Chapter Seven

The only things that Mateo could clearly recall from his lessons were the words of Trake. He was absolutely enthralled by the subject, and found himself discovering something new each time Trake spoke.

“Sloane was one of the important figures in history,” Trake had said one lesson. “He was the one who found out about the different realms, the eight realms.

“Some of you know what I’m talking about; many of you are probably clueless. Tell me, does anyone recognize this symbol?” And, on a chalkboard, he drew what looked like a large figure eight on its side. “Yes, Bloodgood, I thought you would. Well, this symbol means ‘infinity’, and for a good reason.

“Long ago, there was just one realm, which is now known as the Eighth Realm. It is where the gods and the purest creatures dwell. The gods made all different sorts of creatures and things, but realized that some of them were possessed with impure motives. They were devastated that their own creations were trying to turn against them, so they created more and more realms to banish the beings to. The worst of the worst are in the First Realm; the best still live in the Eighth Realm. We – humans – have been cast to the Fourth Realm. Some beings are able to go between all the Realms, but most banished creatures cannot.

“People have obsessively been trying to reach the other Realms, ever since Sloane discovered them. There is a sect of sorcerers that believe to be descendants of Sloane and claim it is their sacred duty to find a way to the Eighth Realm and take a seat there with the gods. Whether or not this is true, members of this clan, located in northern Hagian, are quite adept at magic, starting their practice from a young age.”

Mateo, despite his dislike for Waclaw, had to have respect for him when it came to magical prowess. The first day that they attempted any sort of spell, Waclaw was able to perfect it and, while it took a massive amount of his energy, he was still able to trade his physical energy for the magical power.

The whole class was standing up in the large, clear space in front of the seats from where Trake usually lectured. He was pacing around the group, encouraging the boys to concentrate and letting them know how difficult it was the first time. Mateo closed his eyes, feeling a bit apprehensive, but began concentrating on what Trake had told him: the mantra, kono suno. Somehow, those two strange words would help Mateo clear his mind at a level that could not be completed without magic skills.

He repeated the words over and over in his head, trying to clear his mind of all thought except for the mantra. This was somehow difficult, as some other boys had simply given up on the spell and were muttering amongst themselves. He tightened his eyes, remembering kono suno, kono suno, kono suno….He heard Waclaw’s voice, loud and brash, talking about how great he was…kono suno….Mateo dimmed Waclaw from his mind, ignoring his words, and began to rid his mind of every external noise…kono suno, kono suno….

Without warning, it was suddenly all wonderfully clear: he could not hear a single noise, and did not think a single stray thought; only what he wanted to know came to him. He languidly lit upon a topic to think about: his mother. He did not feel overly emotional now, and could think properly: she would be alright, he knew that. She was strong and brave, and did not have a history of serious illness. He had just been overreacting before because he missed her terribly. She had many friends back in Necery who would take care of her, and he knew that the friends he had made would help her with her chores. Truly, he had been worried over nothing…

“Who did that?” came a sharp, demanding voice, breaking Mateo out of his state. He opened his eyes, looking around at Trake, who was glancing about the class, looking both suspicious and surprised.

“Who did what?” asked a curious boy. Mateo felt strangely rejuvenated, even though he had expected himself to be drained of all energy.

“Someone did something….extraordinary,” said Trake, sounding out of breath but strangely excited. “Without being taught, someone in here has—has taken my energy in exchange for magic powers.” He looked from face to face. “Come – I’m not angry. I’m quite pleased, in fact. Who was it?”

Mateo thought briefly for a moment, realizing it might have been he who had done this, then stepped forward and said timidly, “Um, sir, I think it might have been me…”

“You? Indeed?” He looked startled but pleased. “I see…” The whole class was silent, staring at Mateo; he felt his face flush, but he kept on staring at Trake, who was gazing at the floor and rubbing his chin in a bemused manner. There was no noise as everyone held their breath, wanting to know what Trake would do next, but then the bell broke through their trance, ringing thrice to indicate that classes were dismissed.

“Oh!” Trake lifted his eyes. “Right then. Off you go!”

The boys began to file out, the events now immediately dropped from memory; Mateo was about to turn and leave, but Trake called back, “Dooley…come here.”

Mateo glanced to Rayenna, who shrugged and hissed, “I’ll wait for you, shall I?” Mateo nodded gratefully and turned to Trake, who was sitting at his desk now. Mateo approached him.

