The Chronicles of Faylon: Saahira | Chapter 23 (Patreon)

“Professor Lodovico is the worst,” Melony whined. They lingered in the sun between classes, far enough away from the hexlations auditorium that—hopefully—the professor couldn’t hear them. Though Saahira had her doubts.

The whisper of a smile touched Cyprus’s lips. He still seemed…off. “And why would that be?”

“He makes us practice all these words in class, and then study them. That’s backwards.” Melony’s voice still carried the heavy rasp from her faulty falcon’s eye brew. “We studied wind last night, but he made us use a dark word today.”

“A dark word conjugated with a wind word,” Cyprus corrected. “Besides, books can open a lot of doors, but experience is always the best teacher. Even if you had read further in, do you think you could have successfully broken the blinding hex?”

Melony furrowed her brow and dug her toe into the grass. “Maybe,” she grumbled.

“Hey, she might have,” Saahira said. She didn’t like the assumptive tone Cyprus was taking with Melony.

“Yeah. I was surprised, is all,” Melony added.

Cyprus’s expression darkened. “If surprise keeps you from performing well, then don’t expect to live long as a sorcerer.”

Melony looked down and dug her boot deeper into the grass. Now Saahira really didn’t care for Cyprus’s tone. She narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Mean?” Cyprus smirked. “I’m telling you the truth. Your enemy won’t give you a second chance if they catch you off guard. They’ll be counting on your inability to act.”

My enemy? Saahira studied Cyprus, trying to understand the tightness in his posture and the sharp smile that curved the corner of his mouth.

“Wait. Are there enemies here at the sanctum?” Melony’s head snapped up, and she grabbed Cyprus’s arm.

“Of course there are. That’s why it’s important to take every opportunity to practice when you can.” Cyprus’s gaze burned into Saahira’s.

The tiny hairs on Saahira’s arms stood up. There was so much that he wasn’t saying, and she struggled to scratch beneath the surface.

“Hang on. Is this another test I need to pass?” Melony asked in a panic.

“Eventually,” Cyprus said cryptically.

“Can I still run tomorrow night?” Melony wheezed. “You don’t understand. I’m losing my mind. I need to run—”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to attack you, Melony,” Saahira said.

The first warning bell rang, and Saahira glanced over her shoulder. She’d need to hustle across the courtyard to make it to necromancy on time. “I’ll see you both in fate and arcana.”

“Mm.” Cyprus nodded and turned toward the nearby enchantments classroom without another word.

Saahira chewed the inside of her lip as she started the walk toward the necromancy classroom. Melony followed her part of the way.

“Do you really think it’s okay for me to run tomorrow?” Melony whispered.

“Of course I do.” Saahira looked behind her, but Cyprus was already gone. “I think something just upset him.”

“Oh.” Melony brushed a hand through her dark, tousled hair. “Probably Leon.”

Saahira blinked. “What?”

 “You really didn’t notice?” Melony snorted. “As soon as Leon sat down, the king looked at him like a saw-toothed ursine protecting his cave. No one fights with a saw-toothed ursine—even therianthropes avoid them. Well, except for my uncle and two cousins who thought it would earn them the respect of our clan if they hunted one down—”

 The second warning bell rang. Saahira hadn’t realized that she’d stopped walking. She shook her head and waved to Melony. “I don’t want to be late, but you can tell me more about this later.”

“Yep! Bye!” Melony took off toward the demonology classroom, her swift form melting into a dark blur with inhuman speed.

Saahira set off in a jog to cross the rest of the way to the necromancy classroom. Lawrence hadn’t locked the door in his previous class like Professor Lodovico did, but her imagination spun with torturous ideas that were far worse for those who were tardy to his classroom. Like Ligach grabbing her and holding her in place. Or a whole legion of undead hovering around her desk for the entirety of class.

Her jog broke into a run.

The final bell sounded just as Saahira closed the door behind her. She scooped her braid over her shoulder, letting the cold room air sap the heat from the back of her neck. Nia waved her down from the corner desk she’d taken during the class before, the glintsphere softly illuminating her face.

“Come now, don’t dally. Take your seat.” Professor Lawrence tapped his cane three times on the floor. His voice was like horseshoes on gravel. “The only thing you want to be late for is death.”

Saahira moved to her desk and set her satchel on the floor. It was impressive to see that the same, nearly quenched candles fought to keep any semblance of light in the room. They were composed of little more than flickering wicks and the stands that supported them. She retrieved her book, notes, ink, quill, and the bottled light they’d made together while practicing the falcon’s eye. With a quick shake of her wrist, her desk suddenly had plenty of light to work with. A glance around the classroom proved that the other students were prepared this time, some with glintspheres, some with bottled light, and two with oil lamps.

