Once In a Blue Moon (8 page)

“There’s always one, at every Audition. Someone always wants to take me on, to see if I’m worthy to teach here. Best to get it out of the way now. Everyone got a good view? Then let’s do it.”

He came down from the dais with his axe in his hand, and it seemed like everyone drew in a sudden shocked breath. Hawk was smiling a cold and disturbing smile, and he didn’t look like a stocky middle-aged man anymore. He looked every bit the fighter and warrior everyone knew he must have been before coming to the Millennium Oak to be Hawk. The young axeman suddenly looked a great deal less sure of himself, but to his credit he stood his ground as Hawk advanced on him. They surged forward at the same time, going head-to-head and toe-to-toe, swinging their great axes with vicious strength and speed, throwing everything they had at each other. They stamped and grunted loudly, slamming their axes together, crying out with the impact of each blow, beads of sweat flying from their faces. Hawk never stopped grinning for a moment.

The young axeman was good, but in the end his skills came from practice and his knowledge was mostly theoretical. Hawk had experience. He fought the young axeman to a standstill, his axe seeming to swing in from every direction at once, until finally the axeman disengaged, and fell back several steps. He was gasping for breath, and soaked in sweat, and hardly had enough strength left to raise his axe. He still had some fight left in him—everyone could see that—but he knew he was outclassed. He lowered his axe, and bowed his head to Hawk, who bowed briefly in return. He was breathing hard too, but he hadn’t lost that disturbing grin.

“You’ll do,” said Hawk. He put his axe away and resumed his seat on the dais. Fisher smiled at him fondly.

“Show-off.”

“They get faster every year,” murmured Hawk. “Nearly got me, several times. But I’ve still got the moves.”

Guards led the young axeman away, to begin his new life as a student of the Academy. He was smiling dazedly, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. He got a round of good-natured applause from the crowd.

A quite ordinary-looking teenage girl shuffled forward next, and professed herself a witch, in a quiet, mumbly voice. No one even suspected she was a Seductress, until she mouthed a few words and suddenly every man in the hall was in lust with her. And not a few women. The smell of musk was heavy on the close air, and everyone’s eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the still very ordinary-looking young woman, as though she was the most splendid thing they’d ever seen. She laughed happily, turned to Hawk, and hit him with everything she had.

“Aren’t I lovely?” she said breathily. “I think I belong here, in this silly little school, don’t you? In fact, I think I should be running it. Don’t you?”

She was quite taken aback when Hawk laughed at her, not unkindly. And just like that the spell was broken, and all the spectators in the hall shook their heads in bewilderment, as though they’d just had a bucket of cold water thrown in their faces. They looked at the ordinary teenager and wondered what they’d ever seen in her. There were a few angry murmurs, cut off when Hawk glared at the crowd before giving his full attention to the Seductress.

“You’ve certainly got one hell of a gift,” he said cheerfully. “And there is a place here for you, if you want it. But listen to me, young lady, and be warned: you ever pull that trick again, outside of your supervised classes, and you will be expelled.”

“And we’ll cut your tongue out before we let you go,” Fisher said flatly. “Lily, if you would . . .”

“She is a one, isn’t she?” said Lily, stepping down from the dais. “But I think she’s more Richard and Jane’s sort. You come with me, dear, and I’ll escort you to the tantric people. Sink or swim, that’s what I always say.”

She led the Seductress away, while the young girl was still trying to make up her mind as to whether she’d got what she wanted.

A young man stepped out of the crowd, at the Administrator’s instruction, and stood diffidently before the dais. He too looked pretty ordinary. He wore rough peasant clothes, he didn’t carry a sword, and he didn’t have the look of magic about him.

“I’m a shape-shifter,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast. “I’m Christopher Scott, of the Forest Kingdom. I . . . change shape.”

“You’re a werewolf?” said Hawk.

“Not a werewolf, sir, no,” said Scott, still not raising his eyes from the floor. “I’m a were demon. You must have heard, sir, that back in the day, during the Demon War, when demons broke out of the Darkwood and roamed the Forest Land, they didn’t always kill their victims. Some of them were human enough that they . . . wanted human women. Raped them. That was what happened to my grandmother, when she was still just a girl. I am descended from a demon. I can . . . change, back and forth. And when the moon is full, I change whether I want to or not.”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other for a long moment. Hawk looked suddenly older. “No,” he said finally. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Show us,” said Fisher.

