Chapter 33: The Archon.
The pressure came as soon as the door opened. It was vast, and it pressed down on me from every direction at once. My marks flared beneath the sleeves without my permission. The Cradle and the Requiem stirred. I even thought I felt the egg pulse, once.
My knees almost buckled. Almost. I locked them in place and set my jaw. Ash had gone rigid beside me, her hand white on the hilt of her sword. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pressure vanished. The room beyond was not what I had expected.
The room was large, but not grand. It’s walls were the same stone as the corridor, lined with shelves that held more books and scrolls than I could count at a glance. A wide desk sat near the far wall, buried under papers. There were no banners, no insignias, no throne of any kind. There was hardly any ornamentation at all, save for a single portrait. A single large window behind the desk let in the afternoon light, and dust motes drifted through it lazily. The first thing I noticed was the man behind the desk. He was old.
His hair was white and thin, combed back from a lined face. His robes were a plain dark grey, with none of the silver threading the Inker wore. He was writing something when the doors opened. He finished before he looked up. This was the Archon. The man the Inker had spoken of with open reverence, the one who could supposedly unmake a village without lifting a hand. He looked like a man with one foot already in the grave.
The Inker knelt on one knee before the desk, his head bowed. When Ash and I did not follow, I felt the Inker's gaze on us from below. He said nothing. The man had been oddly well-behaved since we'd entered the city. No doubt thanks to the promises we’d made him.
"Rise, Aldric." The Archon's voice was calm and unhurried. He set down his pen and regarded us over the Inker's bowed head. "And do bring them in."
Aldric -I had completely forgotten his name until now- rose and stepped to one side. He gestured at us, stiffly and without a word. We stepped inside. The doors closed behind us, though nobody moved to close them. "They are…unconventional, Your Eminence," Aldric said. It was perhaps the first time I hadn’t read something in the man’s tone. "But their marks speak for themselves."
The Archon did not respond to this. He studied us for a moment, then inclined his head toward the space before his desk. If this was some strange invitation to sit, then it was a poor one. There were no chairs on our side. I did not move. Ash shifted beside me. I could see her body begin to lower into a bow. She was halfway down when the old man raised a hand.
"You both may stand." The Archon's tone did not change. “I do not care much for formalities, unlike our dear Aldric here."
The Inker shifted. I allowed myself the faintest smile. The Archon rose from his desk and came around to the front of it. He moved slowly, though I did not think it was from frailty.
That was when I saw his right arm and it stopped me cold. It looked like a sphere collapsing inward, with black lines curving towards the center. Even as I watched, the sphere slowly rotated. I had known the man would have a Rune, of course. It surprised me anyway.
The Archon noticed my gaze and did not seem bothered by it. He clasped his hands together, the glowing mark disappearing behind his fingers. "Aldric has told me much," the Archon said, his gaze moving between Ash and me, "but I prefer introductions to come from the source. What are your names?"
"Ash," the Hero said. Her voice was steady, though her posture remained rigid.
"Lys...." I paused for a heartbeat. "You may call me Lysanthia," I said.
The Archon paused. It was a silence that stretched for one heartbeat, then two. Then the odd expression was gone as surely as if it had never come. "I must confess," he said, and his eyes moved between Ash and me, "that when Aldric brought me his report, I could not quite believe it. Two women, found in a village, bearing Sovereign marks. Two women with…strange gaps in their knowledge. I thought perhaps the boy had gotten excited. It would not have been the first time. But now I am seeing for myself." The old man's gaze settled on Ash first, then on me. "May I see your marks?"
Ash hesitated. Her jaw worked, just slightly, then she extended both arms. The two marks sat there against her skin. The Archon leaned close. He studied them for some time, amd made a nodding gesture after a few seconds. Then he straightened and turned to me.
I did not move. "Lys," Ash said quietly.
I held the old man's gaze. The silence stretched long enough that Aldric shifted his weight behind us, though the Inker wisely held his tongue. "I do not show what is mine on command," I said.
The room changed. The pressure returned. It settled on my shoulders first, then my spine, then my knees. My legs folded beneath me and I hit the stone floor hard. The indignity of it burned like acid in my throat. The mark on the Archon's right arm glowed in the light. The sphere, collapsing inward. Lines pulling toward a center. Now I understood what it was, because I could feel it. It was the power of Gravity.
