Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Academy of Magic
A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.
Theodore Roosevelt
The next two days went by dreadfully slow. The entirety of my days were spent at the Witch's side, him running his fingers through my hair like I was a pet of his, or curiously asking questions when we were alone.
"Are Witches the only people with magical abilities?" I would ask, and he would chuckle and pat my head. I really was nothing but a pet to him; it made my stomach churn with disgust.
"My, my, what is with all these questions today, my charm? I suppose I could answer just a few more…" His finger wraps one of my curls around it. The draft is still there, and his hands only make the shiver worse. "No, my sweet Faye, Witches are not the only people with magical abilities. Everyone has some amount of magic in them – some more than others.
"For example, those that have eaten a Devil Fruit," my ears perk up at this. "The Devil Fruit is simply a branch-off from an original Witch experiment. Generations ago, a Witch by the name of Giannini tried to put his magical abilities into fruit so that he could sell them to the highest bidder for a lofty profit. It worked, but one buyer used the seed of his fruit and planted a tree. From there, the Devil's Fruit was created. Only one fruit blooms from the tree, but it's only after one user has died."
My eyes fall to the marble floor. My hands are clenched in my lap. I have some magic in me, but only a small bit. Maybe it will be good enough to save Siren, with?
"And then there is the genetic magic, which comes down from ancestors passing on their magical abilities to their descendants. Everyone has a Witch for an ancestor. That is simply how nature ran its course. The ancestor may be from thousands and thousands of years ago, but the genetic magic is still there."
That's good enough for me. The rest of that day was spent in silence, other than the Witch ordering his servants. The next day, the day we would be docking in Witch Country, was different, however.
"Is there a school for Witches?" I asked, catching him by surprise. He had been reading some small, red leather book with the title in gold leaf. It was in a different language. He nods while folding the cover of the page down and closing his book. "Do all Witches go there?"
He turns to look down at me; I'm trying my hardest to keep the innocent look in my eyes. I was never very good at playing innocent.
"Not all Witches, just the important ones. I went there – all of my family has gone there. Most others go to simple spell school, just to learn the basics, while others, such as myself, go to the Academy to learn the best of the best."
I definitely have to find this Academy.
"Sir?" Kingsley walks into the throne room, a thick red coat now wrapped around his body. "We are to dock at any moment. I am here to take the slave to the others."
The Witch nods, pats my head, and I'm handed over to Kingsley. As we walk down the long hallway from the throne room to the chamber of the others, I'm glancing over everything I can get my eye on. I need to know the best way to get out of here. Kingsley walks me to the door and knocks. Hama opens the door, looking horribly tired, but one subtle look from me awakens her.
Now.
Hama opens the door and walks in, pushing me toward the others. Just then, there's a loud thud and the sound of deadweight dropping to the ground. I spin on my heels to find Hama holding a vase in her hands, and Kingsley unconscious at her feet.
"Thank you," I say, before dashing out of the room and down the hallway.
"You better come back for us!" She yells after me, reminding me of the promise I made. I just hope they're alive when I do come back.
The halls seem endless, but I continue to take a left at every turn I come to. I haven't gone head first into any guard's chest and I hope that I never do. On my last turn, there's just a long hallway with one door at the end. A bright light is shining from underneath it and I pray to whatever-there-is that the bright light shining from underneath is sunlight. As I get closer and closer, I slow down, speed-wise, but my mind is still running a mile a second. Then, suddenly, I'm standing before the door, my hand outstretched for the handle.
I'm almost scared that if it is sunlight, how am I to get past the crew more-likely-than-not still walking around on deck. And I'm almost certain that we haven't docked yet. Just as I get past that thought, there's a distant shout coming from behind me.
"Go find her, you damn idiots! Do you want Obadiah to find out that she escaped?" Kingsley yells, very loudly, at however many guards he has gathered. "And make sure she's alive when you get her!"
Now or never.
I quickly open the door and run out onto deck. The crew stops their jobs and stares at me. I'm still in my scant-outfit, but the sun feels good on my skin. The goose flesh melts away. I can hear footsteps from behind me, and not daring to waste another second, I take off running for the railing. The dock is just close enough that I can jump; I may break something, but I can jump nonetheless.
The crew goes to try and grab at me, but I'm moving too fast, twisting and turning at just the last second to escape their hands also. I have too much momentum – and that isn't a very good thing.
Just as I get to the railing, I lift my right foot up and kick off the wood. There's a loud angry screech coming from Kingsley as he watches me jump away. I land, thankfully, on top of a vendor booth and slide down into an itchy pile of hay. The shoppers and sellers simply stare at me as I stumble to stand, pulling hay from my hair, and take off running away. From my choice of clothing, many take that I am a slave and have escaped – they do nothing to stop me, which is surprising.
