Last Messenger - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Caden

Caden walked through the double doors, located to the right of the central library desk, and entered the large instruction room. He stood at the top of the stairs and counted the other children already here: twenty-five. Rings of chairs, set in half circles, faced a small stage and the room sloped downward toward it. Like a sewage ditch, he thought. 

A brown-haired man in a yellow robe stood on the stage. The red cushioned chairs and dark wood flooring made the room feel plush and reinforced the reasons Caden didn’t belong here. Only a handful of lights were on, and patches of darkness littered the auditorium. He wondered how many times he could fit in a room this size.

Caden’s mind spun away…One thousand seven hundred twenty-eight and two-sevenths bodies to fill the hall, six hundred thirty-two and one eighth in the lighted areas, one thousand ninety-six and nine fifty-sixths in the darkness—

A voice boomed from down below. “Flare, sit.”

Stopping his calculations, Caden glanced at the man on the stage. Caden turned back to the seated children and formulated an algorithm to plot their locations…x cubed minus y plus—

“Flare!” the voice again.

Caden reluctantly left his formula and plodded down the stairs. The other children sat like vultures around a carcass, their hunger for acceptance palpable.

Ten boys, fifteen girls. Hair colors were eleven brown, five black, three red, six blonde. Four northern—

“Sit!” the speaker shouted again.

Caden tried to pull his mind away from the children but their distribution bothered him. There were too many girls, and three red heads in a group this small…his eyes glazed for a heartbeat…seven thousand three hundred eleven to one. Why such an—

The man on the stage growled, and Caden immediately focused on him. A lifetime on the street had taught Caden to recognize danger. He slipped into an aisle seat at the edge of the group. If he had to run, he wanted an easy exit. The speaker stared at him for a few seconds and then turned to the other children. The man was old, at least thirty, and looked to be over six foot tall. 

The speaker walked to the lip of the stage, a book the size of two palms held out in his right hand. “Now that we are all here, we can begin. In three days I will ask for the title of a book from the rarely visited autobiography section. Give me the title, and you pass. Which brings me to the rules. One, if you examine a book it must be at its shelf, all research will be done in the aisles, nothing may leave the section. Two, after studying a book, replace it exactly how you found it. Questions?”

A well fed blonde boy raised his hand and the speaker nodded at him.

“How complete will your description of the book be? A summary? Specific passages? Color?”

The speaker waved his left hand and his sleeve fanned out like an ugly kite. “It will be sufficient for one worthy of the Spires. I will return in three days. Honestly, you are the worst group of Flares we’ve ever admitted. None of you will succeed.”

The instructor gave them a disgusted look, turned, and disappeared through a small door at the rear of the stage.

Thirteen children hurried out of the room and the rest grouped together in cliques, discussing in whispers potential clues in the way the instructor had walked, were he’d looked, and the inflection of his voice. All possible hints on how to find the book they needed.

Caden sneered at them. He had felt the clumsy intrusion on his mind the moment he had walked into the room and had pushed it aside without effort. The overlay had been terrible. He had produced better without any of the vaunted Spire training. The speaker had held the book he wanted them to find the entire time. These simpletons were all failures. 

Had none of these kids encountered a Ghost Mage before? Caden didn’t belong here with these fools and the bigger fools that taught them. He wanted to go back home, back to the streets.

The rest of the kids started to leave, and Caden trailed them as they chattered their way to the top of the stairs. Instead of exiting the room, he turned left and walked to the room’s corner, slid down the wall, and tried to sleep.

Someone sat next to him.

Caden snapped his eyes open. He thought he’d been alone. An older boy, maybe even older than Caden, stared at him.

The boy stuck out his hand. “Daropen.”

Daropen had watery blue eyes, dark hair, and a western isle accent.

Caden ignored the hand and closed his eyes. He wasn’t here to make friends. Attachments got you killed and people were only nice if they needed something.

“You giving up?” Daropen asked.

Caden kept his eyes closed. “Giving up implies trying.”

“Right. It’s impossible. Why try?”

“There is no book to find. The test isn’t about a book.”

“Maybe, but there’s no way to get through them all anyway.”

Caden opened his eyes and faced Daropen. “I didn’t say it couldn’t be done. I said it’s not the point.”

Daropen raised an eyebrow, doubt plain on his face.

“You think it’s impossible?” Caden asked.

Daropen thought a moment. “Well, not for me. But I’m not like all of you.”

Caden snorted. “You’re so arrogant.”

“That doesn’t change the truth.”

Caden evaluated Daropen’s clothes, mostly purple, with silver around the edges. Daropen had a rich family. In three days Caden would be free of this place, and maybe he could even profit from it.

“How about a bet?” Caden asked.

Daropen narrowed his eyes. “A bet?”

“In three days you pick any book and read six words from a random sentence. I’ll give you the complete sentence. You pay me a hundred dryms for every sentence I get right. I’ll pay you the same for any I get wrong.”

Daropen frowned. “Fifty dryms.”

“You scared?”

Daropen stood. “Fine. A hundred for every sentence.”

Caden grinned as he walked toward the autobiography section. If he got just one correct he’d have enough money for months. And if he could goad Daropen, he might walk away with enough to last him years.