“Y-yes, sir?” he said hesitantly. Trake was looking at the wall above his desk, elbows on the tabletop and fingers together pensively.

“Tell me, Dooley, have you ever done magic before?” he asked quietly.

“No, sir…”

Trake looked at him full in the eyes. “Are you telling the truth? It’s vital that you do.”

“Yes, I am,” exclaimed Mateo, a little offended. “I have no idea what happened or how. I’m sorry.”

Trake stood up suddenly. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quickly. “What you did was incredible. Only the most advanced sorcerers have been able to do that, to take another’s strength. Not even I can do that.” He studied Mateo for a moment before concluding, “Come see me after supper, Dooley. I think we should talk some more.”

Mateo nodded slowly, mouth very dry. What did Trake want him for? Was he in trouble?

“You may go now.”

“Th-thank you, sir.”

Mateo turned and walked out of the room, feeling very confused. Mateo had taken some of Trake’s energy, which was supposedly an extraordinary thing; however, Trake had not seemed willing to express any other emotion about this event.

“What did he want?” asked Rayenna breathlessly when Mateo had closed the classroom door behind him.

“He…wants to see me after supper…” he replied slowly. “I’m not sure why. I don’t even know if I’m in trouble or not…”

“But, Mateo, what you did actually was amazing!” exclaimed Rayenna as the two boys began heading back to their room. “You and Waclaw were the only one who could even perform the spell.”

“I know that,” muttered Mateo, a little brusquer than intended, feeling a bit pleased.

“It was incredible,” insisted Rayenna. “Even Trake said so. Anyways, I don’t think you’ll be in trouble or anything; Trake is probably really pleased that you’re a fast learner. You took his energy, not your own!”

“It was unbelievable,” admitted Mateo, grinning sheepishly.

“So you didn’t feel any of your own energy drain away?” queried Rayenna. “It was just – your own?”

“Yes.” Mateo’s grin broadened as he said, “Trake told me that he can’t even do that.”

“Wow!” Rayenna’s eyes widened. “Gosh. Whatever you did, however you learned it – I don’t know, but you must have some sort of—of gift or something!”

“Yes,” returned Mateo happily, feeling more relaxed about the meeting he would have with Trake after supper. “I had no idea, though. I’ve never done magic before. Well, my mother used to – she used some spells to protect her fingers from needles when she sewed, things like that – and I don’t know if my father ever used any – I don’t remember him as well – but it was all really, really simple stuff. I never used any of it, though, so I have no idea.”

“Don’t act modest,” laughed Rayenna. “Trake must be the greatest at magic if he’s teaching it, and if he can’t even do what you did, then you have a real reason to brag.”

Mateo laughed as well. “I’m not going to brag.” He smirked. “Unless, of course, it’s to Waclaw.”

OoO

Mateo ate his supper very fast, but dawdled a long time before going to Trake’s classroom. He was both excited and apprehensive; whatever Trake had to say must be important, because he didn’t say it after class. There was a strange feeling in his stomach, a cold and jittery sensation, that fueled his footsteps but also slowed them down. It took twice the usual amount of time to reach the classroom, and, when he did, he stood outside of it, steeling himself for a full minute. He raised a hand and knocked loudly, then opened the door, stepped in, and called, “Trake, sir? It’s me, Mateo. You wanted t-to see me?”

“Yes! Come in, Mateo, come in,” called Trake’s voice. He was obscured by the seating, but when Mateo walked towards the large, cleared, empty space, he saw Trake standing in the middle of it, next to a cheap wooden table with a jar on it. The jar had something inside of it, but Mateo could not tell what.

“I – what did you need, sir?”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’,” said Trake, smiling. “I don’t need you to call me that, even in class. It’s just ‘Trake’.”

“Oh…yes.”

“Anyways,” continued he, putting a hand on the jar, “come closer. You see what’s in here, this jar? These are common houseflies. Obnoxious little things, really, but they have an amazing amount of energy in them. I want you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that, s—Trake?”

“I want you,” he grinned, “to perform that spell again, the spell we learned in class. You and Bloodgood were the only ones to perform the spell, and the only ones who knew how to take energy of any sort. I expected that from Bloodgood – it’s common knowledge that he’s a Child of Sloane and he’s been raised on magic – but from you…that was amazing.”

“Oh…okay…” Mateo bit his lower lip. “Um…I might not be able to do it again.”

“That’s fine,” said Trake encouragingly, looking and sounding sincere. “Don’t worry. I just want to try something. If you can’t do it, then that’s fine.”

