Tristan swore.
Who should he side with now—the professors or his friends? If he reported Eli, Drakewell would be livid—he might even attack Eli—but if he said nothing, the whole academy was at risk.
“Sorry,” Amber said softly. “I thought you would want to know.”
“No, it’s not your fault. Goddammit, Eli! He’s determined to get us all killed!” Tristan whacked a pine branch in his frustration, dislodging a clump of snow that fell with a whump. “You won’t say anything to the others, will you?”
Amber’s eyes widened. “Of course not. I never talk to them.”
It was true; Tristan’s anger lessened slightly in a rush of pity. Not knowing what to say, he cleared his throat. “I need to do something. I’ll see you later?”
“Merry Christmas, Tristan.” For a split second Tristan thought he saw his pity reflected back in her smile.
Well, he thought grumpily as he trudged away through the snow, why would anyone want to trade places with him? Half the academy hated him for one reason or another, and it had fallen to him to keep Eli from killing them all.
He skirted around the meadow, not wanting anyone to question him, though his stealth was wasted; the other students were thoroughly distracted by their snowball fight. Walls of snow had appeared on either side of the meadow, behind which each side stockpiled snowballs and sheltered between attacks, and Leila and Rusty were burying a flailing pile of limbs that might have belonged to Zeke beneath a mountain of snow.
The Lair was quiet and empty, though Tristan caught Brikkens’ distant voice singing “Deck the Halls” as he started down the stairs.
Though he had already made his decision, he slowed as he neared Alldusk’s classroom. Everything rested on whether or not he could trust Alldusk; if his favorite professor betrayed him, Eli would be kicked out. And no matter how many stupid decisions Eli made, he did not deserve to waste away at a mental hospital.
Alldusk answered on the first knock. Merridy stood in the doorway of his office, a glass of eggnog in hand; when she spotted Tristan, she muttered something about needing to help Gracewright and slipped from the classroom, though Alldusk kissed her cheek as she passed.
“You enjoying the holidays?” Alldusk asked, his searching gaze belying his would-be casual tone.
“Yeah, it’s great,” Tristan said flatly. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something. In—in private.”
Alldusk nodded quickly. “Of course. Come on through; my office will be more comfortable.” Tristan noticed that he locked the door to his classroom behind him.
When the office door was locked as well, Tristan and Alldusk seated on opposite sides of the professor’s polished wood desk, Alldusk folded his arms and said, “Am I about to learn something about why you keep getting into trouble?”
“Um…” Tristan swallowed. “Will you promise not to say anything to Professor Drakewell? I need your help, but I don’t want anyone getting in trouble.”
Alldusk held Tristan’s eyes for a long time. Tristan raked his hair over his scars, feeling exposed beneath his professor’s stare, but did not look away.
“It depends on what you tell me,” Alldusk said at last. “If others are in danger, I may have no choice. But if I can avoid involving the headmaster, I will.”
It was the best he could hope for, Tristan supposed. He could not believe Alldusk was evil; there must be a reason why he supported Drakewell.
“Certain students are afraid that what we’re doing here is wrong,” Tristan said carefully. “Because of what we heard the teachers say after the avalanche, and because of something Evvie—Evangeline, I mean—found out. She said there are people dying because of whatever this academy does.”
Though Alldusk’s mouth tightened, he did not interrupt Tristan.
“Some of the students want to fight back—to force you guys to tell us what we’re here for. They’re collecting marbles so they can use them against you.”
“Is that why you were in Delair’s mine when it blew up?” Alldusk asked softly. “Were you trying to stop your friends from attacking us? Why didn’t you say anything to the headmaster?”
Tristan said nothing.
Alldusk let out a breath. “You were protecting your friends. Of course.”
“I don’t think they’ll stop until you tell us why we’re here. Why can’t you? Is it really so awful, whatever the academy is doing?” Tristan broke off—his voice had been rising in anger despite his best efforts.
“That’s Professor Drakewell’s prerogative,” Alldusk said. “I understand—of course I do! It hasn’t been that long since I was a student here myself. But we weren’t told the secrets of the academy until the end of our first year, and I doubt Professor Drakewell will change his policy without good reason.”
