The Hermit, The Tower, The World (Vol.2 Complete)

25th of Inandyl - 4th Velron
Evening

They spent hours in the common room talking, laughing, and sharing stories, but started with the oddest story about the unlikely trio of Kishi, Wen, and Lamruil. The whole thing just got blown way out of proportion in Calas' opinion. What started as an innocent prank, became the most popular juicy piece of gossip around Court for months. According to Serea, it was still floating around this past term too.

The prank itself was propelled by Kishi, who upon hearing that Wen had confessed her love to Lamruil last year, spread the rumor that Kishi, herself, was dating Lamruil. Enough people took her at her word for it to spread, especially since Lamruil wouldn't comment on either of the girls at the time. Naturally, the rest of Court saw this as an admission to something deeper and thus whispers of their "love triangle" caught fire.

Calas shook his head in exasperation after the tale was done. Gods help whoever Kishi tried to prank. In this case, he was thinking of Serea as he already had a pretty good idea how the gods, one in particular, would be feeling about him soon. He told her that this was why it made perfect sense to him that the Croakin girl would spread some weird rumor about him, with the intent of it being a prank, but the whole thing going horribly awry.

"So all the staffers knew the truth, though." It was more or a question and Calas nodded to confirm her point.

"Then why didn't Fara do anything to stop them? She seems to know like, everything." Calas smirked at her astute observation.

"Fara is perceptive, yes, dangerously so, but Fara always, always, has her own agenda. Could she have silenced them? Probably. For one reason or another, she decided not to."

Serea raised a hand to her mouth, mulling it over before locking eyes with him. Something stirred within him, but he quashed it quickly as she spoke, focusing on her words instead of her too blue eyes. "Does Wen still like Lamruil?"

"Ask her yourself, mouse. Aren't you some Relics savant like she is?" Calas stated flatly with a shrug.

"What? No! What gave you that idea?" her eyes went wide, an incredulous edge to her voice.

Calas blinked once, mirroring her incredulity and points at Chou. "You made that, yeah?" Chou took great offense to that comment and fluttered in the air between them with two opposing arms propped on her small, metallic body.

"Yes, I made her." She corrected. "What of it?"

"You realize that most scribes can't make Arcanum, right? It's a pretty rare gift, actually, so it wouldn't surprise me if you and Wen are in a class together next term." Calas shook his head and it was an effort to keep his tone even.

"Arcanum…" Her voice trailed off as her focus shifted to Chou, a tinge of color forming on her cheeks.

"I know you called her a familiar, but most mages would probably view her as another piece of Arcanum for the simple fact that you made her." Calas leaned back in his seat, resting his cheek on a fist, but quickly turned a questioning gaze toward her when she didn't speak. She looked wary and a bit confused while studying Chou. A thought occurred to him.

"I didn't think this would be new information. I figured Lighthammer would have explained this to you."

She shook her head, still not looking at him.

"What did he tell you then?"

"That I should keep my notes in a safe place…" Her voice was soft but there was a hint of more and Calas raised an eyebrow in her direction. "And that I shouldn't show them to anyone."

Calas barked a laugh, "Then why did you agree to show me?"

Serea's face scrunched into something angry and adorable, her voice tight with emotion. "I forgot."

The laughter shook free of him as he sat up to lean closer toward where she sat. He schooled his face after only a few failed attempts.

"I suggest you remember next time and stop telling people that you made her. She is your familiar. End of story."

"You mean lie?" a pouty frown formed on her face.

"Omission isn't lying, mouse. Especially when it can save your skin." He leaned back in his seat again and said in a more casual tone. "Just another reason to take a combat class in the coming term."

She clicked her tongue, but there was a smile on her face. A shrewd smile, but it was still a smile nonetheless. "You are persistent, beast."

Calas shrugged. "I've been called worse."

"Than a beast?"

"Than 'persistent'. But 'beast' counts, too, I guess."

Calas noticed her slight pause and changed tactics before she could dig in on that. "Seriously, though, will you think about it? The combat class."

"Alright, Calas. I will think on it." Serea nodded slowly before meeting his serious gaze with her own. Strangely, he believed her this time.