“Seems I’ve only lost three of you,” Lawrence grumbled. “I think that’s a new record.”

Once Saahira’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it was easier to see the detailed faces of her peers in their own sources of light. Eland and Lily were notably absent. There was an empty desk between Arthur and Dimitri, but she couldn’t remember who’d occupied it before.

 “Ligach will take attendance for me today.” Lawrence gestured behind him. Ligach sat at the professor’s desk, quill poised between bony fingers. “Start us off, Centofanti. No useless whining, if you would be so kind.”

Dimitri scowled. “Dimitri Centofanti.”

Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at Ligach. The skeleton’s bony hand dipped the quill in ink, then moved carefully over the parchment. Once finished, two black sockets swirling with green clouds looked up at Lawrence. Despite the lack of flesh or muscle, the gesture still felt expectant.

“Raising our hands already? During role call?” Lawrence leaned his weight against his cane, making his back even more crooked, and huffed a sigh. “What?”

Arthur lowered his arm with a frown. “Can Ligach hear our names?”

“Did you miss the first class, boy?” Lawrence asked bitterly. “He doesn’t have eardrums or a brain to recognize and record the information. Lucky for him, he can’t hear your foolish questions, either.”

“So you’re controlling him right now?” Arthur pressed.

“Of course I am.”

“Then why have him do it?”

Professor Lawrence chuckled, but his eyes remained cold and hard. “Because he enjoys it. Don’t you Ligach?”

Ligach nodded.

“Anything else, boy?” Lawrence growled.

Arthur sank back into his seat and shook his head.

Attendance continued.

The fear Saahira had experienced during their first class still plucked at the edges of her mind, but curiosity kept it at bay. If Ligach didn’t have a brain to send commands to, then how did Professor Lawrence puppet the skeleton in such an intricate manner? It was impressive how carefully Ligach moved his hand as each name was called. He deftly dipped the quill in the ink bottle as if… Can the professor see through Ligach’s eyes?

Once everyone had announced their attendance, Lawrence took the parchment from Ligach and gave it a once-over.

“Now, I believe what Karstensen was trying to ask was the practical application of having Ligach take your names down.” Lawrence turned the list toward the class. The single oil lamp on his desk was enough to show the skeleton’s delicate penmanship. Even from the back row, Saahira’s name was perfectly legible on the bottom of the document. “Imagine a fresh corpse reanimated and enchanted to appear as if it’s still alive. One that can hear, see, and remember information for a time. What could you do with that, Karstensen?”

Arthur shrank deeper into his seat. “Teach a class,” he said quietly.

Lawrence frowned, and one haggard tooth caught his lower lip. “Spy, Karstensen! Act as a guard! Track a target! Be a decoy! Obfuscate!” He rapped his cane against the floor. The class flinched. “Necromancers are often called on by the court for their subtlety and range of abilities. What, Centofanti?”

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “In our last lesson, you said no one respects the dead more than necromancers. Yet, in your example here, a ‘fresh corpse’ would imply that you took their life. Then, you force the corpse to forward underhanded goals.”

Lawrence’s cackle reverberated against the classroom walls. The sound was like shattering glass, made more frightening by Ligach suddenly mirroring the movements. His skeletal jaw dropped wide open, and he pitched forward with silent laughter. Dimitri shifted in his seat and leaned back, staring at the pair as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the sanctum.

For once, Saahira shared Dimitri’s sentiments.

Professor Lawrence slowly caught his breath and wiped his face on the back of one black sleeve. Ligach copied him, bringing a bleached wrist bone to dab at dry cheeks.

“Oh, you naïve little fool. Don’t you wish to follow in your father’s footsteps? Hm?” An errant tear escaped the corner of Lawrence’s eye and sank into one of his infinite wrinkles. “You will never succeed in any of the arts if you believe your future employer will have nothing but good intentions.”

Dimitri’s face blanched. “My father is a good man—”

“Your father is a capable man. You should already know the difference,” Lawrence interrupted. He grunted and returned his white irises to the rest of the students. “The enemies of your employer are not to be revered, respected, or humanized. Only dealt with.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the class. Saahira noticed Nia bowing her head over her notes. The glintsphere’s light painted shadows inside of Nia’s hardened stare and thin frown, and she flexed her fingers around her quill.

“You say that as if we have no agency,” Nia said to her parchment. The class turned to look at her.

“Folayan, is it?” Lawrence cocked his head to the side, and his unnerving smile returned. “What if your employer is your queen? If your work is your destiny?” His tone was lathered in challenge. “Wasn’t Khahla Kingdom absorbed into Níníọlá thanks to the assistance of a necromancer hired by your mother?”