“Will you talk to him at least?” Tristan begged. “I don’t want to go back to Juvie, and I don’t want my friends to be sent away either. But I’m worried. Some of the students might not care if they get killed doing what they think is right.”
In the silence that followed Tristan’s words, a clock ticking behind Alldusk’s desk echoed sharply through the office.
“I’ll do what I can,” Alldusk said at last. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Tristan. You’re a very honorable young man.”
Tristan felt anything but as he slunk back to the Subroom, where his friends were changing out of their snow-covered clothes with rosy cheeks and much laughter.
“Where did you go?” Leila asked, tossing her hat at Tristan. “We were nearly slaughtered without you!”
“I just went for a walk with Amber,” he said with a forced smile. He noticed she was not back yet.
“We’ll have a rematch tomorrow,” Eli said. “You’d better be there this time.”
“Of course.” Tristan was unable to meet Eli’s eyes.
Over the next few days, Tristan tried his best to pretend everything was normal. Though he, Leila, Eli, and Trey resumed their daily punishments, Drakewell said nothing to indicate Alldusk had spoken with him. At least it meant Alldusk had not betrayed Tristan’s trust.
Brikkens urged the students to clean their rooms and write lists of resolutions in preparation for the new year, while Rusty, Eli, Trey, Hayley, and Cailyn spent hours building a set of igloos in the meadow with tunnels running from one to the next.
When he wasn’t spending time with Leila or Rusty, Tristan retreated to the Subroom to read the textbook Alldusk had given him, more as an excuse to avoid talking than anything. He was sure Eli continued to stash away marbles, though he had no idea how he got ahold of them while they weren’t attending classes; he just hoped Alldusk would speak to Drakewell before Eli did anything drastic.
Then, on New Year’s Eve, Drakewell summoned the students and teachers to the ballroom before lunch.
When Tristan caught Alldusk’s eye, his professor gave him a tiny nod.
Tristan sat up straighter, fear and anticipation racing through him.
What if the academy really was evil? Was he brave enough to face an asylum—to live out the rest of his life as a criminal—if the alternative was participating in something unforgivable?
He wasn’t sure.
Drakewell paced back and forth before the dining platform, hands clasped behind his back.
“It has come to my attention,” he began, voice ringing out in the silence, “that certain students are so desperate to know why this academy exists that they are willing to risk their lives to force the information from us.”
Though Drakewell kept his eyes fixed on the wall, not singling out any students, Eli shifted in his chair.
“When you know the truth, you will understand why we withheld it for so long. Our work is crucial, but the reality is unpleasant. There are not many who would be willing to set aside their own beliefs in pursuit of a more important goal, which is why we prefer not to put this burden on you too soon.”
Drakewell stopped his pacing abruptly and pivoted to face the dining platform, though his gaze was still fixed on the wall.
“However, we have decided the dangers of keeping you in the dark outweigh the benefits. You see, we are not teaching you magic merely to send you home. We are not hoping to enrich your minds or spread the knowledge of magic to the wider community. Magic is dangerous; once you learn its secrets you must remain here.”
“Then what’s the point?” Damian asked peevishly.
Drakewell fixed his hollow eyes on Damian. “The reason you were recruited—the reason the Underground Academy exists—is because of something called the ‘natural order.’ The term refers to the balance of all dualities: civilization and nature, light and dark, life and death.
“The magicians who built our Lair chose the location for its inaccessibility. They knew this valley would never be developed. Magicians knew the value of wild places long before most humans, because magic is derived primarily from nature. Our forebears created a place where magic could be concentrated and used for greater purposes. Here, they planned to maintain the ever-teetering balance between civilization and nature. Here they set the power of nature against humanity.”
Leila’s mouth opened in surprise. “Do you mean—”
Drakewell touched the black hourglass around his neck. “With the orbs we harvest, we have the power to cause natural disasters. Without our interference, humans march faster and faster toward their own demise—toward tipping the balance so far it cannot be re-stabilized. Using magic, we stir up hurricanes and tornadoes, send tremors through the earth, and set off volcanoes, in hopes that these minor disasters will prevent the total collapse of our planet.”
No one spoke.
Tristan felt a strange pressure building against his eardrums. Drakewell spoke so calmly, yet his words were insane. He couldn’t possibly be telling the truth.
