CHAPTER 17: HEIGHTS YOU CANNOT REACH

For those not embraced by the mountain’s grave, a worse fate was in store, for the Titaness of black opened her mouth once more, ashes streaming out like the darkest fallen snow.

“Sir?” Briddy flinched at the crack in her voice, even as Doctor Maistwel turned from cramming a fistful of papers into his bag. It had taken her a few days to work up the courage to ask if Lianne had followed up on her promise, to ignore the fear of immediate rejection that told her she would never be able to step off the paved path her parents had laid.

  “What is it, young Vasily?” Maistwel looked over at her, still idly stuffing essays into his bag.

  “My mentor, ah, said she would speak with you about your healing class? I was thinking I could exchange this one for it since…” Briddy stopped speaking as the crags in her teacher’s face deepened, and he shook his head.

  “That’s impossible, I’m afraid, especially given your current situation.”

  The small tendril of hope that had begun to grow in Bridget’s chest withered, and she tried not to let her disappointment cloud her face. “My situation, sir?”

  “As an Heir. Your bearer selects your courses for the beginning of your time here, to try and ensure you receive the training they deem necessary. If you could obtain permission from your father, Miss Vasily then perhaps… but I’m afraid not as things currently stand.”

  “Ah.” Briddy chewed on her lip, giving a tight nod. She knew there was absolutely no way Kerr would approve of her learning about the healing arts, a form of magic he had deemed “only suitable for weaklings and imbeciles.”

  “Perhaps,” Maistwel began, idly fingering a loose yarn that stuck out of his baggy green cap, “You could transfer into my class at beginning of your next year, though it would depend…” He trailed off, lips pursed in thought.

  “I would be open to anything you could suggest,” Briddy said, grasping at whatever strings she could.

  “You would need to brush up on some of the basics in theory.”

  “I’ve about had my fill, sir, Badger’s Vitalic-”

  Maistwel interrupted her, holding a hand up. “You’ve read the Vitalic Cycle?” His voice creaked with surprise, eyebrows disappearing into the tufts of flyaway hair that shot out from under his hat.

  “Yes?” Briddy drew the word out, waiting to see if her teachers said anything, and when he remained silent, she continued “My brother thought it prudent to start there. I’ve also gone through Cerates Salve and Mindane's Cures.”

  Doctor Maistwel’s lips twisted into a thin line at the mention of Nolan, though he kept whatever opinions he had to himself. After a moment of sitting in quiet thought, he abandoned his bag, shuffling instead over to his desk and pulling out a large, black box. Pushing the lid aside, he pulled out what appeared to be a section of torso, a large, angry gash torn through the middle. Placing it on the flat surface in front of him, the Doctor looked up at Briddy from under his bushy brows. “Show me what you know of practical applications, Miss Vasily.” He ordered.

  Briddy paused, looking down at the chunk of flesh in front of her, the gash glistening slightly in the yellow light of the classroom. “I hope it’s not too much to ask but, why do you have a partial corpse in your desk, sir?”

  “What? Oh, no, girl this is a facsimile whipped up by our alchemists. It’s made from organic material, but is not, in actuality, flesh.” Maistwel slapped the chunk in front of him, watching it quiver unnaturally from the force. “Monstrosity hooves, I believe. And horns. Possibly teeth? I know when I hunted a GravElk near the fingers…”

  Briddy hustled forward, not wanting to get caught up in another of the Doctor’s tangents, and held her hands over the wound, layering one hand on top of the other. “Vigni.” She murmured, trying to push every ounce of willpower she had into the spell. She could feel the magic flowing, as always, from her lips as she spoke one of the words that shaped the world, could feel it racing down her chest, over her arms, and spilling from her fingertips. Even without opening her eyes, she could tell that what was supposed to be a great burst was merely a trickle, and not enough to achieve what she wanted. Looking down, she removed her hands, studying the places where the facsimile of flesh had partially knit itself together.

  Trying to swallow her disappointment, she looked up towards Doctor Maistwel, who was examining her work with a thoughtful frown. “Interesting.” He mused. “Correct me if I miss my mark, but you are self-taught, yes? Or did you pursue education in this during your studies at the feeder academies?”

  Bridget ducked her head, examining the partially closed gash once more. “My father doesn’t approve of it, so I practiced on cuts and bruises that I got.” She admitted.

  “Well, that makes more sense. It’s hard to say without further testing, but you seem to have a good grasp of the foundation for the healing arts. With some hard work, you could have a future in this field, but only if you applied yourself. We will revisit this next year once you have more freedom in your schedule.”

