The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (20 page)

“
Yes...um
…
Master Ackerson,
”
Brock replied.

“
So, you expect us to just accept you without a recommendation from a master minister?
”
The man had a smug smile on his face.

Brock
’
s mind raced. He had to figure this out.
“
Well, you see, the minister I was training with died before he could write the recommendation. I
’
m from a small town, and he was the only master in the area.
”

Ackerson
’
s smugness softened, looking unsure.
“
I guess that makes sense. Where did you say you were from? Who was the minister?
”

When he realized that these questions were coming, Brock
’
s mind had been racing to prepare a response.

“
I grew up in Port Choya, in south Kantaria. His name was Master Snod. He was old and died this past winter.
”
Brock remembered hearing the name from an old master minister who had visited Kantar last summer. He remembered it because he thought the name was funny at the time.

Ackerson
’
s confidence appeared to be waning.
“
Um, yes. Well, this is still highly irregular.
”
He shook his head.
“
Even if your story checks out, I can only accept applicants with an official writ. I
’
m sorry.
”

Brock was not about to be denied.
“
But I traveled all this way. I
’
m here and am ready. Isn
’
t there something you can do?
”
He pleaded.

Ackerson sat back again, his arms crossed.
“
The rules are clear. No writ, no admission. I
’
m sorry.
”

His brain raced, trying to come up with a solution. What could he say or do to change things? Having the mark of Issal was supposed to solve his problems. Requiring a writ was not in the plan. He had come all this way for nothing, dragging Tipper along with him.

Heartbroken, Brock stood and walked out.

CHAPTER 30

Brock somehow found himself on a bench on the Academy lawn. A solitary bird in a nearby tree chirped a lonely tune. The sad melody matched Brock
’
s mood as he sulked, his spirit beaten and broken.

Eventually the bird took flight, soaring in circles as it continued to rise on the mountain breeze. He watched the bird disappear into the woods at the western edge of the lawn, noticing the trees now covered in the shadow of the mountains to the west. Deciding he should return to the inn before nightfall, he forced himself off the bench to begin his trek back to Fallbrandt.

.   .   .

When he entered The Quiet Woman, dinner was underway. Like the night before, the place was packed. The room buzzed with the conversation and laughter of the women who had gathered.

Brock spotted Tipper at the bar, talking to James. An empty plate sat between them. As he approached, he noticed that Tipper
’
s scruff was gone.

“
I see you decided to shave,
”
Brock noted as he claimed a stool.

Tipper grinned, rubbing his face with one hand.
“
Libby doesn
’
t like the facial hair,
”
he explained.
“
How was the trip to the Academy?
”

Brock
’
s head dropped in dejection.
“
It was a dead end, Tip. They require a written recommendation from a master minister. I don
’
t have one, so they sent me away.
”
He stared down at the bar, feeling hollow inside.

Tipper
’
s smile slid away. He put his hand on Brock
’
s shoulder and glanced at James, who shrugged.

“
There has to be something you can do, Brock,
”
Tipper said.
“
You
’
ve come this far. You can
’
t give up now.
”

Brock looked at Tipper, his frustration boiling over.
“
I don
’
t know what to do, Tip. I tried. I made my case, but they have rules.
”
He stood and shouted.
“
I
’
m sorry I had to drag you here for nothing! I tried and I failed! Ackerson said there was nothing he could do!
”

Anger exhausted and feeling empty again, Brock sat and stared at the bar.

Moments later, he felt a tap on the shoulder. He looked up to find a pretty brunette waiting. He remembered her from the prior evening.

“
Hi Annabelle.
”
Brock smiled weakly.
“
What can I do for you?
”

“
Hi Brock.
”
She smiled, her long eyelashes fluttering.
“
I
’
m so glad you remembered me. You were
…
um
…
entertaining last night. I want to thank you for the wonderful evening. Now I think there
’
s something I can do for you.
”

Brock raised an eyebrow, allowing her to continue.

“
I heard you mention the name Ackerson. Are you talking about Abe Ackerson? A minister at the Academy? Has brown hair and a short trimmed beard?
”

Brock nodded.
“
Yes. I met with him today about admission to the Academy. He denied me, saying it wasn
’
t possible because I don
’
t have the necessary papers.
”

Annabelle nodded as she twisted her hair with a finger. Her other hand remained on his shoulder.

“
That
’
s what I thought. Well, Abe is my husband. When he gets home tonight, I
’
ll set him straight. There has to be a way. There
’
s always a way.
”
Her face was firm, and she nodded again.
“
Return to the Academy in the morning, and the answer will be different. Get yourself ready. I
’
ll worry about Abe.
”

Annabelle removed her hand from Brock
’
s shoulder and walked away. She stopped to say something to Dory before departing, looking like a woman on a mission.

