Gennady's Tale

Chapter 10

It was a relief, Gennady found when they made the long trek back to Whitehall the following morning, to discover that his roommates were a pair of aristocrats who’d never paid any particular attention to him. They seemed too wrapped up in their family affairs to change that, as far as he could tell. One was a close friend—or crony, more like—of Charlus, yet he didn’t seem inclined to pick a fight with Gennady. Gennady was sure that would change, sooner or later, but he’d take what he could get. He certainly wouldn’t have felt safekeeping the stolen book in his old room. Who knew if Charlus would have started pawing through Gennady’s possessions?

He concealed the book within his drawer, then met up with his friends and went to class. It was just as hard as he remembered, with the students hitting the ground running. There was very little time for a private meeting, even after classes formally came to an end. Gennady had to spend the first few evenings in the library, just to catch up with the rest of the class. He had to wait until the weekend—and then reserve a spellchamber—just so he could have a proper chat with his friends.

“So,” Simon said, once they’d cast privacy wards. “What’s the big secret?”

“You’ve been dropping hints all week,” Lyndred added. She smiled warmly, her eyes lingering on Simon. It was clear they were steadily growing closer. “What is it?”

Gennady felt a hint of dull resentment. He didn’t wantLyndred. She was pretty, but she wasn’t Primrose. And yet, he envied Simon for growing closer to a girl. He wanted to do that too. He wanted ... he shook his head. He didn’t have time. He wanted—he needed—to get them to help him.

He opened his knapsack. “I found this book,” he said. The journal tingled against his fingers as he brought it into the open. “It has a handful of spells we can try.”

Simon sucked in his breath. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it,” Gennady repeated. Simon hadn’t grown up with the knowledge he might be killed at any moment, that sometimes one needed to steal to survive. Simon wouldn’t understand the truth. “It belonged to an older student who left Whitehall years ago.”

“Found it,” Simon repeated. He didn’t sound as if he believed the story. “Where ... where did you find it?”

Gennady scowled. “The point is, the book includes a handful of rites and rituals we can use to boost our powers,” he said. “We can jump up a level or two overnight, if ...”

Simon and Lyndred exchanged glances. “That’s dangerous,” Lyndred said, finally. “We’ve been warned not to try ...”

“Of course, we have.” Gennady felt a rush of anger. She didn’t understand. She really didn’t understand. “They don’t want us to boost our powers.”

“If that was true,” Simon said reasonably, “why would they teach us magic in the first place?”

“They’re making sure we never catch up with Charlus and his band of merry bastards,” Gennady snarled. “Don’t you get it? We’ll have power, but not enough to challenge our lords and masters. They’ll cut us down the minute we fail to genuflect to them. And this” —he waved the book under Simon’s nose— “might be our only chance to boost our powers and beat them at their own game.”

He forced himself to lower his voice. “Come on. Aren’t you sick of being treated worse than dirt?”

“Yeah, but ...” Simon swallowed, hard. “Gennady, the risks are too great.”

“Life is a risk,” Gennady snapped. “How long do you think it’s going to be until Charlus does something really dangerous? How long do you think it’s going to be until he kills one of us? Or ... or has his way with one of us?”

“This is what we were told not to do.” Lyndred took the book and flipped through the pages, then passed it back to Gennady. “The spells all come with dangerous side effects. If something goes wrong ...”

Gennady stared at her. She was ... she was mad. Or ... she simply didn’t understand the reality of a world where one could be killed at the drop of a hat, where one’s killer would get away with it because ... it didn’t matter. He knew, from bitter experience, that he couldn’t rely on anyone. The Grandmaster wouldn’t give a damn if Charlus killed him or raped Lyndred or ... or anything. Gennady had studied the records. For all the stories about Whitehall’s vaunted neutrality, it was clear that aristocrats had more leeway than commoners. No one would look too closely at a dead body for fear of what they might find.

“We spent the last year trying to catch up, but the gulf is too wide,” he said. It was hard to think of a way to convince them. He’d thought they’d understand the opportunity as soon as they saw the book. “And it’s just going to keep getting wider. We can’t catch up ...”

“We have been catching up,” Simon disagreed. “Haven’t we?”

“If that was true,” Gennady said, “how does Charlus keep kicking our asses?”

“He has friends,” Lyndred said.

“Cronies,” Gennady corrected. He knew the type. They’d do Charlus’s bidding as long as he was the strongest and nastiest piece of shit in the school. Hogarth’s friends had been just the same. They’d only turn on their master when it became clear their master was no longer strong enough to smack them down. “And that’s another point. We’re outnumbered. We need to find a way to even the odds.”

He held up the book. “This is the key,” he said. “We can open our minds and boost our powers.”

