“Erm, yes, not too bad,” Jonn mumbled bravely. “How on earth does that work?” he asked, more to distract himself from shock than from any real desire to know.
“Well, my dear man, that is not quickly answered,” Hephistole said with a smile, passing one of the cups to Jonn on a matching plate only a little bigger than the cup itself. “In fact, we’re having something of a debate about this very subject at the moment.” Jonn’s sense of urgency, temporarily suspended since entering the tower, began to swell again now that Hephistole looked ready to launch into a lengthy monologue.
“It’s been understood for some time now that we are as much energy as we are matter,” Hephistole started enthusiastically, “and the transporter acts as a focus for just that activity – turning matter into energy, and energy into matter.” Hephistole beamed as if that explained everything, but Jonn’s look of utter confusion prompted him to divulge a little more information. “Did you feel a kind of resonance when you stood on the platform?”
“I felt like my whole body was buzzing,” Jonn said, politeness forcing him to answer with a semblance of interest.
“Ah yes. I forget how strange that feels the first time,” Hephistole said with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that ‘buzzing’, as you call it,” he continued, “was what it feels like to be transformed into an energy signature of your whole being.”
“You mean I was no longer there?” Jonn asked, curiosity momentarily overriding his need to bring up what he had come to talk about.
“No, not at all!” Hephistole answered, with a laugh like a thunderclap. “You were there, but expressed as energy instead of matter. The reason you couldn’t see was because you had no eyes!” Hephistole’s grin broadened ever further.
“But isn’t that dangerous?” Jonn asked.
“Dangerous?” Hephistole said slowly, as if examining a new concept for the first time, turning it over in his mind for a good view of it from all sides. “Well, I suppose so if it went wrong, but it rarely does - and if it does, it is rarely something we can’t fix.” There were too many “rarelys” in that for Jonn, who said nothing, but inwardly vowed to take the stairs on the way down.
“So, anyway,” Hephistole continued, “once you have been converted to energy you can be moved around at great speed. The transporters connect to each other through a magical field that contains the energy, and you literally travel through the walls and ceilings, furniture and people until you reach your destination and are reformed into matter. Isn’t it wonderful?” Hephistole exclaimed.
“Yes…wonderful,” Jonn repeated, unconvincingly. Jonn opened his mouth to bring the conversation round to the subject he’d come here to discuss, but Hephistole had started talking again.
“Some of our learned colleagues believe the transforming of matter into energy is the way forward for magical development in the area of transport, but others believe that manipulating matter to serve us is the better approach.”
Mistaking Jonn’s look of frustration for confusion, Hephistole continued. “You’ve already seen a perfect example of the two methods. Argent used the transporter to come up here, but I flew back down to the Atrium to meet you. Argent went through an energy conversion, but I manipulated matter to float down to you.” Hephistole’s eyes grew intent, as if sharing a deep personal secret. “I made myself lighter within a confined field, and manipulated my density so I could fall through the air at a speed of my choice. You can speed up or slow down by changing the relative densities.”
Jonn finally lost all patience. “Please!” he said, a bit louder than intended. Hephistole’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Please,” Jonn repeated, more quietly this time. “We need your help.”
“My good man, I’m sorry,” Hephistole said, sitting down abruptly and giving Jonn his whole attention. “I’ve been told I ramble on sometimes. Tell me all about it!”
After waving for Jonn to continue, Hephistole settled in to consider Jonn’s tale, resting his bony elbows on his knees and placing his head on his open hands, piercing green eyes probing deeply into Jonn’s as he began to talk.
Jonn tried to rush through the details of his story but Hephistole continually stopped him with probing questions, and in the end he started from scratch and told him everything, from the day Gaspi’s magic emerged until their arrival at the College. Hephistole listened intently, asking further questions, examining what Jonn told him with intense scrutiny. He didn’t seem remotely concerned about Gaspi’s previous comatose state, but at the description of Harold’s death, and the attack of the creature at the gypsy camp, his long face became grave; losing its vibrant energy for the first time since Jonn met him, wreathed in deep lines of concern.
