The Trials of Blackbriar Academy Read online

  If she wants to eat me, she’s going to have to work for it.

  “You don’t really want to eat me, do you?” I grin, gesturing to my body. “I’m probably all tough and chewy.”

  The creature stretches high above me as she unhinges her mouth. It almost seems to grow in size to accommodate my body, but I refuse to stand here and let this horrifying creature eat me.

  I’m thankful the children are safe and sound inside their home. If they saw this thing, their fragile minds would be forever shattered.

  I pull on the dagger, forcing back the shudder that threatens to rush through me at the unhinged jaw on this woman’s face. My hand grips the handle tightly as the blade points toward the lamia.

  She chuckles, her words garbled thanks to her stretched jaw. “That won’t do you any good against me, human.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “Maybe not. I guess we’ll see.”

  I charge the snake-like creature. As the wind blows my hair from my face, making my sight clear, I aim the blade for the scaled belly button on the body of the lamia. It lands true. The lamia lets out an ear-splitting scream, but I don’t let go.

  She claws my arm, leaving four deep gashes. A stinging pain burns through my shoulder. I bite my lip and jump back, rolling to my feet before she could land another blow like that. The blade of my dagger is coated in slimy, green ichor and I do my best to wipe it on my pants.

  The lamia is quick. Almost quicker than me as she slithers toward me and slashes again. I dodge in time to barely avoid another slash of her sharp claws. My magic grows stronger within me and I bite my lip against it, wishing I had a conduit right about now. This fight would be over already if I could just use the power within me.

  I lunge and sink my blade into her side. She growls and claws at me as I wrench the blade in a long slash. She flings me from her, and I land hard against the trunk of a tree and topple to the ground. My dagger is gone. I must have lost my grip on it when I hit the tree, and I have no idea where it is. Rolling to my back, I face the creature as she coils for her attack.

  She launches.

  I flip myself over and quickly duck behind the tree.

  There are two choices, here—try desperately to find a dull knife somewhere in the dark, or run.

  She crashes into the trunk and splinters of bark shatter from the impact.

  Looks like I’m running.

  I run deeper into the woods. This fight was too close to the cabin and too close to the village. I can’t let the lamia be seen. It would cause chaos and fear, and these people are too kind to live with such nightmares.

  The lamia follows me, growling and screaming and repeatedly demanding that I stop dragging this out any longer than necessary.

  “You’re only making your death sweeter for me and more painful for you,” she hauntingly calls after me.

  Not if I can help it.

  “Gotta make you work for your dinner. Can’t eat for free,” I shout over my shoulder.

  That pisses her off more.

  Her claws swipe at my legs, and she knocks me clear off my feet. I fall on my back, rolling, and scramble backward as she slowly coils to spring.

  We should be far enough from civilization, hoping and praying to whoever is out there listening there aren’t more of her kind hanging around, waiting for dinner to come home. I doubt it, because lamias aren’t exactly common in these parts, but if anyone had asked me if I expected to run into one of these creatures on my trip to the human town, I would’ve laughed at them.

  The lamia is seething now, breathing exaggerated and with each exhale she sprays saliva, poison, or both from her scaly lips.

  “Enough of this nonsense!” A string of saliva oozes from her lips. “It’s time to die.”

  I jump to my feet and beckon her closer with my hands. “You first.”

  She launches and I dodge the blow. I notice a stick with a semi-pointed end laying off to the side, so I grab it. It won’t do much damage, but dammit, it will keep her teeth busy instead of embedded in my flesh.

  She slaps my side with her tail, and I fly through the air and hit a tree. This hit takes a lot out of me. My head spins and my vision blurs. I won’t be able to take many more hits like that before I’m as good as dinner.

  My magic begs to be freed as she wraps her tail around the bottom half of my legs and holds me upside down in the air. But I can’t let it free. I have no conduit.

  I’m caught between a rock and hard place. Her mouth opens wide and I see into the cavernous hole that I’m about to be taken into.

  As my magic boils with fury and rage, I hold my hands up to brace for her impact.

  A torrent of purplish pink light shoots from my hands in a strong burst that obliterates the creature. Her tail releases me, and I fall as I shut my eyes against the painful burst of light. I hit the ground hard, groaning in agony as pain splinters down my back. The brunt force seems to shut off the blast of light from my palms, and for a moment, the world is staggeringly silent.

  Once my magic ebbs, I blink away the dots of light amidst the ashes that fill the space surrounding me. Soot wafts on a gentle breeze, coating the grass with gray powder.

  The lamia is gone.

  I… I destroyed it.

  With my bare hands.

  I want to feel victory. To feel joy. To feel something.

  But mostly, I’m still just numb.

  My eyes drift toward the shadows of the woods as the lamia’s ashes float weightlessly toward the ground.

  Oh shit.

  I just performed magic. Without a conduit.

  This is bad.

  Really, really bad.

  Ever since I was a little girl, my father was my greatest teacher. He taught me the laws of magic. Number one being, all magic must be used with a conduit. But I was such a challenging, inquisitive child. I never took what I was told at face value. I always wanted to know more, try things out for myself to see if the rules could be bent or broken.

