Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  “Do you live with her?”

  “She took me in after the Legion killed Sir Westwood.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry. Who was Sir Westwood?”

  “I was his squire. I was supposed to be a knight, even though I wasn’t all that good with the sword. Didn’t start early enough.”

  Bridget nearly fell tripping over a buried rock. She reached out to him for balance. Her touch made him blush fiercely.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Anyway, warlocks don’t start training until they’re at least thirteen, and sometimes older. So whereabouts do you live?”

  “Mt. Barrow.”

  “That’s so close to us! Wait—how do you live on a mountain?”

  “Don’t know if I should say. Mrs. Stone is a bit … private.”

  “Ah, guess I understand.” Bridget secured her staff to her bag and picked up some snow. “Is she a lightning sorceress then?”

  Augum nodded as she began forming a snowball.

  “What degree is she? How many stripes?”

  He shrugged. “Never asked; doubt she’d show me if I did. She’d probably say something about pride, or that I’m being nosy.”

  “I wonder,” Bridget said, tossing the snowball back and forth in her hands, “if she knows any Spells of Legend …”

  “Spells of Legend?”

  “They’re the most powerful tier of spells. The breakdown goes like this—the first five degrees are known as lesser spells, the next five are mid-range spells, the five after that are advanced spells, and the spells beyond the 15th degree are known as Spells of Legend.”

  She allowed herself to fall behind while Augum wondered what a Spell of Legend would do.

  “So you ever seen someone cast a Spell of Legend?” he asked.

  “Once, at the academy. I attended an advancement ceremony where a bunch of students were awarded a stripe with the Convey Degree spell.”

  Augum opened his mouth to reply when something cold slapped into the back of his head. Bridget laughed and ran off to re-arm. Glad it had not been Robin, he packed his own snowball, shouted for revenge, and returned fire. Soon, amongst giggles and shouts of attack, a full-on snowball battle erupted, ending with everybody splattered in snow—especially Leland, who had taken one right in the face from Robin.

  Cold, tired and hungry, they decided to eat lunch and cleared a space in the snow.

  “Can you tell me more about coming to your school?” Augum asked while feeding his bird, who chirped gratefully.

  Robin, drinking from his waterskin, spit it out in a gush. “You want him to come to our school—? He’d fry the whole class!”

  Leland’s face lit up, cheeks dimpling. “You should really come, Augum!”

  Bridget gave Robin an acid look. “Well, the village is still under construction, Augum. We’re building a small school for general lessons and arcane studies. If you live nearby, I don’t see any reason for you not to attend.”

  Mrs. Stone would probably find plenty of reasons, he thought. “How many students are there?”

  “Twenty or so.” Bridget tore pieces of journey bread for Augum and Leland. “Most of us are from the same class.”

  Robin raised his chin as he helped himself to a chunk from Bridget’s loaf. “We’re all from the academy, you know.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “Yes, I told him that already, Robin, thank you.”

  “I don’t know if I’m cut out for school,” Augum said.

  “Oh, it’s a lot of fun,” Leland said, biting down on his bread, “id is agic kool ixed wid ormal kool!”

  Bridget frowned. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Leland.”

  Leland swallowed the last of his bread. “I said, it’s magic school mixed with normal school.”

  “Ugh. Leland, it’s ‘arcane’, not ‘magic’.”

  “Oh. Right.” Leland gave her a cheerful smile.

  Bridget ruffled his hair. “Little misfit. Anyway, Augum, lessons won’t start for another few days, not until the school is finished and the proper supplies are in order. We’ll have to talk to the Council of Elders about you though. They’ll need to give their consent.”

  “Yeah, they might have a problem with a lightning student,” Robin said, taking a big bite of bread.

  “So I would be the only one studying lightning?”

  “Yes,” Bridget replied, “but the Council might think it beneficial for other students to train with you.”

  “Ah.” He hoped that would indeed be the case.

  “Doubt it!” Robin sang.

