by Elin Macsen
Very sincerely,
Valentine Paulier
Conseil de Legerdemain, B.S.S.
Evelyn was astonished. Her wandless exercises had sparked with magic, but somehow fell beneath the notice of the British Security Service.
Ten years… she thought. The phantom of a decade without touching a wand or trying a spell gripped her mind. She knew herself better than that: she was impatient, inquisitive (what had her father called it? ‘Excessive curiosity’), and contrary. Some people simply are. Before she fell asleep, she began to wonder if Antarctica, pirate isles, or the desolate steppes of Russia could be any worse than life under Imperium.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MAGISTERIAL TEXTS
The Gant Estate
West Hall, Brampton
Cumbria, England
Impera under Imperium
July 12th, 1943
By Monday, the uninvited guests had settled into their quarters and seemed relatively at ease on the farm. Victor begrudgingly joined Sentinel and near-sorcerer in exercises after breakfast, and Evelyn, even more reluctantly, tried to make up for his absence on the farm. She liked the setting well enough, but she wasn’t a milkmaid or shepherd by nature. Besides that, she was skittish about working among the Hominidae farmhands alongside her father.
After a couple hours of chores, she stole back to the conservatory on the backside of the house and tended to the plants there. Ivar roved back and forth between the conservatory and kitchen and seemed not at all surprised to see her. Passing through to cut back the dill, he left the kitchen door open. Voices flowed in from the dining room.
Evelyn could nearly make them out. She abandoned her watering can and curled her fingers within worn, leather gardening gloves, straining to make out the words. A spell resounded in her mind: ausculto.
This was not enough. Biting her lip, she banished any thought of the letter’s promise that her status might be reinstated in time.
“Ausculto,” she said. She threw every ounce of discipline and intention she could muster into the word, coaxing the voices to her ears and focusing on their innate ability to pick up sounds. Eventually, whether it was because Ivar turned off the kitchen faucet or because she opened the door slightly wider, the words came to her ears.
“This spell, for instance… fire… close the distance… stance, just so.” The words bobbed and wove. It was not enough. She crept into the kitchen, taking care to remain invisible from the dining room. Ivar sat at the table polishing silver and she joined him as silently as possible, taking up silver polish and candlesticks. She leaned forward, mentally repeating the spell. Ausculto. Ausculto.
“No, not quite. Like so: ignis abiturum.”
Ash invaded her nostrils along with the sulfuric scent of the silver polish. They must have been throwing flames out the window, but even so, the wind dragged soot back into the dining room.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” Lavinia encouraged.
“It’s a simple spell,” Philip snapped.
They tried another spell after Victor had developed some facility with ignis abiturum, but Evelyn knew this one and the next, or at least knew them from books. Eventually, she rose from the table to whisper to Ivar, “I’m going upstairs. Will you let me know if they try anything interesting?”
He smiled and nodded his assent before returning to the task at hand. Evelyn climbed the stairs to the library and sunk into her armchair, the coveted spellbook she wasn’t supposed to possess, and the addictive study of magic. As she turned the page, something occurred to her. Victor knew her well enough to realize that she would seize any opportunity to read the Sentinel’s magisterial textbooks. Likely he had simply left them in his room. If she could just borrow them…
Lightly padding across the threshold of the library, she paused to listen to their progress downstairs. Lavinia was demonstrating another spell, a shield meant to protect against a certain class of hex. That was all very interesting, but now that the prospect of the magisterial texts glowed before her eyes like diamonds before a dragon’s, she could hardly spare the time. Surely the books were a more efficient way to learn.
Evelyn found the textbooks right away, almost as if her canny brother knew her heart. Well, he did, better than anyone. They were set atop his bureau. Standing on her toes, she reached up and pulled down the first heavy book. Nobody was likely to discover her, but she couldn’t take any chances. She danced on tiptoe to the far side of his bed and settled down so only the fiery crown of her head was visible.
