“I thought you'd be more excited to come home, Salaya. This place is gorgeous. You can really feel that mountain air in your chest.” Three mountains rise above smoky roofs, ensconcing them in a tridentate semi-circle. Snow creeps down their jagged peaks, already halfway to the outermost houses perched on the ankles of the mountains. The city itself begins low and rises like the seats of a theatre.
Salaya rests her arms and chin on the carriage's rail like a child watching the world go by. “It's not my home anymore. A place can have all the memories in your life and still feel foreign. Even when I lived at the academy, I knew. Even though I'm here again, I'm also not. Salaya the mage is in Three Peaks on business. Salaya the person left and will never return.”
Eje puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That bad?”
“Not all bad, just limiting. I knew I'd have to leave to stop being the quiet girl who worried more about others than her own potential and become something more. Anything more. I don't know if that makes sense.”
“Perfectly.” says Ariel, resting her head against the rail so stray locks of hair spill over the side. “Where you come from can define you. I always understood that. Now I also understand that it can define you too much if you let it. I love Pataway Village. It will always be my home. But I haven't yearned to go back since arriving at Lakeview.” Octave lies on her back, eyes closed, somehow less of a presence than usual. Eje stares up at the mountains as the carriage jolts over potholes and bumps. She takes out the battered missive and rereads it yet again.
“Still no idea who our employer is or why we were chosen. I'm going to suspect the worst though. Ever since you robbed a museum, I've been waiting for our comeuppance. We're courting more and more bad luck by the day.”
“On the other hand,” says Salaya, “I'm looking forward to attending a party without brigands trying to start a war.”
“What party?”
“Another noble party. I heard people gossiping about it at the last stop. My purse says we're going to be involved somehow. Surely they'll want better security and we might get to guard it. Then as a reward we'll have access to the leftovers.” Salaya voice trails off until she's staring blindly, licking her lips at the many tasty treats that will surely be on offer.
“I'd like to try some fancy party food too. You just hate them because there's no brawling involved.” Ariel grins as Eje shakes her head.
“Eje's lust for violence can only be sated by the sight of her slaughtered enemies.” sings Salaya.
“Thrasher of ogres and basher of brigands.” joins in Ariel.
“Legend has it no man has ever angered Eje twice.”
“And no woman dares to cross her once.”
“Ha. Very funny. Are you two finished?”
“Careful, Ariel. She's raised her hackles. We'll have to take cover in some feathered hats.” Salaya giggles and roots around in her travel bag until she's found the right one. The raven feathers hang a little limp and shredded, but they still flash in the afternoon sun as she pulls the white velvet onto her head.
“How can you go from reminiscing about your old home and family you'll never visit again to this?”
“It's simple.” Salaya tosses a narrow yellow hat with red feathers to Ariel. “How you live depends on your choices. I chose to free myself, and the result is I live happy.”
As they arrive at the Blue Cloud Manor, a congregation forms below. People drift from narrow, two-story houses or sally from squat boarding houses to join the growing crowd. With several hours before evening and the meeting with their employer, Eje drags Octave off to see what's happening, and more importantly, find a quiet place to practice the next step of teleportation. Something has come together in her mind as of late. Whereas Salaya worries about the mission and Ogostinia, and Ariel seems more reserved, Eje has become obsessed with teleportation in its learning and mastery. If she is to have a triumph, it will come about not from her pit fighting or her valour in battle, but from her ability to cover great distances in the beat of her mind. Ariel goes with her, partly out of her own curiosity, but also to keep the two out of trouble. It suits Salaya fine. She's off under the pretense of having a little errand to run. It isn't quite a lie either.
Three Peaks still rises where she remembers it rising and falls where she once slid down with friends in crates when winter's chill rendered cobblestones slick with ice. Each step brings her closer: the creek, the linen shop, the great green building in immaculate condition nobody ever entered or exited. The streets still wend in that small-town manner belying city planning. The air at altitude still burns in her nostrils with the chill of dawn, even into the afternoon. The tall slender houses, like trees growing too close in a forest, still put her mind at ease. But she isn't coming home. She promised. Just a peek. A check in. She owes as much.
