Gennady's Tale

Chapter 11

“Wake up.”

Gennady stumbled back to awareness, feeling ... wrong. His head hurt, but ... he tried to grasp what had happened, but understanding slipped further and further away the more he tried to comprehend ... he wasn’t sure what. His thoughts came in fits and starts, his memories a jumbled mess ... there’d been a book, hadn’t there? And he’d tried to cast a spell ... or had he? He honestly wasn’t sure.

He opened his eyes. He was in a small room, a cell. The Grandmaster stood over him, his arms crossed over his chest. The Warden stood by the door, holding a long staff in one hand. Gennady looked around and realised, to his horror, that metal bands were wrapped around his hands and ankles, chaining him to the bed. He had no idea where he was, but ... he had to lie back as a stab of pain burned through his head. His eyes hurt, as if he’d been staring into the sun. It was all he could do to remain focused as panic yammered at the back of his mind.

“I’m going to ask you some questions.” The Grandmaster’s voice was very even, but there was a hard edge to it that made Gennady quail. “You’re going to answer, truthfully. If you try to lie to me, you will not enjoy the consequences. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Gennady managed. He tried to meet the Grandmaster’s unseen eyes, but they were—as always—hidden behind the cloth. “I understand.”

“Good.” The Grandmaster held up the book. “Where did you get this?”

Gennady wanted to lie, or to keep his mouth firmly shut, but a compulsion bubbled up within him to tell the truth, the complete truth. Pain flickered at the back of his head. He tried to resist, to hide as much as he could, but he couldn’t keep himself from opening his mouth and answering the question. The Grandmaster had put a spell on him! Gennady felt a surge of pure outrage, but it wasn’t enough to banish the spell. The whole story came out of his mouth, Charlus, beatings, pain, and all.

“I see,” the Grandmaster said, when Gennady had finished. “And what were you thinking when you cast the spell?”

“I wanted to boost my powers,” Gennady said, dully. “I wanted ...”

“Which is the one thing we caution you not to do.” The Grandmaster cut him off, sharply. “Did you feel, perhaps, that we were stopping you from reaching your full powers?”

“Yes.” Gennady sank back onto the bed. There was no point in even trying to lie. “I thought you were making sure I didn’t catch up with Charlus.”

“I’m surprised you think we care.” The Grandmaster frowned. “Why? Why did you take the risk?”

Gennady felt a flash of red-hot pain burning through his eyes as he forced himself to think. “I thought ... I thought ... it just wasn’t fair!”

“Indeed? How so?”

“Charlus and his cronies were so far ahead of me,” Gennady said. He tried not to shout at the older magician. “It wasn’t fair! I couldn’t catch up with him! I had to take the risk!”

The Grandmaster cocked his head. “You’d have us slow their learning so you could catch up?”

Gennady frowned. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“I believe you were told it wasn’t a competition,” the Grandmaster said, severely. “It was never a race. Students have to learn at their own pace, to master the basics before moving on to more complex magics. The very process of learning sharpens one’s powers. It doesn’t matter who gets to the finish lines first. All that matters is that you reach them.”

“But it does matter!” Gennady felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “Charlus ... he treated me like shit, from the very first day we met! I had to find a way to fight back!”

“Charlus will face his own punishment for his role in this affair,” the Grandmaster mused. “It was a mistake to put three firsties in the same bedroom, clearly. That’s something we’ll have to change.”

“Charlus won’t be punished.” Gennady was sure of it. “He’ll get away with it, like he always does.”

“We’ll see.” The Grandmaster shrugged. “He isn’t your problem any longer.”

His voice was cold. And hard. “You broke a number of rules, rules intended to protect you and your fellow students. The ritual you attempted to perform could have done a great deal of damage to the school. You were extremely lucky to survive. Had you brought the book to one of your tutors ...”

He paused. “And you stole the book. You really shouldn’t have stolen the book.”

Gennady felt his heart sink. “What now?”

The Grandmaster spoke with a finality that could not be defied. “You will be expelled, today. Your possessions are already packed. You will not be welcome within Whitehall and, should you return, you will be summarily executed. I will also be sending a red-flag letter to the other schools, with a full account of your actions. You maybe able to convince them to take you as a student. If not ...”

“Expelled.” Gennady swallowed. “Please ...”

“These rules exist for your own safety, and that of the other students,” the Grandmaster said. “And you broke them.”

“It isn’t fair,” Gennady said. “I ...”

“The world isn’t fair,” the Grandmaster said. “Yes, you have a valid point. Charlus treated you like dirt. But you used forbidden magics, all of which were forbidden for very good reason. You could easily have killed yourself, or your friends. You’re lucky you’re merely being expelled.”

He stepped back. “The Warden will escort you to the edge of the wards,” he added, as the metal bands were removed. “I strongly suggest you don’t try to fight.”

Gennady forced himself to stand on wobbly legs. “What should I do now?”

