Lies & Labyrinths
1: Lies, Lies & More Lies

Lying was the easiest thing in the world. It solved so many problems in life. Lilith LaVoi had learned that at a young age; even her name was a lie. The first lie that had mattered. It was the first lie with consequences. It was the first lie that entirely changed her life. And it had all started from a stick-in-the-mud hamlet in the middle of nowhere, to a rebellious farm girl who had decided to play hooky.The lies had started with her birth name; she hated it with a passion. Penelope, like her mother. Middlenem, like her parents repeating the question back to the census taker with a thick Westerner accent, and Wheat, like the only thing they grew. That was all there was in Wheatsburgh. Her father was the son of a wheat farmer, like his father before him, and so on and so forth.

That meant anything that wasn’t wheat was the chance of a lifetime, whether that opportunity knocked, or whether Penelope was dragged by their ankles kicking and screaming when they passed on the one road that led past her little stick-in-the-mud village. [1]

It was just after the symbol “2” which meant two, according to the large clock that had been erected in the village. Penelope had figured that one out very well, including how the lines spun around. Another gift of the Newly Founded Most Exonerated Of All Prior Crimes And Debts Kingdom of Dorwine.

When her father was her age, he said, it had been called Avalon. That had sounded far prettier than Dorwine, which itself was only less disgusting than Dorwine’s newly christened capitol, Dorwiny. Dorwiny sounded like the noise the mule made when it didn’t want to do something. Or her uncle Peter Three trying to say ‘the door was windy’ with his nigh-untranslatable accent. Dorwine (the city, not the country, Penelope’s teacher had attempted to explain to the class with some exasperation) was also fond of its teachers. They had sent tutors [2] out to all corners of the Five burghs, from Wheatsburgh to Cornsburgh, and that included Carrotsburgh and Tatersburgh too. They’d built school houses, instructed the dirt covered kids to stop all gathering and causing mischief.

Ending the fun, in other words.

Penelope had decided, rather matter-of-factly, that she would not be attending class today. Not until Monsieur Henry apologized for making her have to bite him. She was better suited to haranguing passers-by, learning what she could about the world from those that dared to cross so close to the most boring village in all the world. The best spot to do that was the bridge that ran perpendicular to Wheatsburgh. The best place on the aforementioned bridge to do so was across from the little stone shack nestled halfway across, with its big spire that blocked out the sun from your eye, and the little stone circle with the funny letters carved around the lip. Penelope liked to imagine it was magic, one that could whisk her away at a moment’s notice to some mystical far-away place, never to return to her boring life.

Penelope was staring at that very disk in the little stone shack in the middle of the bridge perpendicular to the most boring village in the world when it started to glow. How was that for imagination? The carved letters along the rim of it began to illuminate, bright blue that seemed to hum along to an unheard song, before the very spirit of the letters rose up, starting to swirl like water down a spout. It grew bigger and bigger, the silent hum turning to a roar, before all at once a figure in long purple and black robes stepped out.

Penelope’s mouth hung agape. She looked left, right, then rubbed her eyes for good measure. The figure in the black and purple robes looked left, right, then glanced up ahead at Penelope before doing a full double-take. He seemed the type not used to being noticed.

“Are you a wizard?” Penelope asked.

The figure adjusted their robes, squinting. “No. Why?”

“Well, it’s just you came out of a magical glowing circle there, yea? And now instead of saying “No, now bugger off” like everyone else would if asked if they were a wizard, you asked why.”

There was an awkward pause that hung in the air.

“Well, I’m definitely not a wizard” The Definitely-Not-A-Wizard said, glancing nervously about. “I’m an instructor, truth be told. Here to pick up a student.”

“Oh? So you’re from a magic school then?”

“I’m from a far away school, and I’m here to pick up a student.” The Suspiciously-Sounding-Like-A-Wizard repeated, then glanced in both directions once more, starting to head to the right. “Good day.”

“Good day?” Penelope said, standing on the edge of the stone rail that adorned the bridge, walking atop it like a balance beam. Her newfound friend was not pleased with this development, and began to walk faster. “You’re just gonna pop in outta nowhere, pretend to not be a wizard, and say good day and leave?”

“Well yes that was the plan. I have very important business to attend to. I am off to the schoolhouse of this town as our readings have indicated a child with… Why am I explaining this to a ten year old!?”

“HEY! I’m not ten, I’m twelve and nine-tenths! And class hasn’t let out yet.”

“Yes, well I plan to arrive precisely on time to greet a student. It’s well known that a Veilweaver Professor-”

“Wizard”, Penelope corrected the man on his job title.

“-Is never late, nor early, but precisely on time.”

“So why don’t you think it’s me that you’re here to pick up?”

“Because my aetherometer[3] would have gone off if you were worth anything to the Academy.”

That had been the mistake, but the Nearly-One-Hundred-Percent-Wizard had no idea of this at the time: He had underestimated Penelope Wheat. The man had stopped dead in his tracks, spinning on the heels of his shoes, sending grime and gravel every which way. He opened his side bag, Penelope peering in to see what appeared to be a magic trick: the bag was bigger on the inside. The bag was so much bigger on the inside, that the wizard reached half his arm in to grab a small blue box with a red piece of glass on one end and a pointy metal stick at the other. He traced his thumb against the red glass, a soft beeping noise emanating from nowhere at the press of a thumb to the box.

