Chasing Portals: Swords and Science Book 1 Page 5

  Jalen shifted his gaze to the other blue robed graduates. Ron caught his eye with a wink and a grin. Jalen shuddered a silent protest and wiped away more perspiration. A few classmates separated Laurela from Ron. She stared blankly ahead with her eyebrows knitted. Jalen was unable to capture her attention.

  Rainstel finally approached the podium and brought the ceremony to order. He and Sandstar were the first to speak. Their praise of Jalen was generous and sincere, but not overly excessive. Jalen was beginning to relax until Fodjan began his speech.

  Fodjan showered Jalen with lavish praise, related several mortifying anecdotes of lab mishaps, told personal details about Jalen’s parents dying in the line of military duty, and broke down with emotion on several occasions. Jalen was extremely fond of the man but wanted to crawl underneath his chair during most of his speech.

  When it was Jalen's turn to stand at the podium, he wished he had a drink, or two, or three. He started off by awkwardly uttering a few words of gratitude and appreciation, but became more comfortable as he launched into a story meant to convey wisdom and advice. He didn’t believe any of his actual experiences suitably illustrated his message so he made something up that he hoped sounded convincing. The audience was not exactly riveted, but for the most part they appeared to pay attention. At the end he made the big announcement of the name he would assume as a Scientist.

  It was a tradition for anyone who attained the designation of Scientist to declare a name they would henceforth be known as both inside and outside the scientific community. Most often the name was constructed to symbolize the Scientist’s desired field of study or their goals and ambitions. For example, Rainstel's core research concerned meteorology, Sandstar studied astronomy with particular emphasis on the relationship between the heavens and earth, and Fodjan's primary interest was biochemistry with, of course, a focus on food and nutrition.

  Jalen had not decided upon a specific course of study as his interests were many and varied. After struggling to come up with something appropriate, he eventually chose Nightlocke. Using night as a metaphor for mystery, he intended his name to be symbolic of unlocking the mysteries of science. He also liked the coolness of its ring: Nightlocke. The name met with approval and he received a hearty round of applause from the faculty and his peers.

  Fodjan’s feast began shortly after the conclusion of the graduation ceremonies in the Institute’s main quad. In addition to the students and faculty of the Institute, Fodjan’s feasts were also open to members of the surrounding communities. The day was typical of late spring, comfortably warm. The light blue sky was speckled here and there with puffy white clouds. No inclement weather was imminent. The near perfect day coupled with the renown of Fodjan’s feasts meant there would likely be a few hundred in attendance.

  As soon as Jalen entered the quad he was immediately surrounded by well-wishers. Ron deftly maneuvered through the crowd and handed him a large tankard of beer. A few robust swigs provided him the fortitude to shake hands, accept congratulation, and engage in small talk with fellow students. After an hour or so his mug was empty and his stomach was rumbling. He found an opportunity to slip away to refill his mug and to sample some of the bounty of Fodjan's feast.

  Finding a more remote area of the quad away from the main gathering, he took a moment to absorb the atmosphere of the soiree. Fodjan’s feasts were always a spectacle and this one was even more elaborate. Large poles, about fifteen feet tall, were arranged around the perimeter of the quad. A taller pole, perhaps twenty feet, with a large disc at the top was set in the center of the quad. Streamers of every color imaginable snaked down the length of the perimeter poles and fanned out from the tops to the disc on the center pole providing the semblance of a gigantic, chromatically overwhelming star arching over the quad.

  An abundance of fruits, vegetables, beef, venison, boar, fowl, basilisk, breads, cakes, tarts, and pies were spread amongst a multitude of tables along the edges of the quad. The tables were draped in multi-colored cloths that rivaled the spectrum of the streamer star overhead. Added to this was a natural backdrop of magnolias, dogwoods, wisterias, azaleas, and additional shrubbery in full spring bloom. The radiant decor along with the mouthwatering aromas, the hum of conversation, and the constant motion of the revelers created a sensory overload. Fodjan had truly outdone himself.

