Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Augum heard other campfire tales too, from the children, from men when they had imbibed too much ale, or from village elders—but only when they thought he was not listening. There were whispers of men moving things with their minds and women controlling the skies. Yet despite the threats warning how any such activity would result in being burned alive at the stake, Augum’s gut told him there was something authentic about Mrs. Stone.

  He tensed, but the question had to be asked. “Mrs. Stone, are you a witch?”

  She gave him a hard look. “Superstition is not welcome here, child.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He wrung his hands, secretly relieved. “So the stories were true …”

  “Stories … humph.” Mrs. Stone turned back to the fire to sip her tea. “Many years have passed since I had an apprentice, Augum. You will have to work very hard. I will not go easy on you.”

  “I understand, Mrs. Stone.”

  She raised a crooked finger. “No, you do not, not yet. Like many others, you may perish in training. The lightning element is the most dangerous of them all. You will have to be strong, determined and brave. You will have to withstand a lot of pain.”

  Augum felt a tingling as memories surfaced—Mr. Penderson caning him for being too tired and hungry to finish the day’s plowing; Mrs. Penderson slapping him in a silent room while the rest of the family watched with smug faces; hiding in a tree like a coward while the brats called, “Here Gutter, here boy!”

  Withstand a lot of pain …

  He cupped the mug with both hands, feeling its warmth. “Is lightning your discipline too, Mrs. Stone?”

  “Lightning is my element within the arcane discipline, but you shall understand all that later. Now, since you will be living here, you will assume duties. The first thing you will do is clean your bedroom.”

  “Clean my bedroom—?”

  Mrs. Stone’s eyes narrowed. “I will not stand for impudence, is that clear?”

  He had not intended to be impudent, he was just surprised.

  “Yes …”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  She stood up, found her staff and leaned on it for support while ambling to her room.

  Augum finished his tea, wondering where she lived. Was this cave-like place in a village? Were there other warlocks or apprentices near? The thought made him race to one of the windows, but it was too stormy to see anything.

  The heavy oaken door rattled from a strong gust. He pondered opening it but changed his mind after realizing the wind would scatter all those scrolls, and he did not want to get in trouble so quickly into his stay. Instead, he headed to his room to begin cleaning.

  He started with the shelves, studying the items as he went along. Most of the tomes were written in cryptic gibberish, the rest in the common tongue—An Annotated History of the Academy of Arcane Arts; The Four Major Nodian Tribes; The Arinthian Chronicles; Historical Summations of the Necrotic Plague, and others. All sounded interesting, and he could not wait to read them, though he wondered if she had any books about adventuring or treasure hunting too.

  He carefully dusted each tome, sneaking a peek now and then but understanding little, before lining them up neatly on the shelves. Concentration was difficult; he was still coming to grips with what she had told him—a warlock, how exciting! Yet a part of him remained skeptical. After all, he had yet to see any real magic, and what if she had lied and it really was witchery? Would he be hung, burned at the stake, stoned to death? He had once witnessed a woman being dragged through the muddy streets of Willowbrook by an angry mob just for studying the stars. Sir Westwood had come to her defense, allowing her escape on bare foot. But the old knight could not save them all—Dap used to gloat about witnessing one boy caned to death for reading some “foreign” book.

  The day dragged on. Mrs. Stone spent most of it snoozing away or reading in the living room. Sometimes Augum overheard her talking to herself, mumbling in some exotic tongue. In the evening, she appeared at the doorway and glanced about, giving the slightest nod.

  “Come. Supper.”

  They spoke not a single word through the entire meal of cured ham, buttered potatoes, bread, onion soup and blackberries. Spectacles perched on the end of her nose, Mrs. Stone kept busy reading a dense scroll titled Discussions on Uniting the Councils in Pre-scionic Times.

  Tired of the long silence, Augum decided to ask one of the countless questions on his mind. He cleared his throat in preparation. Mrs. Stone closed her eyes as if begging for patience.