Propping the book upon her knees, she examined the intricately engraved cover and ran her fingers over it. The Magisterial Texts: Book One ran the title. The book’s pages were gilded with a dimmed luster, as though many enterprising hands had lovingly caressed the binding on their way to becoming Sentinels. Something about an unbroken line of devoted students warmed her soul.
Like many of the books Evelyn had encountered in the Kingsvale library, this volume began with dire warnings about unauthorized use. She skimmed the foreboding Latin just to make sure she wouldn’t be hexed into oblivion before proceeding to the first chapter. Her hands curled around the covers as she settled in to learn. She was almost in a trance as she read through the first chapter and then the second. Her eyes flicked across each line with reckless abandon.
For the first time in her extensive reading experience, the book formalized what she had known since childhood: a mage’s well of magic could only be expanded through use. Draining it until you blacked out was a good thing for a lower mage with aspirations to ascend the hierarchy from lower mage to full mage to sorcerer. A sorcerer was technically defined as someone who had fully mastered multiple kinds of magic, though these were not listed. She wondered what Philip Park knew, aside from the usual Latinate spells studied across Imperium.
The introductory chapters contained pages of diagrams on exactly how to grasp and direct your wand, the common stances for various types of spells, the categories of charms, hexes, curses, and so on, and finished with a brief aside to the reader:
While the perceptive student may already have noticed this, it ought to be clarified for our less diligent pupils: Latinate magic is rote and repetitive by design. The meanings of spells, once they have been invented and bound by intention, are reinforced by use. You may learn Latin and hope to further your understanding of spells, but this is not enough. Spells are cultivated by centuries of repetition.
A single word or syllable misplaced will alter and weaken the spell. Thus, it is of great importance that one learn, at the least, the basics of the Latin alphabet and pronunciation. The language itself is secondary. If you know the intent of a spell, and, indeed, spells are known to foster themselves in the hearts of worthy men even without training—such is the nature of magic—you may guide it through physical means and through the extension of your wand without knowing a word of Latin outside that which is essential.
Evelyn mulled this theory for a moment. Could poorly-cast spells be responsible for the depletion of magic? She brushed her curiosity aside and dove into the next chapter.
The types of spells most useful for Sentinels astonished the young woman. There was a spell to conceal words from the listening devices of Imperium. There were spells to slash and bind, spells to burn and bury, and all manner of cruel inventions designed to aid an interrogator. She shuddered as she worked her way through these chapters.
“What are you doing?”
Evelyn ducked below the sightline of the bed and froze. She hadn’t heard Philip Park’s silent footfalls, but she knew his voice as soon as she heard it: cold, commanding, derisive.
“If you’ve so much as touched the magisterial texts, you’ll be called before a tribunal—and it will not go in your favor. You already have a damning strike.”
Evelyn tucked the book under the edge of the thin carpet, though this was no better than leaving it lying around. She rose unsteadily. She pretended to absent-mindedly smooth dust from the wrinkles of her skirt a
nd stood there gaping at Park. “I wouldn’t dare to.”
More than anything, she wanted to ask what other kinds of magic he knew, but that would only give herself away…
“Spoiled, stupid girl,” he snarled. “Why do you insist on destroying your family?”
She held out her hands to show they were empty.
“Don’t say anything, Park. Please. I’ll never do it again.”
He looked her over dismissively. “You have a reputation for lying, you know.”
She couldn’t hold herself back any longer.
“You’re ‘nearly a sorcerer.’ What do you know? And how did you learn anything under the rules of Imperium?”
Philip Park drew himself upright. Something dark and secret glimmered in his eyes.
“You’ll help your brother?” He waited for her nod. “Good. Then I’ll tell you one little morsel, lest you misunderstand. I’ve studied the magic of Vampirae since I was a child. It is possible for mages to learn their spells, you see. Magic is older than Latin, older than language, and more powerful than you can imagine. It’s a pity you can’t study magic after your expulsion. You might have a talent for it.”