  “Ah, there you are!” Fodjan exclaimed, startling Jalen as he was chewing on a succulent piece of boar.

  Jalen smiled widely and lifted up his drink in deference. “This food is magnificent, Fodjan, how do you make everything taste so good?”

  “Well, I can't reveal all my secrets,” he said with a wink, “but there is a compound of sodium and glutamic acid I developed a few years ago that really does a wondrous job of enhancing the flavor of food.”

  “It's all terrific,” Jalen said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Ah, but there is more to come. Wait until you see the surprise Ambernifer has prepared. It's still somewhat experimental, but it promises to be quite spectacular,” Fodjan beamed.

  “However,” he continued, “Rainstel needs to speak with you first and I would like a word as well. It has been so busy the last few days we haven't had an opportunity to catch up.”

  Jalen swallowed a slug of beer. “Busy making this spectacular feast—yes!”

  Fodjan lit up again then turned serious. “I'm sure you surmised Wexworth had no interest in discussing his force beam with you. In fact, he was on his way as soon as his vile henchmen had packed everything into his coach. Tell me, though—were you able to discover anything from your wall samples?”

  “Unfortunately, very little,” Jalen said with disappointment. “Since the demonstration I have spent every available moment in the lab analyzing the samples, but nothing I have tried has been conclusive. I'm fairly sure one of the clear liquids Wexworth used was just plain water and the other was a type of inert binding agent. The red liquid is, of course, the key and about all I can surmise is that it is highly acidic. The incendiary event that occurred when the beam struck the wall must have consumed or evaporated the substance. All I really found was the acidity of the samples was greater than would be expected. I suppose if I want to find out the components of a force beam, I'll have to do it the old fashioned way and make my own.”

  “I think you may have an opportunity to do just that,” Fodjan said excitedly, “but I had better not steal Rainstel's thunder. Come along, Nightlocke.”

  Nightlocke smiled. It was going to take a while to get used to his new name.

  When they reached the door of Rainstel’s office, Fodjan rapped on it a couple of times and then opened it without waiting for a response.

  “Ah,” Rainstel said from behind his large oak desk, “I'm sorry to have pulled you away from the celebration, Jalen, excuse me, Nightlocke, but I have some good news I wanted to share with you.”

  “It's no problem at all, sir,” Nightlocke said as he glanced about the Head Master's office. It was a spacious room and wonderfully cluttered with overflowing bookshelves and all manner of gadgets and scientific memorabilia. Nightlocke smiled. The comforting smell of knowledge oozed from every corner of the room.

  Rainstel claimed some of the objects originated from the Age of Magic. Many of these objects had no discernible function, so it was difficult not to be skeptical of their magical qualities since magic was now little more than a fantasy of the past. Some of the objects did, however, seem to defy the principles of science.

  “You can stop with the 'sir.' We're colleagues now,” Rainstel gently chided.

  “Yes, of course s—Rainstel,” Nightlocke said, slightly embarrassed for almost repeating the honorific.

  The gaunt and severe Rainstel was known as the Grim Reaper amongst the student body. He was the polar opposite of the bursting at the seams flamboyant and well-loved Fodjan. Most students were content to fly beneath Rainstel’s notice, but Nightlocke eventually summoned the nerve to enlist his aid with a confounding experiment. T
o his surprise, Rainstel was not only able to offer immediate insight, but eager and delighted to do so. Nightlocke continued to tap into Rainstel’s knowledge and wisdom and didn’t believe he would ever distinguish himself enough to be Rainstel's colleague. He certainly wasn’t there yet. Rainstel would, in his mind, always be “sir.”

  “Now, about the good news,” Rainstel said, returning to his usual businesslike manner. “A retired Master Scientist I correspond with has become intrigued with you. I have told him of your dedication and potential. He has decided he would like to take you on as an apprentice. His name is Dagan Garris and he lives along the coast in Brighton, not too far distant. Let me assure you. This is a rare opportunity.”

  Nightlocke shifted his feet. He glanced at Fodjan then back at Rainstel. “I don’t doubt what you are saying, but I’ve never heard of Dagan Garris. Does he have a Scientist name?”

