Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  “Thus far, Augum, you have shown that you have the interest and belief necessary to develop your talents in the arcane discipline. However, you must be wary of exercising the lightning element in an uncontrolled manner.”

  Augum recalled the incident with the claw.

  Her eyes fixed upon him. “Therefore, we start your apprenticeship with a note of caution—you must always be careful of unleashing the maximum potential of your element, for it can spiral out of control. As you advance, your element may want to surge wildly like a river bursting its dam. Learn to control the river. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Take note—this warning applies to spells within the lightning element, not to standard spells. The energies are quite different.”

  “What would happen if I let go?”

  “You may inadvertently kill not only yourself, but those around you. Even should you succeed, you may become infatuated with the power. Yes, your talent desires to express itself, but those warlocks that recklessly indulge, risk death and corruption. This brings us to the third principle—expanding on the natural tendencies of your element in a controlled manner is the path to mastery. Repeat it please.”

  He repeated the principle.

  “And do you remember the first principle?”

  “First principle … oh yeah, you create pathways in your mind when you cast spells. The more you cast them, the better you get at it.”

  “Close enough, but in the future, I expect you to know the exact wording. Now, the first elemental spell you will learn is called Shine. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  She held out her palm. Lightning crackled to life around it, snaking between her fingers. He recalled Bridget’s version, a green vine that coiled around her hand.

  “The arcane word is ‘shyneo’. For some time to come, you will have to say the incantation aloud. This spell is a rudimentary beginning. It will teach you control, it can light your way, it can deliver a small shock and, as with all spells, it will grow in strength as you develop your arcane skill. Try it.”

  He held out his palm. “Sheeneo.” Nothing happened.

  “See it before you do it,” she said, lightning reflecting in her eyes.

  He drilled his focus into his palm. “See it before you do it, see it before you do it … Sheeneo.”

  Nothing happened.

  Mrs. Stone’s lightning briefly flared. “Work on your pronunciation. It is ‘shyneo’, not ‘sheeneo’. Say it like you mean it and do not be afraid to shout; subtlety is something that comes much later with practice. Again.”

  Augum gritted his teeth; he did not want to disappoint her. He stretched out his fingers, shut his eyes, and vividly imagined lightning around his palm.

  “SHYNEO!” A tiny bit of heat flashed on his hand. Relieved, he opened his eyes, beaming.

  “A beginning, I daresay. Now I want you to practice until midday, and you ought to be patient as this is your first time casting in your element.” She paced back inside.

  Augum sat down on the lip of the cave and began practicing. It was tedious work—after hundreds of repetitions with different variations of thinking about it, he had only managed to make his palm actually shine twice, and both times the light had been feeble, vanishing quickly. He was surprised how much effort it took for what looked like a simple spell.

  As the morning wore on, it grew harder and harder to concentrate and his thoughts began wandering. More than once, he caught himself mispronouncing the word or even blurting gibberish.

  By midday, a bank of thick gray cloud obscured the sun, darkening the mountain. He was shivering, his voice was a frog croak, and his frozen fingers refused to bend. Still, he felt he had learned a great deal about the spell. Now all he needed was a rest.

  When Mrs. Stone opened the door to inform him lunch was ready, he tried to impress her by holding the light for a count of three. It was barely visible; all she did was grunt before turning her back on him. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath of fresh mountain air, knowing he was a step closer to success and to going to the naming ceremony.

  He was too tired to make conversation over lunch, which consisted of smoked cheese, leg of lamb, buttered spinach and aromatic pine needle tea. He ate slowly, savoring every morsel. It was some of the best food he had ever eaten, and he again wondered just how she had carted it up the mountain all on her own.

  “You shall continue practicing until suppertime,” Mrs. Stone said while reading a scroll titled A Brief History of the Henawa, the Snow-skinned People. “And I most certainly expect results, otherwise you will practice through the night.”

  He understood well what that meant. Even the idea of missing the evening ceremony made him queasy. Needless to say, he took particular care clearing the table and washing the dishes.

