AKI:

… I maintain eye contact. She may have broken herself, but not me. I refuse to be broken. I am heavy. Heavy with duty. Heavy with anger. Heavy with my imminent death. I stand. Best to die unbroken so that she may break further. Break into what she must become, into the death that awaits her.

A thought invades my mind as I reach my full height, giving me strength. What if? What if I can break it all? She lays in my arms, dead. It stands across me, strong. I cannot let that be. I cannot bring her back, but damn if I cannot ensure it follows her into death.

So, what if—

----------------------------------------

I jolted awake and tried to sit up. My leaden arms rose a little. The rest of me refused even that much.

The pain was the first thing I noticed. That and the darkness. My head throbbed like trapped insects were trying to excavate their way out. I coughed. Another kick to the head might’ve hurt the same. I hacked until the sting of blood soothed my dry throat. My headache was twice as bad by then, each convulsion lending weapons to the invading insects.

The door opened. Light flooded in from the bright hallway beyond. A dark silhouette stood in the archway, a large bowl in hand. Purple-edged robes fluttered as the figure approached. They laid the bowl beside me, took a jug from the bedside table, poured a cup, and made to have me drink it. I kept my lips sealed. A pinch to the nose cut short my rebellion. Once the cup was empty, the figure took a cloth from their robes and dabbed away what little had spilled. Then they plunged the fabric into the bowl of water beside me, wrung out the excess, and placed it on my forehead. My headache eased.

“Sleep,” they ordered.

I tried my best not to listen, but slumber pulled at me. Resistance was futile. They must’ve put something in the water. They must’ve…

----------------------------------------

I awoke without nightmares or pain. I never knew how tranquil waking could be when one was allowed to go about one's sleep without the torture of wicked dreams or the dark welcome of night.

I leaned forward. The bedding no longer sought to stop me. The headache was gone, but a tightness remained. I reached up. Careful prodding found a bandage wrapped firmly around my head. I let it be lest I caused the pain to return.

My eyes roamed the room. Everything was white. Not the off-color white everyone refers to as white, but a pure white that almost cured the room of shadows.

The pitcher of water from the night before lay beside me, refilled. I started to reach for it. A creak of the door froze me mid-motion.

The purple-robed woman. My vague recollection of her dark figure had done her little justice. I’d thought her an ominous herald of doom, of pain and demise, of malevolent intent. Now, standing in the doorway in much the same way she had before, I let my eyes rectify that prejudice.

Far from the doe-eyed torpor or shifty-eyed craze I expected from any who wore the purple of Alchemists, she was clear-eyed, awake, and tacitly chipper. On her round face, below kind eyes and a button nose, was a toothy smile that tried to put me at ease. It almost did. The fact that it almost did only served the exact opposite.

“I assure you,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, “the water is pure.”

I believed her. I hated myself for it, but I believed her. That very hate jerked my hand back. I knew better than to listen to what I believed.

“Where am I?” My voice was hoarse with thirst.

“The infirmary.” She held up a hand, halting my questions. “Relax, child, you are safe here.” She strode towards the bed, her ingratiating smile closing on me like an inescapable blade. “My name is Acadia.”

I gasped. “W-why would the head of the alchemy school…?”

“Yes, indeed. I do not visit the infirmary often nowadays—what with the support of my staff and the importance of my other duties, I don’t much need to—but circumstance and a rather shrewd Headmaster have urged me to attend to your injuries.”

“Circumstance? Headmaster? Where am I? Where are Dako and Sil and…?”

Acadia leaned in, touched my brow, and closed her eyes. “It seems my task is complete. You shall need the remainder of the day to rest, but beyond that, you are as healthy as could be, if not a little underdeveloped for your age. A half-cycle of hearty meals should remedy that. If my memory serves me right, The Academy has always been generous to first-cycle students on that front.”

“What happened to me?”

She regarded me carefully. “You took quite a blow to the head. One of the Surgeons confirmed you were bleeding from the brain, a problem they were ill-equipped to handle.”

