Chapter Nine
The Magical Superior closed the door to his study, turned around, and sighed. His old age was finally catching up with him. His bones grew weaker and weaker, his joints and back ached in places he had never felt before, and he became more and more tired with each passing year. He had managed to use magic to counteract the worst aspects of old age, but even magic couldn't hide the effects of aging forever.
Every mortal life has to end at some point, the Magical Superior thought grimly. I am no different in that regard, despite my unusually long lifespan.
His old age seemed especially apparent every time one of his students' life was in danger. Just a few minutes ago, he, Yorak, and many of the other teachers had arrived at the campus courtyard to find Darek Takren fighting a chimera. Darek had succeeded in killing the beast, but Darek himself was currently lying asleep in bed in the medical wing due to the fact that he had nearly frozen his hands off by using magic without a wand.
And then, not long after that, the explosion had happened. It had appeared out of nowhere, without even the slightest warning, unlike the explosion that had demolished the Third Dorm. When the Magical Superior, Yorak, and Jenur—along with all of the Institute students—went to the sports field to see it, they had discovered that the Soaring Sea was little more than burnt scrap and its pilot dead meat. The Institute students themselves were investigating this one, but it seemed unlikely to the Superior that they would find any actual clues.
After that, Yorak had said that she was going to gather up all of her students and leave tomorrow. The only reason they weren't leaving right away was because their airship was no more. She was going to send a gray ghost to the Institute tonight requesting another airship be sent (apparently, the Institute had several, which the Magical Superior found odd, considering how that school had been built underwater). They were not going to teleport because most of the students Yorak had brought with her were not very good at it and Yorak did not think she had the energy to teleport so many students at once over such a vast distance. Nonetheless, they were leaving, which was a basic fact that Yorak had made crystal clear to the Superior earlier, and there was nothing the Superior could do about it.
And in all honesty, the Magical Superior understood her fears. He himself was becoming more and more worried for his own students' safety, even though no one had died yet. He tried to convince himself that the rest of the school was going to be fine, but it was hard to believe that when he had no idea whether another attack was coming or not.
That was why he was back here in his study. He was going to speak to a god, the only god who could possibly know what was going on here, and he was going to do it alone. Yorak had demanded to come with him so she could find out what was going on as well (the destruction of the Soaring Sea seemed to have given her new motivation to find out who was behind the recent explosions at the school), but the Magical Superior had explained to her, as patiently as he could, that only the current bearer of the title of Magical Superior could speak to the gods in his study. Otherwise, he said, none of the gods would speak to him.
Of course, Yorak had not been at all happy about that. She seemed to think that the Magical Superior was trying to hide something from her, even though she knew about that rule already. He had had to explain to her that he was not hiding even one scrap of information from her. Even then, the gods didn't always honor his requests. More than once over the Magical Superior's career, he had gone into his study to speak to the gods only to spend hours waiting for a god who chose not to show up. Sometimes a completely different god would show up instead, which always put a wrench in the Magical Superior's plans.
Today, the Magical Superior did not know if the god he wished to speak with would come. This god in particular was busy, busier than the rest of the gods even, and for good reason. Still, this god was also a lot more reasonable and kind than the others and was far more likely to agree to a meeting with him. After all, Skimif, the God of Martir and the god who the Magical Superior wanted to talk to today, had once been a mortal himself.
The Magical Superior's study was a dome-shaped room, with tall, slanting walls that carried dozens of thick tomes within them. The room's walls had the colors of magic: Red, green, blue, and yellow. The walls had been painted such in order to help facilitate the magical powers for the Superior who lived there, because for some reason those four colors were more conducive to a magical environment than others.
In the center of the room was a large, round wooden table, upon which were gathered together hundreds and hundreds of tiny stone figurines. The table had been expanded ever since the Magical Superior had learned about the southern gods thirty years ago, forcing him to hire one of the Divine Carvers to create another several hundred or so statues to go along with the statues of the northern gods. Even then, the Magical Superior was not sure that all of the southern gods were represented, as most southern gods shunned contact with humans, even now years after they had become common knowledge to the peoples of the Northern Isles. He suspected that several southern gods had not yet announced their presence to the mortals, although he did not know for sure.
