Lies & Labyrinths

There was a certain smell about the classroom that Lilith would always recall after that first day; unable to pin it down and quantify it, it was the odor of an era between child-like innocence and stark reality. Part of it might have been Professor Klymviner’s enchanted perfume that floated in the air long after she left. Part of it might have been the smell of the parchment and the tomes they would be studying from. The sum of the parts, however, were not greater than the whole. All together, it would be the smell that would remind Lilith of what was to come, whether she was prepared or not, and would haunt her memories long afterward, and it all started with signing her name.

Lilith had found herself feeling out of place as she sat, nothing but an empty book bag and not a trace of supplies. Klymviner closed the door, the class immediately quieting down as she stepped towards the front.

“Alright, before we begin, I require all students to sign a contract of mine. Simple, really. Rules of behavior and expectations. You will find it quite acceptable. I do not suffer tardiness, misbehavior, or anything less than one-hundred percent commitment.” She conjured the form from nowhere, along with a freshly inked quill, handing both over.

“Read it, and then sign it please.”

There was one problem with that; well, two. First, Lilith had never written this new name down, only seen it. She had learned how to make Penelope Wheat look all pretty with the squiggly cursive, but they hadn’t gotten that far! She couldn’t write her new name yet. The second, as she learned with a shaky hand gripped by her spectral hand spell, was how hard it was to write when moving your hand like a marionette. A deep regret took her; if only she had put the spell on her right arm.

Klymviner gave an overly dramatic sigh.

“That’s your best? Really? What is wrong with you?” The words cut deep. Lilith wasn’t aware adults could talk to children like that.

“I-I” She began to respond, finding it hard to say anything as what felt like a weight sank her chest and tugged at her tongue from deep inside. Her eyes were stinging. The children's taunts earlier she thought she could endure, but an adult was saying such terrible things.

“You’re supposed to be gifted. What is this?”

“I’m trying!” Lilith tried to shout, but it came frail, choked by the start of a cry.

Klymviner waved a dismissive hand, losing patience by the second. “Pathetic.”

And then she turned and faced the rest of the class, and Klymviner acted as if she hadn’t thoroughly humiliated a child for poor handwriting. She began to go over the lesson from the previous day while Lilith sat there, trembling at the front of the class. The other kids glanced at her. Some were smirking. Some looked relieved.

It seemed that Klymviner needed a lightning rod to draw her anger out on. And it seemed Lilith was the new one, for no fault of her own.

“Come to the front and start writing your name on the board. Large letters, so everyone can see how not to write. I want to see most of the chalkboard full before the bell rings.”

That had been the worst of it: Not the laughter of her peers before her very first class, as if her best wasn’t good enough. It had been the admonishment of the teacher on something that wasn’t even part of the lesson.

Lilith stared at her left arm, hanging limp, useless without the assistance of the invisible hand that floated not too far away. She picked up her right arm and began to learn to write with her recessive hand, ignoring the class being taught right behind her.

“This next enchantment, class, pay close attention. This is a cursed object.”

The professor opened the drawer with her wand, waving out a box with a dozen locks upon it.

“This beauty was found deep within the island nation of Paduhn.”

“What is it?” someone asked.

“It’s believed to be a lockbox of some sort. Does anyone recognize the language written along the outside?” Klymviner floated the object in front of each person. One started to reach out before she snapped “No touching! Did you not understand the part about cursed ancient objects Alm?”

A student with glasses withdrew his hand, adjusting them before casually running his hand through his hair as if he did not risk being electrocuted, burned or turned into a newt mere seconds ago.

The box was briefly passed by Lilith, who glanced up at it and mumbled the words as she pronounced it to herself.

“They’re instructions.” she mumbled.

“Come again? Learn to speak up, Lilith.”

Lilith glared, reaching her invisible hand to the portrait sized object. “It says right there, trace counter-clockwise.”

She did as the instructions said while reading them out loud, the invisible hand gliding along the rim of the frame. Small patterns in the metal of spirals began to unfurl, latches unlatched and panels began to move. A second square appeared as the frame sank inwards by an inch, leaving an inch border sticking out. And even though it jutted inward, nothing jutted out on the other side. The dimensions simply lead to somewhere impossible.

The class gasped. Klymviner’s eyebrow lifted.

“Where ever did you learn to read that, dear?”

Lilith shrugged, afraid of another verbal lashing.

“Speak up.”

“I don’t know. I just read it.”

“Well, you just read the long-dead instructions of an elven tongue that hasn’t been uttered in ages. Even more interesting, as there was no human translation of the particular branch of dialect…”

Silence befell the room, and all eyes befell Lilith.

“It seems magic does come in all forms, and even some that can be measured previously as disappointing.”

That had been the second lesson that Bella Klymviner had taught Lilith Lavoi: Even the cruelest of people would be nice to you if you had some use to them.

Inside the next level of the lockbox, another poem had been written in that same dialogue. Klymviner placed the object down in front of her. “And what does this say?”

The class gathered around Lilith’s desk, watching as she mumbled the words under her breath. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was doing it, only that it seemed to flow right, like out of some dream that didn’t really belong to her.

“It belongs to you, but everyone else uses it”.

“What?”

“That’s what it says.” Lilith dragged her ghost finger against the letters. They appeared to glow in response. “It belongs to you but everyone else uses it. Then there’s a bunch of letters below. The Alphabet I think, but there’s some weird ones that make sounds I don’t think my throat could make even with a cold.”

“It’s a riddlebox then.” Klymviner said. “Class, that is your assignment for the rest of the day.”

Lilith beamed, proud to have done something so clever. She moved to sit down and grab a piece of parchment to write on, when Klymviner’s voice cut through the room.

“Not you, Lilith. I gave you instructions already did I not? Practice writing your name.”

Lilith glared, standing up and moving to the board to begin writing her name with her weakened hand.

Lilith Lavoi. Lilith Lavoi. Lilith Lavoi.

She grew tired of it after the third row, and began to ponder on the puzzle.

It belongs to you but everyone else uses it. Lilith Lavoi.

It belongs to me, but everyone else uses it… Lilith Lavoi.

I don’t own anything. Lilith Lavoi.

Except my name.

It’s asking for my name.

Lilith looked at the rest of the class, but said nothing. None of the so-called gifted students had seemed to catch on. Lilith didn’t bother sharing either; it wasn’t her assignment.

When the bell finally did ring, and the class began to filter away (and more importantly, for Klymviner to no longer be looking in her direction), Lilith approached the metal frame once more. She guided her ghost hand, touching the letters below to spell out a message. Name, she typed, in the language she wasn’t sure she knew.

The frame clicked and whirred, spinning and opening even deeper into the two dimensional box. The lid snapped shut, clicked, then reopened once more. Except now, there was an object inside. A mask, to be precise. One that Lilith was certain she’d seen before, made of wood with little knots at the corner that looked like horns.

Without thinking, Lilith reached in and grabbed the mask, slipping it into the bag that had been provided to her. The frame whirred close once more. Lilith laid the object face down, scurrying back the door after everyone else.

It was the first theft of Lilith Lavoi, after her first time cheating on a test. But if the punishment was all the same, Maybe the Knave was right; what did it matter?