Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1)

by Sever Bronny

  Those words muted the pain and sharpened his senses. “I’m coming!” He struggled with the thorn bush, the branches raking his flesh and snagging his robe. The bush finally released him onto snowy ground. There he found Bridget sitting against a frosted boulder, face wet with tears, left arm limp by her side. Leera’s head lay in her lap. Blood covered both girls.

  “They’re all gone …” Bridget whispered, rocking back and forth while absently sweeping raven hair from Leera’s pale forehead.

  Augum glanced around. The clouds had cleared, revealing a vast sky filled with brilliant stars, partially obscured by a gargantuan shape above them. “I think we’re on Mt. Barrow.”

  Bridget only kept rocking. “They’re all gone …”

  “Come on, we’ll take her to Mrs. Stone’s cave.” He nodded at the mountain. “It’s up there. Can you walk?” He paused, gentling his voice. “Look at me, Bridget. Can you walk?”

  Her eyes wandered over to him. She winced. “Yeah, but I think my arm is broken.”

  Horses whinnied in the distance. Bridget began to breathe rapidly. “We have to go—” She gritted her teeth as they hooked Leera’s arms around their necks.

  A general hollow feeling began as they climbed. Was this somehow all his fault? Were they all dead because his father, the Lord of the Legion, had come for him? Stomach-churning guilt and prickling shame gnawed at him until he stumbled, causing Bridget to cry out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, hoisting Leera’s weight onto himself while Bridget recovered. Thereafter he resolved to concentrate on the climb.

  Bridget’s face hardened with determination. “I’ll be fine …”

  Augum glanced back at the forest, spotting the occasional flicker of torchlight.

  “They’re looking for us, aren’t they?” she asked.

  He did not reply.

  The ascent was grueling, magnifying every scratch and ache. They finally managed to slip over the lip of the cave, the sound of distant commands echoing through the crisp night.

  Bridget peered around the hollow, panting. “There’s … nothing … here.”

  Augum stared at the door and windows before grasping the problem. “Bridget Burns, Leera Jones—I formally invite you to my home.”

  Bridget exhaled. “I see it.”

  He wondered if the enchantment would protect them from his father and the Legion. Hadn’t protected Sparrow’s Perch though, had it?

  They opened the door and shuffled in sideways, Leera flopping between them. Augum searched for any sign of Mrs. Stone. The coals hissed; otherwise, the place was silent. “Mrs. Stone—?”

  No response.

  They lay Leera on the old settee. Wincing, Bridget sat down beside her, nursing her arm.

  He scanned the room for ideas. “We’ve got to revive her somehow.”

  “Boil some water,” Bridget said through gritted teeth.

  Augum quickly built up the fire, filled the kettle, and skewered it over the flames.

  “Have any Stinkroot?” Bridget asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Check your stores; you’re looking for brown and lumpy roots with small red welts all over.”

  He shot over to Mrs. Stone’s pantry and started rummaging. At last, he found a jar of roots that seemed to fit the description.

  “This it—?”

  “Yes, grab one and grind it up.”

  Augum found Mrs. Stone’s mortar and pestle and began grinding. He worked as fast as he could, expecting the door to be broken down any moment. The water was boiling when he finished.

  “Okay, now what?”

  Bridget’s voice trembled with pain and sorrow. “Put the stinkroot in a mug, pour water in, and place it under Leera’s nose.”

  He did as she asked, almost gagging when he poured the water. It smelled worse than rotten meat left out in the sun for days. He carefully walked over, holding it at arm’s length. The instant he placed it near Leera’s nose, she gasped and nearly vomited.

  “Damn … what is that!”

  “Stinkroot,” Bridget said, pinching her nose.

  Leera collapsed back onto the settee. “Ugh … disgusting …”

  Bridget gestured to the hearth. “Pour the rest in the fire.”

  He chucked the contents into the hearth; flames leapt as if the stuff was lamp oil.

  “What happened? Where are we?” Leera asked.

  “We’re in Mrs. Stone’s cave.” Augum lit some candles and went back to make some mint tea.

