Minotaur University Part 4

Ordo Draconis

New Minotaur University looked arguably at its most mysterious and fascinating from a bird's eye view, a perspective that few had had the privilege to see. Appearing as a rather round, though not a perfect wheel its plan was patchy, bruised. This clutch of large dark areas comprised of abandoned sections of war ravaged old university that almost dominated much the eastern wing. One might even perceive it as a distorted ying and yang symbol. Though it was mostly light ying rather than yang; all water and joining.

Two large columns stood to the north and south of NMU, again each a mystical compliment to the other in white and black. Male and female, master and apprentice, flaw and refinement. Unlike the rest of the dozen or so columns connecting each of the many floors, these did not offer any structural purpose but more magical and ritual. They also sparked the imaginations of the students. Though they had official estoteric names, they were mostly referred to as Tammy and Tommy.

One of the ancient areas however was in use. An internally located graveyard used solely to lay to rest the bodies of lecturers, rectors and masters.

Before a weathered pyramidal grave knelt Gideous Grand, the physically immense, bovine featured rector of NMU. Carved in brazen letters was a short epitaph to Elis Simms, a rector of the previous incarnation of Minotaur University and grand master of the esoteric order, GUMS (Guild of Universal Mysteries and Secrets). Gideous's irregular visits to the grave were both acts of pilgrimage and niggling curiosity. At times he wished he could dig up the bones and shake them into wakefulness in order that they might impart the knowledge he so ravenously sought.

'Someday,' he mused.

The architects within this esoterical guild not only planned its construction but laid each brick by hand, the application of such employed techniques that were not merely shrouded in secrecy but impossible for the uninitiated - which to a great degree included non-operatives (a theoretical rather than active mason) such as Gideous - to understand. Architecture in its popularly grasped sense revolved around natural measures, or what is sometimes appelated the golden scale. The plans - the little which those outside of GUMS were given licence to survey - were decorated and riddled with spheres, segmented forms and and negative spaces. This suggested to certain observers that at buildings are not comprised of remains, the cut off parts of stones but rather forms that already resided within the stones.

Michaelangelo himself said that sculptures were always within the sizeable rocks that he later carved into statues. The spaces denoted the other-wordly forms that are later wrought from rock.

Another obsession within masonic studies was the cube or sisco as it is known, a form that is described as "so perfect and sublime". Neither a keystone nor brick but rather a catalyst.

One of the Guild's leading figures, a Mr.Rubix - a reptiloid mage of good character and vivid imagination - had ingeniously made a fortune by creating a puzzle based upon its shifting forms. The blueprint had been stolen, much to his irritation, from Gideous Grand who luckily adhered to the spiritual and moral values of the order and had no use for money anyway.

Most of the guild hadn't fallen under the money spell.

Something clattered and scraped in the corner, causing Gideous to start.

'Oops,' said a young crystal clear voice; it was Lewis Hayes, realising he had knocked over and shattered a greek style vase. 'Sorry Master Gideous, but I am a bit lost. You probably can guess why.'

'Oh, hello young Lewis. Of course I know. You're trying to figure out the shift corridors that thread throughout this university.'

'Yes. Well at least I know where I am now. The graves, they're a giveaway.'

'Not somewhere most choose to tread. A shame really. It is quite peaceful just to sit here on a warm summers night. Just take a look around and one realises what a gift they have received. Upon each stone is the name of great masters and rectors of this university, their amassed knowledge, dreams and passion now forever at rest. How much they had, but how much more we have. We whose hearts beat in our chests and brains that can learn, discover.'

Lewis was taken aback by the plaintive manner of description that Gideous so candidly adopted; what of the eternal quintessence that was the creative spark within all living things?

A flash of intuition revealed more than any subtle verbal probing would have achieved; in the soil below their feet lay not only those that had taught, but those who had fought and lost in the legendary Midgardian Wars. The whispers of the minotaur genocide were perhaps more than such. So much more had taken place during the war within the magical realms that the written records had either neglected or obfuscated. Many within the University thought this was an action to withhold evidence of shame on both sides.

