Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

  “I see.”

  Arcanists could heal themselves of many injuries, but wounds that had happened before bonding were considered permanent. Like Illia’s missing eye. In theory, there were creatures with magics capable of repairing such wounds, but they were rare.

  Perhaps the Grand Apothecary, Gillie, would be able to help my father?

  The sky shifted from blue to blazing orange the longer we traveled. I had read a book once that said desert sunsets were unlike any others in the world, and now I understood why. The vibrant scarlet of the dying sun soon bled into purple, creating a sky that could only be described as an evening rainbow.

  With my head craned and my attention on the colors, I didn’t even notice the people around me. I ran into someone and muttered an apology. They started out angry, but became apologetic upon seeing my arcanist mark. I had become accustomed to the deference, though I considered it more a failing on my part than a sign of respect. I wished people wouldn’t fear me.

  And now with the plague…

  I crossed my arms over my chest.

  The winds picked up and a chill washed over the area. One second it had been too hot to think properly, the next second the temperature had plummeted to pleasant levels.

  “We’re almost there,” Jozé said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s an entrance to the underground right over here.”

  “Underground?”

  “You heard me. It’s where the khepera live. Just come look.”

  Another gust of wind and goosebumps sprouted across my body. I wasn’t sure how, but it was already cold enough that I wanted a coat.

  It didn’t take us long to reach an open area of the street. It was circular and wide, like it had been built to accommodate a marketplace, but no stands or traders were around. Instead, there was a single building in the middle of the circular plaza—open and with no door. It housed a stairway leading straight down.

  “There it is,” Jozé said.

  No one approached the building or attempted to go down, they just detoured around it. I would’ve said they were pretending it didn’t exist, but no one even looked at it, like it was bad luck.

  “Where does it lead?” I asked. “I know you said underground, but is there anything down there?”

  “The Grotto Labyrinth.” Jozé stepped close to the wall of a nearby building and leaned against it, giving his bad leg a rest. “The khepera live in the center. Their trial of worth involves navigating the maze.”

  An underground maze intrigued me more than I wanted to admit. It reminded me of all the tales I had read about arcanists of the past—all the adventures people would go on to meet their eventual eldrin.

  Jozé narrowed his eyes. “What’s that look on your face?”

  I rubbed at my jaw, unaware I had been smiling. “Oh, uh, the Grotto Labyrinth just reminds me of Master Arcanist Quinna. She navigated the maze-like mines of a saline dragon as part of her trial of worth. It was an epic tale.”

  “Huh…”

  “And she had to do it blind because of the dragon’s unique breath.” I tried to contain my excitement, but it started to spill over as I remembered the entirety of the adventure. “She actually used the echoes of her own voice to find new passages to explore.” When my father’s expression remained stiff, I forced a chuckle and rubbed at the back of my neck. “It’s not important. Forget I even mentioned it.”

  A long moment stretched between us.

  Jozé tapped at his belt, his gaze distant as though he were momentarily lost in deep thought. He didn’t dwell long, and before I could remark on his pensive state, he said, “Well, the Grotto Labyrinth is a thing of legend. I’ve never looked for myself, but supposedly there are traps and riddles down there.”

  “Truly?”

  “Like I said, they were made for the khepera trial of worth.”

  I mulled over the information and decided to get a better look. With energy in my step, I walked across the circle plaza and headed straight for the entrance to the Grotto Labyrinth. It would be legendary to solve puzzles and avoid traps, all to find a mystical creature waiting at the center.

  My father grabbed my elbow and held me back. “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m going to investigate,” I said.

  “Hey. Look around.”

  The people of the city were giving us odd looks. Three soldiers dressed in light leather—one woman and two men—stood around the edge of the plaza, their eyes on me. When they noticed me staring, each placed a hand on the hilt of their scimitars.

  “The Grotto Labyrinth is sacred,” Jozé said under his breath. “It’s a crime to mill about near the entrances, and it’s a bigger crime to enter when you shouldn’t. We don’t need that kind of attention.”

  “But I thought the khepera weren’t around anymore?”

  Jozé moved us away from the entrance. The soldiers relaxed, but they didn’t stop their staring. Once we made it to the opposite side of the street, the sun had fully set, blanketing everything in an oppressive chill. I had never been in the snow, but I imagined this was what it felt like. I rubbed at my arms, my breath becoming visible. Even the wootz cotton couldn’t protect me from the icy wind.

  Oil lanterns and streetlamps were lit, giving the city a warm glow, despite the decreasing temperature.

  “Listen,” my father said, “for the last two decades, no one has found any khepera, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they don’t live in the labyrinth.”

  “Adelgis’s father said they’re not here anymore.”

  “Theasin Venrover? The famous artificer?”

  I nodded.

  Jozé waved away the comment. “That man can drown in the abyss. He’s exactly the kind of arcanist I despise. Artificer. Ha. I’m a better artificer than that man.”

  “I thought your title was blacksmith?”

  “I work well with metal,” Jozé said, his voice terse. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t use other materials for my trinkets and artifacts. Men like Theasin are the height of pretentious. His whole damn family has irritated me at one point or another. Except for your friend, I suppose.”

