Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1) (3 page)

“Pleasure,” said Donovan, briefly shaking his hand.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Osmont, disappearing into the hallway.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Professor Cleary. “That was a big one. The Osi tribesmen would be freaking out, thinking that the world was about to end.”

“Who are they, sir?”

“Don’t mind me. I spend most of my time alone, studying prophecy, and have developed a habit of talking to myself.”

“Must be exciting,” said Donovan, clearing off a chair so that he could sit down.

Professor Cleary moved a few piles of paper onto the floor beside his desk so that he could see Donovan across the desk.

“Interesting ... yes, but rarely exciting. I’m actually quite a boring man, and despite all of these cultures predicting cataclysmic events, they rarely come true, but that’s not why we’re here.”

He pulled a small white box out of his desk and set it on top. Opening the lid, he withdrew a sphere, about the size of his palm, one half was jet black, the other a transparent milky white color.

“This is how we test everyone’s potential,” said Cleary, pointing at the sphere. “We have teams roaming the country all summer testing the sixteen year olds. I’m surprised that you slipped through the cracks, but according to Osmont, you know nothing about that.”

“Why do you go through such effort to test all those kids every summer? Wouldn’t it be easier to have the interested kids come here to be tested?”

“According to our records, it was instituted thousands of years ago. Tensions were high between the wizards and King Adwr at that time. Apparently his son had the Gift, but never received any training. One day, in a fit of anger, he lost control and horribly maimed himself. The Healers managed to repair the damage but the King decreed that it would never happen again. An accord was reached which mandated that we test every child of a certain age and provide them training in how to control their Gift. In return, the King granted Haven many freedoms which we hadn’t had before. I have a book about it around here somewhere, if you’re interested.”

He rolled the sphere across the desk. Donovan picked it up, and began rolling it between his palms. Almost immediately it began to faintly glow.

“Interesting,” said Cleary, scribbling something down on a scrap piece of paper in front of him.

“Is that good?” said Donovan, holding it still and peering through the transparent half of the sphere. He tried to figure out where the glow was coming from, but it seemed to emanate from the entire interior of the sphere.

“That depends upon how you look at it. There’s no doubt that you have the Gift, although it’s quite weak.”

He reached over and took the sphere from Donovan. He stared at it and it immediately burst into a bright light. He looked back at Donovan and the sphere went dark.

“I’ve never seen it react like that before. Normally it takes a few minutes before lighting when handled by a kid, and I’ve never seen it light, yet shine so dimly before. The test is usually cut and dry, it either brightly lights up or it doesn’t light at all. Let’s try it again.”

He passed it back across the desk and again it immediately shone with a faint light. They waited in silence for at least fifteen minutes, waiting for something to change, but nothing did.

“Strange,” said Cleary, leaning forward to study the sphere. “I want you to focus on the sphere and tune everything else out. Now pass it from one hand to the other.”

Donovan followed his instructions, but there were no changes to the sphere. He tossed it into the air and caught it again, set it on the other side of the desk, and Cleary even blocked it from his sight behind a book, yet it continued to faintly glow as long as he kept concentrating on it.

“I’ve never met someone untrained who could even light it without touching it, let alone when it’s blocked from his line of sight,” said Cleary. “I don’t know how to classify your results. Your power seems extremely weak, yet your control is extraordinary for someone untrained. I wonder if you’ve received unauthorized training in your Gift.”

Donovan sat there mutely, and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve got one more test to try,” said Cleary. “We never bother when we do our normal tests, but maybe you’ll surprise me. It’s really quite simple. Pick it up and keep it lit.”

“What’s different from last time?”

“I’m going to snuff it out.”

“What am I supposed to do?

“Follow your instincts.”

Donovan picked it up again, and stared across the desk at Professor Cleary. He felt a slight chill in the hand holding the sphere but continued to sit there calmly as if nothing had happened. Sweat slowly built up on Cleary’s brow before beginning to drip down his face. Donovan continued to relax and the sphere remained lit, albeit as faintly as before. Cleary let out a long exhale and leaned back in his chair.