Lyndred let out a breath. “At least, let us think about it,” she said. “Do some research, figure out the downsides ...”

“There isn’t time,” Gennady said. The longer he kept the book, the greater the chance of one of his roommates finding and stealing it. Charlus would use the rites himself, boosting his powers to the point resistance would be truly futile. Of course he would. Charlus loved power. “If the book gets discovered ...”

“It’s too dangerous,” Simon said. His voice was low, but very hard. “Gennady, I understand, but ...”

Gennady felt his temper snap. “Listen to me! This is our one chance to get ahead of them and beat them!”

“At what cost?” Lyndred’s voice was sad, but unbending. “Gennady, we could go mad. Or worse.”

“I’ll take the risk.” Gennady gritted his teeth, biting his lip to keep from screaming. “You grew up here. You don’t understand! You don’t know what it’s like! You ...”

“Charlus showed off my underclothes to all and sundry,” Lyndred snapped. She made a very visible effort to control herself. “I do understand ...”

“No, you don’t!” Gennady tried to calm himself, but failed. “He’ll rape you next time. Or force you to do ... do whatever he wants! And afterwards ... who’ll give a shit about you?”

“We can endure three years of schooling, then leave,” Simon said. “I’m not going to stay for the final two years. You don’t have to stay either.”

He stood. “Gennady ...”

“You don’t understand,” Gennady shouted. He jumped to his feet, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d thought better of them. He’d thought they’d understand. Instead, they were dismissing him. “You’re leaving me like ... you’re betraying me!”

Simon made a gesture with his hand. Magic crackled through the air. Gennady found himself unable to move. He struggled, trying desperately to cast the counterspell, but he’d never managed to master the art of using the magic without moving his hands. Simon stared at him for a long chilling moment, then looked at Lyndred. She stood and headed for the spellchamber door.

“You’re wrong,” Simon said. He spoke as if he were a judge pronouncing a death sentence. “We’re not leaving you. You left us.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyndred added. She took Simon’s hand. Gennady felt a stab of envy. He wanted someone to take his hand. “But we really cannot go on like this.”

Gennady wanted to scream in outrage as his former friends stepped through the door, closing it behind them. But he couldn’t move a muscle. Simon had cast his spell well ... Gennady nerved himself to concentrate, to try to best the spell, but nothing happened. Bitterness welled up within him. He should have known. Everyone betrayed him, time and time again. Simon and Lyndred had sold out. They’d found places in magical society, places that would be forever denied their friend ... their former friend. Had they ever really been friends? A true friend would not have betrayed him. A true friend would not have cast spells on him. A true friend ... he wanted to cry. He should have known. He really should have known.

They’ll regret it, when they’re no longer useful to their betters, he thought, sourly. He’d known men in the village who’d worked for the count, only to be kicked out when they grew too old to serve. One of them had been lamed, utterly unable to work. Gennady had looked into the man’s broken eyes and seen his future looking back at him. They’ll regret it and ...

It felt like hours before the spell finally snapped. He fell to the ground, every muscle in his body crying out for relief. Gennady forced himself to focus, half-expecting someone to come bursting in at any moment. Spellchambers were heavily warded—and the privacy wards were still in place—but he was fairly sure the tutors had a way to monitor the chambers. It was what he would have done. There were students who seemed to delight in pushing the limits as far as they would go.

He gritted his teeth, banishing the pain with an effort. He’d had worse. He’d really had worse. But the feeling of betrayal ... he’d never realised how much he’d come to care for his friends, for Simon and Lyndred, until they’d abandoned him. No one else had spent so much time with him, pooling their knowledge and learning so they could move forward as a group ... had it all been a lie? They were merchant children, while he was from the mountains. They’d really had nothing in common, save for a mutual enemy. And Charlus was no longer sharing a room with them.

Gennady sat up and reached for the book. Simon and Lyndred might think they were safe, but he knew better. It didn’t matter how much they bowed their head, or bent the knee, or prostrated themselves or ... or whatever. They’d be slaves until the day they died. Gennady, on the other hand, was useless. Charlus would kill him, sooner or later. Gennady was damned if he was going to surrender so easily. He opened the book, searching through the pages for a particular rite. The spell promised to tear open the channels in his brain and boost his powers. Gennady stood on shaky legs, stumbling over to the supply cabinet. He wanted—he needed—to jump ahead. It was his only hope.

A thought struck him and he froze. Simon and Lyndred might report him. Why not? They’d already betrayed him once. They’d have no qualms about tattling. They might even see it as a chance to boost their status. And then ... his thoughts ran in circles. The book wasn’t forbidden, as far as he knew, but the Grandmaster would certainly ask how it came into Gennady’s possession. And then ... Gennady briefly considered walking out of the school and running away, yet ... he knew it would be fatal. He couldn’t hope to escape, not from magic. His only hope was to perform the rite and hope for the best.