Brock turned to see Tipper flashing toothy a grin.

“
See, Brock. There
’
s always hope.
”
Tipper hoisted his cup.
“
Would you care for some caffe? I love this stuff.
”

CHAPTER 31

Brock waited in the Office of Admissions while Monica sat at her desk. Whenever he glanced at her, he would catch her looking at him. She would look down at the desk, shuffling papers in an attempt to look busy. Eventually, her eyes would shift back to him. He found himself feeling self-conscious, sensing the heat of her gaze as he tried not to look at her.

Approaching footsteps echoed in the hall outside. Ackerson strolled into the room, greeting Monica. He paused when he saw Brock waiting. With a grunt, he walked past and opened the door to his office.

“
You can come in,
”
Ackerson said from beyond the open doorway.

Brock scrambled to his feet and followed the man inside. Closing the door behind him, he took a seat in the same chair as the day prior.

Ackerson put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, his squinty eyes fixed on Brock.

“
You
’
ve apparently convinced my wife to offer support. While I find that utterly annoying, I admit your resourcefulness displays some promise.
”
The man lowered his hands and leaned forward, elbows on the desk.
“
I
’
ve arranged for you to undergo some evaluations. They
’
re a simple set of tests designed to measure your potential. If you truly were to be recommended for the Academy as you claim, there should be no issues.
”

Brock couldn
’
t believe it. He had hoped that Annabelle might be able to help, but he hadn
’
t dared to believe it.

Before he could respond, Ackerson spoke again.

“
I hope you don
’
t embarrass yourself because I stuck my neck out to get you this evaluation. On the other hand, if you succeed and show promise, it will be a feather in my cap.
”

“
Thank you, sir,
”
Brock said.
“
I appreciate the consideration. I won
’
t let you down.
”

“
See that you don
’
t.
”
The minister stood, walking toward the door. Brock stood to follow.

The man opened the door.
“
Monica, would you please escort Mister Talenz to Master Pretencia
’
s classroom?
”

Monica stood, pushing her spectacles up.
“
Yes Master Ackerson.
”

She stepped into the hallway with Brock following along. His stomach began to flutter as anxiety set in.

He walked beside Monica, her blue cloak making a swishing sound in time with their footsteps. She led him to the Main Hall and turned left into the center hallway. Brock was too nervous to pay attention to any details. It all seemed to flow past in a blur.

After turning down another hallway, Monica stopped outside a door, speaking for the first time since leaving Ackerson
’
s office.

“
This is Master Pretencia
’
s classroom. I understand he
’
s expecting you. Good luck.
”

She shared a brief smile before turning to leave. Moments later, he was alone in the hallway. He raised his knuckle to the door and gave a timid knock.

“
Come in.
”
Brock heard through the door.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Morning light streaming through windows made the room much brighter than the hallway outside. Rows of tables, four chairs per table, faced the front of the room where a lone desk sat in the corner. Shelves filled with books lined one wall. A black sheet of some material unknown to Brock ran along the wall at the front of the room. Words and runes drawn in glowing blue streaks marked the otherwise black wall.

A man in a purple cloak sat at the desk, busy writing. Brock approached the desk, watching the feather on the man
’
s pen wiggle to the rapid rhythm of the pen scratching on the paper. The man
’
s black hair was slicked back from his forehead, every strand in place. The wrinkle-free skin of his pale face seemed almost made of porcelain.

The master finished his writing, set the pen down, and sat back in his chair. His dark eyes scanned Brock from head to toe, measuring him silently. Brock wanted to shuffle his feet and look away, but he forced himself to bear the uncomfortable scrutiny.

Pretencia let loose a grunt of disgust.
“
So, here is the young man who seeks to enter the holy Academy with no writ.
”
The man stood, eyes alight with anger.
“
You seek to circumvent the rules? You choose to dismiss the requirements that all students before you, for centuries, have had to endure?
”

Brock didn
’
t know what to say. Expecting a negative reaction regardless of the response, he opted not to respond at all.

After a moment, Pretencia spoke again.
“
Ackerson has convinced the others to offer you a chance to prove yourself. I disagree, but I am forced to do the same.
”

He snatched the paper off his desk, holding it out toward Brock.
“
You have a half-hour to formulate responses to the three questions on this paper. You will find a pen and jar of ink at that table. Once you are seated, I will start the timer.
”