The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 (19 page)

Then he looked down at Aorja. She was so still that she might have been dead. Tiny, barely visible wisps of smoke rose off her body, most likely from the burst of electricity that Mom had hit her with. She obviously wasn't dead—Mom wasn't a killer—but Darek doubted she would awake for a very long time.

He then looked at Jiku. His old friend was lying back in his bed now, looking worn out from the excitement of the past ten or fifteen minutes.

“Well, what do you think?” said Darek.

Jiku didn't look at him. “I think Aorja should be punished to the fullest extent of the Academy's law. In other words, what I just said a few minutes ago.”

Darek nodded, but somehow he found it hard to agree with. The pain of Aorja's betrayal did not seem to have hit him yet, at least not in the same way that Jiku had been hit. That wasn't very strange, as over the years, Darek had learned that he did not seem to handle trauma the same way as everyone else.

“What do you think?” said Jiku, looking at Darek. “Do you think she deserves to be expelled for good? Or better yet, shipped off to some miserable prison somewhere to rot for the rest of her sorry life?”

Darek bit his lower lip. “I think … I will leave that up to the Magical Superior and the teachers.”

Jiku sighed. He looked much older now than he had before. “You're right. Still, as a Grinfian, I can't just sit by and let this kind of injustice be swept under the rug.”

“It won't be,” Darek said. “The Magical Superior is a fair but just headmaster. He won't let Aorja get away with this.”

“Let us hope so, Darek,” said Jiku. “Now if you will excuse me, I must rest. All of the tension has worn me out, not including the fact that I'm still recovering from the explosion.”

Darek yawned. “I would like to join you, but someone has to keep an eye on Aorja until the rest of the teachers get here.”

“Very well,” said Jiku. “We can talk more later, after I've rested up a bit.”

With that, Jiku closed his eyes and sank deeper into his pillow and mattress. Darek wished he still had his pillow, but all that was left of it was a small pile of ashes on the floor near his bed and he certainly couldn't rest his head on that.

So he kept his eyes on Aorja, looking at her prone body until he heard Mom succeed in opening the door. Then he looked away as Eyurna, Noharf, Junaz, and the rest of the North Academy faculty entered and took Aorja away. He would rest like Jiku and then, later on, if he was feeling better, he would try to see Aorja one last time before her sentence was handed to her, whatever it was going to be.

Chapter Twelve

D
urima had never liked Zamis, the Ghostly God's island. It was partly due to the bad memories she associated with the place, as the Ghostly God had punished her here many times, but it was also due to the strange nature of the island itself.

Zamis—which was located somewhere in the southern seas, but where, Durima didn't know, as its location seemed to change every day—was not very large. It only seemed big because of the thick jungle that towered over her. The jungle reminded her of the jungle on Ikadori Island, the domain of the Loner God, which she had only visited once but which had left a strong impression on her due to its eerie silence.

But unlike Ikadori Island, the jungle here was never silent. There was always the sound of animals rustling in the trees, insects buzzing in the air, and the wind blowing through the leaves. Sometimes it would rain heavily for days on end and then abruptly stop, leaving the jungle even stickier than normal.

Exactly what kind of creatures lived on Zamis, Durima didn't know. She had never taken the opportunity to explore it, mostly because the Ghostly God kept her too busy to even think about doing that kind of exploration. Nonetheless, whenever she came back to visit, Durima would sometimes catch glimpses of yellow monkey-like creatures in the treetops, but they always vanished the moment she tried to focus on them.

There wasn't much in the way of what mortals might call 'civilization' here. A rough path—largely cut out by Durima and Gujak to make it easier for them to reach the beach—led from the southern beach to the center of the island, but beyond that, it was obvious that no mortal had ever set foot here, or would ever set foot here. The island was ruled by the Ghostly God, but only in theory. In practice, nature ruled with an iron fist.

Now there was a reason Durima was thinking about all of this, even though none of it was new information to her. She and Gujak had arrived on Zamis about ten minutes ago, landing in the wide clearing in the middle of the jungle where the Ghostly God lived. She was thinking about this in order to distract her mind from thinking about what the Ghostly God was going to do to her and Gujak once he found out about their failure.