  All right, now was not the time, apparently. “Mrs. Stone, um, may I be excused?” he asked instead.

  “Mmm.”

  He slouched off to bed, curious but sleepy. Lying there staring at the cavern ceiling, he wondered what a warlock life would be like. His thoughts turned to Mrs. Stone, eventually twisting into the rugged form of Sir Westwood, his favorite willow, clouds …

  The First Test

  Augum woke to the rough prodding of Mrs. Stone’s staff.

  “Time to get up. The day must begin with energy—up, up!” She gave him another jab for good measure. “Your new robe is on the dresser. I have also mended your turnshoes. Dress and join me outside.”

  She departed while he clambered out of bed. He grimaced upon spying the robe, a hideous burgundy with mismatching patches, torn hood, and belt made of frayed rope. After putting it on, he discovered it one size too big, itchy and dusty. Nonetheless, he slipped on his shoes and hurried through the front door, only to gasp at what he saw.

  Mrs. Stone’s cave was high up on the side of a mountain!

  Sharp morning sun shone from behind, casting a gargantuan pyramidal shadow westward. Occasional clouds broke up an azure sky, wispy remnants of the storm. It was windy and the air had the sharp smell of winter. Wet boulders peeked around the lip of the cave entrance. A tiny stream trickled nearby. Wild grasses, brush and scree dotted the mountain below. Near the bottom, the shrubbery graduated to a great forest extending west as far as the eye could see.

  From where they stood, he noticed that the mountain straddled where the forest met the Tallows. Soon as he glimpsed that yellow grass, however, his stomach began churning and he had to look away.

  Mrs. Stone inhaled deeply while scanning the horizon. “Quite the view is it not?” She seemed taller, younger, firmly holding her staff rather than leaning on it for support. Her long hair hung in a braided silver ponytail down to her waist. Her robe billowed in the wind, glittering even in the shadow of the mountain.

  “No one can see this cave, not unless I give them permission.” She placed her gaze upon him. “Are you ready for your first test?”

  He braved a look north at the Tallows; thankfully, the nausea was gone.

  “I am, Mrs. Stone.” He was more than ready; he was excited!

  “Very well.” She raised a professorial finger. “Understand the following: spell-casting is like traversing through a thick forest. At first, there is no path and you have to make one. After, the more you tread on this path, the clearer it becomes. This is the first principle. Do you understand?”

  “Um, I think so, Mrs. Stone.”

  “We shall see. Observe those two small stones on the ground there. Without touching them, bring them together.”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “Do you think me a patient woman, child? Now stop wasting time.”

  He stared at the two stones near the lip of the cave, sitting about a foot apart. He scowled and imagined them hitting each other. Nothing happened. He glanced back at Mrs. Stone.

  “Close your mind from distraction. Concentrate, Augum. Feel their attraction, their natural desire to come together.”

  He closed his eyes and concentrated like never before, groaning from the strain.

  “Mercy, child, you will burst if you continue like that, and I said close your mind, not your eyes. Now, it must be natural yet assertive. Try again. Focus!”

  He wanted to please her, b
ut above all, yearned to believe moving objects with his mind was possible. He refocused on the stones with all his mental might, body quivering. Nothing happened.

  Mrs. Stone sighed, nodded. “Let us leave it there, no sense in carrying on.”

  “Maybe if you could just show me—”

  “No. The belief must come from you.”

  He stared at his feet like a chastened dog; he had failed the test. “I really did try …”

  “Stop this nonsense at once, child. You cannot snivel your way to success; the arcane path is hewn with diligence and toil. One must build up strength of mind and character, yet you declare defeat without even having begun.” She shook her head. “I expect better; I merely needed to see how developed you are, and my conclusion is we simply have to start from the beginning.”

  He felt his cheeks tingle.

  “Now for your training. The rocks that have built up around the cave—you are to place them twenty paces downhill, and yes, you can use your hands. However, as you move them, notice their natural tendency to want to roll. Feel the attraction between them. Concentrate and build fortitude. Am I being understood?”