Minotaurs had been the pawns of the greatest major of all, major Cockup. Chattel, genetically engineered and likewise subdued. Changed into something that was further distanced from its power, from the invisible forces and dimensions.

Like all conspiracies, the remaining minotaurs were proof that it was cracking around the edges. Minotaurs were not just muscle but vessels for something deeper. They were the true mages and chroniclers of ages.

The fledgling studied Gideous as he toyed with a gold, obsidian ring decorated. Etched in its centre were two identical characters, numerical Lewis gathered, and written in some lesser known angelic alphabet. It was almost certainly an heirloom of some kind. Lewis sensed the extent to which it had been imbibed with its previous owners' experience, essence.

It did not surprise Lewis that he did not sense any magical power in the ring, as such had been outlawed for a very long time with good reason. There had been a time when such had been tools of subtle addiction and societal manipulation, each piece being seemingly benign, valuable and sweet candy to even the least avaricious.

Rings had once fallen into the hands of the the elves dwarves and halflings making slaves and shades of their leaders, polluting the core of their societies. Power lay with the minute yet sturdy ones.

The meaning of the symbol on Gideous ring was astronomical, the number thirty three. In this context it meant thirty three degrees, the angles upon which Venus travelled on its axis. The pattern of this axis, the pentagram was among the most cherished by esotericists, warlocks and mages.

'Do you know how the university was built Lewis?'

'No, Master Gideon.'

'Well, I'm not claiming to know everything - perhaps only a fraction of what the architects knew - but there were really two types of workman involved. The first could sense the pieces that wished to be wrought in stone. They sensed the week points. The builders allotted each piece to its neighbour, the image of the pieces having been transmitted in the very air from mason to mason.'

'The carvers, were they dwarves?'

'Birds. Birds that had once been dwarves, but realised the benefits of smaller frames, and freedom from the bonds of terra firma. And their song, rather than their beaks was the point that could so accurately cause stone to crack.'

Lewis smiled, almost humouring the great bull-man. 'I enjoy these legends.'

'Legends?' Bellowed Gideous, knocked aback by the youngster's preposterous notion. 'I am speaking from history, albeit a lesser known history.'

On his way back to his dorm, a thought came into Lewis' head. Master wizards more often than not chose to assume the form of crows, ravens or owls. Could this be because this allowed their song to act as a fine point, a sonic drill of sorts? He had thought their choice was purely symbolic, but as it stood now it may actually have a practical purpose.

The whole subject of transformation both interested and revolted him. During a Dark Arts Studies class, the teacher, a Professor Dunstable Ilyaad instructed each student in the art of bone shifting. Its application caused a minute transformation which was undramatic in most cases. Whichever alterations to the skeleton took place wouldn't even be visible using an x-ray.

Lewis on the other hand was a few lessons ahead of the rest having deeply perused some of the old books in this leisure time.

Now, quite unbeknownst to anyone else he was not only a few centimetres taller but had a milky down on his lower back and purpleish webbed feet!

The reversal for each should have been a less than involved task. Or would have been had he not foolishly decided to adopt more than one magickal "polarity" upon the esoterick compass in his playful experiments. His feet were the product of law, he thought. But he changed his mind quite sporadically. They were larger than any water fowl's and in colour were less than customary. The down that made his back itch so was of chaos, chaos belonging to the lower left of the magickal compass. This was so because it sometimes grew only to become scaly and flourish anew in a different colour. The feathers seemed to be sprouting inside his flesh as well.

He shrank back to his normal height just under a week after his last experiment, but the odd rifled surface around his femurs and wrists remained. This caused only a temporary discomfort.

Yes, as with a number of magicians he had a heightened sense of the chemical and nervous reactions within his body. There was an especially great advantage in being able to actually sense ones skeleton. Such was a highly prized ability amongst toltec mages, and those of other native American extraction.

