XI; Campfire Stories

  “And the Gods themselves descended from the heavens to give us praise!” Gett declared, leaning on his spear like some hero of old, as Fedwin threw the bird’s corpse onto the grass.

  I lowered the clutch of eggs onto a cloth. “It was a grand battle.”

  “Truly!” Fedwin smiled.

  “I’m sure it was,” Isla clapped, hugging her brother. She’d let her black hair down loose, and it was surprisingly curly.

  Medlyn pushed Fedwin out of the way and examined the bird. Then she laughed. “Did you fools hunt with swords!”

  “It’s not like I supplied them bows,” Professor Riscard commented as his conversation with the driver ended. He walked over and sat at the campfire, now blazing. “Fedwin and Gett, go skin the bird—away from the campsite.”

  Complying, the two of them left with the corpse in tow.

  “Oh, Medlyn. Isla. Help them out.” After a confused silence, the two followed the boys. Professor Riscard motioned to the wooden chair beside him. “Come sit for a moment. We need to talk.”

  Eerie. Taking a seat to the left of him, I warmed my hands by the fire. They were stained with blood. Red blood. I looked up and the moon had finally broken the horizon. Daylight had fully fled, and all that remained was a night of pallid light. The stars had not yet deigned to make an appearance, sadly.

  “How do you feel?” he asked me.

  “Fine.” Empty. As always. Lying to myself. As always.

  “He said the same,” the professor sighed.

  There it is again. “This mystery man who’s oh so much like me?”

  “His name is Cel,” the Professor spat. And then his grey eyes grew cold and sad as the fire spat back. “But it wasn’t always. He used to be called Bram. I attended Sigel, like you do now, alongside him.”

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  I don’t really care about… Bram—although the name’s pretty fucking similar. “What did he do that was so bad?”

  “He had an evil inside him,” the professor whispered. He turned to me. “The same as you do. We sealed it, the same as we sealed yours. And he broke the seal of his own volition.”

  “Breaking a seal was enough to—”

  “Hardly,” he chuckled. “No… he learned forbidden magic. That of blood. Necromancy. Darker arts. He slew all thirty-eight Magi of the Gemstone, for they tried to imprison him when they discovered what he had done to the predecessor of that old fool. That was when he took the name Cel.”

  So that’s why Celeste was so adamant against me, huh? “What’d he do to them?”

  “Her,” Professor Riscard corrected. “But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He is so reviled amongst all for he took control of the—as it was then—Kingdom of Lincaia. Slaughtered the royal family. Turned them into flesh puppets. So do not misunderstand why people will distrust you. Will bear nought but disdain for you. That is your lot, and you must work with—”

  “I don’t much care for all that,” I sighed. “They can think of me what they please.”

  He scoffed at that. He smiled at that. “He said that too. But he was alike you in many ways, and I believe this too might be similar…”

  “What?”

  “Cel was a man warped by his own perceptions.” Professor Riscard warmed his own hands now. “He, entirely through the fault of his mind, became master of his own reality—however much an aberration that reality was. He couldn’t forgive. He couldn’t forget. He saw slights big. And soon enough, he saw slights small. Then he saw them where they weren’t—and ignored them where they were. He became hypocrisy manifest. A man of a thousand morals, not subject to each other. Do not fall down that same path. It leads only to ruin.”

  I scratched my nose. “You… speak as if I’m not my own person. As if I’m just a copy. Another chance.”

  “You are for many,” he declared. “But to me, you’re my student, Gram. I cannot stop myself seeing roads already walked, but that shouldn’t matter to you. Prove them wrong… or prove them right. You’re your own person, but I meant this from the beginning—before you so rudely cut me off: do not become a copy through the trials and tribulations that will come as a result of other people’s perceptions and dreams. It will lead only—”

  “To ruin,” I finished.

  “To death,” he corrected, a big smile flashing his face. “But I’m glad you’ve been paying attention.”

  I got up from the chair and circled the fire. Inside, the image of my mother’s charred head appeared for a moment. “And what happened to the man himself?”

  Professor Riscard clasped his hands together. “Dead.”

  I laughed. “Good riddance.”

  Somehow I thought he wanted to hear that, but his face only grew sadder. “Yes…”