To live or die at loreli.., p.34
To Live Or Die At Lorelight Academy, page 34
“No,” I say, though I can’t speak out loud.
I turn to the other me, who looks back with equally dismayed eyes.
We then turn to notice that we aren’t quite as close to the cliff as we thought. We aren’t standing where we normally do.
There is another one of…us.
Another me.
Standing on the cliff right where he’s supposed to be standing.
The second William and I watch this third William as he stares out into the sea, watching the ship fall apart. Once it is done, we approach him, and he looks at us the same way the second William looked at me.
There are three of us now.
And again, time seems to move backward.
When it resumes again, the three of us notice we are further away from the cliff than we thought, and a fourth William stands alone to watch his parents die. We join him, and we watch every time.
No. No, please, make it stop.
My heart can’t take it anymore.
Please.
Please.
“Will.”
No, please, I can’t watch her tie them together again. It’s too sad. It’s too sad to see them love each other so much. It’s too sad. Please. Not again.
“Will.”
And again time moves backward, and resumes again.
“Will!”
And—
My eyes slam open, and I gasp out in trembling surprise.
It’s William.
No—no, it’s not William.
It’s…it’s Farah.
I’m…
I’m in the Lounge.
I’m awake. I was having a nightmare.
“You were…Will, you were…you sounded…Will, you were anguished,” Farah tells me.
She’s dressed and her hair is wet from a shower in the kitchen. She’s sitting on the couch next to me, her hand placed in firm, platonic support on my shoulder.
“I had to wake you up, Will, you were…are you okay?” Farah says, biting her lip. I notice tears rimmed around her eyes. “You were just…you were crying out for your mom and dad, and you sounded so sad, and…and I couldn’t…I…I had to wake you up.”
“Thanks. I don’t know if I ever would have.”
Farah blinks.
“Ever would have what?”
I’m still half asleep, maybe. I’m not sure. When we wake up, the solidity of dreams and nightmares lingers for a bit.
Maybe that’s why.
“Ever wake up,” I answer her, even though I’m awake enough to realize how foolish it sounds now.
The feeling is there, though.
The lounge is a bit of a mess.
We left our things on the floor when we returned.
Philip is right near the couch, right where Farah and I could step on it, string pulled back, loaded, and ready to fire. Not exactly the safest way to stow a crossbow. Mitchell is in the bag.
Farah stands up and dries her hair with a towel. We “shower” with the same soap they use on the dishes. It’s a bit harsh, but it works. When it’s bunched up like this, and wet, her hair looks more red than orange. She twists the towel around it, drying it.
“There’s something else, Will,” Farah adds, and nods toward the window, where the magnetized crystals hold my wall of books still in place. “Sampson’s been muttering. I think he’s going to…speak soon.”
“Always a pleasure,” I grumble, and pull myself to my feet.
I stink from yesterday’s exertion.
“I’m gonna shower.”
I’m back in the lounge and drying my own hair when I hear the great voice in the sky clear his throat.
Sampson has another speech.
“I hope you see, now,” Sampson purrs, “the price of misunderestimating me.”
“Misunderestimating?” I turn to Farah, whispering as if we’re the audience in the theatre for which Sampson has once again marched to center stage.
“Absolutely not a word,” Farah confirms.
“And now, as our little deal comes to its inevitable conclusion, I urge you to…take a look around. Take a look within.”
Deal?
Farah and I glance at one another, thinking the same thing.
“Do you fear heights, Lord Regent?” Sampson asks.
This time, Farah and I stare at one another.
“I have heard you do. Likely, your knights in the skies have sent reports to confirm the completion of my research. But you cannot see it, Lord Regent. You cannot see them…wandering around.”
Sampson sounds almost gleeful. He says those last words—wandering around—describing the horrifying, mindless ways his infected roam. He stretches the words out like they’re the sweetest honey.
“Betrayal will be costly, Lord Regent, should you choose to pursue it,” Sampson says. I can almost imagine him casually examining his fingernails as he says it.
Whatever this deal is, whatever this relationship is, Sampson clearly thinks he has the upper hand. Thinks he has leverage. Nothing to fear.
Sampson is still talking.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice your little operation by the Fourth Petal gate. You don’t think this magic is warded against Scholars? Your forefathers trained us to fight against ourselves, Lord Regent. OR DID YOU FORGET THE ENTIRE PREMISE I APPROACHED YOU TO DISCUSS? REGARDLESS—I…DISPATCHED THAT GROUP. INVASIVE MITES…”
His voice rises in pitch and timbre, and a manic edge overtakes it.
Then Sampson takes a deep breath, and resumes.
“Do not take that as a breaking of our deal, by the way—I take it as an act of hostility, and responded as such. But we can move on, can’t we? Of course we can. I am…gracious. Gracious…gracious…”
He repeats the word a few times, enunciating each syllable.
“What a…juicy word. Gracious. I am gracious. I am a gracious king,” Sampson says, and laughs. “I can see why you want it so badly, Lord Regent. I was justified in dispatching them, Lord Regent. No more trespassers, please. NOTHING ESCAPES MY WATCHFUL EYE FROM ATOP THIS TOWER, LORD REGENT. NOTHING.”