The Guild also taught this. Perhaps he would someday be of the sort that is drawn to such, then again maybe not.

Eva Hanna sat at her ever so neatly furnished desk. She was sketching from a photograph of her grandparents' house in Nottingham. She didn't see Lewis as he snuck up behind her for he was so light footed (with good reason!). So, when she finally sensed his proximity, her frame became rigid, tense. She persisted to draw but made only a few perfunctory lines just to show that she was unmoved by another's observation.

She wanted another to come close, ached and longed for it in fact. But it was much easier to act cold and hostile. For she may make a friend like the ones she had in the Witches' Academy only for the friendships to fizzle out. The sad fact was that she was terrible at cultivating them. It just wasn't in her. What does one say to people in whose company they share every single day of the year? Familiarity breeded contempt, as they say.

It wasn't that she didn't like conversations with people but rather that she felt completely inept, and though she was sometimes (though rarely) able to see a beginning, she could not see an end, a closer. She was neurologically inclined to think in curves rather than straight lines. She both wrote and spoke in an oblique fashion with peculiar emphases and contexts.

People got Eva all wrong, and this image had not only permeated her surface but taken root right in her very core. It wasn't that she didn't like people, it was more that she really didn't need them. That was hard for them to take. Independence and self-interest seemed to be shunned in favour of the blurred and often insincere social circle. She didn't have to worry about being trapped in one such as she only got on with a very select few people.

And would you believe that one such - her greatest counsel by far - was an elf, a small yet portly figure that was confined within a magickal seashell.

Perhaps the seashell actually lived around him?

- Are you there collridge?

- Yes, I am here my lady. Just woken from my_ Eva cut him off.

- You were telling me about an awakening of the flesh.

- In a sense. The memories of our forefathers are there, to a lesser or greater degree. The closer and more... selective the breeding, the stronger the bloodline. You said how at times you feel you are in the clothes of another.

- In their skin, almost. I can at least feel hair growing where it wouldn't normally. And then there is that skin.

- Tell me, what is different about it?

- Well, for the most part it feels normal, if a bit rough. But depending on my mood it.

Eva stopped her telepathic conversation with The Man in The Shell, realising instinctively that there was a certain detail she did not feel at liberty to tell. Not even her servant whose life was quite literally hers to utilise or discard according to her whims.

My roots are what beguile me the most. I feel they obscure my view, as there is something I am not ready to allow into my active consciousness. What of it if the skin I felt in my vision felt scaly? It isn't now. It was a phantom thought, nothing more and should be disregarded.

'I like your drawings,' said Lewis. 'You can certainly draw forth all of the details.'

'And you're speaking from experience or?' Said Eva, irritated at herself for snapping as was her tendency.

'I have an eye for these things,' came Lewis's retort.

Eva's gaze softened somehow as it joined Lewis'. Then, the intimate energy that passed between them made her feel comfortable. Giving away too much girl. This tiredness, this cold lock grabbed her brain, pressed her heart. There was nothing Lewis could do at that moment that would not make her either bored or irritated.

'It's late.' She said.

Lewis looked at the face of the clockface in acknowledgement of her statement. 'Yes. And we have chemistry tomorrow, with Mr.Wildfire.'

'Wildfire,' she said, trying to summon up a trace of warmth. 'Yes. He's odd isn't he?'

'Tough to handle in the morning's. Too many numbers.'

They exchanged no more. Lewis went to bed, lulled into a strange slumber by the sound of scratching pencil lead.

The dark-furred satyr nodded contentedly, darkening beneath his silken robes as he watched the scene unfold. The formidable, shimmering blue-green form of the cross breed dragon Thaelric stood in a pouncing stance mere metres away. It was not bravery that caused the satyr fürste to relinquish all caution but rather a pact of honour and mutual service. The dragon was the satyr's seneschal, and the island and every beast that drew breath were shared fiefdoms.