He stepped away from the door and indicated with a slight jerk of his head that she was to exit. Plunging down the staircase, Evelyn ran out the front door and found she was holding her breath. She slowed to a walk once she was halfway around the house. Meandering through the garden, Evelyn recalled with a shudder the horrible spells she had just learned. The cruel, torturous magic of the magisterial texts seeped into her mind like an infection.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RIVERS OF BLOOD
The Gant Estate
West Hall, Brampton
Cumbria, England
Impera under Imperium
July 15th, 1943
Evelyn found her waking moments filled with dreams and magic. She was drawn to Victor’s strange tutors and, as she had been for many years, became a stowaway on the voyage of discovery. Every morning she arose early to patiently eavesdrop on their plans for the day. If their prospective location was clear, she abandoned her plans and secretively slipped away to hide where she couldn’t be discovered. One of the early spells in the magisterial textbook was a concealment charm. Even without a wand, she felt that thorough concentration on this charm might protect her.
The Felidae Sentinel and her shadow chose locations depending on their training plans for the day. Typically, Victor worked through the morning and trained with them after lunch.
The haybarn was the chosen location on that hot, mid-July day. It was cool inside, though a little less cool under the rafters. Evelyn climbed up out of sight and waited for the other three to arrive. She didn’t dare make a sound. The others could arrive at any moment in the temperate refuge of the barn. Abscondam was her only thought: hide me.
One of the nesting owls cooed from the eaves. She hadn’t meant to disturb them. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Evelyn leaned back into a dry bale. Sticks of hay poked against her scalp and it took the girl a herculaean effort to ignore the sensation.
When they arrived in the ground-level of the barn, the trio moved with a sense of urgency. Panthera and Park treated the prophecy with utmost seriousness, as though Fate had named them as well as Victor. Lavinia immediately called out a series of spells and waited as Victor prepared his stance and grasp before echoing the words and motions required for each spell.
He was rapidly gaining on his sister's abilities. Evelyn felt her competitive edge honed to a deadly blade as she tracked her brother’s progress. For the first time, she began to see into the ethereal mind that selected him as savior to their world. Victor worked with dogged determination and never complained, even when she heard him wheeze and weaken with the toll of magic.
A cat’s mrrrow sounded below. She knew the voice: it certainly wasn't the Felidae Sentinel. It was one of the barn cats. Though the lavishly furred orange feline had but one eye and one ear, he had the senses and burly strength of an animal in his prime. Evelyn realized too late that he was scaling bales and rafters to the upper loft. She glanced up toward the barn owls. They rested peacefully in anticipation of nocturnal delights. It was just her luck to be discovered due to the cat’s hunt.
The cat was nearly upon her. He paraded up to her and meowed again before climbing into her lap. He was even louder now, kneading her with claws that pricked into her skin.
“Adonis, no,” she whispered. She was sure the Sentinel would somehow instinctively understand his language. The beast couldn't decide whether he wanted attention or a mouthful of feathers.
Philip continued to direct her brother, but Lavinia had gone silent. Evelyn waited in agony, petting the cat and willing him to go away.
At last, Adonis howled and dashed at the owls’ nest. He nearly ripped a wing off the female bird. Finally, their shrieks filling the barn and arresting the lesson, the pair escaped in a flutter of feathers. The cat had sustained wounds to his face, but he pranced merrily from rafter to bale as he descended to the floor. His hunt was successful: he had eradicated the vermin from their nest. Evelyn could almost feel the Sentinel’s eyes upon her. She shuddered even though she remained out of sight.
The trio continued their work for another hour. At last, they departed.
Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief and descended down the ladder, only to find the Felidae witch waiting for her atop a pile of bales. The girl gasped.
“I was just reading—I must have fallen asleep,” Evelyn lied.
Lavinia gave her one long, approving look, a sweet blink of her watchful eyes, and said, “You should join us tomorrow.”