“So what we’re worried about,” Jonn summarised, “is that these creatures seem to be searching for magic users, and they already know of Lydia and Gaspi. Gaspi is safe here at the College, I assume, but Lydia is still on the road, with my other charges Emea and Taurnil. What if they come under attack again?”
Hephistole remained motionless for a few moments, staring deeply into space. Jonn was about to cough politely, when the Chancellor shook his head like a dog shedding water and returned his attention to Jonn. “Well, that’s quite a story,” he said with a snap of decisiveness in his tone, “and you’re absolutely right; we can’t leave your young friends out there unprotected.” Hephistole’s eyes unfocussed for a moment; he appeared to be concentrating on something.
His eyes refocused on Jonn. “I’ve called someone who can help,” he said, before springing to his feet and beginning to pace back and forth. Jonn didn’t know whether to sit or stand. Bringing his movement to a sudden halt, Hephistole turned back to Jonn. “We have noticed some strange signs in the last year. Stories of magicians going missing have reached our ears; and some stranger, darker tales too. We have one Mage out there in the north investigating the truth of the rumours, and your story makes it harder to deny. There may be a force out there intent on our destruction, and one with some power.” Hephistole’s expression lightened. “But I mustn’t burden you with my worries! Rest assured, we will bring all our knowledge to bear on this. And there is some good news, of course.”
“Good news?” Jonn asked.
“We have a Nature Mage! That is no small thing, Jonn.” Hephistole’s broad grin returned to his face. “And by your own account, we have a Seer and Healer on their way to us as we speak.”
The sound of a small gong being struck pervaded the room. “Ah, here is Voltan,” Hephistole said. The room pulsed with the quiet buzz of the transporter (a much less intrusive sensation than Jonn had felt when he was the one being transported), and suddenly a slender, dark-skinned man appeared on the glowing platform. Hephistole gestured towards the arrival, by means of introduction. “Jonn, this is Voltan. Voltan, this is the father of the young boy we have in our infirmary.”
Voltan smiled at Jonn, a slight uplifting of narrow lips set against a fine bone structure and tight, dusky skin. Voltan’s narrow nose was finely sculpted, delicate nostrils flaring under an aquiline bridge, his eyes dark and deep beneath an angular forehead. His hair formed a widow’s peak and was drawn back tightly across his head into a pony tail at the back, held by a leather thong. Jonn stood up and shook Voltan’s hand; the magician’s grip was firm, but not overly so.
Turning to Voltan, Hephistole briefed him on the situation. “We have three young friends of our guest here travelling with a family of gypsies, heading to us. They are in some danger, and need an escort of magicians capable of defending them against attacks.” Voltan’s gaze was intense, and he did not speak once while Hephistole described the attack Gaspi had turned aside, and the theory Jonn and Gaspi had concocted.
“Is there anything you want to add?” Voltan asked, once Hephistole had finished.
“No, that about sums it up,” Jonn answered.
“Well, it seems like fire works against them,” Voltan said thoughtfully. “We have no Nature Mages, of course, but there are other ways of using fire. I’ll go myself, and I’ll take another of the warriors. I’ll go straight away.” Turning to leave, he paused at the edge of the transporter. “It’s amazing your son survived the attack, and the use of his own magic, Jonn. He must have an unusual talent. I look forward to meeting him.” And with that he nodded once at Hephistole, stepped on the transporter, and was gone.
Hephistole smiled brightly at Jonn. “So let’s go and meet this young magician of yours!” he said enthusiastically, gesturing for Jonn to step onto the transporter.
“With all due respect, could I use the stairs?” Jonn asked, glancing with distrust at the plinth.
Hephistole’s eyes widened. “Stairs?” he asked incredulously. “But my dear man we don’t have any stairs here. Why would we need them when we can travel so much more efficiently using the transporters?”
“Of course….no stairs,” mumbled Jonn. “Can we at least fly down?” he asked, though without any obvious enthusiasm for this option either.
Hephistole scratched his beard. “Well, yes, if you’d prefer that. I can stretch the field of varying density around both of us and control the descent. But what’s wrong with the transporter?” he asked, in an injured tone.
“I would rather stay in one piece and float down through the air than be split into a thousand little pieces.” Jonn asserted bluntly.
