The Scion of Abacus, Part 1 Read online

  The warrior Synths bore away the targets and knives, leaving seventy students in the hands of the professors, who were all Hymanni or wise Synths themselves. Following the earlier procedure, we were separated into groups of ten, and the trial this time was the rather simple one of holding our breaths for as long as possible. A person in command of air would naturally recycle the oxygen in his lungs so that he could stand there holding his breath interminably.

  After only a minute at this trial, three of the ten in my group had to release breaths and resume normal breathing. The professors waited another two minutes to be certain, but the other seven continued to hold their breaths without issue. Again, I was one of those who had failed.

  In all, only nineteen were left behind after the seventy had performed the test, the larger group of fifty-one being set aside as confirmed Synths with power over the element of air. The final test was, of course, irrelevant, and but for the conclusion of the test, which I will momentarily relate, it was usually skipped and those failing the air test were labeled accordingly as masters of fire. Only rarely was the last test put forward, and only in such occasions when a specific outcome was suspected or expected, as indeed was the case that day.

  The nineteen of us who remained to be tried as masters of fire were each handed a single scrap of parchment on which was written the most impossibly difficult mathematical equation any of us had ever seen. Masters of fire, as you know, are masters of intellect, and for such Synths (even children) any mathematical equation would be as simple as adding two and two.

  But such was not to prove the case with one of the nineteen on trial that day. All eighteen of my fellows shouted out the correct answers within seconds of seeing the problems set before them. I, on the other hand, could make no more sense of the obscure symbols and large numbers than the illiterate Eikos can make sense of writing altogether.

  I glanced up at the remaining handful of professors to find them all watching me closely, each of them seemingly as confused as I at my utter failure.

  The eighteen Synths of fire were led away with the fifty-one of air by the remaining professors, leaving me alone in the hall with Deryn Lhopri.

  “You are no doubt wondering what has happened, Toven Aimis,” she said with a notable pause before uttering my surname. Her voice was gentle, deferential even, and entirely lacking the commanding tone it had born earlier. “You will learn all and understand all in time, but for now, suffice it to say, you have indeed passed all tests and are declared Hymanni.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but shut it quickly with an audible snap, not trusting my voice to properly convey my confusion. She knew instantly what it was I had intended to ask, for she answered, “You wonder whether there wasn’t some mistake, that you are in fact no Synth at all. The very fact that you passed the infallible test of the Choosing five years ago, as well as the fact that you remain perfectly healthy after swallowing half a vial of hyma, indicates you are one of us and do belong here. But your training will be exclusively my purview. You will study with the other Hymanni but be excused from the more practical lessons. You will meet with me at noon on every Fifth Day to continue more specialized training. Go now and join your class.”

  Professor Lhopri smiled kindly to me, and my skin crawled at the sight, not because it seemed a false kindness but because the act was so unexpected that I could not comprehend it. She inclined her head ever so slightly to me as I went on my way from the hall.

  And that was a signal of the way the next two years would progress. Not once was I reprimanded when speaking or acting out of turn. Not once was I censured for failing an exam or an assignment. In all things I was treated with respect and courtesy, and once Hero and I settled matters between us and resumed our friendship, growing ever closer to each other, she too seemed to be treated better than ever as a result of our relationship.

  -V-

  As soon as I entered the classroom to which the Hymanni had been taken, all discussion ceased. The professor, who had been dealing with putting names to faces, stood wordless for a moment. I saw his eyes sweep over the length of my body, taking in the white cassock of the caste, noting the rather embarrassed smile I offered for my offending tardiness. I learned soon enough that those of us wearing the white cassock were generally treated better than the rest of the student population when it came to such minor acts of indiscretion.

  The professor was a middle-aged fellow, average height, brown hair and eyes, a plain though not unfriendly face. In short, he appeared normal in every way apart from the fact that he wore the white cassock of the Hymanni, marking him as one of the more privileged members of society. Kynaston Lornis he was called, and of all the professors I knew at the University, either personally or from afar, he was the most amiable.

  “What is your name?” he asked me.

  “Toven Aimis, sir,” I replied promptly.

  His eyes ran over me again, and I felt the stares of my classmates burning into the back of my head, but I managed to prevent my cheeks from reddening at the attention. Kynaston Lornis’ eyes narrowed a moment, and he waved me closer. When I came to a halt beside his desk, he said, “Why are you here?”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by the question. Having Feril Animis for a teacher previously had taught me to be afraid of hidden meanings in everything a professor said or asked, to look for the subtext in any question, to anticipate someone trying to trick me. But Kynaston Lornis’ eyes betrayed no treachery, only confusion. He, along with everyone else in this room, had seen me fail the first two tests. They’d all left the hall after that and so had not seen me fail the other two tests as well. I did not doubt but that this piece of gossip would circulate through the University by the end of the day. However, so that my professor would know at once my special circumstances, I had been instructed by Deryn Lhopri to tell him what had happened. The thought terrified me now that I stood before the class. Something in the strange woman’s words had signaled greater respect than I felt I deserved, but in the eyes of everyone else—my own included—I had failed miserably.