“Okay…” Mateo swallowed, trying to put down his nerves, and closed his eyes. He could hear the faintest buzzing of the flies as they jumped around in the jar; he could hear their many legs tapping on the glass; as he began the mantra, the noise levels suddenly sharpened, and a few thoughts raised into his brains – how to take the flies’ energy, not Trake’s? how to do this again? – but it all floated away after several moments as he continued chanting kono suno in his mind. Kono suno, kono suno, kono suno….

And then, he was washed over with that sharp relief, that startlingly clean and clear window in his mind. He crawled through the window and was presented with the calm lair he had accessed before. No noise, no stray thoughts…and his body did not feel any weaker. He plucked a subject from the files in his mind: the flies. Had he taken their energy, and not Trake’s? Yes, he was sure of it. Trake had confidence in him to do magic, and if Trake believed in him, then he could definitely do it. Also, Trake had yet to break through his thoughts, so he was sure he had done it. He was not positive how he had accomplished it, but he knew he had.

“Mateo, lad…” The voice was quiet, distant, kind but excited. He felt himself returning slowly to reality. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the flies were no longer buzzing about, but resting on the bottom of the jar.

“Did I do it?” he asked Trake.

“You did,” he replied, beaming, his hand clasped on Mateo’s shoulder. “That was truly incredible, Mateo! Tell me, what was your mother’s maiden name?”

“Her…maiden name?” He was slightly taken aback, but hurriedly recalled it: “Harnish, I think. Yes, that’s it.”

Trake sighed, dropping his hand to his side. “Well, this is a puzzle.”

“Wh-what’s a puzzle?” asked Mateo timidly. Trake looked up at him and smiled.

“You remember what I said about the Children of Sloane, don’t you?”

“Of course!” replied Mateo. “Which part?”

“What are they looking for, Mateo? What is their goal?”

“They want a child to find the way to the Eighth Realm and claim a seat there,” Mateo recounted. “They need someone with Sloane’s blood and who is magically advanced.”

“Well, I think they might be partially wrong,” whispered Trake. “Before, I thought that it would be one of Sloane’s descendants who would access the other Realms, but you’ve presented me with new information. Neither ‘Dooley’ nor ‘Harnish’ sound at all like ‘Sloane’, now do they? I don’t think they need Sloane’s blood; I don’t think Sloane even thought that they needed one of his descendants. He was not that egotistical. I think that it will be a random boy, bestowed with great power. You understand what I’m getting at, don’t you?”

Mateo stared, thunderstruck. “You think…but I…I can’t…I’m not even…” He did not know what he was trying to say, except that Trake had to be wrong.

“Oh, but you are.” He was beaming wide. “I think, with a little bit of training, I can help you harness your powers and get to the Realm of the gods.”

Mateo blinked, unable to believe that he could feel more shocked, but he did. He stared in Trake’s eyes, wondering if he was joking, but his expression was quite sincere. “I…you have got to be kidding me…”

“I’m not,” said Trake quickly. “Here, Mateo, sit down. On the table, that’s fine.” The boy complied, and Trake continued, “This is just a wild guess of mine, but I think I’m on to something here. What if you don’t have to be a relative of Sloane’s? What if you really can do this?”

“I don’t get it,” blurted out Mateo frantically. “You never explained why you want to get to the Eighth Realm!”

Trake opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, looking somewhat taken aback. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully then admitted, “Yes, that’s true. I never did. Would you like me to tell you?”

Mateo nodded eagerly, thinking that this should be obvious.

“This Realm that we’re in – it has so much to offer, doesn’t it?” began Trake. “Human beings can do so much by their own hands, but, unfortunately, some humans use their ingenuity to hurt others and make their lives miserable. That’s why humans were banished from the first three Realms, because they were cruel. Have you much religious upbringing?”

“No,” said Mateo, wondering if this was a bad thing. “I know that the gods created us, but I didn’t know about the different Realms and stuff until you told me.”

“Well, in the Hallowed Manuscript, it says that, some time in the future, the Realms will start to…malfunction, I suppose. The lines between the Realms will be blurred, and creatures from the First Realm will find their way into the other Realms and cause absolute bedlam. This will happen when the gods’ strength is ebbing away, and it will take a human to go to the Eighth Realm and restore them.”

“Why a human?” asked Mateo abruptly. “Why not something from a better Realm?”