  “Theasin is fairly knowledgeable about mystical creatures, even if he’s unpleasant.”

  Although I tried to hold it back, my teeth chattered on the last few words. My father lifted an eyebrow and then took hold of my hand. His phoenix magic reminded me of Zaxis—just better. The heat that radiated from my palm to the rest of my body chased away the cold in an instant. He released me, but the magic remained, fighting back the weather.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  “Trust me, boy. As someone who has witnessed people doing devious things to get their hands on special mystical creatures, I’m willing to bet my life there are still khepera in the Grotto Labyrinth—they’re just being kept from people.”

  That thought hadn’t yet crossed my mind, but now that my father mentioned it, I could see it being a possibility.

  “Khepera don’t actually die,” Jozé said. “Well, they do. It’s just, once they do, they’re reborn at the center of the Grotto Labyrinth years later, even if they died halfway across the world. These creatures don’t breed, you see. There’s a finite number.”

  “Do their arcanists stay arcanists while the khepera reform?”

  “No. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. The khepera die, and then they’re reborn without their old memories and names, though the folklore is that a piece of their old arcanist is always with them. The old ladies in the market call the khepera the wise men of mystical creatures because they have experiences and personalities from all time periods.”

  I hadn’t heard any of that before. My excitement to investigate the Grotto Labyrinth increased. I stared at the entrance, wondering if I could just shadow-step my way inside. That way no one would see me. If the place was sacred, I wouldn’t damage anything, but if the khepera’s renewal magic could cure the plague, it was worth breaking a few traditions to find
one.

  “Did you ask about the khepera because you wanted an adventure?” Jozé asked.

  “I think the khepera can help me.”

  Screams and shouts echoed down the street. Adrenaline rushed into my system, and I turned, tense from head to toe. The crowds on the brick road jumped out of the way of a fleeing individual—a man running toward us. He ran at a reckless pace, terror fueling his speed rather than purpose. Was someone trying to harm him? His baggy trousers and loose shirt fluttered around his body, both marked in wet crimson. He was bleeding.

  The soldiers in the plaza moved to defend the entrance to the Grotto Labyrinth, not to deal with the bloody man.

  I ran forward. My father tried to reach out and grab me, but he missed.

  “Volke!”

  When I got within twenty feet of the running man, I opened my mouth to offer my aid, but an odd realization washed over me, and I held my breath.

  The man was plague-ridden, just like me.

  I just… I just knew. Like a whisper from a dream, the information entered my thoughts, and my very blood understood it to be the truth.

  I hadn’t been able to sense that before, not when the wyvern had landed on the deck of the Sun Chaser, so why could I feel it now? The knowledge disturbed me, and my sense of urgency drained away, leaving me confused.

  The man—an arcanist with the mark of a grifter crow woven throughout the star—continued running into the plaza. When he passed me, he looked over, no doubt sensing me as well. I dove back into the shadows, behind people on the edge of the street. A part of me wanted to attack him, but another part of me drowned in hesitation, caught off-guard by this new revelation.

  Thankfully, the grifter crow arcanist was being pursued.

  A man wearing a black cloak dashed through the street, a bizarre scythe in his hands. It didn’t look like a functional, well-kept weapon. The blade—curved and at least two feet in length—appeared rusted and chipped. The ebony hilt seemed worn from time, scuffed at the sides and base.

  And chains hung around the man’s waist, like an impractical double set of belts.

  Although the outfit seemed damn near ridiculous for combat, I recognized the many elements. The individual chasing the bleeding man was a reaper arcanist. Reapers, like knightmares, merged with their arcanists, becoming a single entity that lived and died as one. Unlike knightmares, reapers were creatures purely excited and fueled by death.

  Once the reaper arcanist neared his fleeing target, he held up his hand and evoked terrors. I knew the feeling because knightmares could do the same, but I was immune to fear effects. The citizens of New Norra weren’t, however. And neither was the grifter crow arcanist.

  People cried out and cowered away. The fleeing arcanist tripped on a brick and collapsed to the ground, practically sobbing the entire time. I ducked down, trying to stay out of view, irrationally afraid the reaper arcanist would discover I was plague-ridden. But I also wanted to see the conclusion of this pursuit.

  It wasn’t a fight. Stabbing a man in the back while he cried on the ground came closer to straight murder, but I at least knew why the reaper arcanist had had to do it.

  I backed away from the people around me, well aware I probably deserved a similar fate.

  The reaper arcanist’s scythe glowed a sinister red as the plague-ridden man twitched and died at the end of the blade. A name burned itself into one of the links of the chains hanging from the reaper arcanist’s waist, blazing with each letter one at a time as the dying man experienced his final breaths.

  The moment the grifter crow arcanist died, his body shriveled, like a husk drained of blood, and that disturbed me more than the rest of the process.

  The terrors in the area lifted, allowing the men and women around us to get to their feet. Most hustled away, obviously done with the encounter, but some lingered nearby, whispering questions of concern and bewilderment.