“You are an interesting specimen,” said Cleary. “I’ve never seen something like it before. I need to do some research before I talk to the Headmaster.”

“Why? What happened?” asked Donovan, eyes widening in alarm.

“You managed to resist me. I may not be the most powerful wizard in the world, but I should have no difficulty with someone your age. The Gift is present at birth but doesn’t begin to grow until near adulthood, when it quickly reaches its full potential. Even then, it should take several years of training to do what you just did.”

He collected the sphere and placed it back in its case. Pulling a second piece of paper from his desk, he scribbled a series of almost illegible notes. Donovan studies a statuette sitting on a shelf beside the desk. The left half was made out of silver while the right was wood. The wooden half was clad in armor and held a sickle, while the other half was completely naked.

“Alright,” said Cleary, looking up from his notes. “Assuming the Headmaster lets you enroll, which I expect he will, then it’s mandatory for you to spend a year here learning to control your Gift, which is offered for free at Haven ...”

He continued his well-rehearsed speech, but Donovan wasn’t paying any attention. Stifling a yawn, he pinched his arm to try and stay awake after getting little sleep the night before.

“... In subsequent years you can apply to specialize in a variety of programs or continue on with a general education. Of course, certain programs require you to commit to the program for a number of years before you’re allowed to leave Haven, but you’ll have plenty of time to talk to people within the program before applying—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Donovan. “What specializations are offered?”

“Most people dream of becoming a War Wizard, combining the martial with the arcane, like the heroes of legend. Since so many people apply, the entrance requirements are the highest of all the programs. Otherwise you could become a Healer, Illusionist or Artificer. In rare cases, we find someone with a strong second sight who can become a Seer. You could even become the first Zerenist in the last thousand years.” He let out a squeaky laugh.

“What’s a Zerenist?”

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

“I’ll take your word on it. Can I go?” Donovan raised himself halfway out of his chair.

“Almost. I have a few more questions to ask, but they may take extra time in your case.”

“What are you implying?” asked Donovan, slumping back into his chair.

“Nothing. Let’s get started. Can you read?”

“I ... I don’t know,” said Donovan.

“Grab a piece of paper and read it to me.”

Donovan picked up a piece of paper at random and began reading it aloud in a deep, echoing language. “
Be split asunder, and the blood of the storm shall return to decide the world’s ultimate fate
.” The writing consisted of distinct blocky letters evenly spaced across the page.

“Very good, you speak Dwarvish,” said Cleary. “Try something in the common tongue.”

Not recognizing the common tongue from the other languages in front of him, he grabbed another sheet at random. This one contained an intricate, flowing script. He again began to read it aloud, however this language was deep and guttural. “
The blood of the Brother shall run true, and when it splits, so shall the world
.”

“Very funny,” said Cleary, pulling the paper from his hands and setting it back on the pile. “That’s not a bad impression of how people describe the Shem language, but there’s no way that you could speak it.”

Donovan sat there silently for a moment before responding with a laugh. “You got me. So what are all of these?” he asked, pointing at the piles of paper.

“I study prophecies and omen,” said Cleary, his face becoming alight with energy. “Despite what other people say, it’s an interesting field of study. You see, there are many Seers in the world, whose second sight is quite limited, but only a handful of true Prophets exist in each generation. The tricky part is separating the pretenders. The key,” he said leaning across the desk, “is to eliminate anything that actually makes sense. Real prophecies are always so obscure that it’s nearly impossible to interpret there meaning ahead of time. Like this one.” He rifled through one of the piles of paper which he’d moved onto the floor beside his desk, and handed Donovan a single sheet.

Donovan began to read. “
The return of the wind will signal the Father’s emergence back into the land of the living, and he shall remake it in his image lest his blood makes the essential sacrifice
.”