Hephistole’s mouth twisted in a confused smile. “That’s not exactly how it works, but if you prefer to fly then we will fly. This way, if you please.” Hephistole led Jonn round the extensive curve of the large office, which circled the outer edge of the tower’s giant bulb-shaped peak. Jonn was surprised as they passed several areas where the sinuous inner wall recessed deeply back into the centre of the tower, creating unexpected spaces. The first such space they passed was unlit, its dark interior filled with small cages, each with a red velvet cloth draped over its door. The next recess had exactly the same contents, but the cages were twice the size. The third area seemed to have nothing in it, but was lit from a source Jonn could not detect with a dim purple glow.
In all there were seven recesses, the last filled with the kind of calibrated instruments Jonn associated with taking measurements, or comparing weights, along with many others he couldn’t compare to anything he’d ever seen. They were made of all kinds of materials, and each was placed on plinth of its own. Some items were non-descript and clunky and some were intricate and sparkling with gold, silver, or even jewels. An earthenware mug sat next to a delicate set of gleaming silver scales, which was adjacent to a hand-sized sculpture of a golden wyvern, its eyes set with flashing rubies, its head curled around and resting on a wing. Jonn was amazed at the size of Hephistole’s office, and said nothing for the entire walk around the edge of the tower’s cavernous peak, until they came at last to the end, where a large hole in the floor ended the walk from the podium to this end of the room.
Hephistole held his arm out to Jonn. “Hold on to my arm, and step off when I do.” Jonn was having second thoughts about flying, but he was too embarrassed to ask to go back all the way to the plinth. Taking Hephistole’s arm, he walked to the edge of the hole, and then as Hephistole stepped forwards he gulped and stepped out into space. Everything in him tensed as he expected to plummet through the hole, his hand gripping Hephistole’s arm like a vice. But the air he stepped into caught and held him suspended over the drop. Looking down, Jonn couldn’t help grabbing even more tightly onto Hephistole’s arm. Hephistole smiled at him, and with a wave of his hand initiated the descent. They dropped unhurriedly down through the levels of the tower, passing through several floors that appeared to house comfortable offices, and several more that contained expansive laboratories. On the lowest floor above the atrium, Jonn was afforded a fleeting view of a group of young men and women, all in brown robes, sitting cross-legged in a circle with a white-robed Mage in their midst. They were hovering three feet off the floor. Finally, they passed through one more ceiling and emerged into the wide open space of the atrium, just as Hephistole had done a couple of hours previously.
Jonn was immensely relieved when his feet came to rest several inches above the glowing plinth, and he was able to hop off onto the floor. Hard ground beneath his feet slowly banished his anxiety, and he couldn’t help ask one more question of Hephistole.
“If you use your own magic to fly, why do we need a plinth at the bottom here?” he asked. “It’s not like we’re being transported.”
Hephistole looked pleased. “Excellent question, excellent question,” he said, rubbing his long-fingered hands together. “The plinth is not a transporter. It is there in case a magician loses concentration and falls!”
Jonn could hardly believe his ears. “You mean we could have fallen?”
“Well, technically, yes,” said Hephistole patiently, “but that hasn’t happened to me in years. Besides, that’s what the plinth is there for. If anything approaches it at any kind of speed, it slows and halts it before impact. So there’s nothing to worry about, see?” Jonn didn’t have the chance to say anything, as his eccentric guide was already striding towards the wide doors of the tower, long hair and robe flapping behind him. Jonn caught up with him and matched his pace, and the two men walked through the grounds to the infirmary.
Chapter 9
Gaspi was way past impatient. A view of the ceiling had lost its appeal several hours previously, and the walls were not much more interesting. Despite a lingering exhaustion, he had tried to lever himself out of bed several times without any notable success, and the last attempt had seen him sliding down onto the floor next to the bed. It was in this position that Hephistole first laid eyes on Gaspi.
With a twinkle in his eye and a bark of a laugh he bounded over to Gaspi, and helped him back into bed. “A bit restless, are we?” he asked.
“Er, yeah,” a red-faced Gaspi answered, taken aback by this dynamic stranger.