Farah and I glance at each other.
Involuntarily, I swallow a lump in my throat.
“He’s in the tower,” Farah whispers, as if Sampson’s booming voice wouldn’t override her anyway. “That’s confirmation. He’s…”
Her eyes shine with a bright, angry fire, and her jaw clenches visibly.
“Fear not, Lord Regent,” Sampson purrs again. “You’ll get your army. Soon. And I’ll get mine.”
It is unclear if Sampson has established two-way communication with the Lord Regent outside Lorelight’s barrier, or if it is more of a ranting monologue and he doesn’t actually expect a response.
No, I revise mentally. This is no two-way communication. Just Sampson being…Sampson.
“We need to get to Albright,” Farah says under her breath, and turns to look at me, waiting for confirmation.
“We will,” I reassure her. “We’ll get what we can from the sphere and then—”
But Farah is already shaking her head.
“I don’t know if we have the time. I think we should move on Albright now.”
I blink.
Yoostie’s shape is one of the defining aesthetic achievements of Lorelight. The base two floors—which Farah and I have explored extensively—are solid square foundations. But, like everything at Lorelight, things quickly detach from typical reality.
Giant stone hands rest atop the second floor, their fingers grazing the rooftop, and a skeletal framework built in from that point supports the giant stone hands within the overall frame of the building. Cradled between those hands is a sphere, hollow and nine times the height of the first two floors. It’s meant to represent the human grasp on magic.
The Arboretum and Alchemical Garden, the Great Library, many Scholar and Archscholar studies and research areas, and the infamous Vault all lie on the several floors within the hollow walls of that sphere.
The plan was to “clear Yoostie,” move on to the tool library where I could hopelessly hunt for that damn saw thing, and work our way to Albright.
The plan was to go building to building, amassing resources, connecting back to previous bases through ice tunnels, and come to Albright to bring vengeance and justice to Sampson, and put an end to his “research.” And, though it seems to be solely my illusion, find a potential cure. On our way, we hope to come across Lulana Yin-Gata, and the Anastrophe.
But Farah is restless.
Outside the windows, the King Regent’s hippogriff knights charge the barriers, hoping to weaken it.
Farah feels the pressure of time.
I feel the pressure of magic, within and without.
“Are you…serious?” I ask. I laugh. “If he’s capable of doing this to the school, he’ll kill us or worse before we even reach the tower itself.”
“We’re ready,” she presses. “I can use this,” she reiterates, tapping the Shadow Mirror Beam around her neck. “Hide our way.”
I shake my head.
“Will the…door be unlocked?” I ask, but I immediately regret it. It gives credence to Farah’s notions.
“Will—who is the second-year student here?” Farah asks.
I open my mouth, then close it. So that’s her angle.
“You want revenge.”
“You don’t?” she spits at me, and for a brief moment, disgust like a sharp sword gleams on her face, stabbing me in the eyes.
“I do, I want justice, but I don’t want to…I don’t want to…”
I search for the words while Farah bites her lip and her tongue, holding back her venom.
“I don’t want to die on the way,” I admit, smiling sadly.
“If you do, you won’t be alive to regret it,” Farah says. “So I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Farah…what’s going on with you?”
“What’s going on with you?” she presses. “Did you forget why we’re here? Or did you want to build and build and build and get food and water and make a little life here in empty buildings and tunnels of ice?”
“No, I want to do something about this, and—”
“Oh, really?” she counters, getting in my face and then standing up from the couch to pace around the lounge.
Some books fell in the night, I’m not sure why. We’ve been messing with the shelves, and maybe they were off-balance. Maybe her feet on the carpet when she woke sent the books to the floor. I remember hearing the noise between dreams, before my nightmare.
She didn’t pick the books up. They lie on the floor, some open, some closed, some like massacred wounded, open and face down with pages bent and curled at an angle all morning.
“I’ll tell you what it seems like to me, Will,” she says in a dangerous, quiet voice. “It seems to me like you just want to live here forever. You want to live out our lives here. I think you want to get married to me before an audience of training sentries, and have our first dance to the tune of Sampson’s madness and the groaning outside. I think you’re content to just make a little life here.”
I blush.
Not because that’s what I want—it’s an absolutely unfair mischaracterization of how I feel. Still…she’s exposed a little corner of truth in it.
It’s not what I want, really. It’s not the majority. I don’t intend to build and build and build forever. Burta would want me to end it, so that’s what I want to do.
But…I keep putting it off. And a part of me has considered the thought before. Again—not the majority. But a little piece.
Falling asleep with Farah in my arms for a good long time, while we hide in our safest place.
It’s not the thing I want most.
Not nearly the way Farah is making it seem.
But it’s…
Enough to make me embarrassed.
Enough to make my face flush red.
“Despicable,” Farah spits at me. She scans the room, her eyes finding my crossbow on the ground.