  Leera blinked. “Well, what are we doing—” Her hands suddenly shot to her mouth. Tears began rolling over her fingers. “Mum … Dad … we have to go back!”

  “We can’t,” Bridget mumbled. “They’re looking for us.”

  Leera covered her face and wept. Bridget cradled her close.

  Augum felt a wave of nauseous guilt sweep over him. He slumped into Mrs. Stone’s rocking chair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. The words sounded weak and useless. In a single evening, he had gained a father, a great-grandmother, and an identity, while Bridget and Leera had lost everyone and everything in their lives—their parents, friends, family, homes, even pets; they were the orphans now. What were words in the face of all that?

  He stared into the fire.

  They sat like this for a while, the scent of stinkroot and mint mingling with burning pine. Augum’s thoughts strayed to his great-grandmother. The last memory of Mrs. Stone was that look she gave him before being overwhelmed by a swarm of soldiers. She was dead and the only person in his family now was the Lord of the Legion, a murderer. A heavy, anxious feeling settled in his stomach.

  Suddenly there was a sound at the door. Everyone froze. Augum glanced at the corridor, wondering if there was a secret escape passage back there. Then he saw something spark out of the corner of his eye.

  The sword …

  He snatched it off the wall and unsheathed it, placing the scabbard quietly on the table. The iron handle turned and the door creaked open.

  Leaning against the frame was Mrs. Stone, breathing heavily, her once gleaming robe bloody and torn. Something small was in her hand.

  The sword clanged to the floor as he ran to her. “Mrs. Stone, you’re alive—!”

  She took his elbow and allowed him to walk her to the rocking chair.

  “Mrs. Stone—?” Leera said in between sobs, “any word of … of our families?”

  “This is my friend, Leera Jones,” Augum said. Suddenly the word friend seemed too strong. They would never be his friends now …

  Mrs. Stone motioned for Augum to pour her some tea, which he did, grateful for something to do. She took the mug and peered softly at the girls, who watched her with desperate hope in their eyes.

  Her words were quiet. “I am so sorry …”

  Leera and Bridget cried out as if they had been struck, immediately hugging each other tight, shoulders heaving.

  Mrs. Stone continued in a distant voice. “Lividius murdered them.”

  Augum went up to the girls. This time it was his turn to place a hand on each of their shoulders and squeeze. He thought of Bridget’s father and his smiling bushy moustache. He thought of Leera’s kindly mother and her quirky drink. He thought of Tyeon, Leland, their nanas, Ms. Drumworm—all those people … and then he remembered Sir Westwood and flames devouring willow trees.

  “Were there any survivors?” Leera finally asked between heaving sobs.

  “There were three,” Mrs. Stone replied, eyes upon the fire. “The mother, father and son of the Goss family. They were badly burned when I saw them to the forest. I stayed behind to give them a chance to escape. Beyond that, I am afraid I do not know.”

  Bridget sniffed. “Leland …”

  Leera’s face darkened. “Everyone died, but the Scarsons and the Tennysons slithered away …”

  After a long silence, Augum wanted to ask the question that was eating at him—why had she not told him the Lord of the Legion was his father? But in consideration of the girls, he thought bette
r of it.

  Mrs. Stone set her mug down, eyeing Bridget. “You are wounded.”

  “Her arm is broken,” Augum said.

  Mrs. Stone groaned as she stood. She shuffled over, reached out with an open palm, closed her eyes, and said a soothing incantation. A dull glow spread over Bridget. When the light faded, Bridget’s weeping ceased.

  “Thank you,” Bridget said in a meek voice, rubbing her arm. “I feel … peaceful. I didn’t know anyone could arcanely heal outside the healing element.”

  “The peace you feel is temporary. Your grief will return. As for healing, it is difficult but not impossible to learn. I have been fortunate in my long years to acquire a few select skills and spells beyond the scope of classical training.” She then passed her palm over Leera and Augum in turn, healing their cuts and bruises, before finally doing the same to herself. Augum, suddenly calm and relaxed, thought it felt like taking a warm bath.