  Nodding, Briddy held back a sigh, swallowing the bitter taste of defeat. If Kerr got his way, there wouldn’t even be a next year for her. She didn’t see any point in getting her hopes up for the future.

  “You know, your sister showed a great aptitude for healing, though she showed aptitude for many things, but she chose a more…martial path.” Maistwel looked at Briddy with eyes that shot right through her, lost in memory. “Nolan could have been great at anything he put his mind to, though his lack of discipline when it comes to magic tainted whatever progress my colleagues may feel he made.”

  Bridget could feel her stomach drop, the words flying to her lips as a reflex at this point. “I’m not-”

  “Yes, yes, you’ve said.” Maistwel waved a hand dismissively. “And I don’t entirely disagree with you, Miss Vasily. While you may lack the talent shown by your sister in the healing arts…” He trailed off, some stray thought grabbing his attention.

  “Sir?” Briddy resisted the urge to wave her hand in front of the Doctor’s face. “Sir? I have to get to Lunch.”

  Blinking, Maistwel looked at her as though remembering she was there for the first time. “Yes, of course.” He made for his bag, and Bridget turned to leave. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, Maistwel spoke once more, partially to himself. “...yes, no talent but her heart…you have her heart, girl.”

  Briddy paused, wondering if she should acknowledge the words, but pushed the thought out of her head when she looked up at the clock above the door and realized that the heat outside would soon be unbearable. It didn’t matter anyway, her having Adelaide’s “heart”. All anyone at this school cared about was her ability, which they were more than glad to point out that she did not have what her siblings possessed. She snorted. Heart indeed. No one that mattered cared about heart.

  Or maybe, something inside her whispered, the only people that should matter are those that care about your heart. Briddy shook that voice away, shoving the door shut behind her and exiting the tower through its arches.

  Rushing off, she quickly ducked into the Palisade –reconfigured to be a looming, long room bordered by buffets today– she grabbed a sandwich from a platter, ignoring the hissing whispers that rose from Niles’s table. She hurried back to her dorm, the warmth of the desert robbing the moisture from her with every step. Even the bread of her meal was not immune to the effects of the heat.

  Grateful for the shade of the long dormitory, Bridget pushed her hair back under the clip her brother had gifted her, and sat for a moment, torn about what to do next. She wanted to tell someone about what Maistwel had said, that she could have a future in the healing arts, and briefly considered telling Adelaide what happened. That thought was quickly discarded, Adelaide was narrow-minded at best when it came to anything other than incredible violence. Briddy tilted her head slightly, the thought occurring that Gail would probably get along great with her sister. A small fist of jealousy formed in her chest, clutching to the idea that Gail was her friend, not Adelaide’s.

  With a sigh, Bridget pulled out a sheet of paper, and began writing, but not to her sister.

Nolan,

I’m sorry I haven’t written more. Things at school are busy, and I’m sure you’ve heard that I continue to be an utter failure as a Relic Heir. I’m not sure if that makes you happy to hear or not but, I find myself unsure of what to do.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Do you remember Doctor Maistwel? He remembers you. I spoke with him about possibly transferring to his healing course, and he said that I might have a future in it thanks to all of those books you made me read. I wish that it was a possibility for me to take this path, but I don’t see a future where I can step off the one our parents put me on. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe not. Maybe you don’t care. I just wanted someone to know that I could be good for something other than failing to carry father’s legend.

Thinking of you,

Briddy

Bridget didn’t realize that her eyes were full of tears until she finished folding her letter into an envelope that was addressed with Nolan’s name, a droplet escaping her cheek and leaving a wet spot on the paper. Reaching out, she placed it in the Keepedish, saying her brother’s name aloud as the mechanical arms snapped down to pick it up. She turned away as they got to work, wiping her face and looking up to find Gemma standing there, a few books tucked under her arm.

  “Were you crying?” The fluffy-headed girl said, something oddly eager about her tone.

  Briddy looked at her, brows knit in confusion. Gemma had never shown any interest in getting to know her, indeed, she spent most of her time hanging onto Niles and Tuck, trying to keep their attention on her. Why had she decided to start caring about Bridget’s feelings now?

  “Is it about Niles? Because you can tell me if it is, I’m here for you.” The girl offered, taking a step closer. Her lip stuck out in a small pout, as though to say she was sorry for Briddy, who recoiled as soon as she realized what was happening.