Scott bobbed his head quickly. He looked around him, to make sure he had plenty of room, and smiled briefly, understandingly, as he saw the front rows of the crowd already backing away from him. He didn’t seem to concentrate, or make any kind of effort; but just like that he was gone, and in his place stood something that was in no way human.

It was a good eight feet tall, covered in night-dark scales, while a long barbed tail lashed eagerly back and forth behind it. It had fangs and claws and cloven hooves, and a horrid fright mask for a face. Just looking at it made you want to kill it. The demon was not a natural thing, and its very wrongness raised the hackles on everyone’s necks. It wanted to break loose, to tear and kill and do horrible things, and everyone could feel that.

The demon put back its hateful face and howled gleefully, a vile sound that reverberated in the Great Hall and sickened everyone who heard it. Hawk and Fisher were on their feet, axe and sword in hand, ready to throw themselves at the demon . . . But it just stood where it was, and made no move to attack. It wanted to kill men and women and glory in their slaughter; but something held it back. Just standing there, it was the most dangerous and deadly thing in the hall, and you could tell that the thoughts that moved in its misshapen head, and the emotions that stirred in its demon heart, had nothing of humanity in them . . . and yet, still, something held it where it was.

It changed again, as easily as a man might shrug off a cloak, and Christopher Scott was back, standing before the dais. His face was white and drawn, and he looked sick, and shaken. He hugged himself tightly, as though afraid that what was inside him might come out again. Hawk made himself resume his seat, and after a moment Fisher did too.

“Impressive,” said Hawk, in a surprisingly steady voice. He looked out across the unhappy crowd, many of whom were still shocked and disturbed. He didn’t know how long they would stay quiet, so he hurried on. “A were demon. Well. You see something new every year. How much control do you have over your . . . other self, Christopher Scott?”

“Not as much as I would wish,” Scott said steadily. “I can feel it inside me, straining against the bars of the cage that holds it. Growing stronger every day. That’s why I came here, sir. Because I just can’t do this anymore. Not on my own. Please, sir Hawk. Tell me you can help me.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” said Hawk. “We have tutors for everything. We’ll find someone who can help you.”

“But,” said Fisher, “we reserve the right to chain you up in a cellar every full moon.”

“Thank you,” said Scott. “Oh, thank you.” He was still saying that when the guards led him away.

Next up was a dark magician. He made no bones about what he was; in fact, he gloried in it. Emboldened by the rapt attention he was getting from the crowd, he struck a practiced pose before Hawk and Fisher, all the better to show off his dark robes, swirling night-dark cape, and the many kinds of demonic amulets hanging from chains over his chest. He’d even cultivated a nicely trimmed goatee and added some subtle dark makeup around his eyes.

“All the dark arts are mine to command!” he said grandly. “I can summon up spirits from the vasty deeps, strike down the living and command the dead. All the powers of the night bow down before me . . .”

“Oh, get on with it,” said Hawk. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right,” said Fisher. “Amateur dramatics are auditioning next door.”

And somehow, in the face of their entirely unimpressed attention and the fixed gaze of the crowd, it turned out the master of dark forces couldn’t do a damned thing. He tried to chant and curse, but the words just wouldn’t come, and his hands shook too much to manage the scary gestures. He grabbed at one of his demonic amulets, but it came off in his hand and he dropped it onto the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. He finally stamped his foot, said a few baby swear words, and strode out of the hall without looking back.

“Try again next year,” Hawk called after him. “Only next time, leave the nerves at home.”

“Nice speech, though,” said Fisher.

“I’ve heard worse,” said Hawk.

The next Auditioner claimed to be able to fly, but when pressed, could only hover a few feet off the floor.

“Is that it?” said Hawk.

“That’s why I’m here!” said the young witch, dropping heavily back to the floor. “I need training!”

“Come back when you can touch the ceiling,” said Fisher ruthlessly.