Immediately, the Sentinel turned on her nimble feet and exited the barn. She must have waited ten minutes for the girl to descend. Evelyn gathered herself and shelved her shock for later examination.
In the end, that was that. She was the first to arrive for the next day’s session. Philip’s glare indicated that Lavinia had made the decision on her own, but this hardly mattered. The men sparred with a series of spells and shields, each gathered carefully and interrogated before use, and the women did the same. Evelyn was glowing when they ended the session. The Felidae Sentinel had slipped a wand to her at breakfast. It ran against every rule. A tribunal was probably imminent. Somehow, she still couldn’t say no.
They worked in pairs for the next week. Friday the 23rd ended with Evelyn and Victor sparring together to compare their abilities. They were evenly matched until the end, when Victor pulled a few tricks likely taught on the fringes of regulation. Philip’s dour visage curled into a sly smile as Evelyn rubbed her arm. They had been instructed to use only a select list of curses that caused temporary pain but no harm. Even so, her body stung with the force of each spell.
“Are you okay?” Lavinia rushed to her pupil’s side and examined the bruise spreading on Evelyn’s arm. She glanced at Victor and scowled at Philip. “Well done, Victor. I guess you’ve won.”
It was late. When they stepped outside the barn, the sky was orange with purple clouds that faded into the somber darkness of evening. As they approached the house, Evelyn could smell pipe tobacco on the breeze and knew her father had retired for the evening. Doves and sparrows chirped in the garden, their trills filling the fragrant air. Everything in the world felt a little more crisp after practicing magic. She noticed the vigorous overflow of the lawn surrounding the hay barn where they practiced and wondered if magic had anything to do with that. No, she decided. They were in the throes of summer. Surely it was always like this.
The four of them stayed in the dining room until late in the evening.
“Lavinia, you know something about the prophecy. You know more than anyone has bothered to explain to me,” Victor remarked. They were all in good spirits. Ivar had left a couple of bottles of wine for the group, something Peter Gant would have objected to had he not already gone to bed. As soon as Victor mentioned the prophecy, Lavinia’s expression changed and she pushed her glass away.
“I’ll tell you what it means,” Lavinia said. The equanimity of her features twisted into pure malice. “Yes, I know all about the prophecy. What of it? I’m a little older than you so I remember our history, and besides that, I know who you’re to defeat. He’s the one who killed my parents. Well, not directly, but he ordered the attack that killed my mother, and my father died trying to avenge her. I was eleven when she died, and twelve when he followed. His name was Acheron. Roger Acheron, if you like, a lieutenant of the Durov Circle, our great enemy. You know the river Acheron, from Hades, from Hell?” she spat the word. “And I say was because there’s a slight kink in the prophecy. That man is dead. So perhaps there are others named by the same convention who you must defeat in order to save our world.”
“Blood rivers bind the worlds, their tide stemmed by the Victorious Gant…” Victor mused. “That’s the first part of the prophecy. What of the worlds?”
Lavinia shrugged. “There is a theory that our world is not alone. All myth and legend, of course. Magic can create pockets that warp against our reality. I suppose that’s all that part is.”
“Tell them about Acheron’s capture and escape,” Philip prodded. Evelyn was surprised. She hadn’t expected the melancholy mage to suggest speaking freely in front of her. She didn’t dare meet his eyes, but her heart surged with curiosity.
The Felidae sighed heavily before she continued.
“Aye. He was captured at the end of the war, the greatest villain we ever held. The courts could never charge him, though he was responsible for thousands of deaths, Victor, tens of thousands. The Circle wouldn’t relent even as they began to lose the war. That sorcerer might as well have been death itself. He wasted away in a cell for years, and then one day he simply disappeared into thin air. It was another ten years before we found him. Nadja Woekoff, who was nothing at the time, took on his assassination when nobody would touch it. They thought it was a suicide mission, but she survived and eventually became General Nadja Woekoff. Without her triumph over Acheron, they never would have allowed Felidae to become Sentinels.”