by Sever Bronny
The glowing red outline of an irregularly-shaped door appeared beside Mrs. Stone, before rumbling open inward. She slipped inside, followed quickly by her lamp and staff, and then the apprentices. The havoc of the wind died as the door rumbled closed behind them, until there was only a distant muted roar.
“Shyneo,” each of them said. Six palms lit up with a gentle glow, revealing a rocky corridor. They immediately discovered something extraordinary.
“Swords!” Augum exclaimed, crouching to inspect further. “The floor’s made of swords and knives and old weapons!”
“So are the walls,” Leera said in reverent tones, glowing hand gently brushing along an old embedded halberd.
“And the ceiling too.” Bridget raised her palm, illuminating a massive rusted two-handed sword embedded deeply into the rock, and squished by hundreds of smaller daggers, knives, short swords and long swords. Suddenly she jumped back with a squeal.
“What, what is it?” Leera said, taking an attack posture.
“Did you not see that?”
“See what?”
“One of the blades moved in a threatening way.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
Bridget glanced about, but everyone shook their heads.
“You’re seeing things,” Leera said.
Bridget rubbed her eyes. “Huh.”
“Ominous,” Jengo said. He had to stoop to allow his tall frame to fit.
“The steel glitters almost as beautifully as your eyes, dear Bridget,” Bowlander whispered, slipping a hand onto her elbow.
Bridget squirmed away. “A little much right now, my lord.”
“Let’s catch up,” Haylee said, and they strode after Mrs. Stone, who had walked ahead, lightning globe trailing.
The corridor soon opened into a great cavern of the most bizarre ledges, outcroppings and deadly-looking devices Augum had ever seen. Rusting steel glinted everywhere. Not a single space was unadorned. Blade steps jutted from the walls, leading up to sword-embedded platforms that hung from the ceiling, secured by ancient chains. And high above, countless swords hung from the ceiling as thick as bush vines, threatening to drop and spear them.
“Gods, those don’t look very safe,” Jengo muttered, staring at the ceiling. “There’s no cover, either.”
“It’s a Trainer, isn’t it, Nana?”
“An astute observation. It is known as the Blade Room, and it is the Academy of Arcane Arts’ 5th degree Trainer.”
Jengo placed a hand on his head. “This … this is an academy Trainer?” He swallowed.
Augum couldn’t help but smile as he glanced about the strange room. And the more he saw, the more he could make out, for some of the obstacles were camouflaged by the blades as they too were made from weaponry. He knew exactly how Jengo was feeling. Every time he visited a Trainer he felt close to the school he wished he had been able to attend as a normal, unknown student. The Trainers were secret, only shared with those students serious in the arcane arts and loyal to the school, for each academy had its own secret trainers, the locations passed down from Headmaster to Headmistress, one generation to the next.
“It is a marvel, is it not, Bridget?” Bowlander said, glancing about. “This is my first time here too.”
“Which of the Trainers have you been to, my lord?” Bridget asked.
Bowlander gave a nervous laugh. “Truth be told, my dear, none. I was never invited. It seems I was beneath the attention of the administrators. These Trainers are well known for favoritism among the teachers.”
Mrs. Stone glanced at Bowlander with what Augum was sure was mild annoyance, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned to watch the entrance tunnel. “We are late, but it seems they are later still.”
“Who are we waiting for, Mrs. Stone?” Leera asked, sneaking her hand into Augum’s.
Mrs. Stone gave the slightest smile. “You shall see soon enough.”
The trio exchanged excited looks. If Mrs. Stone was smiling, surely this was going to be someone special!
Mrs. Stone let her staff stand free. “Let us stretch.”
That only meant one thing. “We’re going to be training here today, aren’t we, Nana!” Augum said, grabbing his toes and feeling the strain. She loved stretching before training.
Mrs. Stone did not reply, instead extending her arms out, hooking her fingers and pressing her palms outward.
Bowlander sighed and lamely kicked a leg out while the rest of them mimicked Mrs. Stone. They performed a few more stretches before there suddenly came a sharp whistling of wind. The far corridor door had to be opening! They all stood a little straighter as there came the sound of footsteps, along with echoed whispering voices. There was more than one person!