  Augum gave a hesitant nod. “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  She grunted before disappearing inside.

  He glanced at the countless rocks. Some of them looked very heavy, more like boulders. The task appeared extremely difficult, if not impossible. Sighing, he dragged himself over to the first cluster and picked up a large stone, carrying it twenty paces down the slope before trudging back up for another. It was difficult, even dangerous work, as some of the rocks nearly bowled him over in their eagerness to roll down the mountain.

  He kept repeating this monotonous task until the door swung open. Mrs. Stone emerged carrying a small basket, setting it down by the lip of the cave before examining the slope. She fixed him with a reproachful look.

  “You are struggling. Your attitude is as sour as the look on your face. Fortify your mind, Augum, the work is not physical—it is mental.” She gestured impatiently at the basket. “Breakfast. Eat, work, concentrate.” The door slammed.

  Augum schlepped over to the basket and grabbed two hard-boiled eggs. After devouring them, he pulled out a piece of bread and skin of water. He sat there ripping chunks from the loaf, unable to enjoy the view because he could not make sense of Mrs. Stone’s instructions.

  After breakfast, he stood up and stretched, trying to re-focus. He set sights on a new boulder and began rolling it downhill. He observed how it tumbled a few feet at a time before he had to give it another push. He repeated this with the next bunch of stones, hoping to sense something, anything. After a while, he lost himself in the laborious rhythm of the work.

  At noon, a baking sun shone directly overhead, making him grateful for every cool mountain breeze. Robe itching, he wiped his brow with his sleeve and sat down to admire his work thus far.

  The door swung open and Mrs. Stone appeared, squinting. Augum quickly got up as she examined the area. Into the basket, she deposited dry salted meat, a pair of apples and another skin of water, before shuffling back inside.

  He walked up to the cave, sat on the lip, and ate his lunch in silence, disappointed she was not impressed with his hard-won efforts. When he finished, he turned his attention to the next pile of rocks, vowing to concentrate even harder this time around.

  However, after three more hours of grueling and frustrating toil, he plopped down, panting. What a stupid task …

  He picked up a small stone and flung it at a large boulder. It clunked off. He picked up another one and threw it at the same boulder. This time the smaller rock smashed into smithereens. Finding it satisfying, he reached for a third rock when it slid toward his hand a bit.

  Goosebumps rose on his arms.

  Did that just happen? He reached for it again.

  Nothing.

  He reached and tried concentrating hard, straining from the effort.

  Again, nothing.

  “I order you to come to me, you stupid rock!” but the rock did not move.

  Augum looked around to see if somebody was playing a trick on him.

  Cool mountain winds stirred the shrubs. Probably just his imagination. Time to try something different.

  Breathing deep, he took in the beautiful vista, the sound of the wind, and the trickle of the nearby stream. Relaxed, he calmly extended his hand to the rock and made the tiniest beckoning motion, envisioning it coming to him.

  It slid forward.

  He jumped up and down, whooping and hollering. He could not believe it—he had done the impossible, something straight out of a children’s tale! He was so excited that he tripped on his robe and tumbled downhill, stopping in time to see Mrs. Stone watching from the lip of the cave.

  “Mrs. Stone, I did it!” he shouted between coughs, “I made a rock move—!”

  “Maybe you are not destined to carry rocks around the rest of your life after all. Are you certain you would not prefer tending to people’s horses and scrubbing their boots? It is what happens to those that do not progress far in degree.”

  “No, Mrs. Stone, definitely not!” He stood up and brushed himself off, eager to try again.

  “Then you ought to practice. I shall return in a few hours to test you—if I do not see movement, you will be doing this all day tomorrow.”

  He quickly began on a new pile of rocks and, although he still had to use his hands, was occasionally able to lighten the load with his mind. The amount of mental energy involved was enormous though and he almost preferred the physical labor. Nonetheless, by the end of the day he felt he was beginning to understand the essence of mentally pushing and pulling rocks.