Penelope didn’t give a crap about the stupid box, running up to the wizard and sticking her hand inside the bag and invading all thoughts of personal space. “OhMyGodThisIsAmazingWhereDidYouGetItDoAllWizardsGetoneOfHEY!”

Penelope managed in one breath until the man grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, lifting her up and holding her away. He held the aetherometer up with the other hand, scanning once before dropping the box back into his bag with a heavy plop before drawing out a stack of papers.

“What I have right here is an official summons to the Veilweaver Academy, the single most prestigious school in all of Temrin. Far, far away from the likes of you.”

Penelope reached out, grabbing the top letter out of the stack from the wizard professor’s hand. She traced her finger along the bottom flap of the envelope to open it, running along actual gold trim. Upon being flipped open, the envelope itself lifted into the air in front of her, unfolding to reveal itself as a large acceptance letter. It was the most beautiful thing Penelope had ever seen. The patterns drawn were moving, small sparrows chirping on the outline of the page, some picking at the dots that littered the page as if they were insects. Penelope scanned her eyes over the page, reading as fast as she could: It was a bona-fide acceptance letter. It was also a form letter. The name portion had a long underline, and the penmanship there was of a different, more mundane kind. So was the acceptance signature at the bottom, signed by one Professor Arleigh.

“This you?” Penelope tapped at the signed line. She looked up, noting the wizard was no longer preoccupied with looking directly at her, but instead on the recently dismissed school children beginning their trek towards the bridge.

“Yes, I am Professor Octavio Arleigh. I also created that form letter.”

“With the magic birds and stuff?”

“And the very pass to get in.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Before you had to have someone directly weave a person’s name into the master spell for the- nevermind, it doesn’t matter. Why am I explaining myself to a farm girl… Give me that back.” The Jerk Wizard muttered, adjusting his robes once over before reaching for the document.

“What if someone wrote their name in?” Penelope turned her back on the man, drawing something from her sleeve as she did.

“Then it would reject any name that was non magical. Give me that acceptance letter now, please.”

“What about if they wrote down a different name than their own? Like a made up name?”

“Now who would be stupid enough to do that?” The wizard looked back to the crowd of kids fast approaching. “Children, if I can have your attention-” The Wizard grabbed the form letter from Penelope, ignoring her protest while simultaneously taking a step behind her to kick her into the crowd of children.

“-my name is Octavio Arleigh, and I am a wiz- A Professor of the Veilweaver Academy. I am here today, because we have sensed that one of you may have aetherical aptitude.” He beamed at the children of wheat farmers.

The children of wheat farmers stared back, rather bored. All but Penelope, who was glaring while dusting the boot print off of her bottom.

“At my Academy, we learn the very weavings of the world, and how to access the power of it, what we call The Veil. Why, with the right words, gestures and components, you could just as easily summon a rose, as conjure a ball of flame.” At those words, he snapped his finger, a large pink and red flower blooming, which then burst into blue fire, the petals lapping away like embers. The children all gasped and clapped.

All but Penelope, who had dropped her scowl into the lightest of smirks, hoping for the greatest magic trick ever.

“In my hand is a letter addressed to a very special student. Someone who, with the right upbringing, could learn to do more than just summon pretty flowers or light bonfires. And he-”

“Or She!” a voice called from the crowd that sounded suspiciously like Penelope.

“-definitely a he, preordained entirely by prophecy as a he-”

“Yeah but things happen right, and prophecy is fickle innit?” a voice that sounded like Penelope’s, but an octave lower and thrown with some impressive ventriloquism, called out on the other side of the crowd.

“Look, I’ve got the bloody paper right here and it says the name Duncil Ditch on it. I’ve been practicing this speech for the last fifteen minutes, thank you very much; I think I’d know what’s written on the paper!”

“Then read it out loud!” A kid said. This time not Penelope.

“Yeah! Don’t you know how to read?” another kid asked. Arleigh was losing control of the mob of youths. That was the problem with more than one prepubescent: too many in a cluster and the masses would turn on you in a heartbeat.

“I KNOW HOW TO BLOODY READ!” The wizard shouted at the group of children, who grew quiet. A farmer in an adjacent field stopped his tilling for a moment to suspiciously watch an adult yelling at a bunch of school children.

The wizard turned a deep shade of strawberry red as he began to recite the words, acting as if he had complete and utter control of the situation. “This letter hereby confirms that the designated student, Li-…” His voice stopped, his face changing as the color ran from strawberry red to milk whiteas he attempted to read the name once more. “…Lilith LaVoi… is hereby accepted to the Veilweaver’s...Academy.”

The letter folded itself at the reading of the name into the shape of a sparrow, flittering up into the air and then fluttering around Octavio’s head.

“Does anyone here go by that name?” Octavio said, swallowing once out of sheer nervousness.