  “He does,” Rainstel replied drumming his fingers on his desk, “but as I have said he is retired and has been for some time. When he retired he chose to reassume his given name. Out of respect for his wishes, I am not at liberty to reveal his Scientist name. That is for Dagan to do at his discretion. I will say, however, he is quite distinguished.”

  “Yes, indeed he is,” Fodjan agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

  “I apologize, but you must understand how strange this all seems,” Nightlocke said. “A man who I have never heard of and never met wants me to be his apprentice? Why would he want to do that? And, if he’s retired, why is he even looking for an apprentice?”

  Bubbling with excitement, Fodjan said, “We do understand. Quite frankly we were astounded when we received the offer from Dagan. I cannot fathom his mindset, but trust us, this is truly an amazing opportunity.”

  “Dagan sent a letter for you,” Rainstel said. “Perhaps it will help answer some of your questions.

  Rainstel reached into a desk drawer, retrieved a small envelope and handed it to Nightlocke. The envelope was plain except for the words “Jalen Logan” on the front and a red wax seal with a lion insignia on the back. His name was written neatly on the envelope, but the lettering was not fanciful and the lion seal was generic. For some inexplicable reason, Nightlocke had expected something resplendent.

  Nightlocke broke the seal and pulled a folded note from within. Unfolding the letter he noted the penmanship matched that of his name on the envelope. Nightlocke read the letter.

  Dear Jalen,

  By the time you read this letter you will have graduated and assumed the name of a Scientist. Congratulations! I’m sure Rainstel has told you of my offer of apprenticeship and I’m certain this strikes you as odd. While you know nothing of me, I have heard great things about you from Rainstel and the other Master Scientists at the Institute.

  The decision to accept an apprentice is not one I have entered into lightly. It has been years since I have served as a mentor, but I believe difficult times are approaching and the world will need its best and brightest prepared to meet the challenges of the future. I can offer you a lifetime of experience in science and laboratory facilities you will find to be superior to even those at the Institute.

  I hope you will take a leap of faith and at least make the short journey to meet with me before making any final decisions. I live outside of the town of Brighton. Rainstel can give you precise directions on how to find me. I look forward to meeting you soon.

  Regards,

  Dagan Garris

  Nightlocke folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. He tapped the envelope on his palm a few times, placed it in his pocket, walked a few steps to a marble top table and picked up his favorite object in the office. Rainstel called it a water stick. It was an unadorned wood cylinder about a foot long with a one inch diameter. Smoothly shaped and hollowed, it was open on one end and closed on the other. Seemingly unspectacular until one held it open end down and tapped on the closed end. Exactly twelve ounces of pure water would flow out of the cylinder. Righting the cylinder and repeating the process would produce another twelve ounces of water. No matter how many times this was repeated, the inside of the cylinder remained dry to the touch when returned to the upright position. Rainstel said the water stick had been created in the Age of Magic and he had no idea how or why it worked. It certainly defied all modern scientific principles and logic.

  Still holding the water stick, Nightlocke spoke seriously, “I had been thinking about asking you to put in a good word for me at the Tuvir Science Institute. It seemed the logical place to go to work on a device such as a force beam to benefit the defenders at the Tuvir outposts.”

  “Yes,” Rainstel nodded. “That would seem to make sense. I’m sure you have heard the Tuvir Institute struggles with funding. Well, their financial situation is significantly worse than what has been publicized.”

  “You certainly have more insight into the state of the Tuvir Institute than I do, but isn’t what funding they have dedicated to developing sophisticated weaponry and defenses?” Nightlocke asked.

  “Yes, but their most significant achievement in the past couple of years has been with weapon durability. Queen Aedana has become increasingly frustrated. She has diverted much of the Institute’s funding to weapon production and fortifications,” Rainstel replied. He scowled and shook his head.

