The Orb of Kandra

Suddenly, he felt something smack against the back of his head. It stung and his hand instinctively went to it. When he took it away, he saw a dead bee in his palm.

Someone had used their powers on him. He turned sharply, glaring for the culprit. Candice was barely hiding her smirk.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “You did that.”

“It was just a bee sting,” she replied sweetly.

“I know it was you. You have a biological specialism. If anyone did it, it was you.”

Candice shrugged innocently.

Coach Royce clapped his hands loudly. “Malcolm Malice. Eyes to the front. Just because you can do this easily doesn’t mean you can mess around while your classmates try. Show some respect.”

Malcolm sucked his cheeks in. The injustice stung just as much as the bee had.

Malcolm tried to focus on his classmates as they took turns practicing their aim. It was a usual gloomy day at Obsidian’s, with a light fog hanging in the air, turning everything misty. The large playing field stretched all the way up to the imposing manor house that was Mistress Obsidian’s School for Seers.

Candice went up to take her shot. The arrow went flying over the top of the target and Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at her misfortune.

“This is exactly the sort of skill you need to perfect,” Coach Royce called out. “When it comes to fighting the Amethyst seers, it’s this kind of mastery that really knocks them for six. They’re so focused on their seer specialisms, they’ve forgotten all about good old-fashioned weaponry.”

The corners of Malcolm’s mouth tugged even further upward. Just the thought of kicking the sappy seers at Professor Amethyst’s school delighted him. He couldn’t wait until the day he was finally face-to-face with one of those losers. Then he’d really show them who was boss. Show them why Obsidian’s was the better school. Why it deserved to be the one and only school for seers.

Just then, Malcolm noticed some of the kids from the second year coming out onto the playing fields, hockey sticks in hand. He noticed Natasha Armstrong amongst them. She was in the private study sessions he’d been attending at the library, the ones for gifted students like him. Though at twelve he was the youngest there, the others were kind to him. Natasha especially. She didn’t tease him for being smart. And she shared the same hatred toward Professor Amethyst as he did.

Natasha looked over and waved. Pretty dimples appeared in her cheeks. Malcolm waved back, feeling his own cheeks growing warm.

Just then, Malcolm heard Candice’s velvety voice whisper in his ear. “Aw, look. Malcolm’s got a crush.”

Malcolm kept his gaze ahead and ignored her taunts. Candice was only being mean because he’d rebuffed her advances. Her spite came from a place of jealousy—that an older girl, one as beautiful and talented as Natasha Armstrong, could be interested in him.

As the other class began their hockey match, Malcolm’s gaze went up to the vast imposing Victorian manor house of Obsidian’s School, all the way to the turret at the top. He could just make out the dark figure of Mistress Obsidian standing at the window. She was looking down at her students. Then her gaze fixed on him.

He smiled to himself. He knew she was keeping tabs on him. She’d hand-picked him for a special mission. Tomorrow, he would have a meeting with Mistress Obsidian herself. Tomorrow, she’d tell him all the details of his special mission. Until then, he could tolerate the bullies and teasing. Because soon, he would be their hero. Soon, the name Malcolm Malice would be known to every seer in every timeline. He’d be in all the history books.

Soon, he would be known the universe over as the one who’d destroyed the School for Seers once and for all.

CHAPTER THREE

Relief coursed through Oliver’s body. Armando remembered him after all. Despite all his actions in the past changing this timeline, somehow his hero had not forgotten who he was.

“You… you remember me?” Oliver stammered.

Armando walked over to him. His gait was straighter, his chin tipped higher. He was better dressed, in dark slacks and a shirt that gave off an air of self-assurance. This was not the same Armando who’d given Oliver refuge the night of the storm; the hunched, scruffy, secretive man who’d spent decades living under the label of “zany.” This was a man who held his head high with pride.

He patted Oliver’s shoulder. “I remember years ago, in 1944, you told me it would all make sense in seventy years’ time. And now it all does. Lucas has been going against my back for years.” He looked away with a troubled expression. “To think he wanted me dead.”

Oliver felt a pang of grief. Armando had trusted Lucas and Lucas had betrayed him in the worst way imaginable.

“But that is in the past now,” Armando replied. “Thanks to you.”

Oliver felt a surge of pride. Then he remembered his conversation with Professor Amethyst. It wasn’t over yet. There was more work to be done. The work of a seer was an endless task. And his destiny was intertwined with Armando’s. He just didn’t know in what way.

Thinking of Professor Amethyst sent a shard of pain into Oliver’s heart. He touched the amulet with his fingers. It was as cold as ice. Returning to the School for Seers was not an option. He’d probably never return. Never see his friends again: Walter, Simon, Hazel, Ralph, and Esther. He’d never play switchit again or walk the corridors held up by the kapoc tree.

Armando gave him a kind smile. “Since we’ve never technically met, perhaps I ought to introduce myself. I’m Armando Illstrom, of Illstrom’s Inventions.”

Oliver snapped out of his sad reverie. He shook Armando’s hand, feeling warmth spread through his whole body.

“I’m Oliver Blue. Of…”

He paused. Where did he belong now? Not the School for Seers, nor the factory in this new reality where he and Armando had never met. And most definitely not his home in New Jersey with the Blues, who he knew now were not his real parents.

Sadly, he added, “Actually, I don’t know where I belong.”

He looked up at Armando.

“Perhaps that is your real mission, Oliver Blue?” Armando said in a soft, firm voice. “To find your place in the world?”

Oliver let Armando’s words sink in. He thought about his real parents, the man and woman who appeared to him in his visions and dreams. He wanted to find them.

But he was confused.

“I thought my mission in returning was to save you,” he said.

Armando smiled.

“Missions are multilayered,” he replied. “Saving me and finding out who you really are—the two are not mutually exclusive. After all, it is your identity that led you to me in the first place.”

Oliver pondered that. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps his return in time was not as simple as one mission; perhaps it was fated for a number of reasons.

“But I don’t even know where to begin,” Oliver admitted.

Armando tapped his chin. Then his eyes suddenly lit up.

He hurried over to one of his many desks, clicking his fingers. “Of course, of course, of course.”

Oliver was puzzled. He watched curiously as Armando rummaged in a drawer. Then he straightened up and turned to Oliver.

“Here.”

He walked over and placed a circular bronze object in Oliver’s hands. Oliver inspected it. It looked ancient.

“A compass?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Armando shook his head. “On its surface, yes. But it is something much more. An invention I’ve never been able to decipher.”

Oliver stared at it in awe, at the myriad dials and strange symbols on its surface. “Then why do you own it?”