  When she finished, Mrs. Stone padded back to her rocking chair, gesturing at her mug. Augum refilled it with tea and handed it to her.

  “Mrs. Stone—” he began, unable to bring himself to call her Nana yet, “—when we were in that bubble, the last thing I remember was seeing you overcome. How … I mean, how did you escape?”

  “With this.” She revealed what was in her hand—the small blue sphere that once topped her staff. “I, too, have a scion.”

  Augum took a seat at the dining table to give Bridget and Leera space. “The same thing as my father?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Stone let go of the sphere. It hung in the air, storming over with dark clouds, flashing noiseless lightning, and emitting a quiet hum.

  The trio sat transfixed.

  “When my staff shattered and my arm went dark, I became powerless. It was quite challenging retrieving the scion as it rolled between soldiers’ boots.”

  “Is it some sort of ancient artifact?” he asked.

  “Indeed it is—powerful and old.” The orb returned to her veined hand, clouding over completely. “Scions were forged by a people many believe died off 1500 years ago.”

  “The Leyans …” Bridget said. “We talked about them in class a little bit …”

  “Yes. The Leyans from the plane of Ley were an ancient sect of humans that had long life spans. They were a quiet and reclusive people, whose primary purpose was to safeguard ancient arcane knowledge. Not long before they disappeared, they faced a great genius who discovered and explored the arcane ways of death and rebirth, becoming a legendary necromancer.”

  Mrs. Stone paused to take a sip of tea. Augum could not stop staring at the scion. It suddenly appeared dangerous, as if it would attack at any moment; and the casualness she treated it with made him edgy.

  “His name was Occulus and he became quite powerful, raising armies of undead that followed his every command. He equipped them with potent arcane weapons and armor, stolen from the Leyans.” Her gaze went to the sparking sword on the ground. “His ambition was terrible; he coveted Leyan secrets, their artifacts and, above all, their lifespan, having failed to extend his own with necromancy. You see, the Leyans lived for hundreds of years, the oldest among them a millennium; but they also kept their numbers small, accepting members by invitation only, for they could not bear children. They were guardians of ancient arcanery, passing their knowledge from generation to generation in this manner for eons.”

  She paused, smoothing her bloody robe, eyes passing over the shelves of tomes and scrolls. “Legend has it the Leyans refused to share their knowledge with Occulus. Seething with bitterness, he unleashed a monstrous war that lasted for many years. In response, the Leyans forged seven scions, each empowered with ancient secrets of one of the primary elements. They then approached the strongest warlocks of the time, one from each of those elements—water, air, earth, fire, lightning, ice and healing, and bestowed upon them the appropriate scion. Occulus thus faced seven wielders of the scions, one by one. As a testament to his power, he vanquished six of them. Yet he met his match in the seventh warlock, the most gifted of them all. Sithesia’s last hope was known as a true artist of the arcane, a gifted spellcrafter. An epic duel commenced that was said to go on for an entire day. In the end, the arcane artist emerged victorious—Occulus had been slain.”

  Mrs. Stone sipped her tea, peering at Augum over the mug’s rim.

  “What element did he belong to?” Augum asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

  “Lightning. His name was Atrius Arinthian and he was a great man, passing his knowledge on to his children. He also gave his most worthy son the scion, who thereafter passed it down to his most deserving offspring; and so it went, from father to son, son to daughter, generation after generation, for 1500 years.”

  “But … you have a scion …”

  “Yes, Augum, I have a scion, and yes, I inherited it from my father, many years ago.”

  He felt a prickle. “But doesn’t that mean—”

  “—indeed it does. I am Atrius’ ancestor, and therefore, so are you.”

  Augum sat gaping while Leera and Bridget exchanged red-eyed looks.

  “As per family tradition,” Mrs. Stone went on, “I could not in good conscience bequeath the scion to one so unworthy as Lividius. I knew this the day your father failed an ancient test you have already passed.”

  “Do you mean the bird test?”

  “Yes, your father left it to die. You can thus imagine my relief when you brought home the bird. It was then I knew you took after your mother. That is a fundamental difference between you and your father, Augum, never forget that. And when the right time comes, you shall inherit the scion.”