Nia snapped to attention, and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, girl.” Lawrence sighed. “Gods’ sake, so many of you look as if you’re ready to lose your breakfasts. Necromancy is not all insidious plans and nefarious tactics. If it were, the sanctum would not teach you how to wield it.” He balanced himself between his cane and the desk with a hand resting on both. Saahira wondered how long it had been since the professor had stood up straight.

“Many necromancers assist villages and cities in more…agreeable…positions,” Lawrence continued, “like ensuring that troubled souls have moved beyond the wall, resurrecting the deceased to resolve last wills, or taking care of sorcerers who threaten the livelihood of their lands. A few more teach.” The word sounded sour when Professor Lawrence said it, and he shot a glare at Arthur. “However, the moral compass—as it were—of a necromancer is always spinning. You may stay and learn the facets of this art, or you can leave and turn a blind eye to it.”

No one raised their hands or said a word. It was too little too late. But Lawrence’s blatant declarations made Saahira think more about Cyprus and his father. Cyprus had already advanced in necromancy, but, unlike Dimitri, it didn’t seem like he wanted to follow Micahel’s footsteps.

How did Cyprus imagine his future?

The sole of a shoe squeaked against the floor, and someone coughed.

“Ligach. Get the box,” Professor Lawrence growled.

Ligach stood from the chair and shuffled to the left side of the desk. Bending down, he lifted a large wooden crate from the darkness, his bones creaking beneath the weight. Then he shuffled forward to Arthur’s desk. A boned hand reached inside the crate, reappeared, then dropped something wriggling on Arthur’s notes.

“Gods above,” Arthur hissed.

“It’s just a finger, Karstensen,” Lawrence snapped.

“It’s moving,” Arthur said, lifting the forefinger by the joint. Saahira could make out its writhing shadow in his bottled light. Her stomach turned.

“Astute observation, Arthur. Now tell me, why is it moving?”

Arthur shook his head and looked away from the severed finger in his hand.

Lawrence looked to the only raised arm in the room. “Yes, you? Lother or somewhat?”

Alexis dropped her arm. “Lothaire. It’s moving because you filled it with essence.”

“Glad you aren’t all hopeless,” Lawrence said. Ligach continued to shuffle around the classroom, dropping a squirming digit on each of their desks. “Remember, essence separates from souls at death. There’s no soul attached to those fingers anymore.”

Ligach moved on to Nia’s desk. When the finger thumped to its surface, a high-pitched, strained noise sounded in Nia’s throat.

Saahira was next. She suddenly felt dizzy as Ligach approached. The dim candles and bottled light cast macabre shadows over the skeleton’s face, ribs, and spine as he reached into the box, procured a finger, then dropped it on her desk. It squirmed over her notes and bumped into her ink. The knuckle clenched and rolled to the side, putting the red, manicured nail near the glowing bottle.

A woman’s finger.

I can’t… I can’t do this… Every nerve in Saahira’s body quivered in horror. Her knotted stomach leaped into her throat, and she swallowed back the rising bile.

-Stay, Saahira. It cannot harm you.-

Why? Why stay?

-Such knowledge will protect you.-

The choir’s soothing warmth stroked her skin and calmed her stomach. She swallowed again and slowed her breathing. Protect me from what?

Silence. The nail tapped against Saahira’s bottled light.

Nia shot from her desk and rushed to the door. A quick flash of light blinded the classroom as she pushed outside. Saahira caught sight of Nia dropping to her knees and vomiting before the door closed again.

“Anyone else need to leave?” Lawrence asked.

-It will not harm you,- the choir repeated.

Saahira clung to the choir’s warmth and reached forward, her entire arm numb. She lifted the finger just above the bone jutting from its end and pinched the grey skin. It curled as if beckoning her closer. A shudder ran through her, and terror threatened to quash the fragile veil of comfort. She fought it back.

I drank frog livers. I can hold a wiggling finger, she thought dryly.

“Very well. First things first. You’re going to close your eyes and feel out the essence that I’ve focused into those fingers.” Lawrence pointed to the writhing digit in Dimitri’s hand. “This is a lot different than calling on your energy. Essence is a force outside of yourself. It feels stiff. Like pressing against a wall that isn’t there.”

“Professor, just how do we reach outside of ourselves?” Severine Seyrès, a flügel of few words, asked. Thanks to her dark wings and hair, it was difficult to perceive her in the dark despite her bottled light.

“Just like you reach inside yourself.” Lawrence chided. “With your mind, girl. Now close your eyes, relax, and try.”

Despite Saahira’s discomfort with losing sight of the finger, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Thankfully, the severed fingers didn’t smell like anything, though the autonomous movement made it difficult to relax or concentrate.

Another rush of warmth filled her chest and trickled down her throat. The choir wasn’t speaking, but they were still watching. Waiting.

They’re always watching.