I’m going to catch up with you, Gennady thought, thinking of Charlus. The aristocrat would never know what had hit him. Gennady would tear him apart, cell by cell, then do the same to his cronies. They’d die screaming. I’m going to burn you all if it kills me.

He forced himself to work calmly, drawing chalk marks on the floor and preparing the wards as best as he could. The rite was deceptively simple, but it was obvious—even to him—there was little room for mistakes. His tutors had told him, time and time again, that the slightest mistake could cause the spell to fail or the magic to explode or ... or kill the unwary caster. He felt his head starting to pound as he finished his preparations, then checked and rechecked his work until he was sure everything was perfect. It had to be.

Gennady stepped back, bracing himself. He’d do it. He’d make it work. And then ... he’d crush his enemies at the school, then go back to the mountains and crush his enemies there. And ... Primrose would be happy to see him. Of course, she would. She wouldn’t have anything to fear. He’d take care of her for the rest of her life. Gennady smiled, silently promising her shade that he’d be a better husband than any of the men in the village, then shrugged off his robe. Naked, he stepped into the circle.

He took a breath, looking down at himself. His body was covered with scars, left by everyone from his father and Hogarth to Charlus and his cronies. His clubfoot ached in pain as he knelt, twanging in tune with the magic. He knew, even though he didn’t want to admit it, that he looked ghastly. No wonder Charlus had held him in contempt, right from the very first day. Gennady promised himself that things would be different. He’d have the power to heal himself, to cure his affliction and wash away the scars. And to teach Charlus a lesson he wouldn’t live to forget.

The magic pulsed within him, growing stronger and stronger. Gennady focused his mind, concentrating on what he wanted. The ritual seemed to shimmer, as if it already existed in some form ... Gennady frowned, feeling a twinge of concern. He’d used magic for over a year and yet ... he’d never felt anything like it. He told himself, firmly, it was advanced magic. Some of the books he’d read from the library had talked about strange rituals, about spells that couldn’t be built up piece by piece. He hadn’t understood at the time, but he thought he did now. The rite couldn’t be stopped, once it had begun. He had to push his way through, or risk disaster.

He opened his mouth and started to chant, the words spinning into the magic as power built within the chamber. A stab of pain lanced through his head, so painful that he honestly thought someone had driven a knife into his temple; it faded, almost before he'd noticed it existed. It was just ... part of the background. Blood dripped from his nose as he continued to chant, trickling down his chest and splashing on the floor. He ignored it, telling himself—again and again—he’d had worse. The magic couldn’t be stopped. He had to go through it.

Light flared, blindingly bright. Gennady squeezed his eyes shut as light—no, magic —burned through his eyelids and straight into his brain. The pain surged again, becoming a constant pressure against his skull. He wanted to clench his teeth, but didn’t dare. He couldn’t stop, not now. The light was growing stronger, the world itself twisting around him. His eyes jerked open. He saw, or thought he saw, Hogarth laughing at him. No, it was Charlus. No, it was Simon and Lyndred, their faces twisted into sneering masks as they pointed and laughed. Gennady felt a flood of shame, followed by rage. He lashed out with his powers, but the phantoms simply ignored him. Their laughter grew stronger and stronger, tearing at his balance. The ghosts were closing in, reaching for him ...

No, Gennady thought. The magic was burning now, flames licking through his body. Panic snarled at the corner of his mind, mocking him. He hadn’t learnt how to control it! The thought sent him staggering to his knees, power flickering around him as the spell raged out of control. He tried to banish the power, but it was too late. I won’t let it end like this ...

He hit the ground, dimly aware on some level that the impact had damaged the runes. He’d lost control, what little he’d had left. The magic tore through his mind, pain following in its wake. He ... he staggered as wave after wave of pain, each worse than the last, blasted his thoughts. It was hard to maintain any coherent thought. The laughter grew louder and louder until it became the only thing he could hear. He was screaming. He was sure he was screaming. But all he could hear was the laughter.

Hogarth reached for him, his face a rictus of cruel amusement. Gennady shrank back, even though he knewHogarth wasn’t really there. His drunken lout of a father stood behind him, his beefy fists ready to beat his disappointment of a son into a bloody pulp. His younger brothers waited beside him, smirking. His mother eyed him, hatred clearly visible on her battered face. His older brother ... Gennady felt one final surge of rage and bitter resentment, then felt the remnants of his mind give way under the onslaught. The darkness reached up and claimed him ...

... And he fell, happily, into the shadows.