  Fixing Gemma with a long, hard look, Bridget scooped her copy of Prolific Relics and their Wielders off the end of her bed, pushed past her, and made her way towards Relic Lore class. There was no doubt in her mind that anything she would’ve said would have been taken directly back to Niles and his cronies, and part of her wanted to slap the girl silly for such an underhanded attempt.

  Bridget fumed her way through class, ignoring the curious glances Gail threw her way, and let the anger follow her all the way into Relic Mastery, where the dark cloud grew even further.

  “Pathetic, Vasily. It’s been how long now? Months?” Instructor Hennigan bore down on where Briddy stood, cradling the twinging hand that had struck the wooden dummy core of the dummy when Vex didn’t appear once again.

  “I’m trying my best, sir.” She managed to get out through gritted teeth. She had been so sure she had it that time, the mist had been there, it had been growing and yet…it still wasn’t enough. Around them, her classmates continued their work on the newest exercise, attempting to quickly summon and strike a wooden pole with their relic. The pole rotated after a few moments, alternating colors of blue and yellow that were painted on either side. Their goal was to summon and strike it with their weapon before it rotated, signaling the next student’s turn.

  As Instructor Hennigan had put it: “You won’t have time to be standing around on a battlefield with your hands stuck out and a monstrosity politely waiting for you to finish.”

  Briddy grimaced, shaking her hand once more as Hennigan shook his head. She took a deep breath, focusing every thought on what she wanted, on that faint image of a shimmering blade she had only beheld once.

  Vex. Vex. Vex!

  She called out, her lips silently moving as the echoes inside her mind resonated, getting so close to reaching something, and yet the second she tried to grasp it, the sensation slipped away, that cold, hard wall slamming up into place and blocking her off. Exhaling, she let her hands drop. Would this ever change?

  “At least try, Vasily.” Hennigan rubbed the back of his closely shaved head, fingers dancing over the scar.

  “Sir-”

  “You need to put the effort in, to learn to discipline yourself and actually work for the right to wield a relic. Resting on a Legend or some perceived ‘talent’ like your clubheaded siblings won’t accomplish anything.”

  “I’m not like-” Briddy began to protest.

  “Clearly.” Her teacher cut her off with a quiet tone that cut like a knife.

  Fighting the urge to grimace at him, Bridget rolled her shoulders, taking in a deep breath and reaching out once more. She wasn’t like them, but that didn’t mean she was worthless, she told herself as she closed her eyes and centered her thoughts once more.

  Vex, please. I don’t know what else to do. I’m giving up hope that you’re even there and will ever come, even when I need you most. Please.

  She reached, pushing every part of her will towards that faint echo within, trying desperately to grasp it, to find a way to wiggle herself through the cracks in that invisible wall that separated them. Bridget stretched out her mind, extended her determination, and tried with everything she had to get past that barrier, to find a way through to the other side, and to Vex.

  When Hennigan didn’t immediately criticize her, she dared to peek from beneath her lids and saw there, crawling up her arms in thin golden tendrils, that stream of mist she had come to associate with the relic. Her heart leaping, Briddy continued to push, fiercely calling with everything she had as the thin stream of particles began to pool in the palms of her hands.

  Yes, Vex! Come on, you’re almost there, please.

  As quickly as the mist had appeared, it withdrew, the wall snapping into place stronger than before and with such violence that Briddy gasped, falling to her knees in the shock from the sudden bereavement.

  “It was right there, I-” Her words failed her as she shook her head. “I could feel it.” Her voice came out hoarse, a tear marking its trail down her cheek. “I could feel it.” She looked down at her empty hands, confusion, pain, and frustration warring for dominance inside of her.

  Hennigan sighed, the kind of sigh from someone who feels their task is long-suffering and unworthy of their time. “A barely motivated attempt at best, Vasily.”

  Bridget’s head shot up. “Sir!” She said, her voice indignant “I’m almost there, I can feel my relic, it's just that there’s always something in the way, stopping me from truly getting to it and-”

  The Instructor held up his hand, silencing her protests. “If I wanted to hear your mewling, Vasily, I would’ve asked for it. You may be a Fable Child, but that does not mean that greatness is handed to you on a platter of silver simply because you stomp your feet and demand it.”

  There weren’t words for the anger that burned through Briddy at his portrayal of her as a spoiled child, so she instead fixed the man with a long hard look, raising her chin in defiance.