“You see what I mean,” said Cleary, letting out a squeaky laugh. “Utter nonsense. That’s why it very well could be true.” After a pause, he continued. “Back to the task at hand. At least we know that you can read the common tongue.”

The questions continued for several more minutes before Cleary finally concluded. “You’re proficient in arithmetic as well as reading and writing. You’ll have the option of enrolling in these classes or you can skip them. I’ll write this up for the Headmaster, but you’re free to go if you don’t have any more questions.”

“Thank you for doing this on such short notice,” said Donovan, shaking Professor Cleary’s hand and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

“Have fun?” asked Osmont, lounging against the wall down the hallway.

“Loads,” said Donovan.

“Good. We’re going for a ride.”

“G
et a move on,” said Finlay Byron, “that dung isn’t going to move itself.”

“Give me a break,” said Kort Byron, “it’s my last day.”

“And last chance to put in a day’s work,” said Kean Byron.

The three brothers stood in the middle of the pen, Kort and Kean were collecting the dung which had been deposited over the last week, while Finlay piled it in the rusty wheelbarrow. They all bore a resemblance, most people struggled to pinpoint its source, but it was something in the shape of the nose or chin.

Kort carried another pile over to his brother, and dumped it on the ground. He leaned his shovel against the fence and stretched, his back popped audibly in several places. He was tall and thin, having recently experienced a growth spurt. His features were striking, but not overly handsome. His thick forearms ended in calloused hands that spoke of the daily work on his family’s farm.

“If I keep this up, I’ll be crawling on my hands and knees all the way to Haven tomorrow,” said Kort.

“We’re trying to help you out,” said Finlay, giving him a playful shove, before going back to filling the wheelbarrow. “After today, you’ll no longer be competing with Kean and me for girls. We’re just trying to get you into shape.”

“Who’s going to want to be seen with you with those twigs that you call arms?” said Kean. “I’ll tell you who ... no one. Now hurry up. We have plans for you today.”

“You’d better watch your backs when I return, or I’ll turn you both into rodents,” said Kort, picking up his shovel and going back to work.

“No respect,” said Finlay. “After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you treat us.”

“Like what?”

“Remember Lysa,” said Kean, with a sly smile. “Eyes of a doe and a rump to match.”

“If I remember correctly, you were pawing that rump before the dance was even over.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re boring,” said Kean, helping Finlay finish filling the wheelbarrow. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, we’re just like animals, the alpha dog gets the bitch while the loyal ones gets stuck with a wife.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a wife,” said Kort.

“If you’re an old man,” said Finlay. “Come on, let’s spread this on the garden.”

Finlay opened the gate for them, while Kort pushed the wheelbarrow through. Kean, shovels resting on his shoulder, followed behind. They headed past the farmhouse, large and homely, but badly in need of new shutters on the windows and a fresh coat of paint, to the large garden behind. This was their mother’s domain.

Parking the wheelbarrow alongside, they began to spread the manure over a patch of freshly tilled soil, where they would be planting carrots the next day.

Ripe with sweat, Finlay paused what he was doing and looked at Kort. “The next time you talk to a girl, remember how you look and feel right now. You stink at everything, so don’t bother trying to show off.”

“But never tell her that she stinks,” said Kean, leaning on his shovel while Kort continued to work. “That would be the last thing that you ever get to say. Girls never stink, they perfume the air.”

“And they don’t sweat, they shimmer like a star.”

“Both of you are idiots,” said Kort, laughing.

“We’re still better than you,” said Kean, sticking out his tongue.

“Just keep telling yourselves that,” said Kort. “This time next year, you’ll be looking at the most successful bachelor in Blaine and the surrounding countryside.”

“Someone’s got a high opinion of themselves,” said Kean.

“You know what Dad always says,” said Finlay, “the tallest nail gets hammered first. Lucky for you, we’re going to check on the fence line next, so I’ll grab the sledge while you finish up here.”

“He’s joking, right?” asked Kort.

“When was the last time one of us laid our hands on you?” asked Kean in mock innocence.