  So, when the topic arose, I faced my father and asked, “What would happen if I did use magic without a conduit?”

  He became serious as his brown eyes met my own. He lowered himself to my height and gripped my shoulders. I thought maybe I had made him mad, that he was going to shake me, but his firm grip never wavered as he said, “Only those who are dark and have dark intentions will be able to break the laws and perform magic under such circumstances. Anyone who uses magic without a conduit is always dark. Even if they were born with good hearts, the power corrupts them. It’s inevitable.”

  As silence weighs on the trees and the final remnants of what I had done collects on the ground around me, I know what this means. My breaths quicken as my thoughts begin to race.

  Oh. My. God.

  I’m dark?

  It has to mean I’m dark.

  But I don’t feel dark.

  I want to figure this out. Come up with any other options or possibilities that would explain my magic away. To make it mean I’m not going dark. But the shouts of men reach me, and I have to get out of here quick. I can’t be caught.

  Climbing to my feet, I glance one final time at the collection of ashes scattered among leaves, dirt, and twigs. I turn away, running for freedom.

  There has to be an explanation for me doing magic beyond me being dark that would somehow make what I had just done okay. And I have to figure that out soon.

  Because, as Dad had emphatically told me, there was no coming back from going dark.

  Chapter Three

  I know in my heart that I should move faster, to put as much distance between me and the trolls as possible, but the weight of what I did to the lamia is almost too much to handle.

  The moon is already high in the night sky, shining beams of silvery light through the treetops, lighting my way as I slowly make my way to a new life.

  I ran in a wide circle from the lamia’s remains, in case the humans had dogs with them. When I came across a spring, I cleaned out my wound and covered it with so
me moss and mud. My head and body both ache, screaming with some of the harder hitting movements like landing after a jump or climbing over boulders, but all in all I know my injuries could have been much, much worse.

  “I need a break,” I mumble to myself, rubbing my stinging eyes.

  Taking a seat on the ground at the base of a tree, I watch the moon as it struggles to push its light through the canopy of the trees above me, filtering the thick shadows with silver light alive with mystical nightlife that remains secret and safe from most of humanity.

  Faeries step between trees a short distance from me. They have seen me before, but they are still wary of me. I’m half-mage, sure, but I’m still half-human, and faeries are distrusting of humans thanks to their penchant to destroy things they don’t understand. I know there’s more to that, but that’s the best answer I know. So, that’s what I stick with.

  Fireflies, or sprites, dance in and out of the shadows, weaving through the bushes and trees. I wish I hadn’t caught them when I was a little girl. They are so tiny, harmless, and had I known they die in captivity, I would never have done it. But that was a lesson I learned the hard way, and I always leave them bits and pieces of my few, small meals as a means of making amends for my childhood mistakes.

  A branch snaps from my right and my head snaps in that direction. I narrow my eyes as I see a glimpse of something I had yet to see but had read stories of.

  A stag with soft, glowing white antlers steps into view and turns his head toward me, his eyes meet mine and I can tell he’s trying to decide if I mean danger. The edges of his body shimmer like fog, iridescent and indistinct.

  I lower my head in a small bow to show my respect and to signal that I’m not going to bring him harm.

  He watches me for a moment longer before he continues on his way, peaceful and quiet.

  I smile, despite myself. The legend surrounding the stags are as long as I’m tall and range widely from granting wishes to being just a symbol of good luck. I don’t know which is correct, and honestly, I don’t want to find out. He’s a life. An innocent creature that just wants to live without disruption of greedy hands. Who am I to stand in his way?

  Small yellow lights fill the hollow of a tree not far off to my left. Gnomes. They are small delights but vicious when backed into a corner. Rabbits hop across my path, one stopping to sniff the air around me before hopping off.

  This is the reminder that I needed. Life can be beautiful. Seeing these creatures gives me belief that things can be better than what they are now. I just need to get there first.

  But I can’t sit here forever.

  I watch for just a little while longer before forcing myself up to my feet and dusting off the back of my pants with my hands. Time to go. Whether I like it or not.

  Before long, I get the creeping sensation of someone following me. Though as I look around, I can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Or anyone for that matter. But as I continue on, that feeling only continues to grow. And as I reach a small dirt path that cuts through the forest, I spot someone sitting on a toppled down tree not far off from me. No more than fifty feet or so ahead of me.

  I pause briefly to weigh my options.

  One: I can continue on and see who this person is. I know he’s not a troll. He’s too small.

  Two: I can walk back the other direction, circle around, and hope that I throw this person off my trail, if they are waiting for me.

  Three… I really don’t have a three. Those are pretty much the possibilities that I have to work with, as going in the opposite direction is just wasting precious time.

  The person turns their attention toward me, and I blow a raspberry and cross my arms over my chest in defeat. Well, crap. Now I have to go with option number one. I start moving toward him.

  The figure stands and says, “Wren Blackwood?”

  I stop mid-step and hold my breath. This person definitely was looking for me. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

  He slowly makes his way toward me and says, “My name is Deacon Lawrence. I’m a professor of alchemy at Blackbriar Academy. As to how I know your name? Magic, of course.”