And then they saw numerous hands alight with Shine—orange fire, pale water, faint air, lush earth, cool ice, even crackling lightning and ivory healing!
Bridget and Leera’s hands shot to their mouths in disbelief, Jengo rubbed his hands in anticipation, Haylee gasped, while Bowlander, strangely, paled. As the figures emerged from the tunnel, one by one, their hands also shot to their mouths and their eyes widened. Only then did Augum realize who they were—students from the Academy of Arcane Arts!
The Resistance Strengthens
The students from the Academy of Arcane Arts lined up in two neat lines in order of height, six girls on the left, six boys on the right—one of whom Augum immediately recognized as Garryk Garroom, the boy who had been with them in Bahbell and had to suffer under Robin’s tyranny. The bony olive-skinned and bespectacled boy immediately waved, and the trio eagerly waved back.
Each student wore a red and black vertically-striped necrophyte robe embroidered with the crest of the burning sword of the Legion, and each was whispering to their neighbor in a disbelieving fashion, pointing and gawking at the trio and Mrs. Stone, but also, curiously, at Bowlander.
“Quiet down, everyone,” barked a stern-sounding woman wearing a plain black Legion robe. She appeared to be around fifty years of age and strolled around the students with her hands behind her back. She had a small hawk-like nose, almond-shaped eyes, and alabaster skin. Long charcoal-gray hair was curled up into a tall beehive bun.
“Summers, take that out of your mouth.”
A boy their age wearing a red bandana across his forehead quickly removed a piece of straw from his mouth.
“Fairweather, you know where the line is.”
A girl with ebony skin and multiple facial piercings adjusted her pose. One side of her head was shaved, the other dreadlocked.
Satisfied her pupils were behaving accordingly, the older woman at last faced Mrs. Stone and made a deep bow. “Headmistress. We are deeply honored.”
A few of the students looked confused, the girls mouthing to each other, “ ‘Headmistress’?”
“The honor is mine, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Mrs. Stone wheezed. “May I present Lord Broderick Bowlander—” Many of the student’s faces instantly hardened at the mention of his name. For his part, Bowlander stiffened, looking as pale as a sheet. “—as well as my apprentices, Haylee Tennyson, Bridget Burns, Leera Jones, Jengo Okeke, and my great-grandson, Augum Stone.”
The trio, Haylee and Jengo bowed as the students broke out into more disbelieving whispers. Bowlander only inclined his head. He glanced nervously at Mrs. Stone. Something told Augum he was trying to concoct some kind of excuse to get out of there. He couldn’t wait to find out what was going on.
“Settle down!” barked Mrs. Hawthorne before returning her stern attention to Mrs. Stone’s group. “It is an honor to meet the spear tip of the Resistance. Of course, we know all about you.” Her eyes briefly flicked over Bowlander, whose lips had lost their color. She turned sharply on her heel to face her students. “We are graced by the presence of none other than the legendary Anna Atticus Stone, former Headmistress of the Academy of Arcane Arts and the only known living master.”
The students gasped and whispered with each other. Some gawked, some shook their he
ads in disbelief.
“The Anna Stone?” the boy with the bandana asked. “Can we see the sleeve?”
“Mind that tongue, Summers!” Mrs. Hawthorne snapped so sharply it startled the boy. “Lest you find yourself without one.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Summers mumbled.
Mrs. Hawthorne stared him down before slowly turning back to the trio’s group, that beehive bun so rigid it appeared to have been carved from wood. “May I present a secret selection of top students loyal to the Resistance and the academy.” She once again spun on her heel and nodded at her students. “Step forward one by one and keep it short. Girls first. Let’s go.”
A tiny girl with bronze skin, long black hair and almond eyes stepped forward. “Hi, my name is Kiwi Kaisan and I am fourteen and it is a huge honor to meet you,” she said in a squeaky voice. “I am 2nd degree healing and I like books.” She reddened and stepped back in line. One of the boys quipped, “She sleeps in the library,” and the students chortled.
“Mind yourself, Fleiszmann. Next.”
A girl with short brunette hair stuffed with dragonfly clips extended her arms dramatically. “My name is Laudine Cooper,” she sang with a dimpled smile. “Sixteen, 4th, fire, and I love poetry and acting! Yonder thou shalt behold, for victory this way cometh!”