I fought it. My mana surged against the weight and it accomplished nothing. I who had shattered and broken so much, could not shatter this. Ash had dropped to one knee. Whether by choice or by force, I could not tell. Her face was tight and pale. The pressure eased, slowly. The glow on the Archon's arm dimmed. "Will you listen now?" he asked.
I rose. It took longer than it should have. My legs shook and I locked them straight before anyone could see, though I suspected the old man already had. It took me a second to unclench my hands, and longer still to unclench my jaw. It was a wonder my teeth hadn't turned to dust.
I adjusted the satchel on my arm, and then I pulled back my sleeves. The two Lines sat against my skin. The Requiem on my right, a stroke of black. The Cradle on my left, white and faintly luminous. The Archon stepped close. His eyes moved over the black Line first, then the white. He studied them for a long time. Longer than he had studied Ash's.
"So it is true," he said softly. He straightened and took a step back. "Three Sovereign marks from one village, and two of them are on the same bearer." He looked between us. "I have served in this position for forty-one years. In all that time, this academy has produced exactly two Sovereign marks. Now three more walk through my door in the same afternoon." He paused. "Not only that, but you have gone past the Spark already. That is commendable progress."
"It was not so difficult as you make it sound." I snapped. The taste of copper was sharp in my mouth, and I had to slowly force my hands to unclench again. "We simply have talent."
"It is not a matter of talent." He said, apparently ignoring my tone altogether. "You would need to feed your Sparks Essence and much of it. With just mana…it would take most months, even if they were talented." His voice trailed off, and then his gaze lingered on me. On my horns. "It is rare for a half-demon to take the Ink at all," he said. Something moved behind his eyes, something I could not read. It was not contempt.
He stepped back and settled himself against the edge of his desk. "I imagine," he said, "that neither of you fully understand what Consecration is or what it means." As he said this, he cast a glance at the Inker, who had the grace to look away.
I braced myself. I had always disliked priests, whether my own or the enemy’s. Not because of their power alone, though many had been formidable. It was because their self-righteousness led them to places reason never could. I could only wonder where this Archon meant to lead us now.
"This Academy takes students from the entire province of Koralith," the Archon began. "They apply, and then they are tested through a series of…examinations. If they pass, they are admitted and given a place to train, and in time, they go out into the world. This is the normal path, and it is the path most of the faces you saw on your way here are walking." He paused. "Consecration is not that path."
He looked between us. "Consecration is a separate…path. A small one. At any given time, there are perhaps five or six Consecrated students within these walls. Right now, there are five. Consecrated students are recruited, not admitted. They are chosen for potential that needs no testing. Any Sovereign mark is well above the standard for that."
"And what does this Consecration mean for us then?" Ash asked before I could.
"It means certain privileges," the Archon said. "You may choose which classes you attend, provided they are appropriate to the nature of your marks. You may not attend them at all, if you wish. You will have priority access to training grounds and resonance chambers. You will not be bound to the same schedule as the other students." He raised a finger. "If you show further promise…I will provide direct instruction. If you reach the Sigil, at least." He let those words settle. I watched his face. If this was a chain, then it had far more slack than I had expected. There would be a cost, there always was.
"In exchange," the Archon continued, as if reading my thoughts, "you represent the Academy's investment. You will be expected to train seriously. To advance, and when you reach Sigil, at least, to give of yourself to the world in whatever way your talents demand." He folded his hands. "This service can and will take many shapes. It can take the shape of fighting beasts. Sometimes you might take quests that the Adventurer's Guild cannot. Perhaps you might mediate disputes, and more besides. You will represent the Academy and the Covenant everywhere you go."
It was a cleaner offer than I had expected. Less fanatical, and less binding. And yet the shape of it was familiar. An offer too good to refuse, from a man too powerful to deny. I had made such offers myself. There was always a catch. Isabelle had said as much. “Do you both understand everything I have said?” The Archon asked, glancing between us.
“Yes,” Ash said. I said nothing. The Archon did not seem to mind this.
The Archon moved to the door and spoke a few words to someone outside. There hadn’t been anyone outside, when we’d first come. Not five minutes later, did a servant entered carrying three trays -they had bread, dried fruit, and a pitcher of water. The servant set it on the edge of the desk without looking at us and left. "Eat," the Archon said. "You have been on the road for some time, and I suspect this conversation will take a while longer. You too, Aldric."