Three Peaks Academy sits like a guard dog on the edge of the city. From the front gates one can see over everything, all the way back to the manor where the crowd is now marching by. Inside, students leave classrooms in groups of twos and threes, discussing everything but the lessons. Nothing has changed. A turn here, and door there, and a flight of stairs. Salaya knocks and enters a familiar office. “There you are, Salaya. I was wondering when I'd see you again.” Unperturbed as ever, Trofeia hops out from behind her desk, hair long and sleek as icicles.
They embrace. “Professor, Your back is still as straight as the wall. How old are you now, thirty?”
Trofeia smiles upon hearing her old moniker and gives that musical laugh that Salaya loved so much as a child. “Come with me. I need you to meet someone.” As they leave Trofeia's office, Salaya notices for the first time that as sprightly as her one-time mentor is, she isn't falling behind for once. Moreover, she has to slow her normal gait to keep even. “Our delegation to Lakeview is still the talk of the academy.” Trofeia waves off a group of students loitering beside a suit of genuine Old Era armour: gauntlets to greaves to halberd. “None of them have bothered coming back to thank me, though. Until now.” The hallways are snug as ever. The turns, quick and decisive. Down a flight of stairs, Salaya waves at Alberbam. Her old warding instructor waves back, though his eyes remain on her for only a split second as though he doesn't remember answering her constant questions. Has it been so long?
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Trofeia guides her into a small room where half a dozen students sit at a table. A group session. “There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Salaya, top of her class two years ago. Salaya, meet Noira. She's the current top of her class, a colour mage with a specialty in fire. Just like you.” The smallest of the students looks up from under her dark mass of hair with scepticism at the intrusion. Salaya wave and gives a short bow. “Salaya has, since graduation, gone on to become a mage at Lakeview. She's here on a mission, are you not?” Now the students are paying attention. This is someone of importance. Someone they strive to be. Noira narrows her eyes, trying to focus on Salaya's every detail. From her heavy coat to her thick boots, Salaya for the first time feels out of place, distinctly unladylike in front of these well dressed students with their straight shirts and polished shoes. Gods, even their nails are trimmed. And is she supposed to be their elder? She doesn't look it, and certainly doesn't feel it. With a fresh set of clothes and some work, she'd fit right in.
“You were also top of your class?” Trofeia purses her lips, but Noira needs to hear confirmation.
“I was. If you have any questions or need advice, I'm happy to help.”
“What's it like being a mage?”
“How many orcs have you killed?”
“How big are orcs?”
Trofeia cuts them off with a gesture. “Perhaps one at time. I thought the question about being a mage was a good one. How are you enjoying your new life, Salaya?”
An impossible question to answer. So much has happened in the months since she first entered the grounds of Lakeview. How can the failures, the successes, the battles, the missions, the travel, the falling off a mountain, be summarized? “It's challenging. But I like a challenge.” That's the right answer.
“How many of you made it to Lakeview?”
“There were nine of us. Me, Broga, Annya, Ebin...” her voice trails off. Ebin. How could she have forgotten him?
“An excellent roster.” Trofeia sighs. “It hurts to see them leave, but the tales they create must be immense. How are they all doing?”
“Yeah, what about Ebin?” A boy asks. “He was amazing with a sword.”
There's no escaping it. Ebin can only stay hidden in the depths of her mind for so long. He was the hero. The leader. The one who came back to inspire a new generation of graduates, including Salaya. She wouldn't have dared to apply without his approval. Now she's Ebin. The academy beacon, here to inspire. To lead. The smile drains from her face. “Ebin died.” Too abrupt a way to put it, but what is death if not abrupt? Silence falls over the room.
“Did he die in battle? How many orcs did he take with him?”