Of course, it was harder to distract her mind from such gloomy thoughts when she and Gujak now stood on the front porch of the Ghostly God's mansion. It was a two-story building, with a broken window on the first floor next to the front door. The roof was missing several shingles and the front door was kept closed only by a simple, rusted lock that never really worked anyway.

The mansion was perhaps the strangest feature on Zamis. How old it was, who built it, and why, Durima didn't know. It certainly didn't look like something built by a katabans or a god. It reminded Durima of the massive mansions in the Northern Isles, the ones some mortals lived in, but why a building either built by or based on something mortals had made existed in the southern seas, of all places, she didn't know.

Master never thought it important to tell us about that,
Durima thought, watching as Gujak undid the latch on the front door.
He never tells us anything unless it's directly relevant to whatever job he's given us.

A flash of blue light appeared out of the corner of Durima's eye. She looked up and saw that the westernmost window on the second story was glowing. That was the Ghostly God's room, which meant that he was indeed here and not anywhere else.

Of course Master is here,
Durima thought with a scowl as Gujak opened the front door and walked inside.
Master is hardly what I'd call a socialite. He doesn't even socialize with his fellow gods.

Durima followed Gujak into the mansion, but only reluctantly. While the outside was warm and muggy, inside the mansion, it was freezing and crisp, like the Great Berg, although not quite as cold.

The foyer they had entered looked much as it always had. Torn, graying curtains hung on the windows, while a moth-eaten carpet was spread out on the floor before them. Empty painting frames hung on the walls, while an equally empty stone podium stood in the center. There must have been a statue on it at some point, but what happened to the statue was another mystery Durima did not have the answer to.

Durima continued following Gujak, who was now climbing up the steep staircase that led to the second floor. The steps creaked and groaned under their feet, a familiar sound that Durima had heard many times over the years. Sometimes she thought she heard the steps actually whispering under her feet, but she dismissed it as her fear making her hear things that weren't there.

When they reached the top of the steps, they turned to the left and began walking down the long hallway all the way to the end. A door, looking as withered and beaten as the front door, stood at the end of the hall. Flashes of blue light shone underneath it, making Durima briefly wonder what the Ghostly God was up to until she realized that that was none of her business.

Besides, whatever it is, it is probably gruesome and nightmarish,
Durima thought as Gujak fumbled with this door's latch, just like with the front door.

That may have seemed harsh, but it was true. The Ghostly God spent much of his time studying the spirits of the far gone. Although he was the God of Ghosts and Mist, he always said that what lay beyond the veil of death was a mystery even to him. Hence why he spent so much time studying ghosts and spirits and the concept of the afterlife in general. For whatever reason, he wanted to know what lay beyond death.

In that respect, I guess he's no different from the rest of us,
Durima thought.
Maybe that's why he wanted us to find Braim Kotogs' grave. Perhaps he thought it might hold the answers he is looking for.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Gujak said, “Okay. Got it,” and opened the door. Bracing herself for the Ghostly God's inevitable burst of anger at their failure, Durima went in after Gujak, her mind racing as she struggled to come up with any excuse to help mitigate Master's anger.

The room they had stepped into was very plain, although not entirely so. Coffins ran along the walls, almost like bookshelves, and like bookshelves, these coffins were packed tightly together. Those coffins usually contained the bodies of recently deceased mortals and katabans, a fact Durima had learned a while ago when she had seen the Ghostly God open one of them.

But that was not what had grabbed her attention. Instead, her attention was drawn to the hulking figure in the center of the room. He sat with his back to them, his head down like he was reading some kind of book. He didn't even seem to have heard them enter, but of course, he must have, as they hadn't been exactly silent.

“Durima, Gujak,” said the Ghostly God, his voice very quiet, though Durima and Gujak jumped to attention anyway. “You have returned later than I expected.”