I did not wish to accept food from this man. My stomach had a different opinion. I took the bread. It was not Martha's, but it was warm. Ash reached for the water. Even the Inker reluctantly partook. The afternoon light through the window had shifted since we'd entered, the angle of it creeping further across the floor.
The Archon returned to his desk, idly writing while we ate. A maid came soon after, collecting the trays and left. The Archon had given no sign, yet she appeared right as our trays emptied. Only when she was gone, did the Archon acknowledge us again. "Now…Aldric's report mentioned certain…incidents on the road." I did not need to turn to know that the Inker had stiffened at this. “I would like to hear them from the two of you.”
And so we told him of the attack, or rather, a version of it. Ash was the one who spoke for most of it. I only answered the odd question the Archon framed at me. In our version, the Inker was brave, and the defense of our camp was both efficient and effective. We did not get separated, and this Aldric made sure we didn’t lose a single strand of hair.
The Inn incident was similar. Resolved quickly and bloodlessly thanks to the man’s fast judgement. The occasional words I shared did taste foul. Ash seemed to take to this better than I had expected of a Hero. Though, I had learned there was far more to her than the Class.
The account took longer than I had expected. The Archon asked few questions, but the ones he did ask were precise, and each one drew more detail from Ash than the last. The light through the window had deepened from gold, and the shadows in the room had grown long.
This was the agreement, and Ash and I honored it. The Archon listened without interruption. His gaze moved to Aldric, who had the good sense to bow his head slightly rather than preen. Still, the man could not keep the wide smile off of his face. "I see," the Archon said. “It seems Aldric has done and learned much. That is good.” His gaze turned towards the man. “Perhaps the Academy would be stronger to have you closer to home.”
The Inker froze. He raised himself up, then bowed his head all over again. “Thank you. I will serve in whatever capacity I may!” It was a wonder he didn’t fall over himself in his groveling.
"Now then," The Archon said, turning from him to us again. "There is one condition of your Consecration that I have not yet mentioned, and it is not negotiable."
He moved and reached beneath his desk and produced a wooden box. It was plain. He opened it and set it before us. Inside sat three bracers. They were thin, barely thicker than leather, and darker. The material was something I did not recognize. It had an odd sheen to it. "You will wear these," the Archon said. "At all times, while within the Academy and within Koralis itself. You will not take these off, until I allow you to."
I stared at the bracers. "Why?"
"Because your Sovereign marks will attract attention," the Archon said, "of a kind that is…inconvenient, both to yourselves and this institution as a whole. Three new Sovereign marks under one roof would draw every ambitious eye in the world. The ones we have already draw enough eyes. Some of those eyes belong to people I would prefer not to deal with, and some belong to people you would prefer not to meet."
He picked up one of the bracers and held it out. "You place it on your forearm and channel a small amount of power through it. The bracer bonds to the skin. It becomes invisible to the eye. More importantly, it changes the color of the marks beneath it." He paused.
“The color?” Ash asked. “There’s a way to tell?”
The Archon paused, glanced over at the Inker, then back at us. “I see there were still some…gaps in what you’ve been told. Yes, you can tell Sovereigns from other marks. Black and white marks are always Sovereign. This is not well known, but the right people might see.”
That did answer much. It did not make this any less bitter. I did not take the bracer. "You are asking me to hide what I am."
"I am telling you that it is necessary."
"You ask me to wear a disguise." The words came out sharper than I intended. I did not know why. I understood the sense in wearing these devices. Yet the voice had come out sharp anyway. Something inside me tightened.
"Lys." Ash's voice was quiet. I turned and found her watching me. She did not say anything. I took the bracers.
There were two for me and one for Ash. I placed the first over my right forearm, over the Requiem's black Line. I channeled mana through it. The metal warmed, and then seemed to sink into my skin. It vanished. Where the black Line had been, a red one sat in its place. The illusion was rather seamless.
I placed the second over my left forearm. The Cradle's white Line disappeared beneath it, and in its place was a green Line. I stared at my arms. A stranger's marks stared back.
Ash fitted hers more quietly. The black Sever Line on her left arm shifted to red. Her purple Veil Spark remained on the other arm, unchanged.
"Under no circumstances," the Archon said,"are either of you to reveal the nature of your marks to anyone within these walls. Not to students. Not to faculty. Not to friends you may make." He held my gaze. "Is that understood?"
