Vayal Academy

It was a horrible thing to do, and I’ll never admit this — but I’m glad, deep down, that everyone convinced me to let Abana forge her pact. Even with the daemon, a native of this place, to cloak us, the journey is still utterly terrifying; I thought my first plunge out there was bad, but even the slab provided some perverse sense of safety. Out on our own, nothing but the light from the reanimated Gelstra’s open paw to preserve us, I can’t stop myself from jumping at every noise.

“Do not fear, my love; I shall protect you.” Ever since she came back to us, Indel hasn’t quite seemed right, but right now I’m happy to have her steely resolve in our corner. It helps distract from… everything.

It’s unlucky that Indel has no memory of being used as Yola’s tool — not that I wouldn’t prefer she be protected from any and all bad experiences, of course — but if Indel could only remember where she had teleported the Restorationists, she could teleport us too. Instead, we’re forced to walk, exposed and terrified through the monstrous darkness, relying on the direction of the daemon that possesses Gelstra’s corpse.

“What are all those buildings?” I whisper, squinting across the distance at the dark blue silhouettes of ruined walls.

“You think mortals alone are claimed by death?” asks the daemon, who is not who I was talking to. “Cities die. Cultures die. Gods die. All end here.”

I clutch Indel’s hand tighter, and she returns the squeeze. Head more than a foot beneath mine, Nym clutches my other hand. “It’s better with you here, Hattie,” says the wood elf. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in this place, but it’s better with you here.”

A guttural screech from across the ashy plain jolts my head towards it — a rotting dragon, flesh sloughing off its body like a tattered doublet reduced to clumps of dirty fabric, lumbers through the sky, unaware its battered wings shouldn’t be able to fly.

The pathetic light that has kept us safe until now reduces to almost nothing at all, a pinprick. Betrayal! Nym lets out a tiny yelp as the Gelstra daemon hisses, “Hush! Huddle around the light, quickly. The interloper has bound many of the spirits on this plane. The dragon is one of her spies.”

Forced to trust the word of the daemon, we huddle in close, breath making tiny white clouds in the frigid cold. I’ve heard of mages binding too many spirits to themselves, going insane; is that what happened to Yola? Except she seems so organised, so intelligent. Could spirit-madness really be lurking behind those mild, spectacled eyes?

I watch the dragon pass us over in terror, Nym clutching my side, shivering.

“We have traversed but a fraction of the distance ahead,” says the daemon, gritted through Gelstra’s teeth. “Come. Hurry.”

We’re almost dead on our feet by the time we come to a massive, tumbling monolith of a temple that must once surely have been a wonder; the building radiates such menace that I know we have arrived even before the daemon uses Gelstra’s voice to say. “This is the place.”

Its wall lies open in patches of decayed stone, but it’s not hard to see why the Restorationists haven’t made a run for it — even beside the mad spirits of Daath, the gaps are patrolled by lumbering skeletons and rotting zombies. It’s only the darkness of distance that keeps us undetected.

“I could try to make us invisible,” Nym says, “but it’ll be hard work. Risky.”

“No.” Indel entwines her hand with Nyms. “It will be the easiest spell you have ever cast. Do it, now.” Her eyes are a soft blue, and then nothing at all, as our group is cloaked completely, even from me.

“How am I doing this?” Nym’s voice sounds frightened.

“We do it together.”

Indel reaches for me in the nothingness, links her hand with mine. We move with surprising speed across the landscape, creep up the glossy, deep-green stairs. They seem to go forever.

When we finally come to the mouth of the temple — a gaping maw, half ornate marble and half hare-lip where the stone has been smashed away — we find a fearsome ceremony room, once used for sacrifices to some dark god, judging by the gruesome carvings etched into huge, looming quarries along the black walls. Professor Yola emanates light from the sunken centre; Restorationists levitate around her like cocooned insects dangling from a web. Lines of twisting golden light connect each of the kidnapped Restorationists — hundreds — to a huge crystal in the centre of the ceiling, which produces crackles of electricity through the massive room, like lightning across a cloud-covered sky.

“Yes!” cries Yola as the crystal above her head glows brighter and brighter.

“She’s siphoning them!” hisses Indel.

“The crystal!” I say, sprinting toward it; but it’s already shooting a beam of golden light down into the professor. Before my eyes, she grows younger — not only younger; the professor becomes vital in every way: her cheeks grow round and pink, her breasts practically double in size, her neat shoulder-length silver hair grows into a waist-length silver mane, her eyes become bright violet and sparkling.

At the same moment as I collide with Yola, Indel, airborne, slams beak first into the crystal with a frightening clang. I’m pinned. “Orc!” cries Yola, huge and fiercely beautiful on top of me. Twice my size now, it’s easy for her to hold me still.

The crystal crashes to the ground inches away from my skull, cracking the polished stone floor in two.

“Fools!” she screams. “Do you think this will stop me!? Nothing can stop me now!”

Abana wrenches her head back and opens her throat with a smooth, practiced butcher’s motion, like she’s bloodletting fowl. Yola gurgles, the strength leaves her arms, and I wriggle out of her just in time to see the wound close and the fearsome professor wheel on Abana, sending her careening through the air with a single blast of air. She caroms off a pillar and rolls along the ground, limp.

Shit shit shit!

