“Do not fear prejudice.
Fear indifference.
For the hated still have power,
But the chattel’s bleats,
Fall only on deaf ears.”
~~Insac, First of the Freemen
----------------------------------------
“Let me fetch the professor,” the chef said, pushing a small panel to reveal a hidden entryway into the pantry. “Try not to touch anything while I’m gone.”
“So… what should we try first?” Lenora headed for the foodstuffs before Callam could respond. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached for a jar filled with red nuts, pushing what appeared to be pickled hoof out of the way. “Don’t judge,” she teased, then dropped a hand to tug down the hem of her dress. “I’ve always fancied sweets. Ever since I was little.”
Callam, focused as he was on finding a place to sit that wasn’t covered in flour, couldn’t help but smile. Everyone liked candy, far as he knew–if anything, he was curious why the storeroom carried pickled meats at all. Those rations smelled so rancid no one cared if the orphans stole them.
Food’s food, I guess.
Frowning slightly, he settled near a metal drum; a few weeks of being tomebound and already he’d become accustomed to a life of plenty. Best I snap out of it. Having some food is better than none.
The orphans counting on him didn’t need the reminder.
“Have they any raw chocolate?” he asked after a moment, hoping to cover for his silence. He’d be remiss to pass on Siela’s favorite treat.
“No… just something called brittle root. Maybe with wine they’ll taste the same?”
“There’s wine?” Having yet to see this side of her, Callam hoped to keep her talking. He enjoyed the new perspective.
“Ah.” Clinking followed Lenora as she searched. “Nope. Just fermented raisins. We’d have to get creative...”
“Sure–” Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as a pulse of heat radiated in his hands and pulled his attention back to his grimoire. Rushing to open it, he paused only when the cover caught his eye. Had the cityscape’s outline always looked so dark? He’d have sworn it was beige before.
Must be a trick of the light. He rubbed his eyes. The nights he’d spent staring at the book while practicing his first spell had burned images of the skyline into his head, but memories were fallible.
Foreword: For Callam Quill, bonded companion.
Callam Quill, Mage, Level 1.
Grimoire Type: Unknown.
Star-level: Four.
Skills: Literacy.
Talents: Streetwise. Puzzles come easily to you.
Spells: Infer Intus, Ater, Infer Intus (Recharging)
Prologue: Your first spell (Complete)
Chapter One: The Journey of Hidden Intent, Part II
Great men keep great secrets,
But written words harbor no deceit,
Some stories are told best by others,
And others yet, told best by me.
Callam Quill of Chapelhill,
Bring me to Solem’s Door.
To learn the sister-spell hidden on this floor,
And save the secret they’d quell to keep.
Description: Through the help of another, you’ve uncovered hidden steps to this riddle.
Warning: Some things cannot be slowed when put into motion.
With one hand, momentum makes men of children.
With the other, it creates monsters of men.
Incantation: NA
Timeline: One Month
Partem: This chapter can be shared with other readers.
Footnote: This is a three-part quest.
----------------------------------------
“...save the secret they’d quell to keep?” Callam repeated the phrase to himself, his heart pounding. He was unsure of what to make of it, but his gut warned that it could not bode well. “Thirty days?” How was he to complete a semester-long quest in under a month?
“Often whisper to yourself?”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“No more than you butt in,” he said in jest without thinking–street kids kept to themselves. A glance up found Lenora leaning over him, dark hair draped over her shoulders, warm eyes warm cooling by the second.
Too late he noticed what she held.
“I–sorry. I’d come to tell you I found some cocoa,” she said.
He took a deep breath, feeling the lackwit. Why was he so nervous? “My chapt–”
“And you’ve been serving me coffee all this time?” interrupted a roguish voice. “Vile woman. That swill’s not even fit for a Ruddite.”
Callam did a double take–the chef had returned with Olenid, who was currently swaddling a plant.
That was only one of many strange things about him. For instance, the Professor–despite his crisp scholar blues–looked as if he’d woken within the hour and forgotten to brush his hair or trim his beard. Yellow oak leaves hid between his locks, and paper constructs whizzed about his head, so small they’d have passed for bees if not for their stark white coloring.
An open-toed pair of sandals completed the unusual ensemble. This, at least, Callam understood–though he got the distinct impression the man wore them less for comfort and more to let the sun in.
“Have you tasted your drinks even once, Olenid? Or just assumed it was coffee? Students, this prodigy is your professor. A genius, really, even though he can’t tell by sight the difference between coffee and heated chocolate.”
“The smell alone hinted of the foul bean,” the man protested.
“They smell nothing alike.”
“Well…”
Stealing a glance at Lenora, Callam was relieved to see she looked as confused as he felt.
It seemed crazy to think that the second part of this man’s puzzle had led to the progression of Callam’s grimoire. How were the two related?