Beneath Thaelric's paws was the piscine-serpentine form of Cedrick Demeter, writhing in lust-crazed bliss in complete submission to dragon Lord's whim. His minute orifices would be undoubtedly torn by the great animal's sizeable limb; the act of rape would perish him, and how he would delight in such an end!

The dragon nodded, drawing back a little. This caused a quite unexpected reaction within the muddy-fleshed lizard man. His heart went cold. What was this? Is he abandoning me at the last minute? Then he glimpsed the reason behind the dragon's withdrawal; like a chameleon his coloured scales changed colour in shimmering waves graduating from blue to an odd mixture between green to yellow. His muscles buckled up. His flesh was now a deep, blood red of a tone that did not so much seem to reflect the light as become a negative space that drank it. It was a negative colour, like a pattern of chasms. The lizard creature was perhaps the only one who knew what was taking place and thus wanted to be very far from that island.

The sex orgy was part of a ritual. This kind of magick was a method of energy stalking. And in such mighty draughts he had partaken! The bloodstone in his heart was no longer a dim ember but rather a dazzling white star around which the rest of his flesh was a rapidly changing symptom of gravitation.

In place of the satyr was a wooden goat. A curious symbol, but depicting what?

The answer to this was perhaps best answered by the two blowpipes which protruded from the object's black eyeholes.

In the outer grounds of Minotaur University, the mallenx minotaurian Georgis Cobbler took a leisurely stroll in search for conkers and other windfall. But mostly conkers. He had won conker fight competitions for three years running in secondary school. No magic was involved, but rather a careful choice of weapon. And a little soak in vinegar on the night of picking. Why of course; there was nothing in the rulebook against that.

This afternoon however, Georgis was to make the biggest find of his life thence so far. There was something in the distance, the oddest shape. At first it registered in his vision as a flag, then some kind of machine, but neither fitted really. It was an oddity, and due to such he approached with caution.

Bones, each shifting in relation to one another like clockwork, formed a mysterious frame. And at the centre of the frame was the most sobering feature of all. It was startling in that it was quite literally nothing, a film that could not be registered by the eye; a colour that was without colour, an other-worldly, eleventh dimensional fragment.

Even at that reasonable distance Georgis felt his blood turn cold. And minotaurs blood never turns cold, not as long as they are living. He felt not only that the gateway was looking at him, but rather that he was in observation of himself through its many emotionless eyes. He was aware of the details he had previously missed. And they were collected, numbered and packaged. He was an item, a series of parts that had as yet no purpose. He felt for that moment that he was but chattel; not a person but a thing.

He quickly removed the scarf from about his neck making a hoodwink of it in a gesture that was deeply instinctive, derived from the most basic core of his being.

Bite, slither behind stone.

Slither from stone, then bite.

Copulate before drawing behind stone.

Flee from stone then bite.

Then copulate.

Then bite again, crush, nullify.

Make cold until everything is but stone, and carved by the device that is nullify.

Once the blackness of the hoodwink covered his eyes all warmth returned to his body; he was defended against the infernal, now energy-starved portal. What was it that made him wish to advance further. Thirteen steps, no more no less. Of these he made eight then could go no further

He was stopped in his tracks by a new sense of cold, the flattened blade of a sword pressed against his woolly bovine larynx. And from this barrier, a reasonable portion of his sense returned. Though to what purpose did the blade serve, and what of the wielding hand's motivation?

Rayleigh C. Crux, observer mage, loosened his tie and delighted in the rush of blood through his newly emancipated neck. He was in the dimly lit large creatures observation hall. The word hall in itself was a rather poor description as in size and construction it was comparable to a great cathedral*. Great bars stood between him and the new arrival, a mature fire dragon curled up in sleep. Thomas had always looked upon barring in dragons with an element of disgust. Of course they had attacked humans and other non-prey animals, but only under great duress, malediction, magical concussion - conditions by which this animal had not been affected.

