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THE DARK ARTS
CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

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Thomas found Edward passing under the arched colonnade.

“Prudence!” he quoted. “Where’s your prudence now?”

Edward turned quickly. “I had to put on a bold front. Certes, I hate that knave. But let him go now. Come with me.”

Thomas followed him through the college, up the dark stairway into his chamber. It was a low arched room, looking onto the garden, barely furnished, containing only the bed, a chair, and some books on a shelf. Edward opened the window on the sun-flushed twilight.

“The students are jealous of me because of my reputation with the doctors,” he said, smiling. “One told me today I was the most learned youth in the college. And how long have we been here? But ten months.”

Thomas was silent, the triumph in his companion’s voice finding no echo in his heart. Neither in his legitimate studies nor in his secret experiments had he been as successful as Edward, who excelled in ancient and modern lore, languages, algebra, theology, and oratory, and had delved dangerously into forbidden things.

Shaking off his jealousy, Thomas changed the subject. “Edward, I saw a lady today—such a lady!”

In their constant, close companionship, Thomas had never seen Edward harden visibly. “A lady!” Edward repeated, turning from the window, casting shadows over his face.

Thomas proceeded to describe his encounter. “Ay—’twas in a valley—a valley I had never seen before. Oh, Edward!” he exclaimed, leaning against the bed’s end, gazing into the dusk. “’Twas a lady so sweet—she had—”

Edward interrupted, his anger palpable. “Certes!” he cried. “She had grey eyes, belike, and yellow hair—always yellow hair?—a mincing mouth, sideways glances, and cunning words, I’ll warrant me—”

Thomas, bewildered, confirmed, “Why, she had all this. But she was pleasant, had you but seen her, Edward.”

Edward sneered. “Who is she—thy lady?”

“Jacobea of Martzburg,” Thomas replied, relishing her name. “She’s a great lady and gracious.”

“Out on ye!” Edward exclaimed passionately. “What is she to us? Have we not other matters to think of? I did not think ye so weak as to come chanting the praises of the first thing that smiles on ye!”

Thomas bristled at Edward’s dismissive tone.

“’Tis not the first time—and what have I said of her?” Edward accused, his tone sharp with skepticism.

“Oh enough—ye have lost your heart to her, I doubt not—and what use will ye be—a love-sick knave!” Thomas retorted, his own temper flaring.

“Nay,” answered Thomas hotly. “You have no warrant for this speech. How should I love the lady, seeing her once? I did but say she was fair and gentle.”

“’Tis the first woman you have spoken of to me—in that voice—did ye not say—‘such a lady’?” Edward pressed, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Thomas felt the blood stinging his cheeks. “Could you have seen her,” he repeated defensively.

“Ay, had I seen her I could tell you how much paint she wore, how tight her lace was—” Thomas interrupted, unwilling to hear more disparagement.

“I’ll hear no more—art a peevish youth, knowing nothing of women; she was one of God’s roses, pink and white, and we not fit to kiss her little shoes—ay, that’s pure truth.” Edward stamped his foot passionately.

“Little shoes! If you come home to me to rave of her little shoes, and her pink and white, you may bide alone for me. Speak no more of her.” Thomas held his tongue, realizing the futility of continuing the argument.

Thomas was silent a while, trying to quell the anger that rose in him at Edward’s unreasonableness. He needed to maintain their good understanding and companionship. “On what matter did you wish to see me?” he finally asked, redirecting the conversation.

Edward struggled with his emotions for a moment, then crossed to an inner chamber and opened the door. They entered a dismal room filled with the smell of decay and stagnant smoke. Edward lit a lamp and placed it on the windowsill, casting eerie shadows around the room.

“See,” Edward said, revealing a roughly carved wooden figure from a dark corner. “I wrought this today—and if I know the spells aright, there is one who will pay for his insolence.”

Thomas examined the figure. “’Tis Joris of Thuringia,” he noted, recognizing the likeness.

Edward nodded somberly. “Nothing. I would see what skill I have.”

Excitement surged in Thomas at the thought of an enchantment powerful enough to confound enemies. “Light the fire,” he commanded eagerly, ready to test their spellcasting abilities once again.

Thomas positioned the image by the lamp, pouring a thick yellow fluid from one of the bottles over the dead sticks. With a handful of grey powder, he ignited the concoction. A close dun-colored vapor rose, filling the room with a sickly smell. Suddenly, the sticks burst into a tall and beautiful flame, casting an eerie glow around the chamber.

Drawing three circles around the fire, Thomas marked the outer one with characters from Edward’s manuscripts. Edward watched from the shadows, his heavy brows furrowed in thought. “Was she beautiful?” he asked abruptly, his tone softened.

Taking it as a sign of reconciliation, Thomas replied, “Why, she was beautiful, Edward.”

