The final approach to the Academy is uneventful. The road is relatively clear, and the nearing goal has reinvigorated me. I know it is a momentary boost, but I will take what I can get.
The Academy seems churned by giant hands, the walls mangled, but the damage seems largely superficial. It is built upon a stone pillar that rises out of the Well, a pillar erected by Select of several centuries past. They christened the well Curiosity’s Fount and set to work with their experiments. I wonder at their ambition, to create a residence in the center of the source of their power. Rumors say they attempted even greater things in their desire to live as near the magic as possible.
As is well known, the laboratory and research center they established evolved into the hub of the Wheel and modern-day Jalseion; now, it is an isolated, empty edifice, stranded above a desolate canyon of no importance.
And I am certain that the Academy is empty. Nothing moves in the exposed rooms. I remember the cars and generators in the city, blown to pieces by the blast, whatever it was. Did men who could feel magic and manipulate magic also fill up and overload on magic?
“We’re almost there,” I say.
“Save your breath,” Calea bites back. She is on the ragged edge of exhaustion.
The entry arch held a vast wall of glass, in which had been set a number of doors. The ground is covered in shards now. I am glad for my shoes. It is as if we are entering some vast cave, dark and forbidding. The Academy is a pensive structure. Within, the rooms are close and cluttered, most cut off from sunlight and illuminated by the building’s generator, which is certainly destroyed. Luckily, Calea’s labs are on the basement floor, which is built into the rock, in the outer ring, since her experiments deal with the actual substance of magic. This places her both closer to the source and deeper into the rock of the pillar. This last is for protection if something were to go wrong with her experiments.
I stop in the dark passage. Something is moving.
“What are you doing?” Calea demands. “You’re not going to give out on me.”
I squeeze her to quiet her, straining my ears. I hear it again, a rustling, but no voices. I thought I heard voices the first time. I turn aside, into the nearest room, one with walls taken off. Calea begins to protest, but I set her down in the corner with a firm command: “Don’t make a sound.” Her face is an entire diatribe, but she is silent.
I wait. After a time, Calea begins to speak, but I cut her off. Ten minutes pass. The structure creaks. Wind whispers over the rooms. I am not satisfied.
I have been examining the room. It is an office, with two walls lined with shelves. The books are oddly disordered. Whole sections are untouched, while others lie in disarray across the floor. I cannot see it from where I am, but some form waits behind the desk. I stand, holding one of my knives. I’m certain the pistol is worthless now, its magic charges overloaded. I approach.
The form is a corpse. Another familiar face, a bookworm by the name of Julian. I used to see him in the common room, occasionally. His body is marred by scratches and bruises, but it is uncovered, so there is no evidence of what caused his injuries. It could mean a lot of things, probably, but to my heightened senses, it means this: he died face first and someone turned him over.
“Let’s get this done,” I say. I lift Calea in my arms. She does not protest much.
“What do you think–?”
“I’m carrying you. I’d like you to walk on your own two feet as soon as possible.”
The floor seems uncertain beneath me. The Academy stands, but the foundation has shifted beneath it, somehow. All the well-defined passages have been shaken.
The door to Calea’s labs is open. I stop at a distance and set her down in the frame of a neighboring door. She does not ask what I am doing. She senses it too.
I have a knife in each hand, now, and a third in my belt. After the encounter with mercenaries three years ago, I taught myself how to hit a target at thirty feet. A Select with a grudge is likely to snuff me out without getting close, but I’ll make him hurt.
I step into the room, silently, listening. Muffled voices slip in from the connected room. Stepping carefully, I cross to the next door. I peer around. Two men in dark uniforms wait at the door to Calea’s storage room. They are exchanging words quietly and looking in. Military. A third and fourth exit from storage, one holding a cylinder between his thumb and forefinger for the others to see. Calea’s newest battery. He places it in a padded container with a dozen others of various sizes.
It is time for me to go. I need to return to Calea and hide her.
I step into the room. “I can’t let you leave with those.”
They raise their guns at me. I walk toward them. The guns are useless. I think they are useless. “Those don’t belong to you.”
“We outnumber you. Leave us be, and you’ll live.”
“As I see it, you may very well be responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, of Jalseians. I’ll take my chances.”
“This isn’t your fight.”
I laugh. He doesn’t know how wrong he is. I sold my life to Calea. It was my choice. I don’t back down from a choice.
“You have ten seconds,” I say.
“We’ll shoot.”
“You’re Select. Thyrion wouldn’t send less. And I’m still living. You’re powerless. Five seconds.”
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