  He resumed his outdoor practicing with vigor, hoping to have results that would prove to Mrs. Stone he was a worthwhile apprentice. By suppertime, his head throbbed, hands ached, and his throat felt like sand, but at least he was routinely holding the light for a count of ten. When Mrs. Stone at last appeared to assess his progress, he gave a radiant smile, certain she would allow him to go to the naming ceremony.

  “Yes, and hear how it has begun to crackle?” She steepled her fingers. “That means you are doing it correctly. As you progress in your training, you will be able to control the duration, brightness and strength of the spell; and that applies to your extension, which in this case is your ability to shock. Further, as you progress, you can expect to use less and less energy for casting. You may, with enough practice, diligence and skill, even be able to change its shape.”

  Augum kept nodding, hands behind his back, trying to appear as interested and obedient as possible, but his thoughts were already on the evening’s event.

  “All right, let us leave it there.” She gave a stiff nod and went back inside.

  He desperately wanted to ask if they were going to the ceremony but thought it best to wait; if he appeared too eager, she might not let him go.

  Supper was delicious. Mrs. Stone surprised him with roast rabbit, country potatoes, red pepper hot sauce, and warm sweetened goats’ milk. When he was done, he found himself rushing to clear the table a little too fast, smashing a mug on the floor. His heart sank—he was sure she would cancel going to the ceremony now.

  Mrs. Stone knit her brows. “Please pick up all the pieces and lay them on the table.”

  He hurried to do as he was told.

  “This is a Standard 1st degree spell.” She held both hands over the mess. “Apreyo.” The pieces rolled, jumped and flew together, a few tiny slivers he missed hopping up off the floor. The seams joined and disappeared and the mug soon stood as before. Augum’s mouth hung open the entire time.

  “The spell is called Repair. Although I need not have used the arcane word to perform it, I believe it best for you to hear the pronunciation. You shall learn it soon enough.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He carefully washed the mug in the basin before placing it on its shelf. “And I apologize for breaking it.”

  “Apologize for being careless and hasty. Patience is a skill that transcends, Augum. You will find it as useful in housework as in spellcraft.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” Did she really have to correct every little thing?

  She must have seen his expression. “Mind your thoughts, Apprentice. There are many lessons outside arcanery crucial for your instruction. Too often, mentors teach strictly within the confines of the arcane way. Thus, you have shallow, weak warlocks running about killing themselves in haste. No, I will teach you mastery.” She padded to her room. “And you will learn, Augum. I daresay, you will learn …”

  He plopped down in a chair. So that’s it. He broke one stupid mug and now he could not go. Did she not understand how important going to the ceremony was to him?

  He sat like this for some time, rubbing his temples and staring at the fire, until Mrs. Stone appeared, wearing a snow-white robe finely emb
roidered with silver lightning.

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake stop your sulking, child, are you wanting to go or not—?”

  A Legend Returns

  They departed at sunset. Mrs. Stone hiked with no trace of a hunch, using her staff as a walking stick, feet nimbly navigating obstacles. Augum wore the same patched burgundy robe with its frayed hemp belt. He felt like a bedraggled beggar next to her and wondered if there was a way to acquire new robes. Nonetheless, he was grateful to be going at all.

  He led the descent with extra bounce in his step, keeping a sharp watch on the forest for Leland or Bridget. He would run, but the thought of a reprimand in front of Bridget was enough to make him stop now and then for Mrs. Stone to catch up. She strode patiently along, in no apparent hurry.

  At last, as they approached the snowy pines, he spotted two people waving. Soon he and Mrs. Stone stood before a smiling emerald-cloaked Bridget and a muscular man with a bushy mustache, bulbous nose, and hairy knuckles.

  “Hello!” Bridget said, long hair shining. “Please let me introduce my father—”

  “—Henry Burns, my lady,” the man said with a stiff nod.

  “You needn’t play stern with me, Henry Burns. I distinctly remember catching you trying to melt the wall to the girls’ dormitory when you were this one’s size.” Mrs. Stone gave a quick nod at Augum, who gaped with a puzzled expression.

