Chapter 3

If anyone had told me a few months ago that someday on, I’ll be sitting in my biological father’s office, drinking lemon-scented tea whilst basking in another bout of awkward silence, I’d have the person committed into a mental institution. After I laughed in their faces of course.

I gently settle my steaming cup of tea on the mahogany desk separating the both of us, there’s a glass nameplate with the words Dean Steven Carter written in bold letters.

Sighing, I study the old black and white picture of the school on the wall across from us. The painkillers I’d taken with the tea thankfully seems to be kicking in so my head isn’t aching as much anymore.

Looking around another picture catches my attention, it's of a smiling older man who stands in front of the academy’s clock tower with a cane in one hand and a scowling boy in the other, the boy looks to be 15-16 years old and when upon closer look I caught a hint of a tattoo on his wrist.

Sitting forward, I squint my eyes and try to get a better look at what it was when he finally decided to talk. “How-” I glance his way and he cleared his throat, raising his eyes to stare into mine with a piercing intensity. “How are you feeling, with your parent’s death and all?”

Leaning back in my seat I offer a small shrug. It’s been a month since someone last asked how I was dealing with the death of my parents, and I thought by now I’d be over it. Looking around the room again I notice a lit fireplace and welcome the warmth it provided. “I don’t mean to be rude but, the last thing I want to talk about is my feelings or my dead parents.”

He ran a hand through his low-cut hair and nodded slowly, looking both lost and sad. “Fair enough, I respect that. I just…” he trails off, leaving his statement hanging in the air for a few seconds. Shaking his head, he straightens his suit with a determined sigh and changes the subject. “Am sure you must have a lot of questions so, let me hear it.”

“What the hell happened before I passed out, no matter how much I try to remember I can’t?”

“Hmm, I’m not exactly sure how I can explain what happened without sounding crazy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I know it’ll be hard to believe but, I want you to try and keep an open mind with what I’m about to say.” I cautiously nod in reply and he lets out a long sigh. “In case you haven’t noticed, this school isn’t like any regular school.”

I snort, thinking about their bizarre security system. “Oh, I noticed, but what does that have to do with my memory loss?”

He stood abruptly, coming around his desk to hold a hand out to me. “Come, I believe it's better to show you than to just tell you.”

For a couple of minutes, I let myself hesitate, feeling a little weird about holding hands with him, but my curiosity won out in the end and I couldn’t help but slowly slip my hand into his.

As weird as this might sound, one of my greatest wishes, when I was a kid, was to know what the hands of my father felt like. I guess seeing a lot of my friends with their dads made me develop my strange curiosity, which is kind of why I loved it when my step-father had always carried me around as a kid.

A soft squeeze jolted me back to the present and I looked up just as he pulls me to my feet so we can make our way out of his office, past his secretary, and down the hall. “Before I explain what happened, I believe I need to tell you about where it all began.”

He leads through many turns and corners before stepping into a room. The room is large enough to be a ballroom, or maybe even larger, and it’s lit by fluorescent lights hanging from the ceilings through chains. There’s an open threshold to the left of the room and when we walked past it, I could see what appears to be a large library connected to this room.

Drawn on all parts of the walls are hyper-realistic and detailed oil paintings, and aligned in the middle of the room upon acrylic podiums are head statues and solid sculptures. It seems they created a private gallery in the school. Some of the paintings drawn on the walls are of various people who seem to somehow wield powers over fire or water, earth or air. But the wax sculptures and marble statues set up on podiums bare distinct resemblance to Steven and I, almost like they were created for a specific line of people.

The sculptures are well preserved, even though they’re carved, they made each element look like the real thing has it is harnessed between their palms. Each sculpture having similar tattoos I’ve seen on everyone whom I’ve met, upon and before getting to the academy.

Looking around in amazement I look up to see even the centre of the ceiling has a large mural painting of all four elements drawn in a spiral circle with the Triquetra symbol right in the middle. The paintings are drawn as if the elements were coming from their hands just like they carved the sculptures, their eyes intensely coloured along with the tattoos on their hands as they bend the elements in different forms.

“For centuries, a large group of people who call themselves Elemental Conjurers have lived their lives hidden from humans. Practising and harnessing their powers for the sole purpose of protecting themselves and all of humanity however they can and whenever they can. But before they grouper, these set of people were scattered all over the earth, scared and living in hiding due to fear of what they are and what they can control.”