The young witch had barely moved out of the way when a mature woman of a certain age and bearing, wearing a gown of so many gaudy colours that they were practically fighting it out for domination, strode forward; dragging a resentful young man along with her. She scowled at Hawk and Fisher, sniffed loudly at the other tutors, and pushed her tall, skinny son forward.

“Show them what you can do, Sidney!”

“Oh, Mum!” said Sidney, staring at his feet. “I don’t want to. Leave me alone! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Don’t be silly, Sidney! This is your big chance. Now show them your miracles!”

“Don’t want to go to the Hero Academy,” muttered Sidney, still stubbornly staring at the floor. “Don’t want to be a hero. I told you. I want to be a tailor, and do interesting things with fabrics.”

“Where’s the money in that?” said his mother, grabbing his arm and giving him a good shake. “Where’s the fame and glory? If your father was still alive he’d be very upset with you. Now show them your miracles, or there’ll be trouble!”

Sidney heaved a very put-upon sigh, and pebbles fell from the ceiling like a hard rain, appearing out of nowhere. There were various shouts and curses from the crowd, packed too closely together to dodge out of the way, but none of the pebbles were large enough to hurt anyone or do any damage. The hard rain stopped abruptly, and Sidney made it rain properly. Though it was more like a drizzle, and didn’t last long enough for anyone to get wet. He made people’s clothes change colour, temporarily, cured a few headaches, grew hair on a bald man’s head, and made it feel as though it might thunder, if you just waited long enough. He then folded his arms tightly across his sunken chest, sniffed moistly, and glared firmly at the ground.

“Is that it?” said Hawk, quite politely under the circumstances. Because even the smallest of miracles was, after all, a miracle.

“Don’t you speak to my Sidney like that!” snapped his mother. “He’s going to be a great man one day, whether he likes it or not! He can do anything, if he just puts his mind to it.”

“You’ve already done one great thing, haven’t you, Sidney?” said Lily Peck, recently returned to the hall. Something in her voice made Sidney raise his head and look at her, and she smiled kindly on him. “Tell me, Sidney, how long ago did your mother die?”

“It’s been four months now,” said Sidney. “I missed her so much, being on my own, so I brought her back. Except it isn’t really her. Just her body, raised up, saying all the things I remember her saying. And now I can’t get rid of her. Can’t make her lie down again and leave me alone. That’s why I finally let her bully me into coming here. Because I hoped someone here would be able to teach me what I need to know; to make her dead again.”

“Sidney!” snapped the dead woman. “That’s no way to speak about your mother!”

“Allow me,” said Lily Peck. She snapped her fingers, and Sidney’s mother crumpled to the floor and lay still. Sidney looked down at his dead mother, prodded the body with his boot, just to be sure, and finally let out a long sigh of relief. And then he started to cry. Lily leaned in close beside Hawk.

“He really does have a great power. You should see his aura. Better let me keep him here, under training, where we can keep a watchful eye on him. And take measures, if necessary.”

“Agreed,” said Hawk. He raised his voice to address Sidney. “All right; you’re in. But no more raising the dead without expert supervision.”

“Of course,” said Sidney. He stopped crying, and blew his nose loudly on a spotted handkerchief. “Trust me—some mistakes you only have to make once.” He looked down at the dead body again. “My mother wasn’t like that. When she was alive. Not really.”

He went quietly with the guards. It took four more guards to carry out the body.

That was the last of the excitement. After that, it was just ordinary fighters, pedestrian magic-users, and a whole bunch of wannabes. Hawk dealt with the fighters by saying they’d have to duel with Roland the Headless Axeman before they could be allowed access to the Academy. Which was more than enough to scare off the insufficiently dedicated. Some departed so fast they left skid marks on the floor. And even after everything they’d seen, a lot of the potential students failed some quite basic tests when they finally got their turn. A potentially very skilled swordsman duelled Roland to a standstill, and then annoyed all the judges by looking down his nose at them. So Hawk said, “Bring in the goat.” Everyone looked on, in a puzzled sort of way, as a guard brought in a very scruffy-looking black goat on a strong leash. The goat looked around, entirely unfazed by the crowd, obviously used to people. Probably some sort of pet, or mascot, murmured the crowd.