Page 38 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)
The Moon Stone
“ A nd what makes Earth different from the other planets in our solar system?” Professor Allor asks.
Soft afternoon light from the cloud-covered sky seeps through the windows of the Old World History classroom, spotting the wooden desks in either complete light or darkness.
Luckily, my head is in one of the dark spots.
I get headaches before storms, and the overcast light is especially bright as it reflects off the snow.
A rare winter thunderstorm is rolling in from the distance.
Ramona is not as lucky. Among others, her seat is bathed in so much light that she is squinting and frequently contorting her posture to see the professor.
Professor Allor does not seem to notice half of the class’s plight as she paces at the front of her room.
Her flowing Watcher blue cloak is clasped around a matching dress and brushes the ground as she walks.
Her collar is starched and high on her neck, tucked neatly below her angular jaw and sunken cheeks.
Selene raises her hand, shoulder brushing against Ramona’s.
“Besides the copious amounts of life forms, of course, our core is larger than other planets.”
“Correct. And what year was our planet formed?”
No one answers.
I pick at my nails and cannot seem to stay focused.
I should be thankful for Healer Panacea’s quick discharge from the infirmary this morning, but I keep feeling guilty for misleading her.
She thinks I took to her Moon’cher treatments better, when really, the Source springs did all the work.
Part of me feels a little guilty for sneaking out, but when I recall how much pain I was in before, the guilt fades away.
I look out the window at the bruised clouds, billowing plumes of gray and blue, heavy with rain that will turn to snow as it plummets to the ground.
Professor Allor continues to pace the front of the classroom, her long brown ponytail lying heavily down the center of her back. Her voice continues to drone on in perfect monotone about the formation of earth.
I know all of this already, mainly from my studies as a Prentice Teller, and thus the relentless nail-picking continues. Only when my cuticles are red and irritated do I finally stop.
“It is important that we do not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. They fought battles with weapons that destroyed entire continents, leveled mountain ranges, and reshaped our beaches and oceans.” Suddenly, Professor Allor’s tone takes on a darker shade.
The silence in the room is a statement of itself.
I lean in closer, tilting my chin down to listen.
“The humans, so hungry for power and conquering, ignited the world aflame with ancient technologies that exploded not only cities on the surface, but below as well. It is said that those tremors drove past the crust to the very core of our planet. It was the mistakes of our ancestors that awoke the great Underworld below.”
“My mother says that is just a myth!” a fellow first-year cadet, Silas, sneers, earning nodding heads from the people around him.
“Your mother is wrong.” Professor Allor stops in the middle of the room. A crackle of thunder rings overhead, like an echo of the world breaking in a past era. “Pray tell, how many truths soon spin to distant history, history to myths, and myths to dilution?”
Another thunder cracks loudly, shaking the window panes.
I lean back into my seat, suddenly feeling faint.
Dark shadows flicker and dance across the jagged stone walls from the small floating orb of sunfyre... A rumble of thunder so close shakes loose pebbles from the wall. The same ancient walls that lead to the springs, but different.
I am ethereal, a ghost. A floating consciousness, absent to those in the world surrounding me. I know without knowing that I am a presence, not in the physical sense, but rather an observer.
Two Watchers lean close, their faces twisted as they furiously whisper to one another.
The sunfyre orb bobs up and down above them, lighting their features dimly.
One of the Watchers is tall and lean, his hair dark and greasy as if he didn’t care to shower more than necessary.
The other standing has soft auburn hair waving to his shoulders and an eccentric, exaggerated movement quality to him.
His arms flail about in chaotic gestures, compensating for his hushed voice.
I float closer, curious what they are talking about. Something about them feels familiar. Their uniforms look like an older issue of the Watch that I’ve seen in pictures hung around Professor Novak’s Intro to Talent classroom.
“Calm down, Bennidix,” the taller one says to the auburn haired one, who now is bending forward, hands on his knees to help brace from the tight breaths in his chest. “We will find it.”