  Bridget looked like she was going to say something to Robin, but scoffed instead as if he was not worth the effort. They finished lunch in silence, packed up, and continued south.

  Bridget caught up beside Augum again. “Hey, tomorrow evening the village is going to have a naming ceremony. There’s going to be a feast and everything. Maybe you and Mrs. Stone would like to come?”

  Augum felt a surge of excitement. “That’d be great, but I’ll have to ask Mrs. Stone.” He could practically see her disapproving expression. His hope of going dimmed.

  “Oh, of course. How about we meet at the northwest base of Mt. Barrow then. Say … tomorrow at sunset?”

  “All right.” His insides tingled. Nobody had ever invited him to anything before.

  Leland began to dance and sing in his squeaky voice. “I can’t wait! I just can’t wait! Wait wait wait! It’s going to be so much fun! Fun fun fun!”

  Bridget shook her head. “I swear he likes singing more than arcanery.”

  The day grew long as the group plodded on through the snow. Mt. Barrow loomed ahead, half obscured by low gray clouds dropping fat snowflakes. It was around sunset when Bridget finally spotted a familiar set of trees.

  “This is where we should turn west. We can continue a bit further together—”

  “—yup, this is the spot,” Robin interrupted. “We don’t need to keep walking together—anyway it’d be faster for him to walk straight south from here.”

  They looked at Augum.

  “Um, yeah, I guess it would be faster—”

  “—it’s settled then.” Robin turned to leave.

  Leland, with his grubby wolf pelt and sleepy eyes, turned to Bridget. “Tomorrow can I come too—?”

  “We’ll see,” though she used a tone that suggested it was not likely. “We have to deal with our parents first.”

  Leland’s face fell.

  Augum smiled at Bridget and Leland, his two travel companions and, dare he say it, friends? Like him, they were probably itching for a warm fire and a steaming mug of tea. A hollow feeling in his stomach developed that had nothing to do with appetite. Having never really needed to say goodbye before, he did not know what to say, so he just stood there.

  “Well, see you then,” Leland said, sticking out a dirty paw.

  “Okay,” Augum said, shaking Leland’s hand, before abruptly turning to walk away, feeling stupid.

  “Goodbye, Augum!” Bridget and Leland called after him as they caught up to Robin.

  Okay? Is that all that he could have come up with—just okay? He had not even said goodbye to Bridget, let alone thanked them for helping him with his quest …

  Nonetheless, he felt a door had opened for him, one he had always hoped would appear—a door to friendship. For the rest of the trek home, he recounted his adventure.

  Finally, with his extremities prickling from the cold and his stomach hollow with hunger, he stepped over the lip of Mrs. Stone’s cave. Night had long descended by then, bringing with it a sharp mountain wind. The leaded-glass windows that flanked the door were lit with an inviting orange glow, a glow he suspected only he could see.

  The Little Bird

  Augum stepped inside to find Mrs. Stone snoozing in her favorite rocking chair, a large book on her lap. Shadows generated by the hearth gave the room a gentle sway.

  He closed the door quietly, took off his boots, coat and mitts, and cleared his throat.

  Mrs. Stone
snorted. The book fell from her lap, nearly landing in the fire. “Close the door, Livie, you are letting the cold in.”

  “It’s me—Augum—the boy you sent to Hangman’s Rock.” He wondered who Livie was.

  Mrs. Stone opened her eyes and blinked, wheezing, “My word … Augum … yes, of course.”

  He carefully opened his rucksack. A tired tweet sounded from within.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Stone, but I brought a friend.” He picked up the little bird and brought it to her. “Oh, and I left the package on top of Hangman’s Rock.”

  When she saw the tiny creature, the faintest smile played across her lips. “Ah, yes, the package.” She stood, leaving the chair to rock empty, and picked up the book, titled The Wondrous Mountain City of Semadon: A Comprehensive History. She placed it on a shelf and turned to Augum. “The package was unimportant.”