  “Have no fear,” the reaper arcanist said, his voice a mix of his and his eldrin’s—somehow dark and slimy at the same time. “I’m a master arcanist with the Huntsman Guild. I’m here to help clear your streets of the arcane plague.”

  His reaper separated from him. The cloak, scythe, and chains fell away and then floated to his side, as if an invisible person wore them now. The hood of the cloak “looked” from side to side, as if scanning invisible eyes over the crowd. Although it had no hands, it held the rusty scythe close and even twirled it twice. The blood from the kill had long since vanished.

  The man held up both his hands and faced the largest group of citizens.

  I recognized him.

  He had a thin mustache and goatee, both as black as his slicked-back hair. His narrow frame was wiry from combat, and he wore light armor, but it was the condescending and somewhat arrogant way he spoke that gave away his identity.

  Jevel Balestier.

  He had been at the Sovereign Dragon Tournament. His apprentices had fought us in the tournament, and he had been the one obsessed with fighting Master Zelfree and winning in one-on-one combat. Although I didn’t really know this man, I already disliked him.

  How was he already in New Norra? Had he taken an airship as well? Probably not. He’d probably left Thronehold during the tournament, after he and his apprentices had lost, days before the assassins and the commotion.

  People around us muttered quiet thanks and a few cheered, but there wasn’t a celebration.

  “What shall we do with the body, my arcanist?” his reaper asked, its voice dark and hollow.

  “Take it with us, Ruin,” Jevel snapped. “The fools around here won’t accept a name on a chain as proof.”

  “As you wish.”

  The reaper picked up the body, but it was like watching an invisible person. The corpse “floated” up into the air, held by phantom hands. It was flung over Ruin’s shoulder—over his cloak—and the reaper secured it in place with an invisible arm.

  Someone touched my back.

  I whirled around, ready to fight, but I stopped myself when I realized it was my father.

  “We should return to the Sun Chaser,” he said. “I don’t want any run-ins with guild arcanists.”

  13

  Joining The Frith Guild

  My father’s phoenix lit up the cold sky as she flew back to the Sun Chaser.

  Jozé and I walked at a casual pace, though my heart continued to hammer. The streets of New Norra thinned and quieted, creating a peaceful atmosphere, a harsh juxtaposition to my thoughts. Nothing calmed me, but I kept my dread hidden well. Occasionally, I could hear music wafting up from the far side of town—all the way at the ports—which surprised me. In the city of Thronehold, it was too lively at all points in the night to hear things so far away.

  “Do you feel any different?” Jozé asked. “Now that you’re sick?”

  No one was around, but I still tensed when he said it aloud. “I haven’t noticed anything.” Except for the feeling I’d had before the man had died—how I’d somehow known he had been plague-ridden. That still haunted me.

  “I know I haven’t been there for you in the past.” My father said the words without looking at me. His voice had an edge of seriousness. “So, you might think these words are empty, but I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

  At first, I wanted to dismiss the statement and brush it aside with a quick thank you. But there was a chance he could help me. He knew about mystical creatures. He made trinkets and weapons and artifacts. And if he came through for me now, perhaps the years he had been away could truly be forgiven.

  “That’s why I want to find a khepera,” I finally said. “Adelgis thinks they might be able to help with… my problem.”

  “Is that right?” Jozé let out a quick exhale. “Well, this may be a bit of good news. Vethica has been investigating the khepera for years now—every time we stop in the city, or anytime she finds an arcanist who knows about mystical creature legends.”

  “Do you think she’ll help me?”

&nbs
p; Jozé laughed. “No.”

  I frowned.

  My father held up a hand and quieted himself. “Once she bonds with a khepera, I’m sure she’ll get a lot friendlier to the idea of helping, but until then, she can be quite abrasive. And she hates plague-ridden arcanists and mystical creatures.”

  Who didn’t? But I didn’t ask anything further.

  We reached the sandstone steps to the city wall. Before Jozé started climbing, I took hold of his arm. Now that it was night and darkness surrounded us, I wanted to test the strength of my magic.

  I motioned to the stairs. “Hold your breath.”

  I didn’t know if he complied, because I didn’t wait for acknowledgment. I stepped straight into the shadows, shifting us through the inky void, slithering up the steps, and exiting on top of the wall. Relief washed over me when I realized I had successfully taken my father, but the toll it took hurt me. Not only was I second-bonded to my eldrin, but taking someone else into the shadows was like doing jumping jacks while running—it wore me down fast.

  Jozé staggered, but caught himself before falling. He glanced around, momentarily confused by our surroundings. “Interesting… I didn’t know you could do that with other people.”

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

  We made our way across the wall until we came to the sky port steps. Again, I took my father through the shadows, both to practice and because he seemed genuinely impressed. The moment we were aboard the Sun Chaser, Adelgis hurried across the deck until he reached me.

  “Volke,” he said, almost breathless. “We have several problems.”

  I glanced around the airship, half expecting to see a plague monster somewhere nearby. Instead, the deck was quiet. A few crew members secured the rigging or untied empty barrels and readied them near the gangplank. Lanterns had been positioned near the railings and doors, illuminating the ship enough for simple work. No one was in distress—they appeared more tired than anything else.