“It was my one job, and I messed it all up. My nan will kill me, if my father doesn’t first. My family have been dedicated protectors for years, centuries, then here comes righteous Bennidix M.
Cirillo”—the boy pantomimes dramatically—“young pup of the family, eager to test his skills until royally going to the shitter when he loses one of the most precious items in the realm”.
“We could report it stolen to Elder Superior Havan—”
“Absolutely not! I’ll be a pile of bone dust before we even leave Old World History!”
Their accents are crisper, lacking the modern inflections.
“We will get the Marfik stone back. I have a plan. Trust me,” the tall one says one again, eyes resolute and hard.
Bennidix slumps, looking up at his friend.
“I owe you a debt. It is my family’s honor to protect the Starwatchers, and I failed.
The Elves and their forces may already be cleaving the stone into pieces for their own power stores.
Not giving one bloody damn if the moon drifts off further and further into oblivion.
We are already losing Moon’chers at alarming speeds, but they don’t give a damn, do they?
Damn Elves. Selfish bastards. And we thought the Underworld King was going to be our biggest issue. ” He rattles on, breathless by the end.
“You did not fail, Bennidix. We will get the moon stone back. We have to. I will bargain for it in the Summit.”
“But—”
“Clayoq already chose me as his champion. I will win, earn his trust, then bargain for the moon stone back.”
My head snaps up, confused by the sudden brightness around me. The scent of parchment, dust, and books fills the air, and I realize I am no longer in the dark tunnels beneath the keep but at my wooden desk in Professor Allor’s classroom.
Time feels warped. Professor Allor is still answering Silas, and yet, it feels like I’ve been gone for thirty minutes.
What was that? A dream? But how can that be? It was so vivid.
Their dialect, their clothes, the mention of Elder Superior Havan…
I had only ever heard of her name in the Watch’s History books.
Havan was the Elder Superior before Marcus.
I wipe my palms along my trousers, trying to puzzle the pieces together.
They both looked so familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.
The smaller of the two, Bennidix, seemed so concerned about losing that moon stone, the Marfik stone, he called it.
I sort mentally through all of the stories I studied as a Prentice Teller and cannot seem to recall this stone.
However, this is the second time I’ve heard the mention of a Starwatcher.
Once with Markus, and now here—from the taller boy in the vision.
Why don’t they teach more about the third branch of channeling? Though most belong to the Sun or Moon factions, the knowledge of the third branch of Starwatcher magic channeling remains elusive. Why is Elder Marcus letting this entire branch of the Watch remain forgotten?
My thoughts are accompanied by the heavy rain drops, prattling on the window in a rhythmic trance. Ramona kicks the back of my chair.
I turn back to face her. “What?” I whisper.
“Wake up!”
“I am awake!” At least, now I am.
Professor Allor continues lecturing, and it seems as if no time has passed despite me losing consciousness for a bit.
“After the great flames of our Old World died down to embers, a New World emerged from the ash, awaking the Source now coursing through its veins.
Magic that was always there, just waiting, dormant, like the Underworld below, their ranks slowly rising from their slumber deep under the surface.
“Meanwhile above, raw Source energy flowed into some humans more strongly than others, creating the first races of elves. We are not so different from them as you might think.”
“Except they are practically immortal!” Lacerta squeaks from the corner excitedly.
Her skin is rosy and flushed and framed by her wild mane of strawberry blonde hair.
Lacerta appears to have had better luck in the first task than her twin brother, Leo, who is still suffering from fire monkey burns in the infirmary.
Professor Allor draws her misty eyes toward Lacerta. “And what price do you think they pay for their immortality?”
No one answers. Rain patters on the windows, and another thunderhead cracks in the distance.
The two boys from my vision mentioned the Forest Tribe royal, Lord Clayoq. At least fifty years have passed based on the style of their Watcher cloaks since that conversation, and yet the Elven ruler is the same. Nearly immortal and perhaps still the keeper of an incredibly powerful moon stone.
I brush off the thought. What an odd daydream.