Eve of Corruption (eBook)

CHAPTER 1: THE SILVER SPIRE

The Silver Spire, West Terrace

“Astasia,” said Grand Adjurer Marakus, “is a theory, young Master Rutherford, not a governance. If we were to abide by every theory we heard, then we would all bury our dead in the ocean so they could not hear the calls of Nekriark to wake them from the dead. Or we would sleep standing up, so the marons of the Revery could not sit on our chests to give us nightmares.” Marakus animated these exaggerated beliefs by waving his old arms in the air in mock horror. The class shared a quiet laugh.

Anerith Zathon watched Rutherford’s face redden, obviously embarrassed that he raised his hand in the first place.

Anerith heard Demitri and Xavia snicker behind him with the rest of the class, but he simply turned a page in Book IV of Astasia. Rutherford’s question wasn’t necessarily idiotic, but Rutherford was, so Anerith was rarely surprised by his buffoonery. However, since today’s lesson was on the writings of Uresiphe and his beliefs on the Balance, Anerith supposed that Rutherford’s question was covered in the readings—which Rutherford surely had not read. Anerith skimmed ahead to refresh his own memory.

“Yes?” Marakus began, “Miss Maldroth?”

Anerith stopped reading, suddenly forgetting what he was looking for. He turned slightly so he could see Xavia seated behind him. She was leaning over her lectern with her arm raised high into the air, eager yet graceful. Xavia was older than Anerith, nearing her twenty second year. She had long dark hair that always seemed to float, and her mouth had a way of captivating a young man, no matter what she was using it for.

Demitri sat next to her, as he always did, his black hair streaked with unnatural white. He gave Anerith a cross-eyed look while motioning to red-faced Rutherford. Demitri and Xavia rarely tired of poking fun at young Rutherford who, unlike them, came from a wealthy family.

“Grand Adjurer,” began Xavia, her voice sharp with an eastern accent. “I have heard that our own Luminary has many writings about the Balance and Astasia in his personal library. Perhaps if we were to—”

“That will be enough, Xavia,” Marakus commanded, his scratchy voice carrying authority. “I have told you before: the Luminary has no such secret library, nor does he drink wine with the Underlords, nor does he keep pet dragons. May we please return to our lesson?”

Xavia gave a resigned sigh and leaned back in her chair.

“Now,” said Marakus, brushing the long white hair from his sweaty forehead. “While Rutherford’s assumption blatantly conflicts with today’s assigned reading, he does make a valid point. Many people are led to believe that Astasia is the apocalypse, which is not necessarily a falsehood, but quite a leap nonetheless. Astasia is the idea of living in a world that is left unchecked by the gods, which some may consider the end of the world…” Marakus looked over his moon-shaped glasses at the ever-pious Evelyn Truman seated in the front row, a sixth year Accepted that was quite open about her beliefs.

Most of the class, including Evelyn herself, shared another laugh.

Marakus almost smiled before continuing. “It all depends on your religious sensationalism. For the sake of argument, let us all assume that the Balance is fundamentally proven: there is magic in the world and the Balance governs how the good and bad magic is to be divided. If you worship the Four as Miss Truman does, then you are probably of the belief that the Balance is inherently good: Athlas clearly crafted the Balance to ensure equality among the inhabitants of the mortal realms. However, there are others that believe the Balance only encourages holy wars. Since Order and Chaos are cursed to always be at war with one another, the Balance only ensures that neither side could ever be defeated by the other. Thus, in this light, the Four are nothing more than tyrannical forces that must care only to watch mortals kill each other.”

Evelyn’s hand shot up with such force that it made a nearby silken tapestry dance against the wall.

“Easy, Miss Truman,” Marakus said, slightly raising his hands in defense. “I am not preaching; these are only theories. Your theology Adjurer will no doubt gladly hold religious debates, but this is neither the time nor place. Are there any more questions regarding Uresiphe’s writings on Astasia?”

Anerith raised his hand then, not even knowing what he was going to ask.

A small look of surprise washed over Marakus’ face, but the shock faded as quickly as it had come, and he nodded for Anerith to speak. The class turned to the youngest Adept in the Spire.

