Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Fox
I groan when I find my bed empty the next morning.
The little brat has sneaked off, and I can only assume she’s gone to seek out her friends.
I lie in my bed for a moment, reliving the moments from last night, still not quite able to believe I’m back here at the Academy, that I’m alive, that Briony Storm is still mine.
I stretch my arms above my head and then let them fall to my chest.
My heart’s beating.
That’s not unusual. It often does when I think of Briony.
It’s like a natural reaction, something the damn muscle just can’t help.
But then I remember what she said last night – that my skin was somehow warmer.
Is that true? I try to feel the warmth in it now, but I can’t tell the difference.
And I wonder if the girl was just imagining things.
I think it unlikely that anyone will come and check my room.
No one knows we’re here, after all. But I decide it would be foolish to hang around.
So I dress and then head to the one person in the academy that I trust nearly as much as I trust Briony – the one person I think might be able to help me.
I move through the academy grounds silently and unseen, noting the vast number of soldiers patrolling the pathways and the way the students look even more terrified than they usually do.
I find old Professor Cornelius already at his desk in his classroom, even though lessons won’t start for another hour. He’s sitting in his chair, a book clasped in his hands, but his eyes are closed, and I suspect he must be sleeping.
I shut the door silently behind me, casting a cloaking spell that will prevent anyone from entering and anyone from overhearing our conversation.
“Hello, Fox,” the man says, lowering his book to his desk, even though his eyes remain closed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d returned to the academy or not. There have been all sorts of rumors swirling about your disappearance.”
“I was taken,” I explain, “by Bardin to the demon wastelands.”
“Taken against your will?” he asks, opening his eyes. His blue pupils are slightly cloudy as he squints my way.
“Tricked,” I explain, “and then held prisoner.”
“I find that a little hard to believe, Professor. You were always stronger magically than Veronica.”
“Yes,” I say. “But she’s always been cleverer than me. She tricked me and then kept me bound with dampeners.”
“And yet here you are.” He smiles at me. “You were always smart, Professor. Always one of my keenest of pupils, both before and, well, after your transformation.”
I nod. Cornelius has shown me kindness I’ve never deserved.
“What are they saying about me?” I ask.
“Not a lot, actually. There was talk that Bardin was working with demons to kill children of the realm, that she had attacked that girl, Briony Storm, in one of the trials. But the story seems to have been somewhat revised since then. Now they’re claiming the real truth is that Briony Storm was the one killing pupils in this academy, with the help of three shadow weavers. ”
“Beaufort Lincoln, Dray Eros, and Thorne Cadieux?”
“Yes,” the professor says. “And I guess most people, knowing Thorne Cadieux’s history, don’t find it so hard to believe.”
“But pupils were dying here long before Briony entered the academy.”
“People like a good story, Fox. They don’t always care about the details or even the truth. And they say she has destroyed the magical barrier protecting our realm from the demons. Our soldiers are at the border right now, fighting them, holding them back. Any moment we could be invaded.”
“And you believe this, Professor?” I ask him, a little disappointed. The man may be confused sometimes, may lose his train of thought, may not remember things as well as he once did, but underneath all that, I’ve always suspected a sharp mind and someone who sees the truth as it is.
“I’m an old man, Fox. I’ve lived many years by keeping my head down and not asking too many questions.
Something, in my old age, I’ve begun to regret…
” He exhales heavily. “See, I think I’ve lied to myself about the boy who died when I was at school.
Quiet boy. Very kind. He made me laugh. They said he jumped from one of the towers, but I never believed it – although I never questioned it out loud.
He was very special to me. I think about him most days, and I wonder why I never asked more questions about his death.
Why I suspected and yet kept quiet. Maybe it’s about time I started asking the questions I should have asked back then.
” He leans forward slightly. “So, Fox Tudor, why don’t you tell me what you think is going on? ”
I rest my hands on his desk, leaning forward too, meeting his milky gaze. I tell him our suspicions about the Empress, about the reason so many pupils have died at the academy. I even tell him our suspicions about the origins of the demons.
The old man strokes his beard, mulling over my words. I don’t know if he considers everything I’ve told him to be utter nonsense or whether he sees some truth in it.
“You think it’s all crazy, don’t you?” I ask him.
He shakes his head slowly.
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you start to see patterns.
You become a great observer of human nature.
You understand what makes people tick and why they do the things they do.
One of the things I’ve noticed, Fox, is that those in power will do just about anything to cling to that power.
Those with wealth, with privilege, will do likewise.
So am I surprised that the Empress, and most probably her keenest allies, have been killing children of this realm in order to ensure they keep their positions, their power, and their wealth?
No. I’m not surprised at all. To me it makes perfect sense. ”
He pauses.
“But…” I mutter, predicting what he is going to say next.
“But,” the professor continues, “I find it incredible that the demons could have been created by the shadow weavers.”
“Not much is known about where they came from… why they materialized. I’ve read enough to know that much,” I say.
“Perhaps,” the professor says. “Or maybe at one time their origins were known, but it was never written down. There’s very little written down before that time – or of that time. We know very little about the origins of demons, just as we know very little about the light wielders.”
“The lumomancers,” I say.
“Yes. The lumomancers and their dragons.”
I scoff. “The children’s books are full of stories of war dragons and knights.”
“But those are stories, Fox. Not historical accounts. Mere fairy tales. Show me any historical account at all that explains the disappearance of dragons.”
“Dragon pox,” I tell him.
“Merely a theory. It’s not written anywhere.” I sigh and the professor smiles indulgently at me. “I don’t know. This is all speculation. There maybe nothing at all that binds all these events together.”
“Do you think there’s a way to destroy the demons?” I ask him – my real reason for visiting him today. “To destroy them once and for all?”
“If there were,” the professor says, “don’t you think we’d have found it by now?”
“Not if the demons have become a convenient excuse to keep the shadow weavers in power and the rest of the people of this realm in squalor and poverty.” Bitterness fills my voice – the bitterness of a boy raised in the cold, bare streets of Slate Quarter.
The professor nods. “What did you find out there in the demon wastelands?”
“There was this… thing,” I explain. “Like a tornado, close to where Bardin was keeping me prisoner. It felt like we were right on the very edges of the demon realm.”
“A tornado?” the professor asks.
“It was huge,” I explain. “Reaching right from the ground all the way up into the heavens. A spinning, churning monster of what looked like shadow magic, sucking in and spitting out demons all the time. And it’s where Bardin fled to when she escaped our clutches.”
“You think it was their power source?”
“I don’t know what it was, but it felt evil. Truly dark.”
“I’m sorry, Fox,” the old man says. “I don’t have the answers you need. I’m not sure if anyone does.”
I hang my head, unable to hide my disappointment.
“I suppose you’ve heard,” the old man tells me, “that the Empress has ordered the execution of Lincoln, Eros, and Cadieux?”
“What?” I cry, lifting my gaze back to his.
“This afternoon. They will be executed this afternoon.”