Saahira’s mind drifted just a little outward until a curious sensation stopped it. Like someone had moved in front of her and held their hands against her chest. Professor Lawrence’s description of the feeling was perfect.

The finger flailed in her hand, and she had to tighten her grip. Her nails bit into the skin, and she winced.

“From the looks of it, you can all feel it. Good. That’s the easy part—I didn’t say you could open your eyes, Centofanti. Alright, now. This time, you will call on your energy, and you’ll push the essence out of the finger.”

Saahira sighed. Did she embarrass herself in front of the class and admit that she still couldn’t reliably call on her energy? I think I’d rather die.

 The struggle returned to coaxing the energy from herself. Just as it had before, it refused to come. She tried softly petting her braid with her free hand, imitating Nia’s brush strokes that morning. Nothing. She let her thoughts wander to her exploits the night prior, even going so far as to trace the tips of her fingers over the inside of her thigh beneath her desk. For a few breathless moments, she wandered a few inches higher. The classroom was black as night outside of the students’ lights.

But the wiggling finger was a constant, morbid distraction, reminding her that she held a piece of a dead woman’s body in her hand. She extinguished the thought and released her legs.

It can’t hurt me, she parroted to herself. It’s just Professor Lawrence’s magic.

She took another deep breath and centered her thoughts around the essence housed inside the finger. With a gentle extension of her mind, three words formed in her thoughts, each one resolving with a beat of her heart.

I need you.

The slight threads of energy she’d summoned earlier wove their way through her chest and shoulders. They still felt as weak and fragile as a newborn, but she coaxed them forward anyway. She guided them down her arms, into her hands, and pressed them up against the essence within the curling finger.

A sharp sting in Saahira’s hand forced her eyes open, and the delicate wisps of her energy vanished. The red nail dug wildly into Saahira’s palm, carving layers of skin backward and drawing a thin line of blood. She yelped and dropped the wretched thing to her desk, where it squirmed and writhed like a worm on a fishing hook.

You said it couldn’t hurt me! Saahira groused.

Lawrence turned his leathery face toward her and chuckled. “As you can see, essence fights back when threatened. You’ll have to overpower it with your energy.”

Severine hissed. “It’s digging into my arm!”

Lawrence shrugged. “Imagine what it could do with the rest of its body attached.”

“We’re supposed to do this while it attacks us?” Dimitri asked, incredulous.

“That’s the idea, Centofanti.”

While Saahira wasn’t thrilled to fight a scrambling, dismembered finger, there was some comfort in the rest of her classmates struggling just as much. With a sigh, her eyes flickered to the door, and she frowned. Nia hadn’t returned. The notes, quill, ink, and illuminated glintsphere still waited for her at her desk, and the finger curled as if calling her back.

As if Lawrence read Saahira’s mind, he nodded to Ligach, who shambled to the back of the classroom with his box, bones rattling all the way. He lifted the finger from Nia’s desk and tossed it back in.

Half an hour passed before Arthur, coated in a thin sheen of sweat, raised his hand. “I think I did it.”

Jealous eyes turned on the half-elf as Professor Lawrence hobbled forward to examine the unmoving digit in Arthur’s palm. “Well done, Karstensen.” Lawrence swept an arm over Arthur’s desk and murmured an unintelligible string of words. “Now do it again.”

Arthur balked at the reanimated finger.

“Would you prefer to try two at once, Karstensen?” Lawrence asked. “Or perhaps a whole hand?”

Arthur’s lips drew into a thin, sharp line, and he shook his head.

“The first success is dumb luck, boy. True mastery requires repetition.” Lawrence tapped his cane to accentuate each word. “Again.”

By the time the bell signaled the end of class, Severine was the only other successful student. Fatigue weighed down Saahira’s limbs and mind, and, even with the frigid temperature in the room, sweat dampened her throat and dress.

“Read the first chapter on essence before we meet next,” Lawrence said while Ligach slowly collected the fingers. “You will be tested, and your score will determine your marks for the day. Wave goodbye, Ligach.”

Ligach lifted one hand from the crate and waved. Then he returned to his duty.

Saahira gathered her things and looked at the messy desk beside her. Would Nia come back for them?

The answer came shortly after the first person left the classroom. Nia rushed through the darkness to her desk and shoved everything inside her satchel without her usual sense of order.

“Nia?” Saahira called softly.

Nia returned the glintsphere to its box and silently set it on Saahira’s desk. Her normally sun-kissed bronze face had turned a sickly grey taupe, and her eyes were red and puffy.

Asking if Nia was alright would have been ridiculous. It didn’t take a sorcerer to see that she wasn’t. “Can I do anything?” Saahira asked instead.

Nia shook her head and sniffed. Then she turned away and strode out the door without saying goodbye.

With one final look at Lawrence and Ligach, Saahira lifted her satchel and chased after her friend.