"Yes," Ash said.
"Understood," I said. “But what about the men who escorted us here? This….” I gestured at the Inker. “This man has seen them as well.” As have the people of Hamel. I did not say that.
The Archon smiled. “They will take vows of silence.”
“A vow,” I repeated.
The Archon looked only briefly puzzled. “Ah, there are odd gaps in your understanding. I forgot. These vows are no trifling things. They will not be able to speak of your marks. You have my word.” He paused. “Of course, we will have the people of….” He paused, looked at the Inker.
“Hamel,” the man supplied. It was the first thing he had said in a long time.
“Yes, we will have the people of Hamel do the same.” The Archon said with the barest of nods. “The process is not harmful in any way.” His eyes carried something. I had not asked him. Or wondered. I hadn’t.
When neither I nor Ash said nothing, the old man turned to the Inker. "Aldric. That will be all for now."
Aldric hesitated. The desire to stay was plain on his face. How far did his greed go? He had already been given the credit he had been preening for. The Inker reluctantly nodded and left. The heavy doors closed behind him.
The room was quieter without him. The Archon regarded us for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed. It was less formal now. "Now that we are alone," he said, "I would ask you something, and I would ask you to answer honestly. What abilities have your marks granted you?"
Ash and I looked at each other. The silent exchange lasted only a moment. I was starting to understand more of these glances between us now. I saw the question in her eyes, and I gave the smallest nod. We had discussed this."Mine is the ability to decay and heal," I said. It was true. It was not the whole truth. I held up my right arm, “this one decays,” I held up the left, “this one heals.”
"My Sovereign mark lets me cut." Ash said after a moment’s hesitation. One I hoped this Archon did not notice. “My Cypher lets me…hide things.”
The Archon nodded slowly. He studied us with an expression I could not quite read. "All marks, but especially Sovereign marks," he said, almost to himself, "tend to be more than their bearers first believe. You may find there are unexplored depths to yous. You will know more as you advance." He looked down at his own mark. “I myself am only beginning to understand mine.”
If only this man knew. I kept my face still. Ash did the same, though I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"Very well," the Archon said. He paused for a moment, eyeing us. "Regardless of anything else, your first task will be to develop the ability to harness Essence. After that comes the Ess-"
"We already possess that ability," I said.
The Archon paused. His gaze moved to the door through which Aldric had departed, as if the Inker might still be there to confirm or deny. Then he looked back at me. "Already?"
"Your man taught us the theory on the road," Ash said. "We practiced."
"Show me," the Archon said.
I drew mana through the Requiem. Even beneath the bracer's disguise, the mark answered just as well as it had before. The air around my right hand grew heavier. I felt the Essence form -dense and cold. It was invisible to the eye. I saw the moment the Archon felt it. His posture shifted, just barely.
"Well now," the Archon said. He was quiet for a beat. "Aptitude as well."
He seemed to consider us for a time. The window behind the Archon was dark now, showing nothing but the faint glow of the city beyond. "Then your Essence Core formation begins tomorrow. I will have someone walk you through the Academy and show you where you need to be by the end of it. As it happens, we have quite a few of the newer initiates practicing the very same thing." He paused, tapping a finger against the desk. "For tonight, rest. You have had a long journey, and I suspect a longer one than Aldric's report suggests."
He looked at me one more time. "Ah, one more thing." His gaze had dropped to the satchel I carried. "May I? Aldric mentioned you possessed a strange beast egg."
My jaw tightened on instinct. Every part of me wanted to refuse. Whatever kindness he wore, his power was real, and power always took what it wanted in the end.Ash's hand brushed my arm. It was a feather's touch, no more than the lightest of nudges.
I stepped forward, pulled out the egg and held it. Just enough for him to see. The Archon leaned close. His eyes moved over the golden shell and the black lines with the same attention he had given our marks. He did not reach for it. "Truly," he murmured, almost to himself. "I have never seen its like."
I pulled the egg back. Faster than was necessary. I expected his hand to follow, to snatch it away. It did not.
The Archon laughed. "Child, we are not in the business of theft." He regarded me for a moment longer. "Keep it close. If I am not mistaken, it is not far from hatching."
My chest tightened at that. I held the egg closer and said nothing.