Today, however, the Magical Superior was not going to talk to any of the southern gods. Instead, he walked up to the table and picked out the statue of Skimif, which was in the very front of the group due to Skimif's status as the leader and ruler of the gods. It was right in front of the statue of the Ghostly God, which the Magical Superior ignored as he picked up Skimif's statue.
Hefting the stone figurine, the Magical Superior walked to the back of his study. Thick curtains in the same colors as the walls separated the back wall of his study from the rest, but it was a simple matter to push them away, revealing piles of soft pillows sitting inside the curtains. Upon the pillows were about half a dozen books, in various stages of completion, that the Magical Superior had been reading. His eyes fell briefly on his copy of Hanyu's Prophecies, but he did not linger on any of them because he was not here to read (much to his regret).
Walking over the pillows—if using magic to allow his feet to float an inch above the pillows counted as 'walking,' as he had no intention of climbing over their uneven surface in his old, weakened state—the Magical Superior went to the back wall itself. He made sure to close the curtains first, even though there was no one else in the room except for himself. Still, with everything that had happened recently, he felt justified in taking these protective measures, no matter how silly they may have seemed.
Then he turned his attention back to the back wall. It looked as plain and unremarkable as any wall, but that was because it had been designed that way years ago by the founder of North Academy. It was supposed to look that way to keep out potential intruders in the incredibly unlikely event someone managed to break into the Magical Superior's study. Whether it worked out that way in practice, the Magical Superior didn't know, seeing as no one had yet succeeded in breaking into his study (aside from the time his deceased younger brother had broken in years ago, although even then, his younger brother had not known about the secret passageway and therefore had not tried to look for it).
The Magical Superior placed his hand against the smooth back wall and pushed. He heard the clicking of gears and several locks being undone; the next moment, the wall swung inwards like a door, revealing a dark spiral staircase that went down well out of his sight.
He had walked down this staircase countless times over the years. He was as familiar with each step as he was with the back of his hand. He didn't even need a light to see where he was going because he knew the staircase so well.
Descending the staircase, the Magical Superior made sure to close the door behind him as he entered. Again, he was not concerned that someone would enter his study and follow him, but just to be absolutely certain, he had to close it. It was just habit at this point.
The staircase was now completely black, with no light at all to guide his feet. He relied solely on memory, going down each step carefully, u
ntil in just a few minutes he reached the bottom of the stairs, where he found himself standing before a thick, ancient stone door that he had opened as many times as he had walked down these stairs over the years.
The door opened easily enough. He simply knocked on it once and the door swung open, its bottom scraping across the floor. When the door opened completely, the Magical Superior stepped through. And when he stepped through, the lights activated.
Green lights running along the top of the room's walls shone down on the Superior, but they did not show much. The Chamber, as he had always called it, was a tube-shaped room with no decorations, no paintings or windows or anything of interest. The only piece of furniture that existed in the Chamber was a stone podium with a slot that was the exact same shape and size as the base of the Skimif statue he held.
The Magical Superior walked up to the podium and placed the statue in the slot. He stepped back, knowing from experience that divine statues sometimes radiated divine energy that even he couldn't handle.
“O Skimif, God of Martir, Leader of the Gods, and Ruler of All,” said the Magical Superior, bowing his head as he raised his staff above his head. “I, the Magical Superior of North Academy, request an audience with you today. I will understand if you do not wish to speak with me, but the matter that I am contacting you about is urgent and I wish to speak with you about it right away.”
He raised his head, but the Skimif statue looked as normal as always. He didn't sense any magical energy from it, not even so much as one spark. It was as if Skimif was ignoring him, even though he knew that the God of Martir had to be listening.
The divine statues, as they were known, were not just any normal statues. They were tied to whichever god they represented. How that worked, exactly, the Magical Superior didn't know, because he had hired one of the Divine Carvers to carve this one and the Divine Carvers did not reveal their trade secrets to the general public.