  Augum’s mouth opened—Robin was right, it was just a bunch of stupid rocks!

  Mrs. Stone’s wrinkles deepened in the shadows cast by the fire. “The true test of your task was to see if you would bring this injured bird home—and you did.” She paused as if to signify the importance of what he had done.

  He blinked. “That was the test?”

  “Indeed. Now, if I may—” She reached over with a veined hand and gave the bird the lightest tap, uttering something unintelligible. For a moment, a small light flared from the tip of her finger. The bird started flapping both wings, chirping joyfully. It flew from Augum’s hands and paraded about the room.

  Augum gaped. “But … how … what’s going on?”

  Mrs. Stone watched the bird flutter about before fetching the kettle. “You see, I shall never again teach someone the arcane art without knowing which way their moral compass points.” She gave him a piercing look. “I shall not make that mistake again.”

  The little bird landed on the iron handle of the door and tweeted sharply.

  Mrs. Stone filled the kettle with water and set it over the fire. “I think perhaps our friend would like to leave.”

  Augum carefully opened the door. The bird gave a grateful chirp and swooped outside.

  “Goodbye, little one,” he whispered, watching it disappear. He closed the door and took a seat by the fire, warming his hands.

  “Mrs. Stone—?”

  “Mmm?”

  “So does this mean I can be your apprentice?”

  “I daresay it does.”

  He tried not to grin too broadly even though his insides were doing back flips. He could not wait to share the news with Bridget. If only Sir Westwood were here! He imagined the grizzled knight clapping his back with a proud nod.

  Mrs. Stone tended to the blaze with her wooden staff. Augum was afraid it would catch fire, but when she removed it from the flames, it was not even charred.

  “The quest was a real adventure, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Was it now?”

  “Oh—yes,” and with no interruption, he spent the next while recounting the events of the previous day—the Legion; the black-robed rider and his lightning rings; meeting his new friends; the storm; the snowball fight; the invitation to go to school at his friends’ village; and finally, the village naming ceremony tomorrow night. He omitted the whole bit about the claw though, fearing a lecture about the dangers of wild arcanery.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Stone had poured them chamomile tea and sat in her rocking chair to listen. She only raised a silver brow when he mentioned the black-robed rider.

  “Indeed, and I know about the village in the forest,” she said at the end of his retelling.

  Augum waited, but she did not elaborate. “So … about the ceremony … can we please go?”

  Mrs. Stone frowned just as he had imagined her doing. “I do suppose the time has come to return to the world again. Well, as long as you work hard in your training tomorrow, I see no reason why not.”

  Augum rubbed his hands together, vowing to work extra hard.

  “As for you going to school there—we will have to see.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” Then he remembered something. “Mrs. Stone, can I, um, ask you a personal question—?”

  Her jaw firmed. “If you insist upon it.”

  “How …” He braced, trying to word the question as delicately as possible. “How many stripes do you have?”

  Mrs. Stone stopped rocking and gave him a look that made him shrink in his chair.

  “Be wary of power, Augum, for power corrupts.”

  He nodded quickly, cheeks burning, and took a sip of tea. Best to change the subject.

  “So … if I went to school with my friends, how would apprenticing with you work?” It was strange to use the word “friends”.

  Mrs. Stone picked up her tea and resumed rocking. “If you studied only with me, I would assume full responsibility of all your arcane schooling. However, if you attended the village school, your apprenticeship with me would focus on the lightning element. Traditionally, a student would have a mentor outside of their regular schooling to guide them through the many subtle intricacies of their element. It has been that way since the Founding.”

  “What’s the Founding?”

  “Unnameables give me patience. Has Sir Westwood taught you nothing about arcaneology?”

  He wrung his hands. “Um, well, Sir Westwood preferred to focus on combat and hunting. I’ve never seen a warlock visit the village, and magic was … not talked about except in children’s stories …” He mumbled the last part.