The torpor was mysterious, perhaps self induced; a draconian meditation the likes of which, due to rather patchy knowledge regarding dragon behaviour they could not hope to understand. Another idea he and fellow Guild brothers had discussed was whether the dragon was quite simple old. A lost, bewildered creature could very well stumble within one of the draco-portals. There was rumour that such had happened before, alas during the Midgard war.

Then, expanding from a glowing red slit the sleeping goliath's eye opened, it's slit of a pupil dilating and contracting like an inky, toothless mouth that was large enough to swallow Thomas' head whole. A stillness that was more subdued and laden with silence than one could easily place filled the gallery. As quiet as it was, Rayleigh Crux felt the beating of his own heart would soon deafen him.

The dragon stretched before rising into an erect, almost observant position with one paw folded over the other. There was something about his poise that almost resembled that of a spokesperson, his arms. Was he waiting for questions, or rather observing me? The human wondered. A vibration filled a corner somewhere in the vicinity of the dragon's side of the bars, and from it came words. For, in lack of vocal chords the larger reptiles form words by inducing intricate vibrations within the fine bones of their wings and skulls. Air dancing it how one chronicler described it.

'Excuse the silence, but I have been in a state of deep psychic and intellectual deliberation.

'You're awake - it was a meditation?'

'Yes, for want of a more fitting appellation. I see you are of the singular variety. Are other members of the guild otherwise disposed? Don't tell me my timing is so poor that I chose to regain normal consciousness during one of their meetings. Or have they laid the cornerstone of the new Minotaur University?

'The cornerstone has already been laid. It was laid quite some time ago.'

'How long ago? The voice in the air was tinged with concern. Though, as always the air dance was filled with its own indefinable emotion.

Rayleigh was at a loss for words and cleared his throat rather too many times before saying hoarsely, 'Eight years, almost to the day.'

The dragon changed position to one that suggested he was thinking, yet amused. 'It may be a long time to you,' he said slowly before pausing peculiarly. 'But it is not quite as long as I estimated my contemplations would take.'

'Please, I would rather you don't go into another...trance.'

The dragon chortled. 'No, I wasn't suggesting it. I feel that my premature waking has something to do with what is taking place in this university; it's synchronistic. However, my purpose for appearing here has not changed.'

'What is the purpose?'

Yet another pause followed. 'I will tell you, but I think it quite probable' the old dragon paused, a little out of breath, 'that you won't like it.'

'Then I don't think it's suitable that I deal with this. I have no administrative position in this institution, you understand.'

'Yet,' the old dragon breathed heavily again, his lungs still not having reacclimatised to his body's movement. 'You hold the key to this cage, right?'

'All members of the observation panel have a key. It's a minor technicality.'

The dragon rose to his full height, his neck stretching so high that it agitated the lamp above causing it to swing frantically like a pendulum. Rayleigh stood back in alarm.

'You have every reason to keep this gate locked, do you hear?'

'Why, what is the reason?'

'For there are maligned forces at work in the university, forces which could potentially enslave the will even a draconian ancient such as I.' The dragon relaxed somewhat, reclining on the fresh stacks of hay that lay a little farther off. He looked down apologetically. 'Excuse my outburst. My passions are easily roused when I've spent such a time in contemplation. The bloodstone in my heart runs on a low ebb,' the dragon. 'Will you fetch the rector and a few members of the Guild.'

'Well, I am actually a member of the guild.'

The dragon looked warmly at the man with eyes like red glittering rubies, humouring him somewhat. 'I meant the other guild. Our guild.'

Thoth, the heron-headed god of scribes sat in the library. On his left was a history of the hidden universities, on his right a chapter about dragons which he borrowed (one could say stole with intent of returning) from the Magical Enclopaedia. It was a synchronistic event that caused him to return to Minotaur University, and likewise the same quite force drew him towards the office of Gideous grand. The book, the encyclopaedia opened as if of its own volition on the chapter he now held; quite unbeknownst to him, a dragon elder began to regain ordinary, wakeful consciousness at that very same moment.