Durima kept the trembling out of her voice as best as she could. “We apologize for our lateness, Master. We faced several unexpected issues at North Academy, including an automaton guardian.”

“Automaton?” said the Ghostly God, still without turning to face them. The sound of a book slamming shut followed that word. “Is my sister giving out her children to mortals now? I wonder what happened to the Mechanical Goddess I once knew, the one who would lure mortals into her body and then allow her siblings to feast on them? I suppose she must have died when she met that mortal prince from the north. Weakling.”

Durima was used to hearing the Ghostly God badmouth his siblings. He usually criticized his northern siblings due to their love of mortals, but he had choice words for his southern siblings as well. That made Durima wonder if the reason he was often alone had less to do with his disinterest in socializing and more to do with his rudeness towards the other gods.

“Not that it matters, one way or the other,” said the Ghostly God. “I don't care what my siblings do, as long as they do not get in my way. Did any of my siblings get in your way?”

“N-No, sir,” said Gujak, shaking his head. “We didn't face any opposition from any of the gods, whether northern or southern. It was mostly the mortal mages who got in our way. They didn't appreciate our breaking into their school and causing so much trouble.”

“Of course they wouldn't,” said the Ghostly God. “Anyway, I clearly should not ask if they captured you because Uron told me that they did. You two are very good at failing spectacularly at whatever I ask you to do.”

Durima bit her lower lip. The Ghostly God was always saying things like that. She didn't think he actually meant it, seeing as he hadn't fired them yet, but he always focused on their failures. In fact, Durima couldn't even remember the last time the Ghostly God had actually congratulated or thanked her or Gujak for doing a job well done.

“I assume you did not tell the mages anything of importance?” said the Ghostly God. “Uron tells me that you managed to avoid revealing my identity to the enemy.”

Durima could not help but feel a little proud about that. “Yes. We withstood their harsh interrogation techniques and—”

“It doesn't matter,” said the Ghostly God, waving one hand to silence her. “They caught my other servant, my spy within the school. She is a weakling who will probably tell them everything. Mortals tend to put self-preservation above everything else, which is why I rarely employ them.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Gujak. “Excuse me, Master, but I didn't know you had another servant in the school. I thought it was just me and Durima.”

The Ghostly God sighed. “Did you forget the part where I said that you two always fail? I had to employ a third servant to deal with any problems that might arise while you were trying to break in. Clearly, however, I made a mistake in trusting her, as she obviously did not deal with every possible problem that could affect your mission.”

“What does this mean, then, sir?” said Durima. She hastily added, “If I may ask.”

“It means that I will have to avoid hiring mortals again,” said the Ghostly God. “And it means that Skimif will likely be paying me a visit sometime soon. He will undoubtedly want to make sure I am not up to no good, as though I am a little child who needs to be looked after.”

The Ghostly God's words had a venomous tinge to them, which didn't surprise Durima. Any time Durima heard the gods talking about Skimif, they never sounded happy about him at all. Even if they didn't actually insult him, the tone they used was usually enough for Durima to guess how they felt about him.

“Are you still going to punish us?” Gujak asked in a breathless voice, like he was trying to get all of it out quickly. “Because Uron gave us a note you wrote that said you were going to punish us even if we succeeded, uh, sir.”

The Ghostly God did not move for a minute. “No. Not today.”

Gujak let out a huge sigh of relief. Durima wanted to join him, but she sensed that the Ghostly God was not happy about that, so she didn't.

“I cannot afford to have cripples working under me, not in this situation,” said the Ghostly God. “With that silly mortal woman out of the picture, I now only have you two buffoons and Uron. I must therefore be careful with how I treat you, lest I end up with no servants at all.”

Durima was so relieved that they were not going to be punished that she almost felt like jumping for joy. Then she remembered that the Ghostly God was putting off their punishment until later, which dampened her happiness somewhat.

“Speaking of Uron, sir,” said Gujak, whose voice shook with a kind of repressed happiness, like he also realized that the Ghostly God would not appreciate any overt displays of joy in his presence, “where is he? I thought for sure that he would be here when we returned.”