  Mrs. Stone’s eyes narrowed. “We do not use that word, Augum. We use ‘arcanery’ or ‘sorcery’. ‘Magic’ is for children and parlor tricks and other such nonsense.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He recalled Bridget mentioning something to that effect.

  Mrs. Stone took a sip of tea, gaze returning to the fire. “I suppose now is as good a time as any for you to start learning. The Founding was the most important event in all of recorded history. So important in fact, the calendar starts on that very date, the 1st day of the 1st month of the 1st year—3340 years ago. It was an illustrious affair; the greatest warlocks of the time from the seven primary elements came together and formalized the degrees, signified by arm rings. A degree is now three standard spells that every warlock learns plus—”

  “—one spell from their element; Bridget told me.”

  “Do not interrupt, child.” She glared at him before continuing. “Although anyone could learn spells beyond their degree level, it was deemed that learning them in this order was the most sensible and safe way to master the arcane discipline. It also gave a foundation to the study of sorcery, allowing schooling while simplifying advancement and apprenticeship. Before the Founding, arcanery was wild and volatile. Some southern faiths say the Founding was the moment the Unnameable gods descended on Sithesia to grant humans a portion of their powers. Other faiths have their own version of what happened.”

  She made to get up but he wanted to know more.

  “So when was the Academy of Arcane Arts built?”

  She sat back with a huff. “The academy, at least the one in Blackhaven, was founded about a thousand years ago. It is by no means the oldest, but it has achieved a level of respect few schools could match. Be that as it is, with the Legion in control … well, may the spirits have mercy on the place.”

  “There’re other schools?”

  “Gracious me, child, the capital of every kingdom has one.”

  Augum just stared at her.

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” She stood up with a groan and retrieved a rather large scroll from a shelf, handing it to him. “This is a map of all of the known lands of Sithesia.”

  He unfurled the crinkled parchment, finding a detailed plot of kingdoms and their capitals. He took note of Tiberra to the east, Nodia to the southeast, Canterra to the south, Sierra to the far south, Abrandia to the west, and Ohm to the north. Solia was in the top middle.

  She fetched her staff. “I am an old woman who needs her rest. Tidy up before going to bed.”


  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  She shuffled down the hall. “Tomorrow we begin your training. Be sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Her door closed, leaving Augum with a dying fire but a brightly lit imagination. He rolled up the map, tidied the room, washed up in a basin, and headed off to bed.

  As sore as he was from the journey, he was so excited to be an apprentice warlock that it was quite late before sleep finally took him.

  First Training

  The following morning, Mrs. Stone returned to prodding Augum with her staff. “Up, Augum, up! Your first day of training awaits.”

  He cursed the staff under his breath and imagined flinging it down the mountain.

  After rolling out of bed, he dressed in his itchy burgundy robe and stumbled to the table, eyes puffy and hair askew. A steaming bowl of soup, an apple and tea awaited him. He ate slowly, trying to come to his senses. Even the windows were still dark. At the farm, he hated getting up before the sun.

  “Mrs. Stone, do warlocks always rise so early?” It was an innocent question, but one he regretted immediately.

  “I will not suffer impertinence, Augum. An apprentice does what he is told. This is not a game. Lightning is a serious element that takes concentration and discipline, and discipline is built on many foundations, not the least of which is waking early—”

  He kept his bleary eyes low while she scolded. The way he felt, he would have gladly traded discipline for a few more hours of sleep.

  “—nothing but good sense. Now clean off the table and join me outside.” She strode through the front door.

  Augum, recalling the village naming ceremony was that night, quickly did as she asked. When he stepped outside, a blast of cold wind almost sent him scurrying back in. He drew his hood and bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to stay warm.

  The sky steadily brightened behind the mountain, casting a sword-like shadow that pierced the retreating night. Mrs. Stone gazed at the dark horizon, one hand gripping her billowing robe, the other her staff.

  He was her apprentice, this dignified woman who seemed wiser than everyone at Willowbrook put together. The thought made him stand a little straighter.