  “Blackbriar Academy?” I gape, breathless. I go still, simply watching the man who lives at the most historic academy for magic in the world. Mages would kill just to visit, much less attend.

  When I was little, I dreamed about going. But now, I dream about vengeance. About finding the people who killed my family. Nowadays, I dream about freedom.

  I take a steadying breath, trying to clear my head and focus. He glossed over how he found me, and I suspect he figured he could drop the academy’s name and make my knees go weak.

  I’m not that easy to win over.

  This guy is gonna have to do a lot better with his answers if I’m going to believe him.

  “Explain how you found me, then.” I stand taller to look more imposing than I probably am. It’s a trick I learned from the trolls, but hey, it works.

  Deacon approaches me. “I have a machine that allows me to track specific magic throughout the world. You recently performed magic, yes?”

  I hesitate, but nod.

  He stands less than two feet in front of me now and I can see that he is tall, with short, grey hair. His stature suggests that he’s accustomed to his position with his long brown coat and business slacks. A scarf drapes over his shoulders. He smiles, as if he notices me sizing him up.

  “That’s how I found you,” he admits. “I tracked the signature to the area where the magic was performed and traces of it led me to this place,” he gestures around him. “It took a little while to figure out which direction you’d take, but I’m fairly good at ironing out little details like that.” He winks proudly.

  “But why?” I ask.

  He nods, his smile fading, and that strikes me as odd for some reason. “Each year, I’m given one invitation to the school’s trials for admittance to the academy. I give mine to those whom I believe show promise in their magical abilities.” He takes a step closer, watching me with an intense gaze. “I find talented mages, Wren, and I make them truly great.”

  He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a black envelope and holds it out to me.

  Rustling sounds surround us, and if Deacon hears it, he doesn’t let on. But I notice it as loud as ever, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  “She’s not going anywhere. She belongs to us,” the troll chief says.

  Shit.

  The trolls are here.

  I turn to face them, brimming with the rage I’ve tried so hard to swallow over the years. “But why? You hate me. You only want to keep me to empty bed pans and be a punching bag when nothing goes your way. I’m your scapegoat. Anything wrong gets blamed on me. Just for existing and annoying you with my mere presence. Let me simply leave!”

  “You will not go,” the chief says. “You will be put in chains if you push further. You think we hate you now? You have not seen anything yet. As I see it, we have been more than lenient with you.”

  The trolls step out of the shadows. We are surrounded. Damn near the whole village is here. They must have had something special planned for me upon my return, and they were pissed when I didn’t show. Chains were likely just the beginning of that little treat.

  How sweet.

  “You,” Gnars says, voice a low growl, and points to the professor. “You will die for trespassing on troll land.”

  “What?” I ask. “You have got to be joking.”

  “Humans can’t know of us,” the chief says. “All humans die. Can’t let him rattle off about us and our location.”

  “He’s a mage,” I snap. “If you think—”

  “Shut up,” Gnars interrupts.

  I bristle, my hatred simmering beneath my skin. “No.”

  Gnars tilts his head, clearly astonished. “What did you—”

  “Never again,” I say with a grimace. “I’m not your toy anymore.”

  I killed a lamia w
ith my bare hands. Dark or not, I don’t have to put up with them anymore. I don’t entirely know how I used my magic without a conduit, sure, but if I did it once, I can do it again. This man’s life isn’t going to be taken because of me, and I’m never going back to the trolls.

  I turn toward the professor. “The academy is a lot of things to a lot of people,” I admit. “But I want the truth. Is where you want me to go better than this place?”

  All I need is a promise of things being a fraction better, and that would work for me. If only to get away from the trolls. Once I’m free, I’ll press for more information. And if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll go off on my own.

  Simple as that.

  Deacon Lawrence smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Undoubtedly,” he says.

  I know he isn’t telling me everything. To be the best, you have to make sacrifices, and I suspect Blackbriar Academy is so much more than people think.

  But it’s good enough for now. I won’t find out what it is if we don’t get away from here, so I nod. For the time being, that answer will suffice.

  “Wren,” Professor Lawrence says sternly. “Do you accept?”

  Do I accept his invitation to Blackbriar Academy?

  To the trials he has told me nothing about?

  “If it means I get the hell out of here,” I say with a nod to the trolls around me. “Then hell yes.”

  “Very well,” he says calmly, withdrawing his conduit from his pocket as he turns his attention to the chief. “Sir, I’m afraid Miss Blackwood is under my protection, now. If you attempt to take her, you will answer to me.”

  Despite the fact that I don’t totally trust this man, I smile. It’s nice to not be totally alone.

  As the trolls lift their clubs, ready to swarm us, I square my shoulders. This man is my ticket to a better life, and I won’t use magic without a conduit unless I absolutely have to.

  I don’t want him to know what I can do. Dad never told me what happens to the mages who go dark, but I can guess.

  I ball my hands into fists, ready to do what it takes to finally win my freedom. And, for the second time in one day, I will literally fight for my life.