I'm nearly two full blocks away before I realize why they don't chase me.
The Witch, Obadiah I believe his name is, stands in the center of the street that I'm running on. Coming from all sides are heavily armed guards and beasts of great stature. The Witch does not look very pleased with me.
"My dear charm, why are you running?"
His voice, which remains as calm as his expression, sends not-so-nice shivers down my back. The goose flesh is back and it's not from a cold draft. The guards begin to close in, and I begin to fear that I won't be able to make an easy escape. The denizens of Witch Country just walk around the commotion as if this is an everyday occurrence – I hope it's not.
I take a quick glance around, judging my surroundings. There's an opening between two guards, but it's into a brick wall. It is the only opening, and I find no other; looks like the brick wall is my only choice. I take off into their direction, picking up as much speed as I can. They look surprised, not thinking I could possibly be running toward them. Just as I'm a yard and a half away, the familiar tingling in my bones spreads out over my body, and I begin to shrink.
Their eyes almost bugle from the sockets they sit in.
I'm through the opening and to the other side. I make a sharp turn away from the wall and run to hide under a vendor booth. Now the market place is in an uproar. I can hear the anger in Obadiah's voice as he bellows for the guards to go after me. I move from booth to booth, using the tablecloths as a way to make it impossible to tell where I'm going. I'm only a few inches tall, and while I'm not running very fast, it does well for a quick disguise. If used correctly.
After the fifth booth, I find an alleyway and run into it. I dodge behind crates and boxes, trying my best not to drown in puddles of mud and sludge. Once out of the alleyway and onto another street that is calm and simply bustling with Witches arguing with each over the price of an item, I find a clothing vendor and expand to natural size. With a quick pop of my neck, I grab the first thing I see hanging up and pull it on, replacing it with the outfit I was given on the ship.
From there, I easily blend into the crowd.
It's like an ocean current – going back and forth, but overall sending everyone in the same direction. There were so many schools of fish – from the little children dismissed from school to the high-society ladies with their eventful clothing of choice. So many jewels caught my eyes, but I forced myself to keep moving on. Last time I got distracted by jewels, I got kidnapped. Look how well that turned out.
Somehow, I find myself at a fork in the road. One part of the road slopes up into a steep hill. It curves at the top and the buildings make it difficult to see where it leads. The other slopes downward, not as steep, but gradual instead. It curves, also, and I'm not sure where it leads either. I'm left to stare at the building between the two roads. The front is nothing but a wall wide enough to house a door, and then the building flares out in a triangular shape. There is no sign above the door, but the street light above the store bell is on, even though it is the middle of the day. It wouldn't hurt to go in; so, I do.
When I step in, I'm amazed at the shop inside. It is much bigger than I realized, even though the shape seems awkward on the outside, it fits well with the inside. On one wall is a row of mirrors with cabinets and shelves filled with jars and needles. There are chairs in front of each different set of shelves and cabinets. On the other side it looks much like an antique shop.
As I close the door, the bell rings loud and clear.
"Hello! Welcome to-" The shopkeeper stops in the middle of his sentence and stares at me. "Faye?"
"Alastair?" I ask in surprise, never thinking I would see the blonde boy ever again.
"Faye!" he yells happily, jumping from behind the shelf full of old books and coming over to hug me. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you! It's so boring here in Witch Country. I so badly want to go back to Hastion City, it's much more colorful there. And the people are so much nicer too and-"
"What's with all the noise, Al?" another familiar voice sounds. Alastair turns us around quickly, and I find myself looking up at Syra as she walks down from second floor of the shop. Behind her, is a line of floating items following down the stairs. In one of her hands, Syra has a familiar black device – is that a wand?
"Look, Syra! It's Faye!" Alastair exclaims excitedly. Syra looks up from the steps, stopping halfway down and stares at me.
Suddenly, I remember all the pain she caused me because of that stupid tattoo on my back. The hair on my arms stands up on end. I pull away from Alastair and walk over to the stairs. Syra continues the walk down. By the time she is at the bottom, I'm in front of her, fist balled and pulled back. I'm pissed.
"This is for the fucking infection you gave me," I seethe at her before letting my fist go. I hit her right in the nose. The crack of it is sweet music to my ears. Bitch.
"Sea god!" Al yells, surprised at the sudden violence. All the things Syra had levitating behind her crash to the floor. The glass shatters and a few things tumble down to my feet. Syra is sprawled out on the stairs, one hand holding herself up while the other clutches around her broken nose.
"The hell!" she yells at me, but it sounds nasally and muffled by her hand.
