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.
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.