I turn to gaze at him sceptically, but also with a little bit of intrigue. It sounds like he’s reading out of a storybook to me. I mean, if he’s being sincere, which is frightening to think about and pretty much… impossible.

“Our history began during the 14th century when one brave woman who could conjure and manipulate all the elements around her, scoured through Europe for people just like her, who had magical abilities unknown to humankind.”

He stops before a large painting taking up almost half of the wall, this one is drawn in the middle of all the others as if it held a more meaningful role. The woman in the painting has honey blonde hair quite similar to the doctors in the infirmary.

She’s sitting in a cross-leg position with her eyes glaring gold, her palms placed together before her, and all four elements seem to have circled her body in a similar pattern as the interlaced knot painted on the ceiling. And what’s even weirder, is that just like me the triquetra symbol is imprinted on both biceps of her arms. Exactly where mine is placed.

Frowning, I unconsciously place a hand over mine. “This right here is Coral Aileen Knight, she was an ancestor of ours, and she was also the one who built our society to what it is today. Through sheer determination, she abandoned her former life and created one that not only ensured peace and safety for her but for every conjurer that lives today.”

“Why are you telling me this,” I sharply turn to regard him in confusion, feeling a little anxious with where I think this story is headed. “And why do you keep saying we, or our ancestor. I mean, is this academy founded on a cult or something?”

“No,” He chuckles, amused as he tilts his head to face me. “I’m telling you this to answer all the unasked questions you probably have, I’m sure you're wondering why the entire school is cloaked by concrete walls and state of the art security system?”

I don’t respond to his question and he continues. “I’m sure you also wondering why everyone you’ve met has similar tattoo’s on their hands?”

“What, are you a mind reader too?” I ask sarcastically, and he does nothing but shakes his head.

He leads me out of the room and I silently follow as we walk along the empty hallway on the lower floor, I take notice of the classrooms to our right and stare through the windows in curiosity. Some seem to be occupied by students in plain clothes and a couple of them appear to be studying, while others just plainly conversed in groups. Few, glanced out the window when we walk past and I try not to be intimidated by the curious stares, their eyes following us until we disappear.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean or rude,” I sigh, turning to stare at his broad back. I suddenly feel guilty due to the awkward silence between us, I didn’t mean to offend him or his bizarre… beliefs. “But what your saying isn’t making any sense scientifically or theoretically-”

He stops suddenly and I had to take a step back just so I don’t bump into his back, looking over his shoulder he regards me with a patronising stare by raising one brow. “Is it not making sense, or is it that you don’t want any of it to make sense?”

I don’t respond, mostly because I didn’t know how to. This isn’t some scripted fictional movie, but yet I’m starting to feel like that clueless main character. A couple of months ago I had a life, family, friends. And now I’m left with nothing but a possibly deluded father who runs a strange school and has a penchant for fantasy. “come along, I think it would be better if I show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

I hesitate, thinking, maybe it would be better to just turn around and hurry back home on the fastest flight I can find. But then I remember I’m underage, under his guardianship, and I have not a cent on me. My parents had their lawyer transfer their entire wealth into a trust I’ll only have access to when I turn 18, the companies they’d owned are being run by professionals and the only thing tying me to them are the shares that I now own which have also been placed in my trust.

Taking in a deep breath, I stare at his retreating back for a while before hurrying after him. He leads me down many turns on the first floor before we walked in through a wooden door, inside I’m met with some kind of practice room which seems to be built on a lower platform three steps down.

We’re standing on an arc gallery with white bleachers that has a perfect view of the mat covered platform below were a couple of students are sparing with one another.

And I have to say if I was sceptical before about everything he’s said… I’m not now!

Stupefied, I let him settle me down on the bleachers since I’m currently unable to think or function properly. I don’t know if I’m afraid or more in intrigue as I witness a petite brunette create a small ball of air in the middle of her palm. The tattoo on her wrists and her eyes glowing white just like those paintings. She grins proudly as the ball whirls around wildly on one palm when she re-positions it and an older man, standing a few feet away with a clipboard nods approvingly as he stares at what she created with a critical eye.

On the opposite side of the platform, a guy is sparing seriously with a female. The female sends a large gust of wind in his direction and the element hits him at such a force that he’s sent flying across the room. His back hits the padded walls surrounding the platform and he falls with a loud grunt.

I was worried he might have passed out but my worry immediately turned to shock when he gets to his feet not less than a second later, rushing back towards the girl as his hand becomes enveloped by blazing flames.