That out of the way, they both opted for lighter topics of conversation; the staffers, the faculty, the warmer weather, and the coming of Verdalune in the not too distant future. She talked about her home in the country, outside of Tranmere, but didn't press Calas for any details on his own experiences. He was thankful for that for a number of reasons, but mostly, he was simply enjoying talking with her.

They had said their good nights after the midnight bell sounded, and as Calas parted ways toward his room, he thought he was beginning to understand her more. The first blaringly obvious thing was that she was very used to being alone. This seemed like a normal state of being to her, which made sense as she was an only child out in the country, but as Calas found out, it went deeper than that.

Even when Calas was by himself growing up, he was never really alone. There was a bustling city, there were friends around him, there was family to help him along. According to Serea, she only had one of those things growing up, the latter, and the lack of the other things struck Calas as odd.

It made her friendship with Cira all the more important he realized and he conceded that he would have to find a way to make it up to the elven girl before she returned. Moreover, now that he knew Cira was absent, it sounded like her break so far was a rather lonely experience as she was once again on her own.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

At least this was an issue he could help with in some small way, having nothing better to do than bitch work from Blackclaw and read. Of course, there was Orendell, too, but that was his own chore to sort out. Eventually.

Then there was her modesty regarding her magic. Or was it naivety? Hard to tell the difference, especially when at the party she had talked about her "trouble" with incantation. Calas still couldn't hold back a laugh at that story, which she was not very appreciative of.

It was just too ironic that she was in denial of all the amazing things she can do, saying things like, "I should have figured it out sooner". Meanwhile, the most ancient beast in the Eldwood was looking for her after defending herself with an exploding barrier that he taught her early in the last term. Maybe her notes tomorrow will provide more insight into that beautiful brain of hers.

Back in his room for the night, Calas found himself in shockingly high spirits. He supposed that it had been a long time since he had talked to someone for that long outside of an obligation. Maybe Jem was the last one he had spoken to for more than an hour at a time without a reason to talk.

That was last year though, at least six months ago. In truth, he felt kind of nostalgic, thinking it would be good to talk to Jem again. That guy was weird, but fun.

I wonder if he stayed during break, he thought sleepily as he got into bed and turned out the lights. As he drifted asleep, he tried to remind tomorrow's Calas to find out.

Night

Calas woke with a shriek as the mark of Orendell burned on his chest. Every bone, muscle, and sinew felt taut to snapping. His very skin felt on fire while the tattoos on his body were oddly still. He struggled to sit up while trying his damnedest not to cry out again. He was only partially successful, but the frustration was distant.

An image appeared in his mind, overlapping the agony, and he knew this kind of sending. It was from Orendell, and like times before, the images scrolled to form a cohesive sequence of what they wanted from Calas. The physical intensity in his body abated only a fraction as these images ran through his mind.

The Beast's memory of the mouse, her eyes filled with fear from within her barrier.

An image from his own memory of the mouse performing tidal wave at her mock exam.

An image of one of his more recent memories of her in the Great Hall, biting her lower lip.

Flashes of the Eldwood in rapid succession as if imprinting importance and haste.

Through all the fire that scorched through his veins, it was the last image of her that reminded him of the decision he had made. It was so much more than just a desire to keep her from harm that drove him. After today, he knew now that he had set her apart in a place deep within him without noticing until this moment. The moment he was tested.

Despite himself and all the pain wracking his body, a weak chuckle mixed with groans of agony escaped him. It was coupled with a single word croaked aloud, "No." He would not hand her over to them for the gods knew what purpose. Consequences be damned!

The retaliation was swift and his vision blurred from the amplified sensation of anguish that followed his stupid answer. Convulsions caused him to lose control, his body seizing and spasming. He barely recognized hitting the floor as he twitched and writhed for uncounted lengths of time before the racking pain abated again.

He realized why it stopped so suddenly as more pictures of the Eldwood tore through him once more. It felt more oppressive in his head than before; more urgent.

Calas' breath was heavy, but found that he could, weakly, shake his head, as if to will away the god in his head. Through gritted teeth, he said again, "No." It came out in a cough, his lungs, throat and every part of his body still burning and stretched thin.

One last shock of excruciating torment rippled through him in a torrent, like being pulled out to sea by a tide in a tempest. There was no helping it this time as he screamed through it. Once the sensation finally abated, the mark went cold and he was left lying on the floor panting.