“I’ve been informed you’ve solved for the chalk,” Oledin said once the chef had returned to her duties. He placed his plant down on a nearby shelf.
“You mean the baking powder right?” Lenora asked.
“I do.” Silence stretched as the man looked them over. Behind him, a one-star tomebound slipped into the room to grab supplies. The constructs shot her way, curious.
“Professor?” Callam ventured.
“Yes? Have I wasted my time, or are either of you going to tell me the next making of man?”
Lenora’s bit lip made her position clear.
“Prosperity?” Callam guessed, rising to his feet. It made sense, at least, if this powder was truly used in cooking for the masses.
“Butchery, robbery, bigotry. All words that rhyme with misery. All byproducts of human suffering. Think about the shells. Think what the dust makes you do.” Collecting his plant, the man turned to leave.
“Music?” Lenora blurted out.
“Closer. But any bird can sing,” he called out.
Things weren’t clicking for Callam. How was ammonia baking powder related to music? Not in a way that made sense.
Think.
The shells, the instruments covered in…
Callam gave their teacher’s back a long look–the eccentric man had nearly made it to the room’s secret entrance, yet nothing about him hinted at the terrible play on words he’d set up.
Dust off your instruments? The Sisters had said that often, when telling the chapelward to go tinning. But to what extent did it apply here? Were they to play a symphony?
Couldn’t be. The chaos of the cards flying everywhere. The broken drum and flute. The fact that ammonia, in large amounts, could kill a man.
Poison. Broken music. What type of noise was poison to the ear?
“Cacophonies. They are the second makings of man, aren’t they?”
Turning, Oledin exclaimed, “A brain among my students. Excellent. Do tell, why did the dust fall?” Rarely had Callam seen someone smile so broadly.
He ground his teeth. This answer, at least, was easy. Easy… and frustrating. No streetwise talent needed–he knew he was on the right track.
“You set us up to fail. The pain was all part of the process.”
“Is that so?”
Callam took to rubbing his Seedling’s scar as he sorted his thoughts. “I’d wager you never thought we’d solve any part of the puzzle in the first class, did you?
“Oh?”
“The pain, the dust, the scribbled answer on the board. It was just a ploy to push us to inspect our surroundings. Had we banged on the instruments after listening to the shells, we’d have solved the puzzle.”
“Then why am I here? And why are you?” The strange man adapted a leisurely pace, walking back and forth between the stocking-room’s far shelves. He stopped to investigate a jar of aged plums.
Lenora spoke up this time. “Tower puzzles rarely have a single solve, do they?”
“I’ll have to cancel my trip to Cardica!” the man cooed to no-one in particular. Only after he began to scale the staircase in the hidden entrance did Callam realize the professor was talking to his plant. Speaking up, the man added. “Wednesday, at noon. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve found. And remember, fear anything long enough, and it becomes loud.”
“An ominous man, him.” The chef had returned, a pot floating overhead. “Always loved those silly stanzas, bless his heart. Now get. I’ve meals to make and you’ve already made a mess of the floor.”
The flour had somehow covered everything during the conversation. In contrasted the dark, stone floor,
“Borrow you for a minute?” Callam asked, grabbing Lenora's arm as they left the kitchens. Olenid’s words resonated in his head. Nerves gnawed at his stomach. How long had it been since he’d confided in another? But he needed help here.
He’d have to learn to trust, or he’d fail. “There is something I need to show you.”
~~~
“Mm.” Lenora shook her head, one hand cupping her chin, the other hidden under the common room’s table. Producing a five of hearts, she placed it on the commoner’s stack of the game of Seeker’s talent they were playing.
At once the hearts melded together and attacked Callam’s king. “They’d quell to keep,” she repeated, low enough that the ensuing explosion of color and noise masked her voice. “What do you think it means?”
“It has something to do with my grimoire.” He sighed. When she’d seen the urgency on his face earlier, she’d suggested they take a walk outside. He’d brought her here instead, knowing sound covered secrecy better than silence ever could. “I didn’t tell the full truth earlier. Irem warned me to be careful. Said my binding was unusual enough to attract attention.”
“I was there, Callam,” Lenora whispered softly. Then her eyes lost their intensity and she seemed to struggle to hold his gaze. “But us four-stars all invite envy, don’t we? These are just the cards we’ve been dealt.”
“Not like this.” Collecting the royals and commoners, he began shuffling. “Irem can think what she wants, but the chapter’s warning lends her words weight. I’d be a fool to wait until I’ve deciphered each line–I need to move faster now. Get stronger today.”
Stand tall where others falter.
“Will you help?” Crow’s foot, but he hated asking. Yet what choice did he have?
He was already in the dark about so much: his Seedling, his mother’s plight, and his own unusual magic. For those mysteries he had to sit around, hoping they’d unravel themselves.
No. In this he would not wait. It was time to act–to prove he belonged.
For that, he needed a team. He needed to climb.