The girls snickered. “Doofus drama kid,” one muttered.
“Keep it going,” Mrs. Hawthorne said.
A prim-looking blonde shyly stepped forward and curtsied. “Mary Martel. Sixteen, 4th, water. Um … I think you’re all wonderful and I thank you for what you’re doing, it’s really wonderful. So yeah, I’m water, like Leera—who’s so pretty by the way! But I said that already—the part about being water, that is. Uh, you’re all wonderful too!”
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Hawthorne said in a flat voice.
The trio embarrassingly nodded their thanks as some of the girls rolled their eyes. One uttered, “Airhead.”
Another blonde girl, elegant with immaculate skin and a fine scarf, confidently stepped forward. “Beaumont, Elizabeth the Third. Sixteen, 4th, earth. Head of the Student Council. I like fine clothes, parties … and good-looking boys.” She bit her lip in a preening fashion before stepping back in line.
Some of the girls nodded and elbowed her, and most of the boys, particularly a big beefy-looking one, said, “Atta girl, Liz.” The bandana boy said, “Party with you anytime, girl.”
“Euch,” Leera muttered under her breath to Augum while pretending to scratch her nose. “I remember her. So obnoxious.”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips thinned as she shook her head in disapproval.
The ebony-skinned girl with the half-shaved, half-dreadlock hair stepped forward and scowled playfully, piercings glinting. “Alyssa Fairweather. I like fun and mayhem. I’m sixteen and—” She flexed her right arm and four fiery rings flared to life.
“Dangerousss,” one of the boys hissed. “Cool.”
The last and tallest girl stepped forward. She had angular features, chin-length dirty-blonde hair, looked very fit, and spoke in a harsh accent. “Sasha Luganov. I sixteen. 4th. Ice.” She grabbed Alyssa around the neck. “I wrestle!” and the two girls playfully tussled.
“Luganov, Fairweather! Stop embarrassing yourselves and fall in.” Mrs. Hawthorne next nodded at the boys.
The olive-skinned Garryk waved, pushing up dirty spectacles. “Hi, you know me from B-Bahbell,” he stuttered.
“Thanks, W-Wart,” the boy with the bandana said, stepping forward.
“That’s two, Summers, and you’re making me regret choosing you.”
“I’ll behave, Mrs. Hawthorne.” He smiled cheekily, drawing attention to his high cheekbones and shaggy walnut hair. “Hi, I’m Brandon Summers. I’m fifteen, 3rd, earth.” He thumbed at his fellow students. “I’m the bad boy of this bunch,” and then coolly adjusted his bandana while students chortled. “Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Garryk a lot, it’s just … that wart, I mean, come on—” He made a popping gesture that got some of the students howling.
“That’s it, detention, Summers!”
“Anyway, Bridget—date me, will you?” and he was corralled back in line by the boys, but not before flashing her a wink.
“Bad boy likes you,” Leera whispered behind her hand to Bridget, who stood with cherry cheeks. On Bridget’s other side, Bowlander stirred uncomfortably.
A very pale and skinny boy with a pimpled and bored-looking face and unruly hair stepped forward. “Hey,” he said almost inaudibly. “I’m Cry—”
“Louder, Slimwealth.”
“I’m Cry Slimwealth,” he said hardly any louder. “I’m fifteen, and I share the same element as Augum—”
Bad boy Brandon Summers coughed, blurting, “Fry Himself—” and all the students broke out in laughter.
“Shut it, people!” Mrs. Hawthorne said. “Please go on, Slimwealth.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, I share—”
“—you said that already,” Brandon said, making a vomiting gesture. “Just … blurt it out and stop worrying you’ll fry yourself again.”
“Summers! You already have detention—which I guarantee you shall regret—one more and you won’t see daylight for a tenday.”
Brandon traced a finger across his lips, mouthing, “Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne.”
Cry Slimwealth didn’t seem to care. He stood limply and patiently waiting to continue with droopy eyelids, looking like he’d much rather be sleeping. “Yeah, so I come from a stupid tax-collecting family that’s why the rich kids hate me, but I don’t care. Anyway, I don’t really like people and people don’t like me because I’m much smarter than them—”
“—that’s enough, Slimwealth,” Mrs. Hawthorne said with a sigh.