I wasn't sure of what had overcome me, but it felt amazing. There was a slight bouncy in my movements, and I couldn't stop shifting. It was almost as if I was waiting for her to strike back. There was surprise in my subconscious thoughts, but the thoughts that were upfront and the main focus, told me to go into battle mode. I've never been one to fight – it's not very fun to go home with bloody knuckles and a black eye when you have to embroider twenty handkerchiefs the next day.
"Faye! What has gotten into you?" Al shouts, pulling me by my arm, away from Syra. She's still on the stairs, cupping her nose as blood begins to drip from her hand. Damn. Did I really hit her that hard? But to tell the truth, I didn't care much about if I really hit her a bit too hard.
By the time Syra has gotten her nose in the correct position and the blood has stopped flowing, I'm sitting in one of the chairs that lines one of the walls, staring at the many shelves of antiques. Syra simply glares at me from across the room. Her face is starting to swell. Good.
"What are you doing in Witch Country, Faye?" Alastair asks me, and I'm not quite sure how to answer it, exactly.
"I'm trying to find a curse-breaker," I tell him after a few moments. His brow rises to his hairline as he sips at his cup of tea he fixed while Syra and I cooled off.
"A curse-breaker to what, exactly?"
I answer, without missing a beat, "An enslavement spell."
Alastair's eyes widen. The tea he sips is swallowed quickly. "An enslavement spell? Faye, that is very powerful magic to begin with, and it would take an equally, or more, powerful Witch to disarm it. You're not in any trouble, are you?"
I shake my head, ignoring the part about the spell being very powerful. "No, but I do have a friend that is in trouble and I want to help her."
"Here's a better question," Syra drawls, the nasally sound of her voice throwing some amusement in the situation. "How'd you get to Witch Country to begin with?"
"Same way most Witches do," I retort. "By ship."
"Yeah, but it takes a special Log Pose to find Witch Country," Al states.
"I just so happen to have a Witch acquaintance with one of those special Log Poses."
"Then why can't he help you with the curse-breaker?"
I think up a quick lie. "He's not the brightest flame in the fire." That seems to do well enough for Al. Syra still hasn't said anything.
"Then the Academy is probably best for you. They can give you the curse-breaker, but it won't do you much good without any magical abilities."
"But I have some magic in me," I tell them. "I ate a Devil's Fruit. Isn't that good enough?"
Al looks over to Syra, and they share a look. He looks back at me. "For a simple cleaning charm, maybe. But a full-out curse-breaker? Even I couldn't do that properly." I don't find much encouragement in Al's words, but that's only one opinion. And my opinion is the only one that counts.
"Well, now that that is settled, show me to this 'Academy'."
Al looks over at Syra nervously. She's wearing a mischievous look. She mumbled, "Good luck with that…" Alastair looks back at me.
"What is your Devil Fruit power, again?"
I look at him with a confused expression. "I can shrink myself."
The worried look on Al's face brightens immediately. "Oh, then getting in the Academy will be a piece of cake for us!" Al grabs his coat and pulls it on. "Alrighty then, hop in!" He says, pointing to the small outside pocket of his coat. I look at him, and then at the pocket. Sighing to myself, I close my eyes and feel my bones moving. Opening them again, I find Al's gigantic hand outstretched for me. Standing from the chair, I jump onto his palm and hold onto one of his fingers as he lifts me up to the pocket.
Once in the small confinement, all I see is the light from overhead from the top of the pocket, and Al's chin. His voice is booming as he says a goodbye to Syra. "We'll be back, Syra! Close the shop up until then." Syra grumbles something, but I hear only the faint mumbles of words.
OF MEMOIRS AND MAPS
"Al?"
He looks over at me as we slink through the empty halls of the Academy. It wasn't very hard to get in, actually, but I was uneasy with the echoing steps of our feet. Any sound could be hiding behind them.
"Yeah, Faye?"
I look behind us, checking that end of the hall before continuing to walk forward to the other end. I'm obviously hesitating, trying to figure out how to ask my question and readying myself for lies or an I don't know.
"Why did my tattoo get infected?"
Now Al is the one hesitating and I know he knows something. He knows I know because he won't look at me.
"Well, the ink wasn't regular ink. Sy had infused it with some of her magic and…" He pauses. I stop walking, and he does the same. We aren't going any farther until he tells me everything he knows, and I know he understands that from my rigid body language. "And, well, she was experimenting to see if it was possible to make magical tattoos. You know, the kind that move on their own, or are projected off your body."
"So you mean if I would have woken up with a fairy wing one morning then it would have worked?"
He nods.
"But it didn't work, obviously," Al says, waving his hand casually as if it was suspected. "We didn't hear anything from you, so Syra went back and tried to perfect the ink and we're still working on it, but we've had a lot of success lately. There are still a few kinks that need to be ironed out, but it shouldn't take too much longer before we have the formula ready to use on Witches and non-Witches."