“My brain?”

“Not anymore.”

“How did you fix what Surgeons couldn't?” I asked, my tone unwittingly bereft of the expected respect.

“Surgeons risk alterations in their pursuit of healing. While slight changes are acceptable for most injuries, they are not for those to the brain. Even the most minor of alterations could leave any number of disabilities.”

“I thought the soul kept hold of our knowledge and skills?”

“Unless you are a god, you need your mind to navigate your soul. Imagine a road in an expansive, interconnecting series of roads. If the road is damaged and you rebuild along a different path without anyone the wiser, all who’d think to travel that road would be lost. The mind works similarly, though, being the soul's conduit, it is far more complicated. Surgery is incapable of preserving these roads when they are damaged. Alchemy, on the other hand, though more tedious, slower, and with its own sleuth of disadvantages, can, with the use of exotic and expensive souls who’ve developed particular skills and kinds of healing arts, convince your brain to reorient itself to its previous configuration, all the while healing the damage. That is what I did.”

“What scrambled my brain?”

“You do not remember?”

“None of the blows I recall seemed strong enough to cause such an injury.”

“And what would you know of such injuries?”

“I… um, have some experience taking blows to the head.”

“That explains the scars.” Pity flashed across her eyes. “I suspect the two waiting outside may be better informed to answer your questions. Since my work here is complete, I’ll grant them entry on my way out. Remember to rest. Despite my treatment, your body needs time to recuperate.”

Sil and Dako were both smiling when they came in. It did nothing to hide their anger and worry. Notwithstanding the bitterness they felt on my account, I had rarely tasted anything sweeter.

“You’re looking well,” Dako said.

“Was I in so bad a condition that I now look well to you?” I asked, forcing a smile past the aches and pains I still felt.

“Yes,” Dako answered. “By whatever standards you wish to use, it is always bad when blood leaks from your every orifice.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“Every orifice?” I asked.

Dako smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. You can't have thought I’d check.”

“Nevertheless, it was a rather worrying sight,” Sil said.

I blushed. Blushing was not something I did, but it seemed the natural response to her concern.

Dako grinned in understanding, though his next words showed very little of it—or maybe too much. “I don’t know what it is about a woman’s concern that brings fire to a man’s loins,” he said, causing me to blush redder. “Who knew you were so sensitive? The mere mention of carnal realities and you turn rosier than a battle-ready Ignis.”

Sil giggled.

“You two are insufferable,” I said.

“No lasting effects?” Sil asked, her eyes filled with the light of amusement. I was too slow to notice the bait.

“Acadia herself saw to my treatment,” I said innocently. They both burst back into laughter.

“You mean Acadia,” Dako said, laughing, “the nearly three-hundred-year-old head of the Alchemy personally cured you of your sexual shyness?”

“Truly insufferable,” I muttered.

When the humor of such a ridiculous fiction left us, Dako turned to me, serious. I reacted in kind. He was a perpetually cheerful fellow, so his every moment of sobriety always came across as intensely earnest.

“You had me worried, Aki.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, his touch heavy with meaning and purpose but otherwise gentle, all of it punctuated by his following words. “I almost came to blows with my cousin over it.”

“Me or him?” I asked.

“As I said, you had me worried.”

I smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t come to blows on my account. I’m no worse for wear. In any case, what do you know?”

“They were Roots,” Dako said. “All three of them.”

“Any news as to why they attacked us?”

Dako shrugged. “None that I’ve been privy to. It has been frustrating, to say the least. Both were found dead in their rooms soon after the incident. Suicide, they said. I say they’re spouting horse-dung of the highest order.”

“Suicide?”

“Supposedly, their failure to terminate us drove them to it.”

“And the third?”

Dako looked at me and smiled. “Died from his injuries.”

I blanched a little, uneasy with this ruthless side of my new friend.