  “I don’t know why I’m here, sir,” I said slowly, “but Professor Lhopri instructed me to tell you and everyone why she sent me here.”

  Kynaston Lornis nodded for me to continue. My cheeks began to burn as I told how I had failed all four tests. I felt my forehead perspiring as I recounted how I was excused from practicing magic with my classmates and was to concentrate fully on theory. Finally, when I mentioned my private meetings arranged for Fifth Days, I nearly broke down in a whimper from the shame of needing (what I thought was to be) remedial instruction.

  I heard several of my classmates snicker as I told my story. I’d not had a chance to study them yet, so I had no idea where Hero was or whether she was one of those mocking me. I doubted it, as we were still friends despite the way I’d frightened her before. But I dared not look at the class, for at least in Kynaston Lornis’ eyes I saw something of the amiability I had heard rumor of him possessing.

  He nodded again as I finished, not an understanding nod, but a consoling or accepting one. I realized then that he had no more idea of what was happening than I. Well, he knew a fraction more, and he very quickly shared it, saying, “I thought there was something odd in her showing up today. Deryn Lhopri is not a regular professor of the University. She is, actually, very closely connected to the Hymage’s inner circle. If she has sent you here, then you very much belong, despite your lack of success in the trials.”

  There was a smattering of snickers again, and our professor turned on the class with eyes ablaze. The students quieted almost at once, but their amusement at my expense could not be so lightly brushed aside, and the general scorn hung in the air like a fog.

  Kynaston Lornis looked back at me. “No, Deryn Lhopri does not come to the University for just any reason. If she is going to be teaching you privately, then I rather think it is for reasons grander than remediation, so you need feel no shame.” He looked off towards the class, poin
ting a finger, “You there, Master Artis, go seat yourself elsewhere. Young Master Aimis here must sit in the front.”

  As I turned to watch a student rising from his seat, I saw with whom he’d been sitting, and my heart leapt to see that I would be taking my place next to Hero once again. “Welcome, Toven Aimis,” Kynaston Lornis said to me.

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied as I moved to take my seat.

  By the smile on Hero’s face I knew I’d largely been forgiven my strangeness of the night before. I doubted not that she had questions regarding my ability to read things that she could not even see, and many more questions regarding my failing the tests and still being permitted to study among the Hymanni, but she was satisfied knowing that we would still be seeing each other regularly, and that was a greater comfort to me than she knew.

  * * *

  My first private lesson with Deryn Lhopri was to be two days later, the day we’d been divided according to our abilities being Third Day. I had not seen the professor at all since parting from her in the hall, but she had never been far from my mind.

  As instructed, I knocked on Deryn Lhopri’s door at noon. “Enter,” she replied from within so quickly I wondered whether she hadn’t heard my footsteps out in the hall as I’d approached.

  Her office was quite a bit smaller than I was expecting for someone in her position, assuming Kynaston Lornis was correct about her proximity to the Hymage. The walls were mostly unlined, only a handful of books on a single shelf taking up wall space behind her desk. The desk was plain and serviceable, and the chairs functionary. Overall, the place had the temporary feel of a borrowed space, a total lack of permanence about everything, as indeed was the case, for Deryn Lhopri was only there for the singular reason of educating me, developing certain special talents.

  She motioned me into a seat across from her and then threaded her fingers together on the desk between us, smiling. I shivered, but again could not trace the source of my unease.

  “So, Master Aimis, how are your classes? How is Professor Lornis?”

  My instincts took over again, and my brain searched out a thousand different subtexts and hidden meanings in the simple questions. She chuckled softly as she saw my mind working. “Anyone who thinks you lack the mind of a wise Synth after this week’s events has never looked into your eyes while you are thinking. Fascinating,” she commented.

  That last word carried in it myriad meanings, and I couldn’t help but think that she’d seen this all before. Her own eyes did not betray any real surprise, only, as she’d said, fascination, which is a very different thing.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Go on, tell me how you are settling in to your new life as Hymanni?”

  “Professor Lornis is a decent man,” I said, “though he is about the only one in the class who accepts me. Aside from my friend.” I began to open up to her, to tell Deryn Lhopri about Hero and how relieved I was to find her there amid a sea of scorn, mockery, and disapproval from the other students. She smiled knowingly as I spoke, but I had no idea what it was she thought she knew. Still, she indulged me more than I realized at the time, listening to an eighteen-year-old loner ramble on about his best—and only—friend. Later on, I figured out why she was so patient that day and why she would always ask me about Hero when we met for our sessions of Fifth Day, but that story must follow later.

  When I finally slowed my mouth, Deryn Lhopri leaned forward in her seat again. “I appreciate your openness with me, Toven, and I want you to know that you can come to me with any of your problems. I will not be here most days of the week, as my business takes me all over this city, but should you face any trouble, let me know and I will see it taken care of.

  “Now, as today is our first lesson together, I am going to refrain from any sort of lecturing. You have questions. It cannot fail to be so. Today is a day for talking. Ask anything you want of me and I will do my utmost to answer. I cannot tell you everything, not yet, but I can tell you enough to satisfy most of your curiosity, I hope. So, ask.”

