Ruin Maketh Me

14 - The True Academy

     Bam!
     I hit hard stone floor rolling and Hoplin is nowhere to be seen. I cradle my head and neck and stand up gingerly from the floor.
     I'm in a large chamber again, and the floor, the ceiling and all the walls are covered in smooth, obsidian stone. My heart quickens. The solid, unwavering black is unnerving. It rolls beneath my feet, seemingly to all eternity, just darkness.
     Surrounding me is a large circular table also made of obsidian, and around the table sits five, six, no— ten people. The man with gold hair sits on my right but otherwise, I don't recognise any other. A tinge of disgust sours my tongue. They scrutinise me like I'm an animal at the zoo.
      "Is this the boy?" One asks.
     The golden man replies, "Yes. He's the one."
     "Well then, boy, what is your name?"
      I turn slightly to face the woman with feline ears and eyes, "Cynder Delphus is my name." My voice does not hesitate.
      "Cynder Delphus, how did you get into the Hall of founders and why?"
      I look her in the eye, "There's no reason for me to go there. I was taking a walk on a hill, and I fell through a hole. There was a flash of gold light,
I lost consciousness, and when I came to, I was lying in a catacomb like space." I leave a liberal pause, "If you trace the passageway back, you'll find that catacomb."
      The lioness raises a sandy eyes brow and looks around the table, "We did find that hole and that catacomb." Her eyes zone in on me, "The question is how did you get there?"
     I take a slow breath, "As I've already said, I fell down that hole and appeared in that catacomb."
     Her lips press into a thin line, "Cynder Delphus, it's in your best interest that you answer truthfully."
     I take another deep breath and fight the rising heat, "As I've already said—
      Bam!
      The sound of flesh hitting stone resounds from behind me.
"Petra, save your breath! A wretch like him won't tell us anything useful if we don't make him." A clear and strong voice like fresh mountain air rings around the room.
The lioness gives a warning glance to the man behind me, "Desmond."
A second, mellow voice chimes in from behind me, "I agree, a truth array would give us the fastest result."
Truth array? Magic to make me speak the truth? A pained smile licks the edges of my lips. That would indeed be much quicker.
I turn and face the two, "I consent. Place a truth array on me."
A young man with straight emerald hair and startling green eyes frowns, "Your audacity is positively nauseating, but I will comply."
A swirl of bright green light sweeps from his finger towards me, diving to the ground around my feet to form a circle with six points facing outwards.
"I will question him." The man states, "Boy, how did you get into the Hall of Founders without our detection?"
My mouth drags open by itself, "I fell through a hole and ended up in a catacomb. I followed the passageway until I was met with an obstacle. Having discovered it was hollow, I kicked it down and entered the hall."
The entire room rings with silence.
"Desmond, is your circle constructed correctly?"
The golden man's voice is low and serious.
The young man rubs his brow furiously, "It is correct! Answer me, why were you in the hall of founders?"
Again, my mouth drags open by itself, "It was an accident, I was trying to get out of the catacomb."
Bam!
Desmond slams his right hand on the obsidian table again, and I fight back the rising urge to laugh. His disbelief and shock is almost as addictive as Ralphus's guilt.
"Boy," A woman's voice drawls.
I spin towards the source. It's a purple haired woman with sensual gold eyes and lips. She leans against the back of her chair as if at a beach resort, and studies me from beneath her heavy lids.
"Did you know that the magic circle within the hole was created by Solomon Deus Voight? Those incompatible with his magical energy are incinerated upon coming in contact with his circles." She continues, "So unless you're one of his descendants, what you just said is impossible."
Impossible? It couldn't be impossible. Even my body's identity is shrouded in mystery.
"What if I am one of his descendants?"
This time a round of laughter rises from around the table.
The woman's smile is capable of slaughtering millions, "Unfortunately, you're not one of his descendants." She shakes her long curls, "The heir of a dukedom, a slave?"
Heat courses up my neck, "And yet I speak the truth."
She leans forwards, "Memories, desires, purposes, they can all be forged."
"Identities can be forged." I say unblinkingly.
The woman falls silent. Rap, rap, rap, rap. She taps the surface of the table with a long, blood red fingernail.
"I recall your name being Cynder Delphus. The young heir's name isn't that, nor does he look anything like you."
That dreaded heat grips my heart like a vice, and my eyes pierce into hers, "As you said before, memories, appearances, desires, they can all be forged."
Bam!
Another slam on the table.
"You're not here to slander." Desmond snarls from the side, "You should be thrown into Ithraka for that."
"Enough!" The woman shouts piercingly, "Get a Crystal, we'll see what tattered defence he has."
A shadow appears behind her chair and hands the woman a shining rectangular block made of something resembling ruby.
Doubt coils slowly in my stomach. Damn. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have been so stubborn, not when even I didn't know whose body this was. But then how did I pass through the magic circle?
Clang!
She throws the block at my feet, and though it looks fragile, it doesn't smash.
"Pick it up."
I stand looking at her for a minute. There are things that can't be avoided. I grip the edges of the block cautiously and lift it into my arms. It's surprisingly light and warm, and within the deeps of the stone, there seems to be a pulse?
Badump, badump, badump, badump.
"Saris Latraela." The woman sings, and the stone burns up in a flash.
It scorches my skin and the agonising magma heat travels from my fingertips up and up and up my arm, my chest, my head. Throw it to the ground! Throw it! But I can't, I can't. It's sticking to my hands like they're one. The woman's face blurs. Thud. I need to get it off. I need coldness. Get away. You'll die. But I can't, I can't.
A man with gold hair silver eyes, sunlight, flowers, gold mansion, black carriage, such a beautiful beautiful man, eyes like stars, lips of blooming petals, and love and love and love, love him so much don't need anyone else, can let him pound again and again again, can give him a child, don't care, love him, love—
There's a distant wailing sound. No. No. This is wrong. All wrong. Everything wrong. This is not me. These are not mine. I don't love anyone. Where are mine? No. Where are my memories?
Stop.
Mine.
Give me mine.
Cigarette smoke, smeared red lipstick all over her face, wet eyelashes, dripping mascara like a leaking fountain pen, "you have to be a gentleman, my son has to be a prince", bent knives, forks, spoons, spoons, spoons, "speak like a gentleman", "eat like a gentleman", bruises black, blue, dirty alleyways, empty bottles, full bottles, gotta know how to drink, gotta do business, gotta make money, gotta live, live, live, hate her, hate everything, hate the world, hate sex, hate livin—
Ah.