Sil shook her head. “You beat him to death, you oaf. Pummeled his flesh and bones until his soul deemed his body uninhabitable. I would’ve pitied him if he hadn’t deserved it.”

“They?” I asked Dako. He seemed puzzled, so I clarified. “You said, ‘Suicide, they said.’”

“Ah, yes, the truthseekers. The city Admin sent them to investigate the matter. Two men. I didn’t like the look of them. But then again, I’ve never liked the look of Tunnellers.”

“Conspiracies are afoot,” I said. “There were too many witnesses for them to get away with attacking us so publicly. The culprits would know that. As would the truthseekers.”

“If it wasn’t all so suspicious, I might've believed them,” Dako said. “As it stands…”

“How many enemies have you made?” Sil asked me, her first foray into the topic of who might’ve been responsible.

“Why would you think I was the cause?” I asked, taken aback. “I’m sure Dako was the target, seeing as they concentrated their efforts on him.”

“I assume they did so to neutralize him before he had a chance to intervene,” Sill said. “Mind my bluntness, Aki, but Dako is plainly the more dangerous. Knowing he would not stand for their assault without attempting to hamper their task, they lent the greater part of their strength to ensure he couldn’t. They underestimated you both with that decision.”

“Plausible,” I said, “but it doesn’t explain why you think me the target.”

“Simple. The only enemy Dako has is Vignil, a man too scared of his father to be so blatant as to organize the attack so soon after he had publicly threatened you. Graduating is a condition for his keeping his standing, and risking his leafdom for petty revenge makes little sense.”

“Much as I find Dako likable,” I said, “it is rather farfetched to say he has but one enemy, as is the possibility of me having enemies who could influence the city’s Administration. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Mud.”

“A Heartwood,” Sil corrected. “But that is beside the point. If you knew how Dako was rai—”

“Enough!” Dako glared at Sil. “That is not your story to tell.”

Sil bowed her head. “I only meant to…”

“I know,” Dako said. He sighed. “But she’s likely right, Aki. Until my arrival here, I’d been largely confined to a compound.”

“So?” I asked.

A sadness grew in Dako, burrowing subtly into the facets of his expression: the corners of his lips lowered a hair, and the shadow of a wrinkle appeared between his eyes. And for the first time I could remember, his hold on his immaculate posture frayed, and his shoulders drooped.

“My father is,” he began, “for lack of a better term, a prolific breeder, siring more children than all the other gods combined. To control the power distribution within the house, he adopted a merit-based system whereby the most talented of his descendants spent their younger years in one of three compounds. I…”

Sil placed a supportive hand on Dako’s broad back. “You don’t have to tell it. I’m sure your word shall suffice.” She turned to me, awaiting my support.

Dako raised a hand before I could speak. “Vignil and this mystery enemy have tied us together. My history seems to be, to one degree or another, pertinent to both.”

Sil nodded. “But must you dredge up all the particulars?”

“Maybe not, but if we are right and Aki is the target, he will soon have to tell us his story. I doubt it would be any less—”

“No,” I said. They turned to me. “I will not tell you my story. If it is the price for you telling yours, stop because I cannot afford it.”

“Why?” Dako looked hurt and confused, the emotions clear on his face. He would have to learn to keep them from roaming the surface if he meant to realize his ambitions as an Administrator. I will like him less when that day comes, I thought.

“We may have moved further on the path,” I said, “enough for you to trust me with your past but not enough for me to trust you with mine.”

Sil faced Dako. “What's he talking about? What path?”

Dako’s eyes stayed on mine. “I understand.” He sighed and lowered his head, then looked back up, his smile stiff. He’s already learning, I thought. “But when we get there, the story better be worth the distance.”

I smiled back, mine coming easier. “I assure you, it is.”

“Where are you two going?” Sil asked. “And why am I not invited?”

I chuckled. “Now that you’ve confirmed my health, you should both go.”

“You're sending us away?” Dako asked, indignant.