  Mr. Burns flushed a deep shade of crimson as his eyes grew. “Mrs. Stone—? How did—but surely this cannot be …! Forgive me but I thought you were—”

  “—dead?” Mrs. Stone’s silver brows rose. “Yes, well, although I may look it on certain mornings, I assure you, Henry Burns, I am quite alive.”

  Both father and daughter wore the same slack expression.

  “Allow me to introduce my apprentice, Augum.”

  “Augum,” Mr. Burns said absently, eyes fixed on Mrs. Stone. “Indeed … it’s a pleasure.”

  Mrs. Stone waited a moment before turning to Bridget. “And who might you be, dear—?”

  Bridget gave her father’s sleeve a sharp tug.

  Mr. Burns looked like he had swallowed a bug. “Oh, yes, forgive me, Headmistress—”

  Augum’s mouth opened in astonishment. Headmistress? What was going on here?

  “—this is my daughter, Bridget. Bridget, this is Anna Atticus Stone, Headmistress of the Academy of Arcane Arts.”

  Augum now thought his jaw would hit the snow.

  Mrs. Stone gave a grunt. “I have not been headmistress for some time.” Her eyes fell upon Bridget. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

  Bridget curtsied, giving Augum a meaningful sidelong look, but he was still trying to come to terms with the news. Headmistress of the academy! So that is why she is so strict!

  An awkward moment passed for everyone except, Augum was sure, Mrs. Stone, who stood patiently, robe glittering.

  “I see nothing has changed with you, Henry Burns—still dawdling and making others wait on you.”

  “Yes—I mean no—I mean … my apologies, Mrs. Stone, you are quite right; I forget myself still. Let us depart.” A pink-cheeked Mr. Burns gestured for Bridget to lead the way. She grabbed Augum’s sleeve and yanked him along, the pair walking side-by-side. For a while, the only sound was feet crunching on snow.

  The evergreens drooped thick from winter, the forest barely lit by the fading light of a blood sun. Behind them, Mrs. Stone walked with purpose while Mr. Burns mutely brought up the rear.

  Bridget marched ahead, forcing Augum to catch up. Then she spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Augum, why didn’t you tell me—? Do you realize your mentor is my mother and father’s old headmistress from the academy? And that means she was headmistress to almost all the parents at our village—”

  “I … I didn’t know. Seriously, she doesn’t tell me anything about herself.”

  “Shh, not so loud.” She checked over her shoulder before continuing in a whisper. “That’s not all, your mentor is one of the most powerful lightning warlocks ever known, not to mention she’s also supposed to be—”

  “—dead. Yeah, I heard your father … wait, why’s she supposed to be dead?”

  Bridget shook her head. “I can’t believe you don’t know; it’s a legendary story. She was supposed to have died in the Narsinian War sixteen years ago. She was the one that vanquished Narsus the Necromancer in a duel. The final battle was in the dungeons below the academy, causing a collapse. When they excavated the ruins, they found his body, but not hers. Without their leader, Narsus’ army fell to King Ridian’s forces, and Solia was saved.”

  Augum’s brows travelled up his forehead and lodged there.

  Bridget threw up her hands. “I know, sounds like a fairytale, doesn’t it? Well it’s true. She’s also known for her duels. Supposedly they use them as examples in Arcane Combat class, but you have to be 3rd degree or higher to attend.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, realizing he knew precious little about Mrs. Stone … and history.

  “Augum, your mentor is a martyr, a real heroine among warlocks. She has a statue—a statue!—dedicated to her at the academy, right at the top of the stairs.”

  Augum ducked under a snowy branch. “I … I don’t know what to say, I can’t believe she didn’t mention any of this. I mean, I’m her apprentice!”

  “I know, I can’t believe it either. Then again, from what my parents said, she was a very private person. She hardly spoke to the teachers other than about school stuff, and she wasn’t exactly the student favorite either; really strict and all that. Extremely good at her job though, that’s why she was headmistress for so long—like thirty-five years or something.” She paused. “Augum, do you realize what people will say when they see the Anna Atticus Stone again?”