Anerith bit his lip and looked down at the page he was reading. It was a worn tome, and, judging by the stains on the leathery pages, had obviously seen use by many students before him. The chapter was entitled Magicks Governed by the Balance. Anerith looked back up to Marakus; the smoke from the burning incense on the Adjurer’s podium gave him the look of a pensive god. “If Astasia is the absence of Balance in the world, and you believe there is no magic in the world to be kept in check, wouldn’t it be safe to say that we live in Astasia now?”

Marakus smiled. “Insightful, Master Zathon. The thinkers dwell in silence, so it seems. However, your hypothesis is based on my beliefs, which are irrelevant. Beliefs have no place in logic, and this course is designed to teach the Books of Astasia from a logical standpoint.” Marakus fell silent for a moment, looking at the class that he held in rapt attention. “And yet, I will answer your question, Anerith, for I think it is a perspective that is important to this study. No, I do not think we live in Astasia, because I do believe in magic and I do believe in the Balance. But, my beliefs should not have any bearing on your own, mind you,” he said, waving his crocked finger at the whole class. “I believe that magic—true magic—is a resource, and the world was bled dry of it a long time ago. And, I believe the Balance is a property, one that cannot run out, but can be destroyed.” He raised an eyebrow. “I will leave you with that today.”

“Thank the gods!” exclaimed Demitri as they walked out of class. Xavia laughed, holding onto his arm as Rutherford and Anerith followed. “Marakus is the only thing duller than the readings he assigns.”

Anerith hefted the heavy Book IV of Astasia in one arm as he tried to slide his other into his red robes. “At least I’m starting to enjoy his course more than Elementology. If I have to set one more thing on fire…”

“Of course you’d enjoy it,” Xavia said mockingly. “You actually do the readings. I hate theories and philosophy. Give me fire and alchemy any day.”

“Look!” Rutherford exclaimed suddenly, pointing toward the Adjurer’s dormitory hall. A huge door could be seen at the end of the hall. All the students of the Spire shared the belief that the huge, menacing iron door led down to the ‘dungeons,’ but none had truly been down there. “Someone went in!”

Demitri and Anerith scoffed in unison.

“What did you see?” Xavia asked, taking a step toward the dormitory hall, clearly intrigued.

“A shadow,” Demitri said, pulling at the sleeve of Xavia’s robes. “Let’s go get some food. I’m famished.”

“I want to see…” Xavia began.

“Now, now,” said a deep voice from behind. They all spun around to see Adjurer Marakus waving his crooked finger again. “Unless you want to clean my quarters, young lady, you know the rules. No students allowed.”

The four solemnly took the stairs down to the main floor. They took their lunch in the courtyard where they usually ate and shared a meal of hard bread, cheese, dried meat, and an exotic fruit from Rokuus, the name of which none of them could pronounce, but all agreed it was delicious. They spent their meal discussing their lives at the Spire: classes, Adjurers, and the recent disappearance of their friend Rya Kindell, who wore the black robes of an Entrusted. After awhile, the sonorous bells rang out, announcing the next half of their day.

They were all about to return to the Silver Spire when Rutherford leaned in and whispered to the rest of them.

“Who’s that?”

Anerith squinted against the sunlight to see what Rutherford saw. The outer gates of the walls surrounding the Spire had been opened and the Vigilants on either side had their bows out with arrows notched. They only did so when visitors came. The visitors that now strode into the courtyard were armed men, led by a man in a satin black cloak with silver heraldry that Anerith could not make out from this distance. The leader was younger than his retinue, but walked with an unmistakable air of nobility.

“That’s Baron VonAnthony!” Xavia hissed. Anerith could smell the fruit on her breath and he leaned away from her, shifting uncomfortably. “His wife used to be an Entrusted here, one of the Luminary’s black robes.” The Spire had a ranking system with its students: red robes were Adepts, blue robes were Agravites, white robes were worn by the Accepted. Each specialized in a certain study of lore. Black robes, however, were only worn by the most elite of the Spire’s...