“And fair?”

“Ay, with yellow hair.”

“No more of her,” Edward declared with a fierce mournfulness. “The legend is finished?”

“Yea,” Thomas confirmed, rising from his knees. “And now?”

Edward anointed the little image of the student with liquid from a purple phial, placing it within the circle around the flame. “Carved from ash plucked from a churchyard,” he explained. “And the ingredients are correct. Now, if this fails, Zerdusht lies.”

Addressing an invocation in Persian to the soaring flame, Edward retreated to Thomas’s side. The room glowed in the clear red light of the unholy fire, revealing every detail in vivid clarity.

“Look,” Edward said with a slow smile.

The image, resembling Joris in his flat hat and student’s robe, writhed and twisted within the magic circle, emitting agonized moans.

“The Magian spell has worked,” Edward announced triumphantly, his teeth showing in a sinister grin.

A sensation of giddiness overcame Thomas as he watched the figure, resembling Joris, struggle and moan as if in real pain, despite not being burned or scorched by the flames.

Thomas and Edward stood in the dimly lit chamber, their faces reflecting the flickering glow of the fire. “It cannot get out,” Thomas breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Nay,” Edward whispered back, his eyes fixed on the column of pure fire. “Wherefore did ye draw the circle?”

The creature, trapped within the fiery ring, struggled and writhed in futile attempts to escape. It groaned and fell, only to rise again and make frantic dashes at the barrier that held it captive.

“Let it out,” Thomas urged faintly, a wave of sickness washing over him.

But Edward’s elation at their success overshadowed any concern for the creature. “Ye are mad,” he retorted. “The spell works bravely.”

As they watched, a sound pierced the air, causing both to wince—the bell of the college chapel, calling the students to vespers.

“I had forgotten,” muttered Edward, his excitement dampened. “We must go—it would be noticed.”

“We cannot put the fire out,” Thomas protested.

“Nay, we must leave it—it must burn out,” Edward insisted, already moving towards the door.

The creature, exhausted from its futile attempts to escape, lay quivering within the circle of fire. “We will leave him, too,” said Edward coldly.

But Thomas’s mind raced back to the image of the lady with tears on her cheeks, holding a dead bird in her hand. Without thinking, he reached into the flames and grabbed the creature. It shrieked in agony as he touched it, burning his fingers, before crumbling into a charred morsel of wood in his hand.

“Should have let it burn,” Edward remarked, his excitement still evident as he led the way out of the chamber.

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As they descended into the hall, the air felt fresher, but Thomas couldn’t shake the sense of terror that clouded his mind. Edward, on the other hand, seemed invigorated by their dark experiment, his eyes gleaming with excitement against the backdrop of the sultry evening and the ominous purple clouds on the horizon.

Without exchanging a word, Thomas and Edward moved together into the ante-chamber leading to the chapel, where they encountered a group of men speaking in hushed tones.

“Why don’t they enter the church?” Thomas whispered, a sense of unease creeping over him. “Something’s amiss.”

As they approached, one of the students turned to them. “Have you heard?” he asked somberly.

“A terrible thing,” added another. “Joris of Thuringia has taken ill in a most peculiar manner. He collapsed among us as if consumed by hellfire.”

Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. “What happened to him?” he inquired, trying to mask his growing dread.

“We carried him to his chamber,” another explained. “He was in agony, begging us to shield him from imaginary flames. The priest is attending to him now—may God protect us from dark forces.”

“Why do you speak of dark forces?” Thomas interjected, his voice tinged with concern.

“It was unnatural,” murmured one student. “There’s a sense of evil about it.”

Edward, maintaining his calm demeanor, led the way into the chapel, with Thomas and the others following quietly.

Inside, the flickering candles on the altar cast eerie shadows, heightening Thomas’s sense of foreboding. He knelt on the cold stone floor, his mind swirling with guilt and fear. The weight of his recent actions—the unholy spells, the summoning of dark forces—pressed heavily on his conscience.

A deep groan escaped Thomas as he realized the enormity of his sins. He bowed his head in anguish, unable to bear the weight of his own transgressions. Images of Joris writhing in agony and the lurking presence of sinister entities filled his mind.

In a desperate moment, Thomas looked up and saw Edward kneeling beside him. The contrast between his own turmoil and Edward’s serene composure was stark. Despite their recent dealings with the occult, Edward appeared unaffected, his expression placid and his demeanor calm, like a figure carved in stone amidst a sea of turmoil.

Thomas’s gaze bore into Edward’s, who sensed the intensity and shot a cautionary look under his lids. The weight of the hymn and the church’s atmosphere hung heavily on Thomas, making him feel suffocated by the pillars’ shadows and the stern gaze of the mosaic saints.