Nonetheless, the Magical Superior understood that when the statue was placed in the podium, the god it was based on could hear him no matter where he or she was at the time. That did not mean the god or goddess in question would actually answer his summons, but they knew he was summoning them, at least.
The Magical Superior tried not to feel too disappointed. He hadn't expected Skimif to listen to him. Skimif, as the God of Martir, had more responsibility than any of the other gods combined. He not only maintained Martir itself, but also had to keep an eye on the gods to make sure none of them were up to anything they shouldn't be. The gods had a bad habit of doing things they shouldn't, things that usually caused a lot of trouble and danger for everyone involved.
That was exactly why the Magical Superior had tried to contact him. Skimif, more than any other god, would know who the 'Master' of those two katabans was. He might even know why this 'Master' had even sent those two here in the first place.
Yet the longer the Magical Superior stood there, the more time passed in which Skimif didn't appear. He began to wonder if waiting for Skimif was a fool's errand when the lives of his students and faculty were still at risk.
Just as the Magical Superior was about to take the Skimif statue and leave, he sensed a powerful magical presence—far above his own—flood the room like water from a bursting dam. He shivered with anticipation, watching as a light on the other side of the Chamber appeared from nowhere.
The glow grew brighter and brighter, becoming so bright that the Magical Superior was forced to cover his eyes to avoid injuring them. Soon the bright glow had enveloped the entire Chamber, causing the Magical Superior to close his thin eyelids completely.
Then a familiar, yet somewhat detached, voice spoke from within the light. “Hello, Magical Superior of North Academy. How are you today?”
As the voice spoke, the light rapidly faded until the Magical Superior could tell through his eyelids that the light was gone. He opened his eyes and looked over the statue of Skimif to see the newcomer.
Standing on the other side of the Skimif statue was a being who resembled the statue almost exactly. A cursory glance showed that Skimif resembled an aquarian, as he had indeed been during his past life. He had the head of a hammerhead shark and the skin of a fish that glistened in the green lights running along the top of the Chamber.
But a more thorough observation showed that Skimif was no mere aquarian. His muscles were thicker and bigger than any aquarian's, he wore white robes that were as bright as the sun's rays reflecting off the snow of the Great Berg, and he carried a scepter in his right hand that was pure gold from top to bottom. He even smelled divine, a scent which reminded the Magical Superior of roses mixed with cream.
Although the Magical Superior had met many gods over his lifetime, none of them were quite like Skimif. The God of Martir radiated a power and authority that put him a step above the other gods, and this in spite of the fact that he had only been the God of Martir for thirty years. The Magical Superior had often speculated how strong Skimif would be in a hundred years or a thousand years, although he knew he would not live long enough to see that.
“I am not doing well, Lord Skimif,” said the Magical Superior. “And neither is my school or the visitors from the Undersea Institute. You are aware of what has recently been happening here, haven't you?”
Skimif nodded. “How can I not be? And please, simply call me 'Skimif.' 'Lord' is too formal.”
The Magical Superior felt uncomfortable with that request, but he had made it a personal policy to follow the gods' request and commands, so he decided to go along with it. “So you understand what I have been through over the last couple of hours.”
“Of course,” said Skimif. “The gods have always paid special attention to North Academy, and I am no exception to that rule. I am quite aware of most of what has happened here.”
“Then you know that it is one of the gods who is behind it,” said the Magical Superior. “I don't know which god, but we have captured two katabans servants who have confirmed that they are serving a god.”
Skimif folded his arms across his chest. His face was a difficult read, even for the Magical Superior, who had many years of experience deciphering unusual godly facial expressions, many of whom did not have normal human or even aquarian faces.
“That is the problem, Magical Superior,” said Skimif. “Although I have been keeping careful track of the situation, I don't know which of the many, many gods are behind this.”
The Magical Superior leaned forward slightly; always a dangerous move in his old age, as he never knew when he would simply topple forward. “But you are the God of Martir. There is nothing in this world that happens without your notice.”
