Chapter Twenty-Three: Senior Trip | Part 9
Ghertaynsage. Those memories felt slippery too, but Thirtyx had seen it used as a child…
Professor Lessel gaped at Benn. “Are you accusing me of drugging a student?”
“Not intentionally, but negligently. You’re our potions head! How could you not know?”
Thirtyx’s wiggling memories coalesced around state house patrons chewing green leaves and slurring their words. Caruvine, his guardian, cackled as Paxis, his case worker, performed parlor trick spells.
…Spells?
Spells!
“Grimmary, I was a toddler when the Veriths exiled themselves. How in the universe could I know about their street drugs?”
“By opening a twice-damned history book! Ghertaynsage has turned the tide during at least four wars for the throne because Veriths’ opponents have used it to disorient them, or the Veriths have used it to amplify their animus and do magic!”
Thirtyx knew the sigil to neutralize minor spells like the one binding his wrist to Lessel’s. The lines and curves squiggled through his mind, but the shape was simple—an inverted triangle inside a circle. Could he really do magic?
It seemed as plausible as anything else at present.
While Lessel blathered on about how she was a sorceress, not a historian, Thirtyx touched the concentric purple rings glowing against his wrist. When he began to trace the outer circle, more unusual sensations radiated from somewhere between his heart and his belly. He fought hard to stay focused, even as the energy tickled his spine. The circle was glowing! Were those sparks dancing around his eyes?
He completed the sigil, and Lessel’s binding rings vanished.
Thirtyx sprinted toward the portal, unleashing a manic cackle as he went. He would get to the mountains! He would get to see Seerla! Lessel shrieked. The raven squawked. His friends shouted his name, but he ignored them. They’d join him eventually.
It took him a few fracs to realize he wasn’t moving forward anymore. To the contrary, he was sliding backwards. Had he forgotten how to walk? Amidst all the other intriguing sensations, he felt magic tickling his skin. Lessel was pulling him back with a spell. Could he neutralize that sigil, too?
“I can do magic!” Thirtyx cried in warning. But if that was true, why was he wasting his time with counter-spells? Fire sigils were simple—another circle with an M shape inside. Seerla would love to see him make fire the way she could.
As he started the sigil, Rhea grabbed his arm. Benn took hold of his shoulders and tried to grapple him. He’d never felt stronger or more capable, though. Somehow, he finished the sigil, and as he pulled his finger away, a tiny ball of fire ignited and burned out in front of him.
The joy from that accomplishment overpowered the dismay as Benn pulled him to the ground. “I have knockout potions,” Lessel said. “I have to sedate him. Surely, you two understand.”
“I’ll hold his head,” Rhea said.
Their words slipped and slid through Thirtyx’s brain, nearly meaningless as he basked in the ecstasy of sheer power. “I AM INVINCIBLE!” he shouted, squirming against Benn’s grip.
Thirtyx’s body suddenly felt insurmountably heavy, like his arms and legs had turned to stone. A Dragonfolk woman in a green robe now stood over him, fingers flashing through sigils, eyes dancing with sparks. In his confusion, Rhea’s hands cupped either side of his face. A glass vial met his lips. A pleasantly warm liquid flowed over his tongue.
Sedate. His slippery brain caught up. “No!” he whined. “I don’t want to sleep!”
Rhea’s hands had moved to grasp one of his. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”
Maybe he would be fine. The warmth of the potion radiated through his insides, making him feel pleasantly cozy. The floor felt nice. His eyelids felt heavy, so he let them slide closed.
He drifted into a peaceful sleep.