“The magicians who were here before us sent the shock wave that caused the Great San Francisco Earthquake, and started the drought that led to the Dust Bowl.”
“You’re joking,” Damian said finally, his voice hard.
Drakewell stared at Damian until Damian looked away, muttering something inaudible.
A hazy darkness was gathering at the corners of Tristan’s eyes. He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying not to pass out. The world’s gone mad.
In the midst of his panic, a frightening truth crystalized before him.
His professors had set off the earthquake that destroyed his dad’s house. In all likelihood, they had started the fire as well.
If not for their interference, Marcus would still be alive.
Rage boiled up in him, but before he could speak, the memory of Marcus’s smile filled his mind, and his throat closed up.
If he had done anything differently that night, anything at all, his little brother would still be alive.
Now his eyes burned; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to attack Drakewell or to cry.
In the end, it still came down to his own damn mistake. His hand on the wheel, his voice reassuring Marcus when he had no business taking his brother’s life into his hands.
Others were speaking; Tristan dragged his attention back to the room in time to hear Alldusk saying,
“We’re not the only ones trying to manipulate this balance.” His voice was very calm, though his face was ashen. “There are others out there, people with no knowledge of magic, who are trying to outsmart nature and tip the balance in their favor. Look at genetic engineers—they are playing with the very foundations of life. And for what reason?”
Alldusk paused, though he did not seem to expect an answer.
“They want wealth. Long life. Health. Power. A few seasons of successful crops in exchange for land stripped bare. They’re messing with the natural order because they’re selfish. The human race is selfish.” Alldusk shook his head. “We have a much harder task here—siding with nature, against our own race. We maintain the order that is chaos, simply because we must.”
Another long silence followed Alldusk’s words.
Slowly, reluctantly, Tristan’s thoughts were beginning to catch up with him. Right or wrong, his teachers—and hundreds of magicians before them—had been ravaging the earth with disasters for centuries.
He understood now why Drakewell wanted to keep the truth hidden. He wished he could rewind the past hour and forget what he had heard.
“The world holds itself together with magic,” Drakewell said. “Allow that to vanish, and everything else will simply crumble. There will be nothing left but dust. Is that what you want?” His cold, challenging gaze flicked around the room.
“What about the disasters that happened before this place existed?” Leila’s expression was inscrutable.
“There have always been magicians playing around with the weather,” Drakewell said. “The majority of them were causing plagues, floods, droughts, and the like for selfish reasons—war, riches, or mere curiosity. This academy is the first place where those same powers have been directed toward maintaining balance. No one realized magic would be needed for such a grim purpose until human civilization began outpacing the earth’s powers of regeneration. Yet now that we have taken on this task, we cannot fail. Too much hangs in the balance.”
Drakewell’s words made sense, in a twisted sort of way. But who did the academy answer to? If any single person was allowed to decide the fates of so many, that person should rightfully be an angel or a god. And the teachers were far from either.
“You now have a decision to make.” Drakewell’s voice was low and threatening. “I will not force any of you to remain here against your will—except Fairholm and Ashton. Your powers are too developed for you to return to society without proper training.
“By the end of January, you must each pledge your loyalty to the Underground Academy—or leave us forever. If you leave, you will stay one year in a mental hospital, supervised by one of our former students, in case you decide to spread stories about what you have seen here. After that, you will serve out your original sentence.”
Tristan glanced at Amber, who stared unblinking at the stairs leading to the meadow.
Had Drakewell’s threats of amending Tristan’s records and sending him to a mental asylum been a ruse, then? What would happen to the two of them if they refused to swear loyalty? Would Drakewell truly lock them in the tunnels for the rest of their lives?
“What about me?” Evvie asked in a quavering voice. “I wouldn’t have to go to jail, would I?”
Drakewell’s eyes narrowed. “You would stay a year in the mental hospital just like anyone else. After that, you would relocate to whichever foster home would be willing to take a mentally unstable teenager.”
Evvie blinked several times, tears pooling in her eyes. Tristan wanted to comfort her, but he was afraid to move.
“What kind of choice is that?” Eli spat. “You’re monsters, all of you.”
“It’s the choice between saving your own soul and preserving the world so your children and grandchildren will have a future,” Alldusk said grimly. “It’s the same choice all of us made, not so many years ago.”