“Awkward,” the ebony-skinned Alyssa Fairweather sang, twirling a dread in her fingers.
“Next,” Mrs. Hawthorne barked. “And you needn’t deliver your life stories, just the basics, we have a lot to cover today.”
A freckled older boy with curly red hair stepped forward. “Isaac Fleiszmann, seventeen, water, 5th. Supposed to be a necromancer by now but I’m good at dodging that idiotic Torment Trial.” He stepped back in line.
Mrs. Hawthorne twirled her wrist. “Good, keep it moving.”
A big beefy boy with a round face and trimmed blonde hair stepped forward. “Olaf Hroljassen. Seventeen, ice, 5th. Uh, love to wrestle and duel. Fought at the arena and saw you battle, Augum. Legendary, man, legendary. Anyway, uh …” He shrugged. “Whatever,” and stepped back in line to giggles from the girls and guffaws from the boys.
The tallest boy stepped forward. He had a thin nose that matched his sallow face and perfectly-parted hair. Some sort of dead furry creature was pompously draped around his shoulders, and a gaudy golden chain hung around his neck.
“Bogdan Szczepanski, from South Abrandia like Sasha,” he said in a thick accent. “Eighteen, 8th, fire. Not necromancer because I fake be bad at necromancy, so bad they no want. Senior tutor and Student Council Treasurer work beside Beaumont.”
Elizabeth Beaumont the Third made a bored face as he stiffly stepped back in line.
“Good,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, holding her hands behind her back. “Mrs. Stone and I have coordinated for some time to make this happen. And I hope Mrs. Stone’s group will forgive me for bringing so many. I am sure it is overwhelming, but we both strongly believe in getting as many of you in the Resistance acquainted with each other as possible.”
She placed her gaze on the trio. “These riffraff students of mine might not want to admit it, but every single one has secretly followed your progress with great hope, as have their families. And they are good kids with good hearts, despite presenting in a manner we shall have to discuss after this is over.” There were some audible groans from the students, ignored by Mrs. Hawthorne. “Many cannot get away from the academy because their families have been forced into the Legion, and thus are practically hostages. From what Mrs. Stone has told me, you are awa
re of this.”
Augum nodded. He remembered all too well how Garryk pleaded to be left behind in Bahbell so the Legion could find him, lest they thought he turned traitor and punished his family for it.
Mrs. Hawthorne placed her gaze on Augum’s group. “I hope you can tell us a bit about yourselves before we begin as we only really read about you in the Heralds, which as we well know, are slightly biased.” There were some snickers at this. “Maybe add something you’ve learned as well.”
Haylee was the first to step forward. “Some of you may remember me—hi, Liz—”
Elizabeth Beaumont gave a wry smile. “Hayles.”
“—if you don’t, that’s okay. Anyway, my name is Haylee Tennyson. I’m fifteen, 2nd, ice. My parents were murdered by the Legion, more specifically, by someone I thought I knew.” She expelled a thoughtful breath. “Guess I changed a lot since you last saw me. Leg doesn’t work right, for one—” She kicked it out, forcing a chuckle. “Broke it climbing the Muranians. Anyway, started a new life and, uh, I’m seeing someone now too—”
“—who, Hayles?” Elizabeth pressed conspiratorially.
“Um. He’s a Henawa—”
Elizabeth almost choked out of shock before catching control of herself under the fierce glare of Mrs. Hawthorne.
“—by the name of Chaska,” Haylee finished, sighing. “Guess the biggest thing I learned is people don’t change unless they want to change,” and she quietly stepped back into line.
Surprisingly, there was polite clapping and plenty of approving nods, though neither came from Elizabeth Beaumont.
Jengo stepped forward with wringing hands. “Hello. Uh, my name is Jengo Okeke. I’m fifteen, Sierran, and I’m tall—” More snickers. “—oh, and like Miss Kaisan, I’m studying healing.”
Tiny Kiwi made a giddy silent clapping gesture.
“I’m only 1st degree,” Jengo continued sheepishly, “but I’ll be taking the 2nd degree test soon. I’m betrothed to an Ordinary and I have a tendency to, uh, think the world is ending,” and he jumped back in line to polite clapping and chortling.