  A silence passed that amplified the crackling flames of the fire.

  Augum frowned. “But my father also has a scion …”

  “Indeed he does, and it is a grave matter. Miscreants have ruthlessly coveted the scions ever since their creation, along the way destroying families, toppling kings, waging wars, and even extinguishing entire races of people—all in the pursuit of power. Only one scion has remained in the family that originally possessed it.” Mrs. Stone held up the sphere before continuing. “The others have traversed Sithesia causing great envy in men, and therefore war; that is why, throughout the pages of history, mentions of scions go hand-in-hand with blood and suffering.”

  Augum could almost hear the echoes of old battles. The candles flickered as the wind picked up outside.

  “You are wondering, perhaps, why I had not passed on the scion to my daughter, Thia. Thia died giving birth to Lividius at seventeen years of age, fifty-two years ago. I regret it now, but I was angry with her for carrying a child out of wedlock. She never revealed who the father was, nor did the man step forward to claim his son after the birth, leaving me to raise Lividius alone. He was the only heir to the scion—until you were born, that is.”

  Augum nodded slowly, his voice quiet. “What was he like …?”

  “Now is not the best time as the story is somewhat long, though I suppose I can attempt to be brief, as I feel it is quite important for you to know who your father was. Even as a young child, he would look at me with scorn. I believe he blamed me for his mother’s death, and perhaps, for his father’s abandonment. He bored easily, lied and stole often, and seemed to have no remorse when caught.

  “The first unambiguous warning sign showed itself when I happened upon a dismembered rabbit in his room. I confronted Lividius and he apologized in that particular way of his, making the gestures but having no remorse behind them. I ought to have had the good sense to keep a closer eye on him.

  “Soon he attended youngling school, but circumstance was not kind. The other children picked on him at length. They called him by the usual names of his birth—bastard, gutterborn scum and beast of burden, among others. He became lonely and aloof. One day, in his tenth year, two of his most effective tormentors, a girl and a boy, fell ill and died. Poison, and not just any poison, but malignant nettle, resulting in days of writhing agony.

&nbs
p; “I was concerned Lividius had something to do with it, but thought surely even he would not do such a terrible thing. When I brought the matter up, he denied any knowledge. Needless to say, the bullying ceased.

  “At thirteen years of age, Lividius’ ambition flowered. He studied arcanery late into the night. For the first time, he seemed to have a purpose. I believed him on his way to becoming a man of honor and decided to take a more direct hand in his studies by considering him for apprenticeship. He passed the tests with ease, all but the bird test, of course.

  “It was then that I committed a grave error, foolishly ignoring the results of that ancient test. Although it told me Lividius was not fit for the scion, what I failed to grasp was it also told me he was not fit for the arcane discipline. To compound my error, I told him about the scion, hoping that by doing so, he would strive to earn it. You see, I still naively believed in his soul’s reformation. Instead, he immediately demanded the ancient artifact as his rightful inheritance. From then on, our relationship fundamentally changed.

  “It was a dark time. My hold on him steadily weakened as he resorted to ever more daring attempts to gain the scion. At one point, I even suspected him of trying to poison me.” Mrs. Stone glanced to the girls, her countenance softening. “How many paid the ultimate price for my poor judgment? How many more will die?”

  “You did what you thought best for your grandson, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget said softly. “No one can fault you for that.”

  Leera suddenly got up and rushed to the window, the glass lit by a reddish glow. A shaking hand covered her mouth. “No …!”

  Bridget and Augum scrambled over. Just as with Willowbrook, flames painted the sky orange.

  Sparrow’s Perch was burning.

  “Time is against us,” Mrs. Stone said. “I have left a false trail, but it will not be long until Lividius checks here. It is best we leave.”

  “But isn’t this cave hidden by sorcery?” Augum asked, fixated on the distant inferno.

  “It is, but Lividius’ scion will allow him to see through that. Besides, he still has an open invitation here; I have always left the door open for him to come home, hoping beyond hope for some kind of change, for remorse. I now see how impossible that is, and just how foolish I have been.”