  “I can’t say I blame her,” Fodjan offered. “Manticore attacks are becoming increasingly frequent from the Hazard Pass at the North Outpost. The South Outpost was almost destroyed a few months ago when brain spiders infected a large number of soldiers with their mind control venom and turned them against their comrades. I shudder at the thought of it!” Fodjan folded his arms and shivered, causing his girth to ripple like a bowl of gelatin.

  “We appear to be in a cycle of escalating violence from the dangerous creatures of the world,” Rainstel said. “In fact, I believe the true purpose of Wexworth’s visit was to ascertain what we knew about all this. Nonetheless,” Rainstel sliced his hand through the air, “Queen Aedana has all but cut off the Tuvir Institute claiming she is receiving nothing in return for her investment. My counterpart, Head Master Skildus argues that while he understands her frustration, reduced funding will ensure the Institute will never be able to provide anything of value. The Tuvir Institute is not a place you want to be right now, Nightlocke.”

  “Well,” Nightlocke said putting the water stick back on the table, “it sounds like my best option is to pay a visit to Dagan Garris and see what he has to offer.”

  “I think you will find that to be a very wise choice,” Rainstel said with a rare smile.

  “Now, enough of this serious talk,” Fodjan interjected. “It is almost dark. We have to get back to the feast or we’ll miss Ambernifer’s surprise.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Fidgeting slightly, Laurela stood in a portion of the quad that was, at least for the moment, relatively unoccupied. The sun was setting and her now-or-never time with Ron was rapidly approaching. The afternoon had been a blur. Pangs of guilt tugged at her for paying only partial attention to Jalen’s speech at graduation. The images flashing through her mind of Ron’s smile, charm, and handsomeness had made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Jalen would understand. She wrapped a wisp of hair around her ear and watched the sun and earth bleed into her own emotion.

  Then there was the creepy man from the night before. Should she have let him go? The man she’d witnessed him murder years ago, Latimer Zubov, had committed crimes against many hard-working people in her community. Laurela’s father told her this. Not many tears were shed over his passing. What most concerned her, though, was the mysterious man had wanted to ask her questions about Jalen. She tried numerous times throughout the afternoon to speak with Jalen about it, but every time she saw him, he was surrounded. As of yet, the mysterious man had not made an appearance, but Fodjan’s feast had attracted hundreds and she supposed there was a chance he could be lurking somewhere in the crowd.

  Anyway, there wasn’t much she could do about
it now. The last time she had seen Jalen, Fodjan was pulling him away from the feast. She trusted he was safe. As she scanned the crowd, she located Ron. Keeping track of his movements proved difficult. She saw him flirt with several women, but he settled upon a petite blonde with a short skirt and a noticeably large bosom. A second-year student. Was her name Glerni? After the better part of four large glasses of wine all the large breasted blondes started to look alike. Draining her glass, she summoned every ounce of alcohol-induced courage, and approached the pair.

  “Excuse me, Ron. Can I speak with you for a few minutes?” Laurela asked in a slightly shaky voice. Despite the wine, she was still nervous, but at least she wasn’t slurring.

  Before Ron could respond, the blonde wrapped her arm around him, smirked at Laurela, and said, “Sorry sweetie, but he’s busy right now.”

  Her voice dripped with acid and Laurela had to suppress the urge to slap her. Another glass of wine and she would have slapped her.

  “Ah, Laurela. Have you two met? This is Glerni,” Ron said.

  Undoubtedly sensing the tension between the two women, he quickly continued, “Of course I have a moment, Laurela.” He gave Glerni a quick peck on the cheek, winked and said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

  In the sweetest voice she could muster, Laurela said, “Don’t worry honey, I’ll have him back to you before you know it.”

  She fervently hoped that would not be the case. As they turned to walk away she could almost feel the heat of Glerni’s glare smoldering on her back.

  Laurela led Ron toward an expanse of magnolia trees on the edge of the quad. She hoped to find some privacy there. The sky was darkening with twilight and the twinkle of starlight was emerging in the cloudless sky. She glanced at Ron. The sack coat and tie he wore to the graduation ceremony had been discarded and his shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal the muscles of his well-formed chest.