  Her smile was warm and inviting, and I finally let go of my inhibitions, feeling foolish for doubting her. I was used to Feril Animis’ style of teaching, and though I was suspicious of Deryn Lhopri at first, I soon decided that someone with so calm and personable a manner could not possibly be trying to deceive me.

  How naïve I was in those days.

  “Well, professor, can you tell me why, if I failed all four trials, I am still being treated as Hymanni. It’s all I’ve thought about for the last two days, and while I understand that I must be something—or the hyma would have poisoned me—I don’t understand why I must necessarily be Hymanni.”

  She nodded. “That is a valid question, but the answer is far too complex to be relayed in one sitting. In fact, it is almost too complicated to be relayed in years of sessions like this one. But we shall try. For starters, you must stop thinking in terms of having failed the trials. You did not.” She held up a hand to forestall the comment that was on my lips. “I know that it appears as though you were unsuccessful, but that is because they were the wrong sorts of trials for you. In failing them—forgive the term, but you’ll see in a moment—in failing the tests set before you, you actually passed a much different test. Rare are the students who pass that test, so rare that the last man to pass it is no longer living. I have seen this before, though I was told by that last man what to expect. Do you want to know who that was?”

  I nodded enthusiastically, suspecting I was about to be let in on one of the greatest secrets of the Dominion. She smiled.

  “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that just yet,” she said. I nearly cried out in frustration, but checked myself. Deryn Lhopri’s lips curled upwards in a smile. “Well done. That kind of self-discipline will serve you well. Do not, however, take it as an insult that I cannot tell you. Tongues wag, and this is not information that is meant to be disseminated widely. When I am satisfied that you can be trusted to hold secrets from even Hero Landri, then I will tell you.”

  I wanted to protest that but was forced to hang my head suddenly as I blushed.

  Deryn Lhopri laughed softly. “No need to be embarrassed, Toven. It is right that every person should have a friend with whom he is close enough to share the deepest of secrets, but there are some secrets that we are burdened to carry alone. You will come to understand this in time, and as soon as you do, I will tell you all that is in your heart to know.”

  She rose from her seat and moved to the few books I’d noticed sitting on the shelf behind her. She reached up and pulled down a slender volume that was leather bound and unmarked. In fact, the more I looked at it, the more I thought it resembled the book I’d found in the mage’s tower several days earlier. Deryn Lhopri placed it on the desk between us, turning it to face me. She kept her fingers firmly on it, holding the cover closed until such time as she had said what she needed to say. “This book is a start, but it is not to be removed from this office. I would not go telling others too much of what you read in here either, mostly because nobody will believe you.” She saw the unspoken question in my eyes and added, “You can talk with Hero about it, but I warn you that she is as likely as anyone else to think you mad and this book a lie. I think I would even encourage you to talk to her about it, for then you will begin to learn what it means to be who you are. As I said, you are a rare breed, Toven Aimis, and the sooner you learn that to be so rare is to be alone, the better for you it will be.”

  She lifted her fingers from the book, inviting me to open it. I did, and what I found drained the blood from my face at once:

  The Confession of Abacus, Grand Master of the College of Mages of Aaria, and last of my brethren.

  I write these words to my son. I do not know when he shall be ready, on what distant day in what distant hour he shall take up this volume and read these words, but I write against that day.

  It was not the similarity of the book’s opening words to the one I had found that frightened me. It was the subtle differenc
es. The volume I had found implied the confessions were written for a reader not yet born, whereas this book was addressed directly to the mage’s son. I read the remainder of the page, finding it to be nearly identical to the ancient codex I possessed, save again for a few small—but not insignificant—changes. Chief of all, the text was in the common hand of the Dominion and not in the foreign yet strangely readable script of the tome I had hidden away.

  You must not wonder that I recognized the differences so readily, for I’d stared at The Confessions of Abacus for hours in the past three days, so much so that I had the text fully memorized. But always the bottom of the first page had ended with You are not yet ready.

  The book I held in hand now lacked that phrase, and so I turned the page to find the narrative continuing. I dropped the book in surprise, and it clattered off the end of the desk and to the floor. Deryn Lhopri mistook what she’d seen. “Yes,” she said, “I imagine it is a difficult thing to learn that you have been lied to by those you trust. You will in time come to realize that nobody holds power without telling lies. There are reasons this information is kept hidden even from the Hymanni, as it is too precious to be cast among swine. But if you fail to believe me about the importance of lies, just think into your own past and recall how often your parents lied to you. Oh, they’ll say it was to protect you or nurture you or guide you, but those were still lies. Humanity, Toven, humanity survives because we lie to each other. The world is a cruel place, and if we had to see the truth of everything around us, we’d go mad in an instant. Do you understand?”

  I picked the book up from the floor and set it on the desk again. I breathed deeply. “Are you lying to me, then?”

  Her mouth broke out in a sharp grin. “You learn fast. That is good. Yes, Toven, I have lied since you entered this office, numerous times already.”