I waved my hands emphatically. “No, no. I mean, there’s only half a day left for you two to explore the wonders of The Academy.”

Sil’s brow furrowed. “We’re not leaving.”

“You can't spend your first free day stuck in here with me,” I explained. “Go and enjoy what remains of it. And tonight, if you have the time, bring me tales of all you’ve seen and done.”

“But we’ve already—” Dako began.

“And that is not your story to tell,” Sil said, frowning. Dako just nodded at her words.

“I’m to rest if I hope to heal,” I said, choosing to ignore their suspicious interaction. “Tomorrow, our lessons in sensus begin in earnest. I will not fall further behind. As it is, my past has dragged me back far enough. It does none of us any good for you two to stay here to watch me sleep. Go.”

“Then we’ll be back at dusk,” Sil said.

In the end, it took a reassuring smile from me and a violent tugging from Sil to get Dako to agree.

----------------------------------------

Unable to fall asleep, I was tossing and turning when a knocking on the door gave me a reason to stop trying. I sat up and waited. My visitor knocked again, unwilling to enter without permission.

“It’s open,” I called.

A short man on the cusp of middle age came in, eyes cast down. “Excuse me, sir. Are you Aki?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve your letters, sir. May I bring them to you?”

“Letters?”

“Came in this mornin’, sir. Two of them.”

“For me?”

“I was told they were for Aki Farian. Is that not you, sir?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then yes, for you, sir.”

“Alright, please bring them to me?”

The man looked up, surprised. He ducked when he saw me looking back. “Yes, sir.”

“Could you please stop with the sirs?”

Mid-stride, he snuck another look at me. “Course, si—I mean, what would you like me to call you, sir? Ah, sorry, sir.”

I chortled. I shouldn’t have; the man was terrified, though I couldn’t fathom why, and fear was no laughing matter. “Think nothing of it,” I said. “And call me Aki.”

He nodded. “Yes… Aki.”

“So?” I said, nodding to the parchments he held to his chest.

“Ah, yes.”

“Your name?” I asked, taking the letters from his outstretched hands.

He jerked another look at me. “Polkin.”

“Why are you afraid of me, Polkin?”

“You’re a Fiora, sir. A Seculor leastways.”

“Am I?” I asked. “And stop calling me sir.” The words came out more forceful than I intended. Damn it, I thought, I’m no godling. Nor do I wish to be.

The man winced. “So-sorry, uh, Aki. You just look…”

I sighed. “Excuse my temper, Polkin. Thank you for bringing me the letters.”

The man bowed, irritating me further. I forced my anger down. He did not deserve whatever else it would have me shout at him.

I waited. He stood, gaze fixed on the floor.

“Was there something else?” I asked.

“No, si—erm, I mean, no, Aki. Just that you haven't dismissed me yet.”

I sighed again. “You need not wait for my permission, Polkin. Again, thank you for bringing me the letters.”

He bowed and ran from the room, risking one final look before silently closing the door behind him.

I turned my attention to the letters. The first was folded and tied with a coarse ribbon of cheap cotton. I opened it.

“Son, I’m wri—”

I crushed the paper. Then, thinking worse of it, I ripped it up, stumbled out of bed, threw open the window, and launched the scraps as far as my strength allowed. As though agreeing with my decision, the wind scattered the pieces, hurling them into the night. I watched, my breathing heavy, my hands gripping the windowsill.

How dare he!

Some time passed before I calmed enough to slip back into bed. Longer still before I dared read the other letter.

I took it out, slow, cautious, as though some cleverly disguised snake hid within, ready to lunge at me with poisonous fangs. I tore the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, a much better quality paper than the last.

The letter made no sense until it did. Partly. It was blank with no ink, smudges, scent, or creases beyond the two purposeful folds. I supposed it was from Knite. He was being cautious. With the enemies he had—we had—it made sense to be. Now, I had to figure out how to reveal whatever was so important and urgent that he risked sending it.