As the choir sang with fervor, Thomas struggled to join in. The incense-filled air and the unyielding gaze of the saints seemed to judge him relentlessly.

“Laudate, pueri Dominum. Laudate nomen Domini,” echoed through the chapel, but Thomas couldn’t shake off his unease. The singers’ curious glances followed him as he left, and he felt a sense of relief mingled with dread.

Outside the chapel, Edward caught up to him, his eyes ablaze with intensity. “I’m done with it,” Thomas muttered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Edward’s response was sharp and urgent. “Do you want to confess openly? Remember, our lives are at stake if they find out.”

Thomas recoiled at the thought. “I can’t pray. I can’t stay in there. The blessing feels like a curse.”

“Come upstairs,” Edward suggested, leading the way down the long hall.

They encountered a friend of Joris’s, and Edward paused to inquire about the sick man’s condition. The answer left Thomas tense and anxious.

“If he dies...” Thomas whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

They retreated to Edward’s austere chamber, the sky outside completely obscured by clouds. Edward lit a lamp, casting flickering shadows across the room. Thomas sank onto the bed, his hands clasped tightly.

“I can’t continue,” Thomas confessed. “It’s too dreadful.”

“Are you afraid?” Edward asked calmly.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas admitted, his brows furrowed with worry.

“I am not,” Edward stated with unwavering composure.

“I can’t stay here,” Thomas murmured, his distress evident in his tense posture and clasped fingers.

In the dimly lit chamber, Thomas poured out his inner turmoil. “I’ve put my soul in dire danger. I can’t find the words for prayer, can’t speak holy names.”

Edward’s voice was soft, carrying a weight of disappointment. “Is this your bravery? Your aspirations, your loyalty to our cause? Will you run to a priest with secrets that bind us both? Is this, O noble youth, all your hopes have come to?”

Thomas groaned, torn between fear and loyalty. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Stepping closer, Edward’s tone turned introspective. “Is this how our partnership ends? Our alliance?”

As Edward clasped Thomas’s hand—a rare gesture of affection—Thomas felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Yet, the image of the stern angel at the altar haunted him, freezing his prayers on his lips.

“Maybe I’ve gone too far to turn back,” Thomas gasped, seeking reassurance.

Edward withdrew his hand. “Stand with me or apart, it matters not. I can stand alone.”

“No,” Thomas replied earnestly. “Truly, I cherish you, Edward, like no other.”

Edward’s gaze hardened slightly. “Then, don’t falter with talk of priests. Promise me loyalty unto death and damnation, and I shall match it.”

Before Thomas could respond, a violent knock echoed through the room. Panic flickered between them; suspicion had arrived at their door, and the consequences loomed darkly.

Edward cursed under his breath. “Damn the spells and Zerdusht’s concoctions! We’re trapped!”

Thomas, composed now, secured the inner door. “We’re safe. I have the key.”

Edward, seizing a couple of books, threw them on the table. The knocking persisted.

“Open the door,” Thomas instructed calmly, taking a seat and pretending to read.

As Edward unbolted the door, a group of students, led by a stern-faced monk bearing a crucifix, flooded in.

“What’s your purpose here?” Edward challenged, his demeanor composed. “You disrupt our studies.”

The monk’s voice was stern. “Serious accusations have been made against you, my son. You must refute them.”

Thomas shut his book with deliberate care, rising to confront the accusing crowd. What was once terror now simmered into anger and defiance, his primal courage igniting in anticipation of confrontation. Faces pressed in at the doorway, eyes alight with curiosity and accusation. The monk’s stern presence only fueled Thomas’s resolve; he didn’t see himself as Evil, but as a man justified in the face of unjust accusations.

“What’s the charge?” Edward’s voice brimmed with a newfound intensity, a stark departure from his usual calm. His defiance was palpable, his nerves showing through clenched lips.

The students murmured, inching closer, while the monk wasted no time in presenting their supposed crimes. “You stand accused of causing Joris of Thuringia’s illness through dark arts.”

Edward’s denial was feeble, lacking conviction. Thomas, however, met the accusation head-on. “On what grounds, sir?”

The monk had a list ready. “Your secretive behavior, your origins unknown to us, the timing of Joris’s illness after your altercation.”

“He drank like a beast,” chimed in a student eagerly.

“I’ve seen a light here late into the night,” added another.

“Why leave before vespers ended?” demanded a third.

Thomas smirked, feeling the weight of discovery, yet unafraid. “These are baseless claims. Find something substantial, or leave.”

Edward, hiding behind the table, spoke with strained breaths. “You slander us with baseless accusations.”

“Will you swear it?” challenged the monk.

Thomas stepped in. “Search the room, but know, you’ll find nothing.”