  He could barely comprehend all the news, let alone have any idea of what people will say.

  Bridget gestured at an unremarkable bunch of trees. “Stop here, the village is just ahead,”

  Augum did not hear anything other than the usual sounds of the forest. “Sure this is it?”

  “Yes, but you have to be officially invited by my father; the elders enchanted it so that you can only see and hear it if invited by a sanctioned resident.”

  Augum was about to tell her that for once he understood, as the cave was like that too, when Mrs. Stone and Mr. Burns caught up. Mrs. Stone peered ahead while Mr. Burns cleared his throat, mustache twitching.

  “Mrs. Stone, Augum—I’d like to formally invite you to our village.”

  Augum reflexively took a step back as the area flooded with the sound of many people talking at the same time. He heard the clinking of glassware, the chopping of wood, the crying of babies, and the bark of several dogs. Fire and torchlight glowed where there was none before.

  Augum noticed a circular building, the roof of which was the branched portion of a massive spruce tree. “Is that a house—?”

  Bridget grabbed his sleeve so he was not left behind. “That’s where the Jones’ live. The house doesn’t go up though—it goes down.”

  “You mean … underground?” He could not stop staring at the strange tree-topped homes, windows lit with an orange glow.

  “Well obviously. Come on, let’s go to the fire.”

  They soon entered a clearing with a large fire in the center surrounded by log benches. Groups of people in every skin tone, wearing all kinds of colorful cloaks, chatted amiably, clustering around twig tables hosting generous portions of fruits, vegetables, meats and drink. A roasted pig sat on a tray near a bunch of distinguished gray-haired people in ornamental robes. The scent of cooked meat mingled with the aroma of burning cedar, the acrid smell of torch oil, and incense. Younglings played in the snow while youths clustered in tight groups.

  Mr. Burns raised an arm, voice booming. “If I can have everyone’s attention here, please!”

  Augum became painfully aware of every eye turning their way. The adults gawked at Mrs. Stone while everyone else s
tared at him.

  Mr. Burns brought his two massive hands together. “Excellent. Now then, it brings me great pleasure to introduce a possible future student at our school by the name of Augum.” He gestured Augum’s way with an open palm. Scattered applause broke out. Some people even bid him welcome.

  “And, to my great surprise, may I introduce his mentor—” Mr. Burns paused and turned to Mrs. Stone, who seemed annoyed, “—Headmistress Anna Atticus Stone!”

  The crowd instantly went into an uproar. Younglings whooped and hollered while youths frantically whispered to each other behind their hands. A woman wearing a large purple hat with a peacock feather shrieked and promptly fainted. A tan-skinned man guzzled an entire bottle of wine before shouting, “Glory to the Unnameables, we’re saved!” One particularly rotund man actually sat down in the snow to cry.

  Some ran into a large tree home and brought even more people out. A new round of hysteria ensued. Everybody was trying to shake Mrs. Stone’s hand and talk to her at the same time.

  Augum, meanwhile, only had a moment to see the impatient look on Mrs. Stone’s face before the crowd surged in on her. He scampered out of the way, trying to avoid being trampled, and jumped on top of a rock. He craned his neck looking for Bridget, finally spotting her animatedly talking to a girl with a blue cloak. He jumped off and found his way to her.

  “Oh, hey Bridget,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Kind of a crazy welcome, isn’t it?”

  “Warned you, didn’t I? Mrs. Stone is a hero to warlocks, and everyone thought she had died. This is … this is huge. Maybe she can stop the Legion.”

  “Hey, yeah!” The blue-cloaked girl said, crinkling her nose. She had dark eyes, shoulder-length raven hair, and just the right smattering of freckles. Her arched brows accented her thoughts as she spoke them aloud. “Could you imagine if the people of Blackhaven found out? They might revolt!”

  Bridget gave a wry grin as she gestured at the girl with both hands. “Augum, meet my very best friend, Leera Jones.”