Minotaur university, an institution priding itself in its observations and knowledge of mythical beasts almost certainly housed such a creature. Those exact words niggled Thoth to his feathery core: 'almost certainly.' Such was the way of the magical realms, where impossibilities became possibilities and seemingly unconnected events were loosely and at the same time tightly woven.

Thoth didn't like many things about wandering the earth-bound magical realms. The most bothering of all was the physical, biological nature of his body. Though he was to the observer identical to the Thoth within the realm of the Nile Gods, at that moment he was more flesh and blood. The heart, half-avian half-human beat with startling rapidity in his chest. It was like being pregnant with an unsettled foetus that violently entreated its host to free it from the encapsulating womb.

A mortal form wasn't like a suit of clothes that one can pull on, he reasoned; the previous night's encounter with Gyron was evidence of such restrictions.

Cedric Demeter, mage and caretaker of Minotaur University strained his eyes, focusing on a clutch of rocks in the distance. It was not with human eyes that he viewed the island scene around him, but rather those of a wurm, an amphibious creature of the near-dragon species. For having harnessed the most dense form of illusory magic, the very atoms of his body were dwindling in a zone that was entirely other than human, but at the same time had an invisible bond to a human arrangement.

Illusory magic was safer than the rest, as one form could quickly and cleanly traverse to another. Its weakness was detection by people and creatures that were endowed with second sight. Also, were the mage's mental powers not great enough, the illusion could convince the wielder in so great a fashion that he may forget his true form.

From behind the obscuring rocks, the dragon Thaelric was curled up in discomfort. His scaly skin was dark grey, and flaking in readiness to be sloughed off. At first glance this bore similarities to the skin shedding reflex of a serpent. It was however more complex than this.

Thaelric, having absorbed considerable power during a sex magick orgy was going through convulsions - internal convulsions - in readiness for the draconite regeneration. This was not merely a rite of passage, but a psychological, psychic and spiritual advancement to the level of fire dragon. The world would not be quite the same once the transformation was complete. Thaelric was scared and at the same time mournful as this recapitulation involved just that: a relinquishment of the life and memories he had held.

It was a mere price to pay to be able to stand in all his glory, a being anew; a draconite god.

Cedrick Demeter adopted a mist form rendering useless the tranquiliser dart the moment it was fired from the peculiar goat effigy. Time was not in great enough abundance for him to flee the island however. A dazzling light emenating from the Thaelric's convulsing body obscured everything on the island, quickly robbing the mage of his consciousness.

Cedrick may be given leave to return home, but the infection of madness due to proximity to a draconite regeneration was sadly inescapable. This was a special kind of lunacy, one that caused a bond between draconian and observer. For they felt a little of what the other did; the death that was firmament to rebirth.

Torment came from the carress of Gods.

• Nerd note: it is the throne of a bishop that denotes a cathedral not its size or complexity.

• Though, not literally put through the fraternal "third degree".

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Georgis Cobbler - a student and mallenx minotaur. The mallenx are a rare, bovine-birthed sub-species with mysterious powers of premonition and insight.

Gideous Grand OBE - magnanimous and enigmatic rector of the New Minotaur University. Being one-third human, one-third common (bred) minotaur and one third Scotia natural, he has is at odds with his nature. A magician endowed with Obfuscation, he serves as the observing eyes of NMU. He has an in-depth knowledge of dragons.

Lesley Seth Gyron MBE - deputy-rector, history master and reptiloid ex-convict of Ra's House of Confinement and Betterment.

Cedric Demeter - caretaker, dracophile and former rector of the sadly demolished Draco University.

Lewis Hayes - human and un-initiated student of NMU.

The god Thoth - scribe of the Nile gods.

Eva Hannah - a moody, antisocial fellow student with a dark secret.

The M.U - Minotaur University, rebuilt and expanded upon the original.

Thaelric - mongrel earth/ice/sea draconian seneschal to a mysterious satyr fúrste.