Skimif sighed. “In comparison to some gods, I am still quite new and still figuring out the full extent of my abilities. My omniscience, for example, is imperfect. I can only really know what is going on in any one particular location at any one time. I can't focus on everywhere at once. Believe me, I tried, and it almost drove me insane.”
“Do you have any theories about this 'Master's' identity?” said the Magical Superior. “Could it be Hollech? This seems like his doing.”
“No,” said Skimif. “I banished Hollech beyond the Void years ago. He hasn't been seen since. And he couldn't return, anyway, because I sealed the Void from his side to prevent him from coming back.”
“Oh,” said the Magical Superior. “But how can you not know which god it is? Haven't you been searching?”
“I have,” said Skimif. “But it's not easy. Aside from the fact that there are hundreds of gods in both the Northern and Southern Pantheons—many of which are still unhappy with my rule—there's been some presence obstructing my own senses.”
“A presence?” the Magical Superior said. “What do you mean by that?”
Skimif unfolded his arms. “Ever since the end of the Katabans War, I have noticed a powerful presence emerging deep from underneath the surface of Martir. At first, I dismissed it as nothing more than the collective magical energy of th
e gods collecting in Martir's core. That happens sometimes because the gods produce so much magical energy that not all of it is used by you mages and so it will usually end up collecting somewhere until it is used up.”
That was the first time the Magical Superior had ever heard about something like that before. That made him wonder just how much the other gods had hid from him over the years.
Another reason I like talking to Skimif, the Magical Superior thought. Unlike the others, he has no great distrust of mortals like myself, so he feels freer to mention things like that to me.
“But that energy is usually discovered and used up by a mage or group of mages at some point,” said Skimif. “Often quickly. I am sure you are aware of those mages known in history as the arcanians?”
The Magical Superior nodded. “You mean the most powerful mages in Martirian history.”
“Yes,” said Skimif. “They got that way by stumbling upon these energy wells, as I tend to call them, and using their power to boost their own. It is an effective way for a mortal mage to push past his own limits and become stronger, although it is always temporary.”
“Very interesting,” said the Magical Superior. “But it is irrelevant to the discussion. Tell me more about this presence.”
“It's hard to tell you anything about it because sometimes I am not even sure it's real,” said Skimif, glancing at the floor. “Like I said, I first noticed it after the end of the Katabans War, although I have a feeling that it is much older than that. In times of crisis it is more noticeable, but every time I try to focus on it, it goes away and becomes impossible to find again. It acts like a real, living being, but I don't know what it is or where it came from.”
“That is disturbing indeed,” said the Magical Superior. “Is it friendly or unfriendly?”
“I have no idea,” said Skimif. “As I said, every time I try to focus on it, it will draw into itself. I have spoken with some of the older gods about it—Nimiko and the Mechanical Goddess, among others—and even they have no idea what it is. They've promised to keep an eye open for it, but I doubt they'll be able to find it.”
“I don't understand what this presence has to do with our current situation,” said the Magical Superior. “Do you think it has something to do with this 'Master' fellow that the two katabans mentioned?”
“I think this presence is hiding him from me,” said Skimif. “I don't know why, but I usually feel this presence at its strongest whenever I search for the identity of the one known as 'Master.' I suspect that the presence is either an ally or a manipulator of this god, whoever he is, but why, I don't know.”
“This is all far too disturbing for my tastes,” said the Magical Superior. “I don't like it.”
“Neither do I,” said Skimif. “It's disturbed me so much that I've even tried to talk to the Mysterious One about this and see what he knows. But he seems to have vanished from Martir; at least, none of the other gods have been able to tell me where he might be and Bleak Rock is practically a ghost island at this point.”
That was another interesting revelation. The Mysterious One was one of the few gods that the Magical Superior did not have a divine statue of, for the simple fact that no one knew what he looked like or, for that matter, if he even existed. Legend said that the Mysterious One was the God of Mystery and Magic, but up until now the Magical Superior hadn't even believed that he was real.