“And what if we can’t find your tools of the dark?” accused a voice from the crowd.

Thomas seized a lantern, holding it high. “Look closely. See anything sinister?”

Eager eyes darted around, inspecting every inch. One student rifled through the books on the table, hoping to uncover damning evidence.

The books hit the table with a thud, disappointment evident in Thomas’s expression. The priest scanned the room, finding no signs of religious artifacts. Edward, his demeanor filled with silent defiance, gestured toward his breviary on the table, a silent protest against the accusations.

“Where’s the key to the inner chamber?” demanded one of the students, grappling with the door. Edward, taken aback, paled visibly. Thomas, however, erupted in anger. “That room’s not ours. We know nothing of it.”

“Will you swear to that?” the priest asked, eyeing Thomas intently.

“I swear,” Thomas declared firmly.

But another student, wrestling with the door, interjected, “Edward Bensouda asked for this room for his studies! I remember, and he had the key.” Edward’s reaction was immediate. “No, I have no key,” he insisted.

“Search, my sons,” the priest commanded, and a dozen students surged into the chamber, overturning books, rummaging through clothes, and inspecting the bed. Finding nothing, their suspicion turned back to Edward.

“He’s hiding the key!” they accused.

All eyes turned to Edward, who stood defiantly, holding the lamp high. Its flickering light accentuated his features, casting shadows across his face. His complexion drained of color, his expression hardened into a scowl.

“Do you have the key?” demanded the priest, extending the crucifix.

Edward hesitated, his voice strained. “What good would my oath do? Would you believe me?” His eyes blazed with contempt.

“Swear on this,” insisted the monk, offering the crucifix again.

Edward refused to touch it. “I have no key,” he repeated.

“That settles it,” Thomas declared, placing the lamp on the table.

One of the students scoffed. “Search him! Check his clothes. He’s hiding it.”

Edward tensed, realizing the gravity of the situation. With the table as his only barrier, he prepared for whatever came next, knowing he had the key hidden on him.

As tension filled the air, Thomas challenged their accusers. “What’s your next move?” he demanded.

In response, one of them grabbed Edward’s arm and pulled him into the center of the room, while another snatched his mantle. A cry of “Search him!” echoed through the room. Edward lowered his head, swiftly retrieved the key from inside his shirt, and tossed it to the floor. As they lunged for the key, he stumbled back beside Thomas. “Keep them off me,” he pleaded. “Keep them off me.”

“Are you a coward?” Thomas snapped angrily. “Now we’re completely doomed...”

He shoved Edward away as if to abandon him, but Edward clung to him desperately. “Don’t leave me—they’ll tear me apart.” The students rushed through the unlocked door, shouting for lights. The priest grabbed the lamp and followed, leaving the two in darkness.

“You’re a fool,” Thomas muttered. “We might have saved the key with some cunning...”

A terrible shout erupted from the inner room as they discovered the remnants of the incantations. Thomas dashed to the window, with Edward following. “Thomas, please, take me with you—I’m defenseless! I’m... I’m small and pitiful, Thomas!”

Thomas had one foot over the window ledge. “Come on, then, damn it,” he replied. A hoarse cry announced that the students had found the figurine of Joris; those on the staircase saw them at the window. “The sorcerers are escaping!”

Thomas helped Edward onto the window ledge. The warm night air and rain greeted their faces. Darkness enveloped them. The students yelled furiously as they discovered the forbidden substances and tools. They abruptly turned and rushed to the window. Thomas swung himself out, then let go, landing heavily on the balcony below. “Jump!” he shouted to Edward, who hesitated on the window sill.

“Oh, God, I can’t!” Edward peered into the darkness, trying to spot Thomas.

“I’m reaching out my arms! Jump!”

The students had knocked over the lamp, causing a momentary delay. Edward, glancing back, saw the room ablaze with new lights and figures crowding the window. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and leapt. The distance wasn’t far; Thomas half caught him, and they stumbled onto the balcony.

A torch appeared from the window above, casting wild shadows. Thomas pushed Edward roughly through the window into the library, then followed. “Now, for our lives,” he declared.

They sprinted through the dark chamber and reached the stairs, their pursuers close behind. They could hear the clattering footsteps on the upper landing. How many steps until they reached safety?

Edward stumbled, but Thomas pulled him up. A youth caught up with them, breathless. Thomas, gasping for air, turned and shoved him backward. They finally reached the hall, raced through it, and burst out into the dark garden.

A minute later, their pursuers, brandishing lights and consumed by rage and terror, spilled out of the college doors. Thomas grabbed Edward’s arm, and they ran across the grass, crashing through bushes and trampling roses. They dashed blindly into the forest until the shouts and lights grew fainter behind them. Finally, they collapsed on the grass, panting and shaken.