The Inker had waited outside. Aldric led us through corridors that all looked the same. I saw more people as we walked. All of them were little more than children who shot us with wary looks, though I supposed physically they did not look too dissimilar from us in age. I saw more Inkers, older men and women in threaded robes that carried themselves with self importance. Their looks were no different from the children.
One red-headed girl glared at us as we passed in front of a large, empty hall.
The Inker did not speak until we reached a door near the end of a long hall. "The Archon has requested you share a room," he said, "given that you were found together. Consider it privilege of the Consecrated. Most students sleep ten to a room."
He opened the door. The room was larger than the one in Hamel. Two narrow beds sat against opposite walls, separated by a gap wide enough to pace in. A large table between them held a single lantern. The window was thin and high, letting in a strip of moonlight. The stone walls were bare. I would have preferred our room in Hamel.
At the foot of each bed sat a neatly folded stack of grey fabric. The sleeveless uniforms I had seen everyone wear.
"Your meals will come with the bells. They are hard to miss, but I suspect you will soon be assigned a guide. I trust you can find the mess hall on your own," Aldric said. He lingered at the door, his gaze dropping to the folded grey cloth. "Those are your initiate vestments. See that you change into them when you next leave this room." He paused. "Your current clothing will no longer be tolerated." He hesitated at the door, looked at us again. “And I commend you for following through on our agreement.”
We looked at him. He looked back at us. Neither Ash nor I said anything. He gave us the barest of nods before he left. The door closed behind him.
I set my satchel under the nearest bed, then laid the egg atop the pillow. The egg pulsed once. I adjusted the pillow around it. Ash moved to the far bed and set her sword against the wall, then sank onto the mattress. The frame groaned beneath her.
There were two beds, against opposite walls. It was an obvious arrangement. There were two of us and two beds. There was no reason for it to feel strange. Right, this was the way things should be, when there were two beds.
Now there was a gap between us wide enough to pace in, and the room felt larger than it was. I sat on my bed and stared at the far wall. Ash leaned back against her own wall and closed her eyes. The silence settled between us.
"He wasn't what I expected," Ash said.
"No."
"You were expecting a tyrant."
"I was expecting a priest." I said. "In my experience, the distinction is thin. The only difference between the two is the power they command."
Ash pulled one knee up onto the bed. "You know he did ask you nicely to show your arms. Most men with that kind of power don't bother with being nice. Of course you didn’t agree but…I expected as much"
Perhaps she had come to understand me too well. "Him not being what I expected is what concerns me," I looked down at my forearms. Red and green now. "A generous cage is still a cage."
"I can’t say I don’t find this place strange. Especially after what that man tried to do in Hamel," Ash said, her voice carried anger before she stifled it. “But...maybe this is a place with answers. This is where I'd want to be if I wanted to learn about the world at least."
I had nothing to say to that.
"The egg," Ash said. "He said it's close to hatching."
"I heard him." Whatever secrets the man might be hiding, it was unlikely he was lying about this.
"What will you do? When it does?"
I looked at the egg. It sat on my pillow, warm and pulsing in that steady rhythm that had become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. A creature was growing inside of it. Something that would emerge into this world fragile and new and…entirely dependent on me. "I will manage," I said.
"That's not what I asked."
"It is the answer you are getting." My voice had almost gotten sharp again. I had forced it smooth at the last second.
Ash studied me from across the gap between our beds. Then, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. "You'll be good at it," she said. "For what it's worth."
I did not answer her. The words I wanted to say were too tangled and none of them would have come out correctly. "That is a baseless assessment."
"Probably." Ash smiled without opening her eyes. “Call it a Hero’s intuition.”
I reached over and adjusted the pillow around the egg. My hand lingered on the shell. It was warm. It was always warm. Not far from hatching. The words circled in my mind and would not settle. I was not afraid. The Demon Queen did not fear. But there was something beneath the surface that felt very much like it.
The light from the window faded. The candle sat unlit on the table between us. Neither of us moved to light it. Ash's breathing slowed and steadied. The Hero slept, as she always did, quickly and completely. I envied the ability now more than usual.
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. Sara's bead pressed against my collarbone. I reached for it through the cloth and held it. The room was quiet. Too quiet. There was no sound of breathing beside me, no warmth settling against my side.
Somewhere in the dark, the egg pulsed. I closed my eyes and matched its rhythm until sleep finally came. I had only just managed to fall asleep, when the door kicked open.