Then, gradually, we fall back into step, going farther and farther down the hall, but after some amount of metres, I stop again and look. We haven't changed position in the hall but by maybe a few centimeters. Al looks at me, obviously not seeing what I see.
"What is it, Faye?"
"We're not alone," I simply say, causing Al to look around and also see that we haven't moved in the hallway even though we've been walking for a good ten minutes. Al whispers something, and small speckles of glittering light fizzle into the air before the endless hallway pops out of sight. A single figure appears to be standing in front of us, maybe only five metres away. He's dressed in dark colored robes, his arms crossed over his chest. Al squints, slightly, trying to see who it is through the dim light.
His face seems to brighten after a few seconds.
"Uncle Voltaire!"
The man steps forward, finally giving a better view of his large, muscular form. He's wearing a large grin that almost could rival Ace's cheeky smile.
Ace...
"Well if it isn't my little bugger of a nephew, Alastair! What brings you to the Academy, Al?"
The two family members share a friendly hug in greeting, passing pleasantries, before Alastair turns to me.
"Uncle Vol, this is Faye. She's an old friend from Hastion City."
"Ah, a fine specimen you've brought me, Al! I love meeting Non-Witches." Voltaire comes up to me, grabbing my hand and holds it delicately in his two, kissing the knuckles. He pauses. "Ahh..." he whispers, pulling my hand away from his lips and looking at me quizzically. "But you do have some magic in you, my dear Faye... don't you?"
I look over at Al, not sure of where this is going.
"Let me guess!" Voltaire suddenly exclaims, causing me to jump. His hands keep a hold on mine, though. He lets his fingers run over the scars and pin pricks of years of being a seamstress and living with a pirate. "Devil Fruit, correct?" I simply nod my head, giving him an incredulous look. I mean, there were only so many options that he could have chosen from but to get it on the first try? Lucky guess.
"Oh, but there's much more, isn't there?" he murmurs, and I barely catch it. "So much more underneath, laying dormant for the longest time..."
I pull my hand back, keeping my limbs to myself. "Can you help us or not?" I snap, and no matter how much more I want to find out about what he has to say, I need to worry about my main focus: freeing Siren.
Voltaire seems to snap out of the inquisitive state he was in, and back to a ball of energy. For a middle aged man, he's got a lot of it.
"Right! Of course! Let us go into my office to speak farther on the matter. Shall we?"
A door to the left of us opens on its own, and nowadays I find that nothing compared to what I have seen. Alastair goes in first, with me following, and Voltaire behind us, closing and latching the door locked. I look for any other exits, and all I find it two windows. One is covered in stained glass that shines a picture onto the paper cluttered desk, and another one that is open and letting in the fresh breeze and voices of students down below.
"Now, my dear nephew, what may I help you and your friend with?"
Alastair looks over at me, and I take this as my queue to speak.
"I have a... friend of a sorts in a bit of trouble. I need to find a curse-breaker for an enslavement spell."
Voltaire, now sitting in his high backed leather chair, rests in the comforts of the cushions. He presses his finger tips together, hiding the smirk I know he's wearing. Alastair stays off to the side, busying himself with looking at the many books and scrolls that line the walls.
"My, my, it does seem as if this friend of yours is in a predicament."
He doesn't say anything else, and after a few minutes my patience is lost.
"Are you going to help me or not?" I ask, trying to keep my anger down. I've never been this infuriated so quickly before. Has he done something to me?
"Of course I will, my dear Faye!" He spreads his arms out and gives a loud laugh. His eyes sparkle with a light that isn't as happy, though. "For a price, that is."
It is now that I realize that I'm going to regret doing this. Why didn't I listen to Ace? Then I wouldn't be in this mess.
"And your price?"
I shouldn't have asked that. I'm such an idiot, I shouldn't have asked that!
Voltaire leans forward, grinning maliciously. His happy, friendly outer cover has dissolved into this sick, twisted man. It doesn't matter if I take the offer or not, I'm stuck in here anyways.
"Your first born child."
A/N:
What? You don't remember Alastair or Syra? Go back to Street Corner Symphony of Ink! You'll remember then.
Review, please? This is the longest chapter I've ever written for this story! But I think I owe you that much, right?
I want to apologize for the lengthy wait. Things in my life got hectic, but I also got a new laptop for Christmas and it didn't have Word on it, so I couldn't write the chapter. It's been sitting on my flashdrive since Christmas… And we're a week into June now. I still have plans to finish this story before its 4th birthday in December, but I do have my first year of college coming up in two months. With a summer job plus summer trips, we'll see how much of this story I get out before I'm finished. There are going to be, total, fifty or so chapters. Exciting isn't it? :D
Love and Kisses?
Bri.