Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (45 page)

I shook my head for a second time. “That would have only applied if I was doing something that could make me that tired. In truth, I was just standing there. No, there had to be a reason why I was suddenly drained of my last remaining strength.” The both of us stayed silent for a few more minutes.

“Put it on,” Umber insisted.

I shook my head and put the pendant away back into its pocket, before hiding the whole thing under a pile of my dirty clothes.

The spirit groaned, and turned to face me. “Your next competition is tomorrow, and yet you don’t want to try to uncover the secrets of one of the most legendary enchantments in the world?”

I said nothing in response to this comment and shuffled outside the room to look for something to do. I stepped into the distortions common room and stopped to look at a hastily written notice which rested on a nearby table.

“
Assembly at 3:00 for all distortion trainees. Meet in the Montrose room.
”

“What’s this about?” I wondered, examining the paper from both sides. I noticed with some alarm that the crisp, official looking message bore no signature whatsoever.

“It’s obviously to do with your professor Mortal,” Umber chided from nearby. “Did you honestly think that a missing well liked distortion master would go unnoticed by the students?”

I folded my arms and bobbed my head from side to side. “What you you think they’re going to tell us then?” I wondered quietly.

Umber snorted. “Anything but the truth. You should walk in expecting any number of possible fibs.”

I cringed slightly and rubbed my eyes. “And if he’s actually...?”

“Your professor has said that he will live. I’m sure that that statement by itself is enough to give you the hope you seek.”

“But what if he only said he’ll live to make me feel better?” I protested loudly.

“Then obviously he’s done a pretty poor job of it,” Umber growled as if suddenly sick of the conversation.

I brushed him off of my shoulder in a huff before walking off to the Montrose room. I could hear the commotion inside the classroom before I could see it. Carefully opening the door I was instantly swamped by a wave of irritated chatter. At the front of this commotion was a bored looking elder whose face had been sculpted into permanent expression of exhausted patience. Behind him on the chalkboard, written in perfect handwriting was the name: Professor Quantivle.

“Where’s Professor Wenchenberg!?” Sebastian demanded over the din of the nine boys. Professor Quantivle sighed and rubbed his forehead calmly.

“Look,” he said in a surprisingly high pitched voice. “I’ve told you several times that Professor Wenchenberg is indisposed. As such, I will be taking his place as distortion master--and no!” He added fiercely. “I don’t know when he will be coming back.”

“What’s happened to him!?” Sebastian asked, throwing his hands on the desk. Professor Quintaval looked rather confused as to why a young Grimlar trainee was asking him such demanding questions.

“That is for the Caterwaul to answer, and the Caterwaul only,” he insisted fiercely. “I was hoping to take this time to get to know you all a little bit better but it seems that I’m just wasting my time here.”

“Give us the professor back!” Igor demanded as if this new professor was keeping him hostage.

Professor Quantivle turned a deep shade of violet and desperately fumbled around with his notes, looking for something to say to the angry masses. Someone threw a crumpled sheet of paper which narrowly avoided the head of the new professor, however he didn’t seem to notice.

“Over the next few years!” he began, desperately trying to raise his voice above the swamp of sound.

“YEARS?!” Sebastian exclaimed angrily. “You can’t take our professor’s spot for more than a month!” The rest of the Montrose cheered in agreement however this too was ignored by the elder.

“I hope to develop your skills through study and theory of anti-magic.”

“We never did any theory!” Pasha insisted from the far left corner of the room. Igor stood up and pointed sharply. “You can learn all the theory you want, but we want to use our anti-magic!”

The new professor threw his hands up in outrage.

“That’s it. Group dismissed! Your seniors will be hearing of this!” he said, pointing to each of us in turn, despite the fact that I hadn’t said anything since entering the room. Moving quite unexpectedly, Professor Quantivle fled the room, causing the Legion of the Montrose to cheer in unison.

Now noticing me for the first time, the group gathered around me, asking a barrage of questions I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Sebastian silenced them with a powerful shout. “Hey Jacob,” he mumbled after the room had fallen into silence.

“Hey Sebastian,” I responded in turn. The boy bit his lip and shook his head.

“I’m sorry I mistreated you while you weren’t feeling well.”

I dismissed his apology with a wave of the hand, and a slight smile. “I needed it anyways,” I admitted softly.

Sebastian’s eyes suddenly misted.

“The professor’s gone,” he said weakly. Before I had time to respond he had thrown his arms around me into a deep embrace and begun to weep. The action was so startling I nearly fell to the ground. The other members of the Montrose quietly joined in, until I was at the center of an entire crowd all facing the same detrimental loss I was going through.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” I assured them all quietly. My lower lip quivered as I tried to find the right words to say.

“Where has he gone?” Luka asked in a muffled voice. I pursed my lips and patted his head softly.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “But I do know that he’s still out there.”

