nearly red with a face devoid of color. I glance at Mavyn who has that glazed look over her eyes, but instead of them being dull they turned several shades darker. It almost looks like all the blood in her face moved to color her eyes.
I shake my head again and look back at Mr. Rothwhile.
“That prophecy has been spoken long before the Willow of Lore was created and before even the War of Gods. Prophecies of Old have never transpired more than a millennium after being told. It’s what’s called a deadened prophecy.
Spoken and holding power, but lacking in magic influenced by fate and destiny. ”
It’s an old grandmother’s tale told to keep children’s minds open and seeking. A helping hand for expanding their mind and creative play, while also serving as a threat when children are bad.
What is a cursed blood moon? Which sun burning now could be turned into gold? How can a fate be knotted?
Or, as a threat, parents would say eat your vegetables or the god forgotten will snatch you up at night and make you forgotten with him.
Either way. . . “It’s as powerful as any human fairytale is.
And there has been records of the Willow of Lore ceremony happing in advance of the winter solstice, as well as even after it.
As I said, the spirits are their own entities and perform their ceremonies as they like.
Uninfluenced by our organized time system and fate. ”
Eyes are burning into my head and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.
Damning, wrathful, burning. Red eyes like the blood moon that occurs every year the day before the spring equinox hold mine in a vise. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
She blinks. Then I have to blink because my mind studders as I am now staring at pale pink eyes. They had just been red. They were glowing like. . .
I shake my head and rub my eyes with my thumb and fingers. I couldn’t have imagined it, but it happened within a fracture of a second. Yet, it felt like an eternity had passed as I observed those red eyes.
Too many thoughts now of prophecies and red suns and blood moons and curses. Damn Rothwhile, having me think of things that should have no connection.
I shake my head again. “Now, moving on. . . “
I turn towards the chalkboard and gesture to the lesson name.
“Do you know why, Mavyn?” Unholy gods. “Why the spirits changed their aura for you? Or if it has to do with the prophecy? Also how did you know the words?”
I’m about to punch the board but I take a deep breath instead and turn to face the bloodsucker. If she won’t answer me maybe she’ll answer with an audience.
Rothwhile is turned facing her but her pink eyes are on the ceiling. Leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed. She looks like she’s relaxed, peering at something none of us can see.
“Well. . . “ she hums. A soft smile curls onto her face as she thinks. “Did you know that it was actually a vampire who created the University?”
I create a sound barrier faster than I ever have before around the room right as I feel Callahan’s magic doing the same.
“He was a descendant of Syngenia the Vampyr and fought alongside Aora and Genifer the Twin Flames during the War of Gods. They say it was the mages who made the university, them that hate the vampires, but it was a mage who killed the last vampire still standing on this world.”
I do not know how she knows this knowledge, what memories she has from whichever vampyr blood flows through her veins or who could have told her, but that information and those names had been locked up and sealed. There were blood oaths taken to keep those alive who still know those things quiet.
I didn’t even know their names or the truth. I knew there were secrets, and I knew it was not a mage who built up the university, but a vampire. . .
“Telling falsehoods like that, Ms. Tsuki, will get you expelled,” I warn. Wariness for the bloodsucker is drawn on Callahan’s face as he stares at her. He knows there are secrets too. . . ones that people have died for to keep unknown.
She looks down at me with confusion and a tilted head.
“Falsehoods,” she murmurs. It sounds like she doesn’t understand why I said that.
What I would give to be in her head right now.
“It was a vampire who wrote the song. Syngenia the Vampyr’s daughter, born without a drop of magic and with a mortal lifespan and wellbeing, died at nineteen from the consumption of blue belladon.
So Syngenia, who was an expert in runic magic and curses, etched onto her daughter a symbol Syngenia herself created.
A mark that should have held no power, but because of the magic within Syngenia and her grief at her lost daughter, she created a rune. ”
Power that belongs to no one swirls in the space. Raw magic and the things that created it are listening.