  He continued; “Some of us are merely meant to be stepping stones for those who are capable of reaching the greatest of heights, and it is up to the stone to understand that it will never be able to fly alongside them.”

  Without thinking, Briddy looked over at the practice sword she had discarded on the matted floor of Hennigan’s classroom, and spoke a spell. “Forset.” She uttered, the wood rising wobbly into the air. Looking back at her teacher, she stated; “And yet we can make wood fly with a single word. Why not a stone?”

  A flash of anger crossed Hennigan’s gaunt face, striking at his lips which curled into a sneer. “You may think yourself clever, girl, but you are quickly crossing into disrespect. No spell can miraculously fix your desire to take the easy way out and not work for what you want.” His voice had risen to a shout by the time he finished, most of the room abandoning their work to turn and look at the source of the commotion.

  “Worming your way in through the cracks of your family’s fame does not mean that you are automatically afforded a free pass to slack off and whine when things do not go your way.” Hennigan’s face seemed almost fervently joyous as he spoke, his eyes glazed over in such a way that Briddy was left unsure whether he was even speaking to her, or to a memory.

  “At this rate.” Instructor Hennigan continued, his voice dropping to a silken smooth tone. “I have little left that I can offer you. I cannot teach a student that is unwilling to learn.”

  Briddy recoiled as though she had been struck, shame creeping up her cheeks as she became painfully aware of her classmates' eyes, all focused on her. She was willing to learn, she wanted to scream, she had been trying her hardest. She couldn’t learn from a teacher who refused to teach.

  “I’m sorry?” The gaunt man’s head swung towards her, and Bridget was reminded once again of a MountainCore, coiling to strike. She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

  Swallowing her pain, she shook her head, eyes darting towards the members of her Cell and then to the floor, trying to ignore the jubilant expression on Niles’ face and the pity that clouded Gail’s green eyes.

  “I thought not.” Hennigan’s voice purred as she placed her hands on the floor, palms sinking into the dark blue cloth of the mat as she pushed herself up. Her fingers curled as they left the floor, wrapping around thin air where a hilt should have been. She had given everything she had into trying to summon Vex, and yet he still accused her of not trying, as though she didn’t throw every ounce of will and power into calling her father’s sword each time that he asked.

  A shriek snapped her out of her anger, coming from Parvati who was not looking at the debacle in the middle, but rather at the weapon in her hands. Where once a silver bow had been, a short, curved blade the length of her forearm now sat, innocuously winking up at the distraught girl.

  “Where is my relic?” She cried.

  Hennigan turned on his heel, leaving Briddy alone in the center of the room as he stalked his way over. “Calm down, girl, you’re not hurt.” He snapped.

  “This isn’t my relic!” Parvati shook her hands, the short sword disappearing and reappearing several times without changing its appearance.

  “Yes, it is.” The instructor reached her, clapping a hand down on her shoulder. The raven-haired girl turned to look up at him, tears filling her brown eyes.

  “My father’s bow.” She whispered. “Where is it?”

  “Relics sometimes change to suit their new bearers. That doesn’t mean your father’s bow is gone, just that it has taken a new form for you. This happens when Legends-” Hennigan lowered his voice as he spoke, and Briddy was no longer able to hear what he said to the girl.

  Scoffing, she turned away, stalking towards the exit to the room and scooping up her bag. So he was capable of teaching students, he just didn’t care to teach her. Silently, she cursed her siblings for ruining the waters with one teacher she needed to survive. What hope was there if teachers didn’t care to even try?

  “Briddy?” Someone called out to her as she walked down the hall. Gail caught up, wicking the sweat from the class off her forehead. “Don’t listen to Hennigan, he’s just sour. You’ll get there eventually.”

  Her friend’s comforting words did little to lessen the sting of their teacher’s acrimony, and Bridget found herself feeling even worse as a result. “That’s easy for you to say, your relic listens to you.” She snapped.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what it had cost.”

  Briddy looked up at Gail, whose face was shadowed by a dark, intense look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snipe at you.” She looked back down, feeling lower than mud.

  “I know.” Her friend gently nudged her with a shoulder. “But Briddy, your relic chose you. Regardless of what Hennigan says, you are the one it chose. If you weren’t suitable it would have found someone else, outside your family if necessary, to give its name to. It didn’t.”

  Bridget nodded, looking away as they continued walking to their next class. Everyone always said that the Relics saw everything, that they chose their heirs with great care. If that was true, then why had Vex abandoned her?