  At dusk, Mrs. Stone stepped outside. The dying sun bathed her in crimson light as she drew a shawl around her shoulders. It rippled in the cold wind. “Come up here, Augum.”

  Shivering, he did as he was told, hoping to pass the test before the first snow. As it was, he had a splitting headache and every muscle was sore.

  “Do you feel you have made progress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone. Now let us see if you have indeed learned something today. Those two stones you failed moving this morning—try moving them again.”

  Augum gazed upon them with hawk eyes. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he willed them to move.

  Nothing happened.

  “I see. It appears you will be doing this again tomorrow.” She turned to go back in.

  “No, wait—! I mean … please wait, Mrs. Stone.”

  She stopped at the door, sighing.

  Augum steeled himself. A moment of silence passed as he stared at the stones dispassionately, seeing them for what they were—two stones he could bend to his will. He calmly raised his arm and made a tiny gesture.

  They smashed together, obliterating to smithereens.

  He collapsed, head throbbing, a gigantic grin on his face.

  Mrs. Stone’s silver brows rose as she observed him. “Arcanery consumes energy through focus. The sharper and stronger your mind grows, the less energy you will expend. With practice, your ability to concentrate will improve, allowing you to cast spells of a more complex nature. This is the second principle. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  “You are quick to embrace the path, Augum. Consider yourself lucky. You have passed your first test. I will test you two more times before I decide if you are worthy to be my apprentice.” She turned to go.

  “Mrs. Stone, wait—what’s the name of the spell?”

  “Telekinesis. Now, supper awaits.” She padded back inside leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Telekinesis. A strange word for a strange spell. Then a thrill ran up and down his spine; he actually moved something with his mind!

  His stomach groaned as he caught the scent of roasted turkey. If not for his hunger and the biting cold, he would have gladly slept then and there.

  He trudged inside, sat at the table and heartily ate spinach, boiled
carrot and, of course, a succulent roasted turkey, washing it all down with freshly squeezed orange juice, something he only had once, and in summer. He wondered where Mrs. Stone managed to get fresh oranges, or for that matter, how she even brought food up the mountain. Seeing her immersed in a big book, he decided not to ask.

  After another wordless meal, he cleaned up, bid Mrs. Stone good night (“Humph”), and went to bed early, sleeping like a bear in winter.

  The Second Test

  Mrs. Stone once again woke Augum by jabbing him with her staff. “Up, up!”

  Bleary-eyed, he dressed and proceeded to the table. Mrs. Stone sat sipping spiced tea while reading a piece of parchment. Waiting at his place was a plate of bacon, eggs, salted onions, tomatoes, and a mug of steaming tea.

  He took his seat. “Good morning, Mrs. Stone.”

  She grunted, turning over the parchment.

  “Mrs. Stone, um, how do you think I did on my first test?”

  She did not glance up. “Desperate for admiration, are we?”

  “No, I just thought—”

  “It took my last apprentice three days to move a pebble with his mind.”

  “Oh.”

  “Vion was successful in his studies, but in the end proved … a disappointment.”

  “Can I ask why he proved a disappointment, Mrs. Stone?”

  She raised stern eyes. “Let us dispense with the prattling, child, there is much work to be done today. After breakfast, you are to clean and tidy the living room here. I will be making a trip to town for supplies and news. Upon my return, we shall conduct your second test.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone …”

  They finished eating in silence. After breakfast, she put on a thick white robe fringed with gray fur, grabbed her staff, and stepped out the door.

  He wondered which town she referred to. Blackhaven had to be a three-day walk, Antioc five or more. He peered at the mess surrounding him before grabbing a dust cloth.

  A few dull hours later, he rewarded himself with a break, opening the front door for some air. The year’s first snow had come at last, obscuring the horizon. He stepped out and took a series of deep breaths, until a chill wind forced a retreat.