~Chapter Thirty-Four: Silent Music

“I think that’s about all the studying I can handle,” Colin said from the floor next to the common room table. His haphazard notes were arrayed in front of him like a trog warren on parade, all chaos and confusion, and his eyes looked completely glazed over.

Eola sat on the couch, her notes confined to a proper notebook in her lap. The three of them—Roth had pulled up his desk chair and perched on it backwards, humming to himself but paying at least some attention—were currently studying for Introduction to Monsters.

Patrice, to Eola’s complete lack of surprise, was asleep.

They were only working on Introduction to Monsters because Eola couldn’t stand another minute of watching Colin slowly cast his First Order rituals, trying to pick out the modifying marks, and do something with that information. She more or less had the first part down. Out of the four marks, she could usually identify three before he was done sketching and filling his rune. Three was enough for her to…

And that was the problem. To…what?

She was on the right track. Everything Atta had said implied that she could do something with the modifying marks once she knew what they were and could identify them. But she hadn’t figured out what that ‘something’ was, and her familiar was beyond reluctant to give her any more hints.

So, Introduction to Monsters.

The notes were, of course, all about the breeding process of Dalyn/Davek pairs. She found it a little embarrassing to read about, and the boys had caught on to her discomfort. Honestly, the whole process was far too messy for her taste; it didn’t just involve reproduction, but planting fertilized eggs inside of carcasses and letting the flesh rot around the incubating Dalyns and Daveks. She didn’t want to know anything more about how the mantis-spiders reproduced—especially not the…act…itself.

So, the moment Colin gave her an out, her notebook shut. “Great. I think we’re well and truly ready for Introduction to Monsters, then. I’m thinking about dinner.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Colin said. His familiar sat on his lap, sprawling across his folded legs and spilling down to the floor, a yellow river of weasel more liquid than not.

“I can always eat.”

Colin nodded in agreement. “You just usually choose not to for long periods of time, then eat half your weight in one sitting.”

“It’s a perfectly normal way to do things.”

“It’s not healthy, Eola.”

“Before you run off to stuff your face,” Roth said—quite rudely in Eola’s opinion—, “I need your help, and this afternoon’s our last good opportunity before things get busy.”

He pulled a sheet of parchment from his robe pocket and set it on the desk, carefully avoiding Colin’s sprawling notes. Eola picked it up.

Row Ninety-Five, Shelf Nineteen

Fundamentals of the Theorbo, by Pinepetal

“That’s…pretty far in,” she said, handing the scrap to Colin.

Roth nodded. “It is. The theorbo is a new instrument for me. It’s no good for combat, but I haven’t done much with strings except the harp. A…friend…used to have one. I want to learn.”

“Hmmm,” Eola hedged.

“It’d also be an opportunity to test ourselves before the term exam. We’ve been practicing, but we haven’t put any of it to use.”

“Fine.” Eola stood up, knocked on Patrice’s door, and opened it. “Patrice, we’re going to the library. I’ll be back in five minutes to help you gear up.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Colin asked worriedly.

Roth rolled his eyes. “No.”

“I should, though.”

Eola hurried to her room as Roth and Colin started arguing loudly. A moment later, the noise cut off as her door shut, and she pulled on her breastplate, boots, and gloves. The armor melted around her body, fitting snugly in all the right places. That was, in every possible way, a relief.

It meant her mother was still okay.

The library’s changing room was packed, and Eola didn’t regret leaving her robes and cloak behind and crossing the campus grounds in only her armor and clothes. Spring had set in; the snow was only ankle-deep now, and the air was just unpleasantly nippy instead of dagger-to-the-cheek cold. She was still shivering as she waited for the others on the equally crowded first floor, though. It was warm by comparison, but Varin’s Academy never got truly hot.

Crossing the second floor was an exercise in simplicity. The sheer number of students in the first half meant they didn’t even have to start leapfrogging until Row Fifty-Seven, and while Eola spotted signs of monsters, the actual monsters were nowhere to be seen.

They’d probably all been killed.

That feeling of security lasted all the way through Row Ninety-Two. As she crossed into the open space that marked Row Ninety-Four, Patrice’s hand came up, and Eola stopped mid-step. “Trogs.”

“How many?” Eola asked.

“Can’t tell. More than one. Listen.”

Eola sniffed the air instead. The stench was beyond obvious; the fungal odor pressed in all around her, and she coughed quietly as she drew her sword. “Yep, that’s trogs, alright. Roth, you’re up.”

The dark-haired boy’s scowl didn’t change—it rarely did—but a flute came up to his lips, and he started to play. No sound came out. None whatsoever. He held the flute one-handed, waving with the other for Eola to keep moving.

She crossed Row Ninety-Four, glancing to the left. About halfway down, closer to Shelf Twenty than not, the glow of torches lit up the bookshelves, and shadowy, lizardlike figures moved in the aisle. Books had been stacked to form a crude wall, blocking it from shelf to shelf, with a narrow gap in the middle.

The trogs had made a lair.

That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.

Then she was past them, footsteps silenced by Roth’s magic. His fingers piped a tune she couldn’t hear as he hurried along in the middle of the group, then pointed. They slipped down Row Ninety-Five, all the way down to Shelf Nineteen. Colin’s lips moved, but he was silenced, too.

Roth had been practicing this one for a while. It was the most basic of the list of First Order spells he’d transcribed, and the one with the least consequences for failure. The rune was called Silent Spot, and it muted all sound in an area for a few minutes when sketched and filled. But Roth didn’t need to sketch it and fill it. He’d translated it into a song—a song he could play on the move and keep feeding Mana to as long as he played.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

First Order magic, even transcribed into music, was truly powerful; Eola couldn’t wait to decipher more of it for herself—and to build her Mana reserves so she could use it. Journeymage awaited.

Patrice waved the group forward, spinning her fingers in a ‘get on with it’ gesture. Eola turned to face the end of Row Ninety-Five; they were on the outside edge of the library, and only the massive marble wall and even more shelves stared back at her. That was a relief. No feral books, no unweeded sections.

Just the trogs, and Roth’s Silent Song was taking care of—

Her ears popped violently, and she nearly dropped her smallsword as a wave of sound ripped through Roth’s spellsong, obliterating it instantly.

It was a scream. A high-pitched scream—the kind a five-year-old girl made on a village field while boys chased her, or that the boys made when she turned to chase them. It went on and on for what seemed like an eternity, and Eola spun to face its source.

Roth had pointed out a book, and Colin had grabbed it. Fundamentals of the Theorbo sat, open, in his hand. The screaming came from it.

Roth grabbed the book, snapped it shut, and crammed it into his pocket. He lowered the flute and shoved it in after the book. “Y’aer curse it. Behind you!”

Eola spun, smallsword going up to First Guard, as the first trog rounded the corner.

More followed in its wake.