“I do.” Said Penelope, who had blinked a few times at the pronunciation. Luh-vhwah, the teacher had said, instead of how she had thought it sounded in her head: La voy. No matter.

The paper sparrow flew away from the balding wizard’s head towards her outstretched hand, unfolding back into an acceptance letter with her freshly inked name. She spun the pen back up her right sleeve, proud of the two things that school had taught her that was worth a tut: Reading, and writing. [4]

“I… I don’t….” Octavio stuttered and stammered, slapping his forehead with his free hand. He went rifling through the stack of papers, hoping to find the one labeled Duncil Ditch to no avail.

Lilith LaVoi stepped up, holding out the paper to Octavio with a smug smirk of satisfaction. “I’m ready to go to wizard school now, Monsieur Arleigh.”

Arleigh grabbed Lilith’s arm, turning her hand over. Black ink marred the bottom of her palm where she had smudged off the previous name to write the new one.

“So we can go to your parents right now and they’ll confirm your first and last name?”

“Well actually that’s the funny thing, see I’m actually an orphan cause my dad was a super powerful wizard and my mom was a nymph and they died saving me and protecting this town yeah.” Lying was the easiest thing in the world. It solved so many problems.

“Ah. So we can leave right now then, without saying goodbye, is that right? Because once we step through that portal stone over there, you won’t be seeing them for a very, very long time.”

A look of fear flashed in Lilith’s eyes, but she had been called a few choice words by an adult and had the faintest print of a boot-mark that lingered on the bottom of her dress. So she persisted.

“I think I know my own name, Monsieur Arleigh.”

Arleigh knelt down until they were at eye level, his eyes squinting to focus through the rims of his glasses, close enough that Lilith could determine ground zero of the man’s bald where his bald spot and the epicenter of grey hairs she would add to this man’s life began. He spoke just low enough for her to be able to hear every word, and still be able to growl for dramatic effect.

“Listen here, you little knave. I know you aren’t who I was here for. You’re useless, without a trace of magic in you. You wouldn’t know a spell from a spade. You won’t last two weeks where we’re about to go. So this is your only chance before you make both of us look very, very bad in front of very, very powerful people. Are you sure you’re sure you’re Lilith LaVoi?”

Lilith took a deep breath, glancing out to the woods in the distance past the school house.

There was a hooded figure there, standing in red. Or rather, cloaked in it. It billowed lightly, though there was no wind.

“Very sure.” she found herself saying. “My name is Lilith Lavoi.”

Lilith said her name with more confidence, then eyeballed all the local kids to get them to shut their traps.

She glanced back up at the treeline. The figure in red was gone. Only a black cat remained, trotting across the field towards the students.

“Very well, Lilith LaVoi. Come with me.” Arleigh held his hand up, procuring a wand as he did, casting a bolt of green energy into the sky. It burst like a firework, something none of the children had seen in their lives. The children gasped, shrieked and cheered at the signal flare that had been sent, completely distracted to the slow crawl of a massive floating structure bigger than the entire village put together. There was a spinning ring on the outside with long curved buildings, with a gigantic castle-like structure at the very center. Towers floated about it like small satellites caught in the orbit, rotating through the air and towards Wheatsburgh and the flare.

Lilith let out a soft “wow” under her breath, staring up at the awe-inspiring majesty of the Veilweaver Academy. Professor Arleigh took the opportunity to start dragging Lilith towards the stone shack on the middle of the bridge perpendicular to the most boring village in the world, completely ruining the moment for her. Sweeping an arm around her shoulder while still clamping to her hand, Arleigh began to walk at a brisk pace towards the stones, which were already beginning to glow at his approach.

“I hope you’re ready, girl. You’re going to have to do a lot more lying in a lot less time.” Arleigh said through gritted teeth as he guided them both into the bright blue light. Neither noticed the black cat that slipped between their feet, following them through the teleporter.

Half a mile away, Duncil Ditch left the schoolhouse precisely on time for the rest of the day. He had stayed behind to help dust off the erasers for Monsier Henry, completely missing the arrival of the Veilweaver Academy. This coincided with two rather important lessons: The first, that while a wizard-slash-professor was always on time, destiny was not; and two, that no good deed goes unpunished.

Footnotes:

[1]This had led to a lot of brief if not exciting encounters with pilgrims and passers-by who would never forget a child screaming for them to take her along at the top of her lungs while firmly attached to a leg.

[2]Not as fun as a word as it turned out. Neither the trumpet playing kind, nor the bean playing kind.

[3]Aetherometer [aye-thur-ohm-eet-er], noun. A device for measuring aether, the primary component of magic. Also known as “that weird thing mages wobble about when they’re out in public”

[4]The king had demanded that all of them learn to not only read and write, but to also do jommertry which meant shapes, and nonsense maths the good king had called algerbra. Which was all about finding x. That was the problem with x, he was always getting lost. Complete tosser with an identity crisis. Some days he was three, sometimes 1, occasionally he was negative, if not already a nobody altogether.

Why the king felt it was so important to school a bunch of wheat farmers on finding x, she would never know. Jommertry made some sense. Maybe jommertry would help make nice triangle patches of wheat.

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