“I have no idea,” sighed Trake, shaking his head. “That’s what the Hallowed Manuscript says, and we daren’t go against it.” He did not sound entirely behind that statement, though. “But you cannot understand fully. You are very young…” He paused for only a fraction of a second for plunging in: “Humans are very greedy and competitive, and, as punishment, the gods threw them out and into a Realm where they had to thrive on their own, without the help of the gods. It was a terrible experience. Back then, humans had no magical means, so they had to live on their own. Being mollycoddled by the gods had made them slow and unknowledgeable. They had trouble taking care of themselves. Imagine – ” he halted – “imagine the most amazing situation ever. Perhaps you’re at a beach in the middle of summer, and the sand is hot and the sun is warm. It’s a wonderful day, with the lightest breeze. Then, suddenly, still in your summer things, you’re plunged into a world of ice and snow, with extreme winds that are chilling you to the bone.” Trake sighed. “That’s what it was like for us when we were expelled from the Eighth Realm. Everything we knew was turned upside down. You see, some humans were good, and some were bad, but the gods just chucked everyone out, without even a warning.

“So now, we feel a great desire to return to the Eighth Realm so that we can resume that happiness we once had. In the Hallowed Manuscript, the gods say that once humanity has improved itself, then there will be a man who can access the other Realms.”

“And you think that’s me,” said Mateo quietly.

“No,” corrected Trake. Mateo raised his eyes in surprise. “No, Mateo, that was Sloane. He was the first man to get to the other Realms. He had a talk with the gods, and he wrote down the Hallowed Manuscript, detailing both the past and the future. It’s the words of the gods. The gods said that, after Sloane, there would be another.”

“Another? Someone who can get to the Realms, you mean?”

“Yes, isn’t that what I said?” Trake moved his gaze from Mateo to the jar of flies. “All Sloane could do was get to the other Realms. In the Hallowed Manuscript, it says that the next one will be able to bring others with him, and will be able to heal the Realms from destruction.”

Trake was now looking at him keenly, trying to discern his reaction, but Mateo did not know what to think. He was silent for several moments before saying, “That’s an awful lot for me to do. I can’t do that.”

“I have faith in you,” declared Trake, clasping Mateo’s shoulder firmly. “Even if you’re not the intended one, I think – nay, I know – that you have an extraordinary ability for magic. I should like to train you, Mateo m’boy, and we’ll just see how it goes, shall we?”

“I—I guess…” Mateo was eager to learn more magic, but he also didn’t want to disappoint Trake in his expectations.

“Excellent!” Trake clapped his hands together and rubbed them in delight. “I’m really quite pleased – ” Just then, the great bell began gonging, and both Mateo and Trake received a shock. They stayed silent until it finished its eight tolls. “Dear me, is it really so late? You should be in your room by now. I’ll lead you there, shall I?”

Mateo slid off the table, eyeing the jar of flies. “Are they going to be okay?” he asked hesitantly. “I didn’t kill them, did I?”

Trake let out a laugh. “No, Mateo, you didn’t, but – dear me, you care about the fate of the flies? They’re common, everyday pests.”

Mateo shrugged. “Everything deserves a chance, I guess.”

Trake grinned, setting a hand on Mateo’s shoulder again. “Yes, Mateo, I suppose that everything does. Now, back to your room, let’s go!”

Author's Note:

FictionPress has changed a lot in the past 3 months. Does it now allow asterisks? I always found that so annoying, that it didn't allow asterisks or any of those "expressive faces". The only one I can do is "XD". o.o Aw sweet, it allows some expressive faces! But not asterisks T.T Does anyone know why?

Anyways, just a quick thing: if I write something down here, it'll probably just be ramblings, or notes on the chapter and why I included some stuff. I'm already on Chapter Eighteen in the book, but I probably won't be talking too much in this little area. I don't know if people are glad about that or not. But one quick question:

Do you guys want me to upload a bunch of chapters at once so you can be all caught up, or do you prefer that I pace them? I usually pace the chapters so that readers don't feel overwhelmed with having 10 new chapters in one day, but I could go either way, depending on the general consensus of whoever is reading. I could post maybe 2 or 3 chapters a day until everyone's all caught up. I've gotten back about 99 of my writing steam, and everything is going well in my life, so I'll be at 100 soon. I'm somewhat concerned about what'll happen next year (if I don't finish this by then, that is), because I've heard that junior year in high school will be the hardest (but at least I'll be over with my Latin requirement, thank God). But to get back to the original question, do people want lots of chapters at once, or one a day?