“What's even worse is that this presence is powerful,” said Skimif. “I only get occasional glimpses of its might every now and then, but I can tell that it is at least on my power level. It might be able to beat me in a fight if it wanted.”
“Forgive me for my impudence, Skimif, but that is ridiculous,” said the Magical Superior. “There is no one in Martir who even comes close to your might. The Powers made you the strongest being in the world, didn't they? Not even the other gods can match your might.”
“I thought so, too, but apparently there exists someone who can match my power here,” said Skimif, his voice troubled. “I don't know who he or she is, but if you want my theory, I think this presence is far older than Martir, maybe even older than the Powers themselves.”
The Magical Superior had a hard time wrapping his head around that. Years ago, after Prince Malock and Skimif had succeed in convincing the Powers to spare Martir after their disappointment with its development, the Magical Superior had conducted a brief interview with Prince Malock to find out more about the Powers.
Malock had told the Magical Superior that the Powers had revealed to him that a world had existed before Martir, but that it had been in complete ruin when the Powers arrived. The Powers had then used the remains of that world to create Martir, according to Malock, which meant that Martir was literally built on the ruins of another world.
It was that thought that prompted the Magical Superior to ask, “Do you think it could be something left over from the world that existed before Martir?”
“I don't know,” said Skimif. “I have been investigating the Old Ruins and—”
“The what?” said the Magical Superior. He immediately put a hand over his mouth when he saw Skimif's startled expression. “Oh, forgive me, Skimif, for interrupting you. I just had to ask that question, but if you do not want to answer it that is fine.”
“No, no,” said Skimif, shaking his head. “I was just taken aback. I should have explained what I meant.”
Secretly, the Magical Superior was relieved. The gods hated it when mortals interrupted them, even for a good reason. It was a hard, painful lesson that the Magical Superior had learned decades ago when he first became the Magical Superior and it was not a lesson he intended to take again.
“The Old Ruins are a place no mortal has ever set foot in,” said Skimif. He gestured at the floor. “They exist deep, deep beneath the surface of Martir, well out of the reach of even the most sophisticated mortal magic. The gods have known about them for years and it was one of the first things I was told about when I ascended to godhood.”
“But what, exactly, are the Old Ruins?” said the Magical Superior, careful to keep his tone and words as respectful as possible.
Skimif shrugged. “From what the other gods have told me, and from what I've learned on my own, the Old Ruins are the only remnants of the world that existed before Martir. My theory is that the Powers left them because they did not know how to use them for Martir or maybe they finished Martir and the Old Ruins were what was leftover. Either way, they are an unusual sight to behold.”
A million questions exploded in the Magical Superior's mind when he heard that, but for some reason he suspected Skimif was not interested in answering any of them at the moment.
So he asked, “What did you find in the Old Ruins?”
“Not much,” said Skimif. “There's a lot of writing, but it's all in a language I can't read. The only god who has had any luck in translating it is Ranama, the God of Language, but even he hasn't been able to decipher much other than a few words. And trust me, he's been at it for thousands of years.”
“No clue at all as to the identity of this presence or what it even wants?” said the Magical Superior.
“None at all,” said Skimif. Then he frowned. “Well, I guess that's not entirely true. Ranama found this. He gave it to me for my own study, but I feel comfortable sharing it with you.”
Skimif held out his hand. His hand glowed brilliantly bright, but it lasted only for a second. When the light faded, a square stone tablet lay grasped between his fingers.
He let go of the tablet, which floated across the Chamber to the Superior. The Magical Superior caught the tablet with his free hand and peered at it closely.
The stone tablet was ancient. That he could tell right away. It felt crumbly and weak in his hand, like it was about to fall apart any minute. It was probably even older than the Arcanium. And if it truly was from the world that existed before Martir, then it definitely was older than the Arcanium, older even than the gods themselves.
The ta
blet's surface was faded, but he felt tiny raised ridges running across it, like some type of ancient writing. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the raised ink used by the ancient Primordians to write their books. He suspected that whoever wrote this tablet must have used a form of geomancy to raise the ridges, but considering that this tablet existed well before the gods—and therefore, before magic—its writer must have used a different method to achieve that effect.