Things aren’t all terrible — with the crystal broken, the Restorationists are released, scattered about the enormous, cuniculate hall, not one in any condition to help with their energy sapped as it is. I glance about for our untrustworthy daemon ally, and find her cradling the unconscious Posy Primrose (and Svelgi?!), Gelstra’s spikes stuck straight out. Nym’s in the exact same pose above Mae — better for her to stay out of the fight.

The thick stone ramp leading out the temple’s mouth brims with sudden activity, as the guarding spirits are recalled to join the battle. “Orc, back!” Vila shouts, appearing beside me and launching a firebolt at one shambling skeleton.

“Foolish Vila.” Yola floats over to us, energy crackling about her like a creeping thunderstorm. “You could have lived forever beside me. But now you will die at my feet.”

I grab Vila’s hand (Vila, who looks like she might just stare up at the beautiful Yola until she dies) and sprint, dragging her behind a massive pillar as a bolt of light incinerates the space just behind us.

We don’t even have a moment to breathe. A zombie lunges viciously at me, fast moving and hungry, its skin the shrivelled, wrinkled black of a mummy. It gnashes for my shoulder, misses by inches, tumbles forward with useless momentum before swirling on us again.

“Do not allow it to bite you!” cries Vila, taking out another skeleton that falls on her with a fireball. “It will spread the disease!”

“I have no weapon!”

Vila hurls a fireball at the zombie. It lodges in the things stomach, lights it from within, eyes wicked orange and glowing. The flaming corpse lunges toward us viciously.

“I was afraid that might happen,” says Vila. Its her turn to grab me by the wrist and sprint, dragging me along, the zombie hot on our heels, gnashing and spitting with heat. Indel interposes herself between us and the zombie, and simply holds a talon out. A burst of yellow light within the burning body reduces it to floating, black shreds.

“How did you-”

“The prism is still attuned to this place. Its power flows through me. It is the power of negation, obliteration — do not be scared, my love.”

Scared? No, I’m awed, reverent, as she atomises another zombie.

Across the room, Abana skitters backwards, stopped by the wall, as a warhammer wielding skeleton looms over her. Before the spirit can bring its weapon down, Abana darts forward and wraps a hand around its ankle. Yellow light engulfs the creature. Around its skinny bones, muscle forms, at first thin whisps, then great, red thews, soon encased by tanned, scarred skin, and then even the woman’s naked body takes shape — broad shouldered, lion-muscled, and blonde maned, the woman glances about the chamber before noticing Abana at her feet. “Thou hath saved me!” she shouts, in an accent normally only found in exaggerated stage plays. “Now I shall protect thee!”

The blonde berserker wheels and eviscerates another skeleton with her hammer, the thing turned to clinking bones. Satisfied that Abana’s safe — and not wanting to distract myself staring at how her muscles shift and her breasts bounce as she swings — I turn my attention back to Indel.

“Do you think you can destroy Yola?”

“It would be difficult, my love — already much power courses through her, and it is the siphoned power of Restoration.”

Yola floats about the room, lifting Restorationists in a telekinetic death grasp that rips the life from them and augments it to her own. Slower, than with the crystal, but we need to stop her before she kills any more.

“Go, Indel, we’ll back you up.”

We rush out, Vila pelting Yola with flame as Indel reaches her talon forward. With a single dismissive flick of her wrist the mad professor slams us against the wall, such pressure against us that it takes all my strength to even twitch my finger, let alone cast.

She’s crushing you. You won’t last much longer. Better think of a way out, fast.

Fuck! What?

My muscles burn, like a metal plate’s steaming into my skin. Oh no. You’re going to die.

Abana and her naked ally surge through the air with their weapons ready, but a moment later they join us. Even Gelstra hits the wall a moment later, face first, which at least stops her spikes from snapping.

“I am- sorry, my love,” Indel forces out, “I wish I had been stronger for you.”

“No, Indel, I- I love you.”

“Fools. You did not need to die. You could have walked away at any time.”

She raises a hand, lightning crackling within-

And then stops. Above us, light fills the temple. Yola grimaces as the divine, enormous form of the Headmistress floats down, twice as large as usual. “Stand down, Professor — you cannot hope to defeat me.”

Yola prepares her lightning but stops, hesitates. “How did you find me?”

“Your misdirections served you, for a time… but I cannot be kept from my favourite student for long.” The Headmistress looks over at Mae, lying unconscious on the floor. “She was easy to find, and you with her. Now, surrender.”

“No… No! Damn you! You cannot possibly muster the mana to overwhelm me, even with your power.”

“Perhaps not. But even if you prevail, what good will it do you? You would be so weakened even one of these students could defeat you. Stand down, and you will be allowed a fair trial before the Council of Mages.”

“No! I will not squander my prolonged life in fighting you — but I will not surrender to your mercy, either.” A flash of light fills the temple once more, and as it dissipates Yola is gone. We fly free from the wall with a clatter, and as I struggle to my feet the titanic Headmistress crouches before me.

“You are in an enormous amount of trouble, young lady.”

“W-what? Why?!”

“Because you don’t appreciate your friend enough!” Her huge finger bops my cold nose. “That creative enough for ya, Hattie?”

“NYM!?”

“Yes. I’m going to pass out over Mae now. Please don’t let Abana eat me.”

With a flicker, Lyra’s image vanishes, and the suddenly visible Nym collapses onto Mae, as promised.