For several moments, Calas waited, attempting to steady his breath before moving too much. Taking several slow, even breaths, he finally sat up. His whole body was still shaking as he did so, muscles taught, making it difficult to move. It was equally difficult to think, but he forced himself to do that, too. The first thought was a bit macabre. Well, you didn't die. Followed closely by an, I told you so. It was confirmation for him that Orendell knew about the mouse all along, using Calas as a conduit for information.

Calas tried to scoff, but it only came out a burbled chuckle. It seemed motor control was still a bit of a problem. "I won't give her to you. She's not mine, or anyone else's to give." Calas whispered in the dark, but he knew now that his words would be heard. He licked his lips, swallowing hard in an attempt to regain some sense of control. "You will only get her if she is willing and knows the cost."

A pang of fear gripped him as the mark stirred to life again and he braced himself for another bout of suffering. It manifested soon after, but not in the same way as before. He felt his bones shift in his ribcage, then his shoulders, legs, arms, hands, and neck. Faster and faster his form was rearranged as he had done consciously so many times before, but this was not his doing.

Dread filled his heart, a deep seeded terror that this was always an eventuality; that his body would be taken over. His actions not his own, a puppet on a string, a prisoner trapped in his own mind, forced to watch as something else manipulated his body. He tried to scream then, but the sound was swallowed up by the shifting of his form into that of a barn owl.

The predator's instincts enveloped him, his flight response still triggered, lingering from the shift. He flapped haplessly around his room for several moments, but a sending from Orendell stopped him cold. Calas was shown an image of his window and then the image narrowed on the latch. His tentative fear drove him to listen this time and he focused on the window above him.

Hesitantly, Calas flapped his wings for balance, hopping up to his chair, on to his desk, and inched step by taloned step to the window. At first he went to peck at the latch, but thought better of it and used a talon to push it up and away.

Orendell sent him an image of himself opening the window. Calas did as he was shown and immediately received another image of the Calas-owl jumping out of the window, spreading his wings, and flying toward the Eldwood.

Calas knew now that Orendell could use his memories as a weapon. This meant that the Paragon was completely aware of the fact that, despite many attempts, Calas could not yet fly. It was only natural that he balked at this suggestion. Unfortunately, the moment Calas tried to take a step back, a spike of white hot pain searing on his chest, drove him to screeching aloud, and he fell out of the window instead.

The heady rush of free fall overshadowed any sense of pain that lingered from the brief prod. This wasn't anything like the roof hopping he did in Horora. For one thing, there was no roof! All of that was distant, though, as he whirled around in a flail of feathers, trying desperately to right himself. Panic threatened to consume Calas as he saw the rocky ground below rushing up to meet him. As he plummeted, a fatalistic thought of him splattered on the ground came to mind before a sending showed him opening his full wingspan.

Gaining his wits, barely in time, he splayed out his wings as he was shown. He waited for what felt like an eternity as he drew closer to almost certain death. Just then, a pulling sensation sent his form skyward as his wings found an updraft, and he finally gained lift. The ground retreated as the wind carried him farther upwards.

Soon, he found himself gliding on the wind, no longer being propelled, but no longer anchored to the ground. His chest heaved with relief. The near miss had him rattled and Calas flapped awkwardly, attempting to not repeat the experience. Some correcting images from Orendell helped to smooth out the motions, making the action more natural.

Soaring toward the Eldwood, he felt, more than saw, a sending from the Paragon who held him in this form; encouragement, the kind you would give a dog for heeding a command correctly.

Calas kept his mind carefully blank as he received another sending of a mouse on the forest floor. He felt his mind go numb as he had done so many times before in the company of his uncles. He knew what Orendell wanted from him in this form. It was the same thing his family wanted him to become. The ruthless killer. The indiscriminate tool to further their own agenda. The only difference was, Calas still didn't know the Paragon's ultimate goal. They want the mouse. And then what?

He focused again on the sending. It was strangely reminiscent of one of his recent dreams and, just as it was then, the next part of it was his owl visage hunting the mouse. This time though, it was not a dream. He knew there was no waking up before the cruel truth of nature this time.

A cold rage seethed within Calas. Fine. Orendell wanted him to be a Duskwood tonight. So be it.

He dove into the trees to get a better view of the forest floor and began his hunt with Orendell burning on his chest.