“What is it?” said the Magical Superior, looking up at Skimif, who had folded his arms across his chest. “I mean, what is it, exactly? A history? A poem? An essay? Or something else?”
“Not sure,” said Skimif. “From what little Ranama has translated of it—and he hasn't translated much, even with all of the study and work he has put into it over the years—he thinks its a diary.”
The Magical Superior frowned. “A diary? Written by whom?”
“That is another thing Ranama is unsure of,” said Skimif. “According to him, the diary was written by someone chronicling the last days of the world that existed before this one. The writer's name is there, but it is the most faded and difficult-to-read part of the text, so Ranama calls him Diary-Writer.”
“This is an amazing find,” said the Magical Superior. He suddenly felt like he was holding pure gold. “It may be the rarest and most valuable object in all of Martir because it didn't even come from the Powers. In all my years, I never thought I'd get to so much as look at something not created by the Powers.”
“You are indeed lucky,” said Skimif, although his tone did not sound congratulatory. “But in the end, I don't care about the obvious academic value that tablet has to someone like yourself. I am interested in finding out if it is related to that presence I felt, the presence I think is up to no good.”
“So you think it might say something about that?” said the Magical Superior.
Skimif shrugged. “Ranama said that the diary appears to chronicle some powerful presence destroying the world before Martir, the Prior World, if you need a name for it. Based on what little he has translated, Ranama has concluded that the Diary-Writer was one of the final victims of the presence that destroyed his world.”
“He learned all of that from this?” said the Magical Superior, holding up the tablet.
“It's his theory,” said Skimif. “You've met Ranama before, no doubt, so you know how he tends to jump to all kinds of crazy theories given the slightest bit of evidence. Nonetheless, I think he may be onto something this time. He showed me his reasoning and I think it's pretty sound, although I admit that I'm no linguist.”
“As interesting as this is, I wonder how relevant it is to our current situation,” said the Magical Superior. “Do you think that the presence you sense today is the same presence that caused the destruction of the Prior World?”
The God of Martir shook his head hopelessly. “Maybe, maybe not. It might be something entirely different, but I doubt it. Whatever destroyed the Prior World is aiming to do the same thing with Martir. I'm sure of it.”
“Why would it do that?” said the Magical Superior. “What does this presence have to gain from the deaths of so many millions of lives?”
“How am I supposed to know?” said Skimif, shrugging. “This presence, whatever it is, is still in the shadows. I'm only aware of it because it is starting to get confident. Just half an hour ago, I sensed it directly inside this very school.”
The Magical Superior gasped. “How could it have entered without my knowledge? If the presence is as strong as you, I should have noticed it.”
“Remember, it took me years to be certain it even existed and wasn't some strange magical anomaly,” said Skimif. “I have a feeling this presence has been around much, much longer than the last twenty-four years.”
The Magical Superior could not help but shudder at the thought. “Then does that mean that this presence is possibly manipulating this 'Master' fellow? Or do you think Master is knowingly working with the presence?”
“That's another question I don't have the answer to,” said Skimif. “But I will say this: The gods hate submitting to any authority higher than them. That is the one trait the northern and southern gods share. Even though I've been their leader for a while now, I know for a fact that most of the gods still don't respect me or see me as legitimate. I doubt any of the gods would be willing to submit to this presence.”
“If this presence offered to overthrow you, would that not be tempting to the gods?” said the Magical Superior.
The temperature in the room—which had been cool—suddenly rose high enough that the Magical Superior felt almost too warm in his robes. The temperature increase had to have come from Skimif, who was now scowling.
“The gods aren't stupid,” said Skimif. “They remember what I did to Hollech all those years ago. They would never even think of standing against me, not unless they wish to be stripped of their powers and thrown beyond the Void as well.”
For the first time since he had gotten to know Skimif, the Magical Superior felt a tinge of fear. Most of the time, Skimif acted like a normal mortal, despite being almighty and powerful. Prior to becoming the God of Martir, Skimif had been a simple seaweed farmer, as honest and truthful as they came, with a strong belief in the brotherhood of all mortals, human and aquarian alike.