“Can I take this with me?” she asks. “When I go to kill Sampson? You’re not gonna use it, right?”
I grind my teeth.
“No,” I tell her. “You can’t take it. I need it.”
One last attempt at peace. One last finger-curling grip around my confusion at this outburst.
“Farah, what’s gotten into you? Is it something Sampson said? I don’t know about you, but I found it to be the same idiot ravings. I don’t know if maybe you connected emotionally to something he—”
“Will!” Farah screams, and I fall quiet.
She’s panting.
Her eyes are bright with tears, but not sad tears. Frustrated tears. Angry tears.
Farah grabs the pack on the ground. It’s the one that contains our single spike—as well as all the usual supplies.
“Are you coming with me, or not?”
I ask myself deep down if I am.
But I can’t.
I don’t feel ready.
I shake my head.
Without another word, she leaves.
“I’m taking the sentries,” she says. “Surely you can rebuild your…Concentrate,” she adds, and takes the four rods and five of the shards left, leaving me with a single shard.
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again.
Farah doesn’t give me one last glance before she leaves the room.
“Where are you going to go?” I ask her, jogging to catch up.
“Grown a spine, huh?” she asks. “Decided to join me?” She sounds so superior. So angry. So…possessed.
There’s something wrong with Farah.
I ignored it for too long. Secrets held, an obviously traumatic childhood…the absolute, pure kindness she shows, and tries for…and the darkness like otherworldly, negative light that comes through.
“No,” I tell her. “But if you decide that you actually want revenge, and not suicide, I want to be able to rescue you.”
She scoffs.
“Albright Tower,” she says.
“That’s not what I mean. You’ll have to go place to place.”
“Yeah, well, I’m making my way to Albright Tower. Lulana Yin-Gata waited until the morning when she should have gone that night. I’m not going to make the same mistake she did.”
She opens her mouth to say more. Then she shuts her mouth. Stiffens her spine. Then turns, and goes.
She steps out into the ice tunnel. I hear the sound of the ice blowing away. At least she has the courtesy to close the tunnel behind her—though given her words earlier, it’s more meant as a “fuck you” to my reluctance to go.
“Not fair,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head in disbelief.
“She is crazy,” Burta’s voice says, her presence at my shoulder, at my back to reinforce me.
“Not crazy,” my grandfather sighs, his presence at my other shoulder, wistful. “There was something to her. Something you knew was buried in there. You didn’t figure it out in time. That’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t have the chance.”
“I know,” my grandfather soothes.
“So what now?” Burta asks.
Their presences fade.
Good question.
What now?
I want to go after her. To tell her what she’s doing is stupid and needless. Another thought occurs painfully late in the conversation—compromise. “We’ll do this and then that,” or, “I’ll go with you but at least let’s go to the Alchemical Garden or tool library first,” or something like that.
But I don’t.
“She might grow some sense,” Burta offers.
I walk over to the map table and follow the route from the Northwest Petal where we are, to the Southeast Petal where Albright Tower waits.
There’s Yoostie, conquered. At least partially.
There’s the tool library snuck next to it and behind it.
There are countless other buildings. Dormitories, mess halls, lecture annexes, and the Grand Tower which serves as the pin at the center of the pinwheel.
There’s a diagonal line for Farah to take directly from our location to Albright. The path has a few stretches of open campus, where a large enough horde could easily overwhelm—but there are side roads she could take, buildings she could slip in and out of…
Assuming those buildings won’t also overwhelm her.
Farah is, as far as I can tell, a competent student of magic. Against an open horde, the fire from her scrolls and other materials would give her a better chance than I would have. I like to move quickly and quietly. I like to create situations where I have the advantage and won’t get outnumbered.
Farah just might be able to brute-force her way to Albright.
But Lorelight is still larger than most towns I’ve seen.
At a dead sprint, pure diagonal, with no feral Infected or Infected Scholars to worry about, it would still take quite a while to cross from one end of Lorelight’s massive campus to the other. Students remain in the same petal for semesters at a time. A person is not meant to need to go from the far northwest to the low southeast in one trip, as far as I know.
Depending on the route Farah takes, I could catch up.
I don’t know how this ends, but I can’t imagine it working out successfully if Farah and I are separated.
My feelings from earlier still hold, though—I don’t know how I’d survive crossing the space between here and Albright, let alone getting whatever sort of revenge, justice, or cure I’m looking for.
The lounge is quiet.
A light rain begins to patter against the roof of the Lounge Annex, and somehow it makes everything even more quiet.
It feels like my first day at Lorelight.
Just me.
Back to being on my own.
I can re-categorize, now, though.
I can re-center.
I’m never quite alone. Not quite. Not when I’ve got Burta, and my grandfather.
The image of my parents drowning in the sea, and the bizarre nightmare from earlier flash through my mind, but I dismiss them.
I have Burta.
I have my grandfather.
I have Wilderness, and the rest of the spiders. Maybe I even have the dead spider in the jar. Maybe she knows how sorry I am, and wants to help me with this particular jar.