“How many people did he save?” The gasps and whispered speculations fill the room, and nobody stops it.
Salaya looks from Trofeia's lowered head to the wide eyes of her audience. They want reassurance; they want to know his death was worth something. She can neither dissuade nor encourage them. “His death was a tragic accident. In the end, it served no good purpose. He died because men more powerful than him coveted wealth. And –” No. She can't tell them about Tolmin. That's a truth for her to bear until her dying days. “His body was buried outside the castle grounds. I'm surprised news hasn't been sent here.”
“Did you punish the ones responsible? Did he have justice?” asks Noira. Their eyes meet and Salaya freezes.
“Can you find justice in death?” answers Salaya. “The ones responsible were punished, yes. I don't believe that punishment can be called justice.” Noira raises an eyebrow. Smirks. Tolmin's burnt body falls again before Salaya's eyes. “Sorry, Professor. It's getting late and I must go.” She gives the grieving woman an insufficient pat on the back. As she hurries down the narrow hallways with their sharp turns, a hundred better parting lines flit across her mind. She could have told them not to become mages, but that would have been unfair. She could have told them to become mages, but that would have been cruel. She could have sat down and told them the story from start to finish, but that would have been unthinkable.
“Wait.” As Trofeia exits the front doors and steps into the school courtyard, someone calls to her. It isn't Trofeia. It's Noira. “To be the best, you need more than grades. You need the right attitude.”
“Of course.”
Noira looks Salaya up and down again. The other students pile out the doors behind her. “Your attitude is like a broken weed. Not a good representation of our academy. Is this how you handle yourself on missions? Do you still feel guilt over Ebin's death?” The boy who had admired Ebin's swordsmanship crosses his arms. “That's why you're not talking, right? You're ashamed. Well I'm ashamed to be associated with you.” Salaya turns to leave again. “Wait. That was too harsh. I apologize. Let's have a duel. Just a casual match. I want to see if you're worth your accolades.” Salaya quells the rage rising in her chest. What would she have done if she were in school and this had happened? Probably exactly what Noira is doing. Test this intruder. Find out what she's learned and how she's improved since graduation. Prove herself superior. Salaya raises her hand in answer and it burns red. They take their places.
“I have nothing to prove to you. Make it fast.” Noira raises her hand in acknowledgement and red fire leaps in a flickering barrier around her. Some of it redirects at Salaya. She responds in kind and the flames splatter between them. The spectators jump back to avoid the sparks. Other students are coming now, drawn to the spectacle. Noira attacks again, and again Salaya blocks.
“Come on. Is that the best you can do? Even Ebin had stronger fire than that. Show me you were the one meant to live.” Noira's words burn in Salaya's mind. A whip of white fire snakes past Noira's defenses and lashes her across the cheek in a stinging response. Even her natural warding can't stop it, though it saves her skin from charring. Noira curses. Her fire changes from red to blue and it burns with the fury of one who can't lose face in front of her peers. A tear rolls down her cheek over the red welt, and Salaya lowers her hands. Noira, like the rest of the students, sees the world in terms of justice and injustice, where both involve the application of force, sometimes toward the same end. Injustice must be met with justice; there is not other way. In that instant, Salaya is not a child. As Noira's blue fire engulfs her, she steps into it. The fire synchronizes with her pores, each of them turning it away, deflecting it. A collective gasp goes up from the onlookers. They can only see the fire overwhelming Salaya, and her falling.
“You said a casual match, not all out.” One of them hisses. “You killed her. What's Trofeia going to say?”
“It wasn't that strong. Her warding should have held.” Noira's voice cracks.
Then the fire is gone and Salaya alive but on her knees. “I yield.” Even Noira has no answer to this. Salaya stands. “You're too strong.” What the students will make of this she can't be sure. Their cheers and congratulations as they encircle Noira at least clears Salaya's conscience, if only by a tick. She bows slightly and again leaves, the smile back on her face.