“Do whatever you like, as long as you don’t do it here,” the Grandmaster said. “I advise you to put your powers aside and never practice magic again. You cannot be trusted with it.”

Gennady glared as the Grandmaster turned and swept away. The magic felt odd, pulsing within his heart, but ... it was his magic. He gritted his teeth as he felt another flash of pain, another sense that he was standing on very thin ice indeed. The magic was ... tainted. He told himself he was being silly. It was his magic. He was damned if he was giving it up. He had to go home and ... and what?

The Warden pointed to a pile of clothes. Gennady swallowed hard, then donned the tunic and trousers of a young apprentice, rather than a student magician. He supposed the Grandmaster or the Housemaster had taken them from his drawer when they’d packed his knapsack. His possessions, such as they were, were crammed into the bag. A handful of clothes, a small sack of coins from his summer work, a knife ... they’d taken his journal. He wanted to demand it back, but he knew it would be futile. The Grandmaster had probably already deposited it in the library.

Shame washed over him as the Warden took him by the shoulder and marched him through the door, down the corridors and through the entrance hall. Students turned to stare, whispers and snide asides following him as he was expelled. He caught sight of Simon and Lyndred standing by the door, their eyes widening in horror as he saw them. Anger boiled within him, red flashes of magic rising up ... he wanted to lash out, to hurt them as they’d hurt him, but he held himself still. The Warden was powerful. He’d have no trouble stopping Gennady—permanently—if he did anything. Gennady forced himself to look away, grinding his teeth at the unfairness of it all. He’d studied magic for over a year and yet ... he was still as helpless as he’d been in the village.

The outside air felt cool as he was marched across the lawn towards the low wall that marked the edge of the wards. He allowed himself a moment of relief that there were no other students in sight, just before the Warden opened the gate and pushed Gennady out. He felt his stomach churn as he brushed against the edge of the wards, the network steadily turning hostile. The wall was so low a child could climb over the carved stone, but it was really nothing more than a boundary marker. It was the wards that really defended the school.

“Go,” the Warden ordered. “Do not return.”

Gennady stared at the other man for a long moment. The Warden’s face was inhumanly blank. It occurred to him, too late, that the Warden might not actually be human. A homunculus? It was possible, but illegal. Very illegal. It burned at him, as he turned and stumbled away, that the rules were really just for the weak and helpless. The people with power could afford to ignore the rules, secure in the knowledge that no one would come after them. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to walk until he was within the forest. Where would he go? Where could he go? There was no place for him anywhere near Whitehall.

His legs felt heavy—and grew heavier, the more he walked. He found himself stumbling, as if he’d forgotten how to make his way through a forest. The forest wasn’t safe, but ... it should have felt like home. He kept walking, convinced—deep inside—that if he stopped and sat down, he’d never be able to stand up again. Something moved in the shadows, circling around him. Gennady reached into his bag and retrieved the knife. It felt reassuringly solid in his hands. And yet, he was suddenly very aware that something was following him.

Ice trickled down his spine as he glanced behind him, seeing nothing. It wasn’t very reassuring. There were all sorts of stories about things hiding in the forest, from werewolves and vampires to giant spiders, basilisks and other folk. Or awful folk. The thought wasn’t remotely reassuring as he forced himself to pick up speed, trying to make it to the road before nightfall. He could make his way down to the town, then walk on until he left the hue and cry far behind. It wasn’t much of a plan, he conceded silently as he heard something behind him, but it was all he had.

He sensed a surge of magic and ducked, instinctively. A fireball shot over his head and slammed into a nearby tree, burning through the trunk and sending branches crashing to the ground. Gennady jumped, then forced himself to run as another fireball shot through the air. He knew who was behind him. He knew who it had to be.

“Come out, little rabbit!” Charlus. Of course it was Charlus. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Gennady felt his heart sink. This was it. Charlus was going to kill him. He’d bragged about hunting commoners for sport, but ... now, Gennady believed it. He could hear the aristocrat crashing through the trees, not even trying to hide. Or ... Gennady felt an odd little flicker of hope. Charlus wasn’t used to the deep forests. He might have ridden through the fields, crushing irreplaceable crops under his horse's hooves, but the chances were good he hadn’t been walking through them. Who knew what sort of supernatural vermin he might have attracted? The thought gave Gennady hope as a third fireball flew past. This was his element. He might have a chance ...

“I can see you,” Charlus called. “I can hear you.”

Nonsense, Gennady thought. There was no way Charlus could see him. Not now. A skilled hunter certainly wouldn’t be making so much noise. Simon or Lyndred would have done a much better job of sneaking through the woods. You don’t know where I am.

