Low Spirits

Most of the night had passed by the time the trio returned to the Lyceum, and they quickly split up, each seeking their own bed. Still tired when he woke, Martel went through his Solday chores while thinking about the catacombs.

He felt powerless. He had no idea how to defeat the monster they had encountered. Yet doing nothing seemed wrong.

He could tell the teachers and simply leave Eleanor and Maximilian out of it. It did not matter if the Inquisition turned their sights on Martel; they had done so before and come up short. And he had no promising career as a praetorian or prefect that would be sabotaged by it.

Of course, it would undoubtedly lead to him being confined to school grounds. Mistress Juliana had threatened as much after the whole affair with the berserker, and Martel knew this would cross the line. Was he ready to spend the remaining year within the Lyceum just to feel like he had done the right thing, even though there was no guarantee his teachers or the inquisitors could actually handle what haunted the catacombs?

When his labours were done, Martel had not reached clarity. Perhaps more information might help him. At the very least, he decided to go to the harbour. If Julia was back home, he could stop worrying about her and perhaps think more clearly on the matter.

***

Julia did not answer her door. Her neighbours had not seen her for days. But given that she generally avoided being seen, it meant nothing conclusively. She might simply be doing errands still, and Martel had been unfortunate to miss her. That was the hope he clung to, anyway.

Running his fingers over the cracked rune token in his pocket, Martel decided to seek elsewhere for knowledge.

***

"Remember when you gave this to me?" Martel showed the stone to Regnar, who accepted it.

"Aye. I did a service to a powerful skáld, who gave me this in return. Strong protective runes lay on it, he claimed." The hedge mage gave the acolyte a questioning look. "What did you do to crack it?"

"Training at the Lyceum gets hard sometimes. I'm guessing this means it doesn't work anymore?"

"I wouldn't count on it, no. But I never really knew what it did in the first place." Regnar gave a grin.

"You don't have any others, I take it."

"No." His eyes narrowed, studying Martel. "What's this about?"

"Nothing. You have your own concerns. Are you ready to leave? I don't know how patient that Lady Pearl is."

"Just about, yes. Got wagons and draught animals ready. We'd be gone this morning if not for Ian."

"What about him?"

"Boy got mad when he found out we were leaving. Did a runner," Regnar explained. "He's out somewhere, sulking on the streets. He'll back when his hunger is greater than his anger, I reckon. We'll leave this afternoon, probably."

"Where to?"

The hedge mage shrugged. "Where the wind blows." His expression changed into a grin. "That's just something we tell the audience. It's summer, so weather is good up north. We'll head to Aquila."

"I wish I was going with you. I wouldn't mind seeing that city."

Regnar gave him a curious look. "You know, if someone doesn't wish to be found by the Imperial administration, a wandering troupe is an excellent hiding place."

For a moment, Martel was tempted. No going to war. No arduous training in how to kill others. No concerns about the duke of Cheval, the Nine Lords, the Night Knives, or anyone else in Morcaster. With his magical skills, even if still undeveloped, Martel figured he could always make a living no matter where he went.

But it also meant breaking his contract with the Lyceum, leaving him in deep debt for his tuition – which would transfer to his family. "Thanks, Regnar. Send me a message when you're underway. I'll see you next time you're in the city."

"That you will, lad. That you will." With a glint in his eye, the hedge mage placed his pipe into the corner of his mouth.

***

On his way back to the Lyceum, Martel's thoughts returned to his current predicament. Julia was still absent, and however unlikely it seemed that she was in danger, he could not entirely dismiss the notion. At the same time, he clearly had no way to survive meeting the red-eyed spirit.

Looking at the horizon, he saw the moon, a sliver less full compared to yesterday. His knowledge of the maleficar's doings was mostly guesswork; presumably, the wizard took victims for his rituals to be done when the full moon was strongest. If so, it would have happened last night, meaning anything Martel did now would be too late to help the latest victim.

But he might prevent this happening to others. He could tell the teachers, accepting the consequences for himself – or he could try to find a solution on his own.

As time was no longer as pressing, Martel opted for the latter. Once returned to the Lyceum, he made his way to the library and began looking through every tome that might explain to him the nature of spirits, creatures made of smoke, anyone possessive of red eyes, and anything else that seemed relevant.

***

Hours later, his search had yielded nothing. Martel had started looking at necromancy, but the library had scarcely any knowledge on this topic, perhaps because it was considered forbidden. He only learned what Master Fenrick had already told him in class; spirits could be created in places where great and violent deaths had taken place. But the description of such ghosts did not match what he had encountered.

Martel tried reading about spirits born of nature, but nothing suggested such could ever be found in catacombs, places of hewn stone and buried bones.

Other than that, he only came across scattered mentions that did not provide him with anything useful. When last bell ended and the library closed, Martel had to accept this would not get him anywhere. Tomorrow, he would have to seek help from another source.