For next few days, Caden methodically walked the aisles scanning books and committing their contents to memory. He spent his nights drenched in the red river that poured from his Vym, fitting the newly memorized text into everything else stored in his mind. The books weren’t valuable until he had correlated them by indexing their contents in his mind. Only then did it become information and something of value.

Caden tried to eat alone and avoid any socializing in the dormitory, but Daropen always snared him, like some clever spider. Caden tolerated the interactions but always escaped as soon as he could. Fundamentally he differed from them, not because he lived on the streets, but because he had no desire to be here.

Most children dreamed of learning at the Spires. Possessing a Vym made you special, but having the strength to study here made you elite. Caden didn’t want to be elite, he wanted to be left alone.

Three days later Caden sat in the same hall. His head throbbed with pain and his hands trembled. He’d never used his power for so long or pushed himself so hard. The stress of it had almost made him regret his bet. Almost. But he could recover as a rich man. The other children sat quietly, their dread palpable.

The yellow-robed man emerged from the door at the back of the stage, and his steps boomed in the oppressive silence. He cleared his throat. “The description of the book is this: the one I held in my hand.”

Murmurs filled the room as the confused children confirmed with each other the instructor hadn’t held a book three days ago.

The instructor held up his right hand. “Silence! Methods first, they are as important as the answer.”

Caden stopped listening. Instead he planned where he’d hide his imminent riches. It wouldn’t be safe to carry it all. He needed to spread it around. Multiple locations increased the odds that a stash was discovered, but would minimize his losses. The optimal number would be x squared plus two—

Daropen coughed and Caden focused on the room. Everyone stared at him and he realized it must be his turn.

Caden didn’t bother to keep the disgust from his voice. “I confirmed the book five ways. One, the central desk listed a single book as checked out in the biography section. Two, I compared the master list of autobiography titles with the books on the shelf and found one missing. Third, the shelves are uniformly packed except the row with the missing book. Its exact location identified by impression marks left on the adjoining books. Fourth, of the nine hundred thirty-six books in this section, one hundred and twelve referenced books in this same section. Three of those books referenced a work not on the shelf. Lastly, when you spoke to us, you held the book in question. It was behind the image of an empty hand you placed in our heads. The book is, Southern Hakku, Poems of Prophecy, a compilation by Laffonr Messier.”

The yellow robed man stared at Caden. “If you knew from the start, why bother with the rest?”

Caden had wanted to win the bet, but a part of him had wanted to solve the instructor’s problem. It was like a puzzle, and once presented, a part of him obsessed over it until he was positive of the answer. Only then would his mind leave it alone. 

Caden’s heart beat faster. “You can never be sure. The book in your hand could have been a ruse.”

The instructor closed his eyes and whispered. “There is hope for you, Caden.”

“Arrogant,” a nearby boy shouted.

“Reclusive,” a girl said in front of him.

“Gifted,” another girl yelled.

“Easily manipulated,” Daropen added with a smile.

“Kind. He told me about the central desk.” This was followed by a few muttered agreements.

“He has started the descent,” a somber voice said from the front.

Caden looked around confused.

The instructor smiled. “All true. But it is his doubt that will save him.”

Caden stood, ready to run. Something wasn’t right. “Save me from what?”

The man jumped off the stage and stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Mediocrity. You have eluded us for years. Untrained, you masked yourself. Unmolded for so long many believed you were lost, not teachable.” The instructor laughed and everyone in the room laughed with him.

Suspicion roared inside Caden and he frantically searched his mind for the presence of a Ghost Mage. He pulled deeply on his power and scoured his mind, but found nothing. 

“How long?” Caden asked.

The children disappeared, and he stood alone with the instructor.

“Since the moment you entered this room, three days ago.”

Caden took a step backwards. “Conversations, meals, all these kids. It was you? The entire time?”

“Yes,” the man said and then continued, “There are two lessons here. One, never let others define you. Most here at the Spires have written you off. Defy them. Two, you will spend the rest of your life obsessing over truth. There are others like me, trained and experienced, that can play you for a fool. Without training you will never know, for sure, what is real.”

The instructor walked up the stairs until he stood within arm’s reach. “What will make you a great mage, Caden, is your doubt. But if you leave here, you will drown in it.”

The truth of that statement resonated with Caden. He recognized the logic of it. Not knowing what was real would lead to madness.

Caden stood and nodded his head. “My name is Caden.”

“I am called Dakkar,” the instructor replied.

Caden nodded at the book, “Can I borrow that? It’s the only book I haven’t read in this section.”

Dakkar laughed and opened the book. “…the darkness rings…”

Caden stared at him.

Dakkar closed the book on his finger. “Our bet. You told me I could read three words from any book in this section.” Dakkar held up the book. “Which includes this one.”

Caden moaned.

Dakkar patted him on the back. “You’ll need to earn the hundred dryms you owe me.”

Caden’s headache got worse.

Dakkar handed Caden the book. “You’ve picked up some bad habits. Not unusual for a Red. But Caden, collecting things, completing things, is a path to despair. Why walk a road that never ends?”

Caden tucked the book under his arm and smiled for the first time since he’d entered the Spires. “If you don’t walk it, you will never know for sure.”

Dakkar laughed. “There is—"

Caden let the distant memory go, released his yellow stream, and broke the connection with Aael. The underground room came into focus.