He stayed low, inching around Charlus’s position. The aristocrat seemed to have someway of shadowing Gennady ... Gennady frowned, then cast an obscurification charm to blur his exact location. Charlus might not even realise his spells were being bamboozled if they weren’t being openly deflected. Gennady smirked to himself, then cut himself with his knife and allowed the blood to drip onto the muddy ground. The moment he took himself and his charms away, the blood would draw Charlus’s spells like flies to shit. Gennady smirked at the thought. It was very apt.

“Come on out,” Charlus mocked. Compulsion hung in his words. It would have worked, if Gennady’s magic hadn’t already been tainted. “I’ll make it quick.”

Gennady tightened his grip on the knife as Charlus’s voice came closer. He did intend to kill Gennady, to murder ... no, it wasn’t murder. Not to him. Bitter resentment welled up once again as Gennady realised that Charlus and his peers wouldn’t see it as murder. At best, they’d see it as distasteful. Red rage boiled within Gennady as he lurked in the shadows, welcoming them like old friends. Charlus blundered past, making so much noise he had to be scaring the animals for miles around. He really wasn’t a good hunter. Hogarth would have kicked his ass.

“I can see you,” Charlus called. Another fireball flashed through the air, followed by a transfiguration spell. “I can ...”

He broke off, abruptly. He’d seen the bloodstain. He knew he’d been tricked. Gennady didn’t give him time to think, time to act. He launched himself forward, knife in hand. Charlus turned, too late. Gennady buried the knife in Charlus’s back, his magic reaching forward and dancing along the blade. He’d seen the rite in the book and dismissed it, knowing he’d have to kill someone for power. That didn’t matter any longer. Magic surged around him, throwing Charlus to the ground. Gennady landed on Charlus’s back, pinning him down. The magic ... the magic was twisted, both attracting and repelling him. Gennady laughed, despite himself. Such considerations didn’t matter any longer, either.

Charlus tried to struggle, but he’d been caught and pinned before he knew what was happening. The magic—the rite—was making it hard, almost impossible, to fight back. Gennady felt a thrill as he tasted Charlus’s horror at his enforced submission. The sensation was addictive. He understood, all of a sudden, why Hogarth and Charlus had enjoyed making him submit. The feeling was delightful. He was finally wielding power as it was meant to be wielded. And all would bow before him.

“Please,” Charlus whimpered. “I ...”

Gennady leaned closer until his lips were almost touching the aristocrat’s ear. “Why? Why should I spare you?”

Charlus shuddered. His limbs were too weak to fight. “I ... my family will avenge me.”

“Lucky you.” Gennady snorted. He had a feeling Charlus’s family would be glad he was gone. The idiot was too dumb to realise how many enemies he'd made. “Like they care.”

“They’ll wipe out your family,” Charlus said. “They’ll kill them all.”

Gennady laughed, humourlessly. It just wasn’t fair. Charlus was an asshole with magic and a bad attitude and a family that cared enough to avenge him, while Gennady ... his family would be relieved if he died. They’d been plotting his death since they’d realised he had a clubfoot. Now ...

He found his voice. “You think I care?”

Charlus hesitated. “Please.”

Gennady drew the moment out as much as possible. “You want mercy?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Gennady pressed down hard. It was hard to force himself to wait, to ask the question he’d wanted to ask for over a year. “Tell me, where was your mercy when we first met?”

He performed the rite. Charlus shuddered one final time, then lay still. Gennady threw back his head and screamed as magic, tainted magic, flowed into his wards. A series of impressions came with it, from parents who loved him to siblings that indulged him and girls who slept with him and ... he felt a surge of envy, once again, for the aristocrat who had everything. Who’d had everything. A red haze fell over Gennady’s vision as magic swirled around him, all of Charlus’s power surging into him. It was hard, so hard, to keep control. It was harder to remember why why hehe wanted to keep control. He wanted to allow the power to destroy his enemies ...

Gennady laughed, delightedly. His hands felt as if they were burning. His eyes felt as if his brain itself was on fire. And ... he looked down at the remnants of Charlus’s body, blackened and charred beyond recognition. The oaf’s family would probably never know what had happened. He’d be assumed to have left Whitehall and then ... and then what? Perhaps they’d think he’d gone south, to the Blighted Lands. He’d certainly found himself a necromancer. Gennady knew, on some level, that he should be frightened of what he’d become, but it was hard to care. Other people needed to be frightened now. Charlus would be scared, if he was still alive.

You’re dead, Gennady thought. He kicked the body, watching in delight as the head shattered under the blow. Joy—dark joy—washed through him. He jumped up and down on the corpse, driving the bloody mass into the muddy ground. It was hard to remember that he needed to recover the knife, before it was too late. The blade seemed to have ossified. It had turned to stone. Gennady didn’t care. It’s over.

He took one look south, towards the Blighted Lands, then turned and stumbled north. His body felt strange, as if he could go on forever. The tiredness was a distant memory, replaced by a faint sense his mind was on fire. He thought of Primrose and smiled. He had power now. He could protect her. He kept walking, one thought dominating his mind.

It’s time to go home.