Where am I?
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It's too real to be a dream.
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I'm crying. "I want to go home. I just want to go home."
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A growl in the night. I hear light steps – taps – nails nearing. So, my fear opens to let my heart sink deeper into my chest. What is that? I brush my tears.
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Alone and weary, I turn my head to the darkness, quivering. A pair of yellow eyes burn, morph into a body given form by moonlight. Sharp teeth flared menacingly in the blackness. Rows of them sneered underneath a mangy snout and snapped together with a throaty growl. The most color I saw came from the dirty red tongue. I can’t bear to look anymore.
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I turn away. The mere sight of those teeth tears my imagination apart. Through the sensation of phantom needles, the hair on my skin rises, and I scream. Run. Every single fibre of my body wants to fly, so why don’t I? Fear grabs me by the legs. Terror holds me close as my nails dig into the ground. That dog, that wolf, that beast, it wants to rip all of me.
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It lunges with a sharp sneer. The monster, like a shadow cleaving the light, it’s faster than sight.
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I have to run. I run. This has to be a nightmare because I can't move fast enough. I can't!
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***
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Dreams are indicative of Sanity, its presence or lack thereof. I wrote the words down on ink-riddled parchment, precisely, delicately as Professor Elrik lectured on and on wholeheartedly. Every now and again, I'd look up and see the gleam in his goofy grin. Every day, pearly teeth. Every day, a gleefully green feathered cap. I noted nothing but gibberish in chalk until he turned from the board, showing a stub where his left arm used to be. His war-shriveled body told more stories than the surrounding stadia of lecture notes.
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The hall always felt a little warmer whenever sunlight spilled through the windows. Like amber dew, the light burnished the wooden furniture into a picturesque hall of study, a hall tinged with white light. That’s when I caught myself drifting, so I decided to stop and check my lecture notes:
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· At least three sorcery collectives distinguishable in the imperium:
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1. Government/Magistry: Student-->Scholar-->Mage-->Magister-->Maister
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2. Church: Initiate-->Disciple-->Priest/Priestess-->Vicar-->Hierophant
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3. Everything else: Zealot, Apostate, grey mage, magic for hire/criminals - Same thing?
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4. Possible fourth = not loyal to church or state. Rogues???
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· Magic users outside Imperium use different titles/
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· Higher magical aptitude = high esteem i.e., easier to get an amazing profession.
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· Skilled Magisters may create or sever links to our sleep, to make a dream or nightmare of our thoughts.
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Why has my penmanship never changed? Always with the distinct, tendril-like curves. It's only curious because my childhood memories never returned after the day I woke up in Mortem. Yet the moment I touched my first quill on parchment, the letters came as they are. Then like now, I find myself staring longingly at random aspects of my surroundings.
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I lost my memory, see. Whenever I’d write, I’d wonder if a memory lay between the lines, a little detail behind the prose, a revelation in my notes, or a poem to rescue forgotten dreams of demons and dragons. What mystery lay behind each line of ink? Would I never find out?
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"And by this sorry stroke of noon, I must concede the lesson to the next day," Professor Elrik announced, and in so doing he dragged me out of my head. His next words soon drowned under footsteps and table shrieks. Like a horny herd, my classmates scurried outside.
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"Take this evening to study the effects of Magistry on socio-political climates, if you don't mind!" Elrik continued desperately. "Ask yourselves three questions: From whence didn't the hierarchy manifest? Which parties benefit the most? What would our world look like without the Word of Power... and you're all gone."
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Indeed, they were all up and out by the last sentence. You couldn’t blame him for trying. I don't think anyone can lecture Arcane philosophy and maintain his level of energy. Better to play to an empty room than a silent audience. "Agagaga."
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"You're going to be late for class, Lux," he said.
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"I know," I quickly replied, using the desk to hoist myself. I tilted my eyes to the imaginary moon. I could hear parchments ruffling and the chalkboard eraser levitating at his back. A ghost erased everything for him. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
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He wanted to help. I could see it in his eyes, but he knew me too well.
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"I got this." I sat near the center of the aisle, which is why it was better to wait until everyone else had gone. I traveled with a limp. It’s impossible to do otherwise when your left leg is a piece of mangled flesh. I was lucky and unlucky. While part of my member remained, the healing process left an everlasting pain that roused now and again, especially if I exerted myself. So, imagine someone else’s headache when walking behind me in a claustrophobic lane. Then imagine my leg aching in retreat.
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Most of the other students could never pretend I wasn't a nuisance. Professor Elrik understood my constant clawing for independence and had become used to my bullheadedness. I crutched on my right leg, while my cast kept my left leg straight.
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Before reaching the door, I glanced back at the professor and noticed him sitting with his nose in a tome.
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"Professor Elrik," I called. His hazel eyes and brown stubble casually shirked in my direction. "Umm. I was just wondering; is there a fourth career you didn't mention in your lecture?"
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His brow bent then softened. "How do you mean?"
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"You said 'Holy and secular sorcery' are accustomed to oversight. But, if the most powerful magic wielders are either Holy or secular, who would regulate them?"
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"I’m relieved that someone was listening." He peered seriously, like something terrible struck his chain of thought. "You have Demonology next, do you not?" he said casually.
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Yes. "Yes..."
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"Maister Calum is better suited to answer that query, and he will if you ask." With that, his eyes went back to his cluttered desk. My cue to exit. Outside, the halls of Cinderfall Academy waited for me.
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