“Yeah?” Robert asked, looking hopeful.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “He’s still in this room.” A sob malformed by laughter shot out of my chest. “All ten of him are still here. Still eager to learn and still full of smarts and humor and life.” Murmurs of agreement rang out through the group like a cooling rush of wind.

“What are we going to do about this new professor?” Vadam asked calmly.

I shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose any way you look at it we’re still going to have to learn. May as well just make the most of it.

“But he’s not the professor,” Vanya said somberly. I nodded in agreement.

“He’s not the professor,” I agreed. “But the real Wenchenberg wouldn’t have wanted us to mistreat anybody, regardless of who they are or what they do.”

“You’re a good guy Jacob.” Sebastian said after finally pulling out of his embrace.

I grinned, and rubbed his prickly scalp.

“No, I mean it,” he said, gently pushing my arm away. “We always do such stupid things and it’s like there you are, just trying to fix everything without a single complaint.” I didn’t know how to respond to this, so I simply smiled. That seemed to be enough because within moments, the other members of the Montrose were smiling as well.

“You guys want to make a fire?” I asked, raising my hands. The group surrounding me all cheered, and soon we were sitting in the distortion common room, whispering along with the fire and recounting old stories of Professor Wenchenberg.

“The day I met professor Wenchenberg was probably the happiest day of my life,” Pasha began, stretching his fingers over the lapping flames. “I had just become a pronounced trainee, but I didn’t know where to go. I just wandered around the school trying not to cry until he showed up and gave me a plum tart which he had stolen from the kitchens.” He beamed proudly. “It was the nicest thing anybody had ever done for me and I’ll never forget it.”

“I was writing in my notebook,” Robert explained quietly. “I hid from the Etaporium because I never liked fighting. I would hide every time they wanted me to learn to fight and every time I would always take my black notebook with me.” He looked up to the ceiling and tilted his head to one side. “Well one day, Professor Wenchenberg found me and at first I was scared that he would make me fight, but he only laughed. He told me what I was doing was called poetry and he called it the best kind of fighting you can do because it uses wit instead of brawn.” Robert finished his story with a self conscious smile before sitting down rather unexpectedly. On and on, the stories went, until I had feasted on the tales of all members of the Montrose. I went to dinner to digest, and eventually came back to my room to watch the setting of the sun with dreary eyes.

“Put on Pride’s Grip,” Umber insisted for a second time.

I carefully removed the pendant from the pocket of my bag, and tentatively wrapped my hand around its face.

“Put it on,” He commanded.

My breaths suddenly became very shallow as the memories from not even a day ago flashed back with greater severity than ever. My fingers carefully opened up the gold chain. Trembling with trepidation, I held it above my head.

“You will never know until you try. Do it!” Umber roared.

Startled, I accidentally let go and stifled a gasp as the pendant fell to my chest. I braced myself for the strange sensation of the world opening up, however that feeling never washed over me. I felt just the same as before. I gripped the pendant and examined it in curiosity. It appeared completely unchanged.

I stroked the face of the amulet, and much to my surprise, felt it shift underneath my fingertips. I turned the face of the Pride’s bane counterclockwise and immediately the gems began to glow with a fiery red light. A sudden unexplainable surge of adrenaline passed through me with such spontaneity, I could help but tremble from the sheer uncontrollable energy of it all. A small ticking noise caused me to glance down at the pendant face, and gape as the face of Pride’s Grip slowly turned. It reminded me almost of a wind up toy or a clock.

“Mortal! You’ve stopped breathing!” Umber shouted over my exhilaration. “I looked up at him in confusion, and to my absolute amazement found that he was right. I closed my mouth and pinched my nose but no matter how long I waited, that lust for air never came. I took a breath of air but felt no swoosh of relief which followed in doing so. I laughed, absolutely ecstatic from this discovery.”

“For as long as the pendant spins, I don’t feel tired!” I sat and smiled but was still disturbed by a nagging thought in the back of my mind. “That doesn’t explain why the pendant had hurt me when I had put it on while underneath Castle Lambalitrate though.

Neither Umber nor I said anything for a while. We simply watched the sun set while eager butterflies bounced in my belly. The sun dipped past the outermost reaches of the concentration camp crater and immediately, I felt the same terrifying cold constriction of my throat. The gems on the medallion had all lost their red glow and seemed almost to absorb the little light in the room. Fueled by my terror, I ripped Pride’s Grip from my chest, and lay back on my bed trying, desperately taking in whatever air I could

“The necklace only works in the sun.” I concluded somberly. I looked to Umber for approval however he was too deep in thought to give me much attention. Tenderly tucking the pendant out of sight, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the second round of the competition which would take place tomorrow.

Chapter seventeen

Creature of Dreams

A candle of beeswax gradually erodes itself

Sacrificing.

Just for that ever enticing stench of something

living in my domain.

Its light is bright,

Its flame is strong,

But the wick is bent and strewn.

Yet through my gluttony,

I spent its hours,

Dying in the noon.

Oh fat of the candle,

Oh fat of the fire,