(TLO) Chapter 85: The Authority Of Iron (Patreon)

The classroom was not a classroom, at least not by right. At the top of the tower was an empty space walled off by balustrades, pillars that held the roof perhaps twelve feet above, each interspaced evenly enough for four men to stand side by side. The floor was black as the pillars around it and the wall they had climbed, adorned with intricate grooves that in a wider view could’ve possibly proven a work of art. Unfortunately, Seth and his brothers did not have a wider view, they had their view, and it told them it would be an annoying place to walk on without shoes.

There were neither desks nor tables as was the typical expectation of a classroom. It was disappointing to realize. The concept of a classroom, it seemed, had appealed to them more than they had been willing to admit. The thought of chairs to sit on, desks to lean on. It had sent them into a questionable fantasy neither would willingly admit. To find only hardened floor filled with grooves and open space anyone was liable to fall off from, did little for their psychology.

They stood, awaiting their instructor, knowing they had barely made it to the top on time. A few minutes passed, shifting their instructor’s arrival into lateness. Minutes became an hour, still, no one came.

Two hours later, they had discarded themselves to sitting on the uneven ground. To no one’s surprise, it proved uncomfortable. The rough grooves and contours pressed against their butts so that it felt like sitting amidst blunt swords with jagged edges. So they sat uncomfortably, constantly adjusting in search of the perfect position.

None of them ever found it.

It was in the third hour when their instructor arrived. Seth noticed him first, one of his minds drawing attention to it. A shift in the atmosphere, it called it.

A hand first touched upon the edge of where the floor they were, then pulled. In a time quicker than it takes a boy of sixteen to blink their instructor stood on the same platform as the rest of them.

They all turned, rising to afford the man the respect the seminary seemed to silently demand all Reverends be given only to pause in confusion.

Igor stood at the edge of the platform. Between two balustrades he was clad in a white cassock so clean it was spotless, enhanced by the light of the sun that seemed to bounce off the white so that it seemed to shine. It was the first time they were seeing the man in a white cassock, and it fit him quite nicely. But what was truly regal of him, yet unfitting of the image they had made of him was his hair. He had it held back in a sleek gel, revealing eyes the color of polished jade. They’d always known Igor’s eyes were an odd green, but it had always been obstructed in some way by his unruly hair. To see them clearly now felt like some kind of breach in an agreement.

Igor stood in place, unmoving. Over his left shoulder Barnabas dangled like a sack of potatoes. His legs dangled at the front so that his face was hidden from them. So they paid their brother very little attention, watching Igor’s scrutiny of them.

After a while, perhaps satisfied with whatever he saw, Igor dropped Barnabas unceremoniously and said, “Take a sit all of you. I will not have my seminarians standing over me while I teach them what they do not know.”

Since he still did not move, they all turned to face him and lowered themselves back to the ground. Barnabas scurried all the way to them and sat beside Seth.

“Do you think he’s bipolar?” he whispered.

Seth shook his head. Something was odd, that much was certain, but he didn’t think the priest cracked in the head. This was probably some trick of the seminary.

Occam’s razor, one of his minds thought.

“And what’s that?” he whispered.

The simplest answer is often times the correct one. And you’re wrong, the answer is actually something less complicated than bipolar or a trick.

“And what is that?”

That’s not Igor.

Seth blanked at that. “It’s not?”

Nope. The green is too deep, his frown’s a little too wide, and his gait is totally off.

“Bipolar could explain all that, though.”

“I know, right,” Barnabas frowned, tucking a strand of wheat blond hair behind one ear. “Who would have thunk it.”

Still not bipolar, Seth’s mind continued. His left brow is more crooked. And most obvious of all that we’re surprised nobody has noticed: he doesn’t have a scar on his hand.

Seth’s eyes snapped to both hands clearly on display and found his mind was right. They had no scar. Then there was only one explanation left.

“Twins,” Seth mumbled.

A loud clap arrested his attention and he noticed Igor’s hands were no longer where he’d been watching them. He hadn’t even noticed them move, and he’d been staring right at them.

“That’s quite astute of you,” the man who was not Igor said, drawing Seth’s attention to his face.

Certain he had the entire class’ attention, the man went on. “You must be Seth. And,” he panned his gaze over the rest of them, “for the rest of you who are still stupefied by my new dress and new hair, those of you who did not hear your tiny brother’s revelation, I am in fact not who you think I am. I have been pretending all along, getting to know you individually. The truth is,” he clasped his hands behind him, “I am not a simple Reverend of the seminary. I am its founder.”

He’s also quite jovial where his brother is too strict.

Seth agreed with his minds. This one was lying so easily, and with an impish smile at that.

“That said,” the man continued, “my name is not Igor, it’s Ivan. I am not the founder of the seminary. And, as Seth has so accurately deduced, I am Igor’s twin…”

Ivan went on in a flurry of words, a sharp contrast to his twin. In them, he told them his age, sixty-two, which he claimed was still less than that of Monsignor Faust before the first crack. If he cared that he was revealing information Igor would rather his students not know, he did not show it.

He gave them information they cared for and information they did not care for. He told them of his first crush and the parents he was emphatic to state he did not have. He told them of his first fight and his first skill. He spoke of something called the way, a method of evolution only allowed to be named once a mage reached gold. His, apparently, was called The Way of the Dread Knight. None of them had any idea what that was, and he did not expand on it.

His first lesson with them was filled with nothing but him talking about himself. He did not ask them questions, not even for the briefest of introductions, which was not surprising since he already knew their names. Surprisingly, he spoke for hours, talking but not teaching. Telling stories of the world outside. From him they learnt that cars were slowly becoming more accessible to everyone. He did not tell them this directly, but his stories of his recent trips outside the seminary spoke of crossing roads and often having to look out for cars, which was odd considering he was a baron. Weren’t people supposed to want to stay out of his way?

Towards the touch of evening, he finally touched on the subject of their stay in his class. They were here to learn about cores, something they did not yet truly have. He let them know that while they currently had cores, none were strong enough to be called cores. At best, they were shadows of what cores were meant to be, zygotes forming in the womb, waiting to be born. For now, they would be unable to visualize it, exploit it. It would be there, growing from their actions, until it was powerful enough to become what it was intended to be.

“… when it does, that’s when you will step upon the authority of Iron.”

He dismissed them with the thought of food in their minds, having not had any lunch, but held Barnabas back as they left. If it was to have a word or two with the boy or because he intended to help him get down from the tower, none of them knew. Nonetheless, they were more than happy to leave.

The climb back down proved more complicated than the climb up, more terrifying. Save the difficulty, Seth had no issues on the way. Fin had two close calls where his feet slipped or completely missed one of its hold. Jason actually fell once, panicking all of them save Timi. Luckily for him, he caught hold of one of the bricks that conspicuously jotted out more than the others after barely two feet of falling, and saved himself from a fate that would have been fatal.

When they touched the ground, Josiah offered a word of thanks to his God for their safety. That was enough to display the fear that had held him through the descent.

The walk to the body of water was casual, but there was a hurry to their step, unmistakably invoked by the hunger in their bellies, but they did not run.

The body of water was easily traversable, its only annoyance being the time it took them to get to the other side. But once across, all façade of decorum fled them like a house in a hurricane. They ran as fast as their feet could carry them, making way to the kitchen with an inspiration Seth was certain Igor would have appreciated if they displayed in his lessons.

Dinner was eaten without Barnabas. Their bath was taken. And they turned in for the night. Only then did Barnabas return to them. He did so silently and went to sleep equally so.

Life in the seminary continued the next day as it always had.