At least, that was what the Magical Superior had learned while doing research on Skimif shortly after the farmer's ascension to godhood. Right now, however, he was starting to understand that, whatever Skimif may have been in his mortal days, he was slowly becoming more and more godlike.
Thankfully, the Magical Superior had decades of experience interacting with various gods, so he knew how to speak in a way that would not ignite Skimif's temper.
Lowering the tablet, the Magical Superior said, “Skimif, I did not mean to anger you. I was simply offering an idea that may not have occurred to you yet.”
“Magical Superior.” Skimif said those two words as authoritatively as any god. “I know what you were trying to do. I was just angry that that is clearly not the answer. If it was, it would be very simple for me to banish this Master guy beyond the Void. Alas, it is not so.”
The Magical Superior still sensed an undercurrent of intense hostility in Skimif's words, a hostility that he had never heard in the god's voice before. It made him wonder just what kind of toll Skimif's ascension into godhood had taken on him, but the Magical Superior knew better than to ask. Skimif did not seem to be in the mood to answer such personal questions.
Before the Magical Superior could ask another question, a gray ghost flew through the ceiling and landed in front of him. It took the Magical Superior a moment to recognize the gray, slightly transparent, smoke-like being was Junaz's gray ghost, because it looked exactly like the ex-airship mechanic, simply without any color.
“Magical Superior, sir,” said Junaz's gray ghost, his voice echoing from the ghost's mouth. “Urgent news. The two katabans intruders from before were discovered to be missing from their cells. But don't worry, we know where they are, because one of them was captured by the traps I set up at the graveyard's entrance. I and several other mages, including the Institute mages, are heading there right now to apprehend them once and for all.
“Additionally, Eyurna has discovered that the entrance to the medical wing has been completely sealed off. She said that the last people in there were Darek Takren, Aorja Kitano, and Jiku Nium, but she doesn't know why the door is sealed. Jenur Takren is working with her to open it, but so far they have had no luck. Jenur is looking for alternative means of entrance, as the medical wing has proven to prevent even teleportation into it.”
“What?” said the Magical Superior, even though he knew that the gray ghost couldn't hear him.
“We are requesting your assistance to deal with these two problems,” Junaz's gray ghost continued. “You do not have to reply to this gray ghost.”
With that, the gray ghost dissipated into a thin, gray cloud of smoke that quickly evaporated in
to nothingness.
Skimif frowned. “I forgot how urgent mortals sound when dealing with what appear to us gods as minor crises.”
“Skimif, I am sorry, but I must leave immediately,” said the Magical Superior, turning to leave. “I trust that Jenur Takren has the medical wing situation under control, so I will go and help Junaz and the others re-capture the katabans.”
“Good luck with that,” said Skimif.
The Magical Superior stopped before he left. “Wait, you mean you aren't coming to help?”
Skimif shook his head. “I wish I could, but I have other things to attend to. I think you mages are perfectly capable of handling whatever is going on here by yourselves.”
The Magical Superior was about to ask Skimif what other things the god needed to attend to when Skimif suddenly burst into a bright shining ball of light. Like before, the Magical Superior was forced to cover his eyes, this time using the ancient tablet, in order to protect them.
When the light faded, the Magical Superior lowered the stone tablet and looked at where Skimif had stood previously. The God of Martir was gone, almost as if he had never been there at all.
It doesn't matter, the Magical Superior thought. Skimif is probably right. Whatever is going on right now, we will simply have to handle it on our own.
Before he left the Chamber, however, the Magical Superior placed the old stone tablet on the floor in front of the podium. He felt it would be safe here until he had enough time to study it further. Then he walked out the door and up the stairs.
As the Magical Superior ascended the staircase leading up to his study as fast as he could, he found himself wishing that Skimif had stayed and helped. He had the feeling that whatever was about to happen next would require all the help that he and his students and faculty could get.
***