A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback

by Mitchell Hogan

  He closed his eyes and thought of the first day he had arrived at the monastery, too young, shattered by the loss of his family. The place had felt strange, so unlike his life back then. It seemed bizarre that, after becoming accustomed to it, he thought the place stranger and stranger, the people different.

  He trembled as another hot flush ran through his body, followed by a chill, and his arm hairs stood on end. He hadn’t felt well the last few days, and the flushes seemed to be getting worse.

  He stood up suddenly then dropped back onto the bed, overcome with dizziness. His body ached, and his stomach growled. Over the last month he always felt hungry and had to eat every few hours. And, most peculiarly, he wanted to eat a lot of green leafy vegetables and cheese. He wondered if that was a result of stress as well, but with the exercise he had been doing, the extra food looked to have gone into muscle rather than fat. A few of the monks had commented he’d put on more muscle, the blade master included. “Not too much more,” he had said with a grin. “Or else we might have to start training you with a broadsword!”

  The gathering was tonight, and after the day he’d had he didn’t feel like going anymore, but he had given Jemma his word.

  He rose and stumbled to the wardrobe, opened the door and rummaged through the pile of odds and ends at the bottom, struggling to find what he was looking for. He pulled out a leather pouch containing a drug and herb mixture, a remedy for headaches and body pains.

  Undoing the ties, he licked a finger and dipped it into the pouch. Rubbing the mixture onto his tongue, he grimaced at the bitter taste. A small amount to get him through the night. Too little and he might as well have not bothered, but too much and he would appear befuddled.

  Still feeling unwell, he stood and reached into the wardrobe, pulling out his outfit for the night. He started to choose a somber set of clothes but relented with the shirt, knowing he should at least try to have some fun. He slipped on dark charcoal-gray pants and black leather boots with plain iron buckles. Hesitating for a moment, he pulled on a cream colored shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. Not normally concerned with his appearance, he nevertheless felt he needed to make a display this evening, if only to show the masters they had not upset him, and for Jemma’s sake.

  With quick efficient movements, he washed his face and hands using a rough cloth and a bowl of tepid water. The flushes had passed and the medicine had calmed him nicely. He dried off with a clean towel and dressed. The shirt was tighter than when he had tried it on a few months ago. He must be having a late growth spurt. If this kept on, soon most of his clothes wouldn’t fit.

  A bell tolled outside, signaling the start of the evening hours. It was time to leave for the gathering, which was to be held in the citadel by the sea outside the monastery.

  Caldan took the stairs two at a time and paused at the top to look around at a square. To his right the beach started, and to his left there was a paved road along the water’s edge.

  An obsidian statue of Lady Misterin, one of the island’s first settlers stood in a fountain at the center of the square. Stylishly garbed in seaweed, in one hand she held a conch shell from which spouted fresh water piped from an underground spring.

  Sidling up to the statue, Caldan touched the water running over Lady Misterin’s bare feet for luck, splashed some across his face and continued on down the paved road.

  A short time later he paused at the top of the flight of stone steps that led down into the hall where the student’s social gatherings were held. Brought up in families of wealth, they were no strangers to parties and late nights of revelry, though the monks took a dim view of such things. Too privileged to realize the opportunity they were squandering, he told himself. Most of them would learn far less than they should. He wondered why the monastery let them get away with it. Probably because the students brought in enough ducats for the monks to survive.

  Over the years an uneasy truce had evolved, and the students were allowed to gather and let off steam, as long as they did not allow anything to get out of hand. The monks permitted the students to gather in rooms in the citadel, away from the monastery and close to where guards could keep an eye on them.

  Located in one wing of the citadel, the hall had arched openings leading onto a balcony, which overlooked a garden. Tapestries and painted wall hangings covered two walls, many depicting scenes from history that had made past governors of the Island of Eremite famous: the finding of the ancients’ caverns, the staying of the volcanic eruption, and a game of Dominion between masters in progress. Oil lanterns suspended from the ceiling provided a warm yellow glow, and strings of seasonal flowers were pinned to the walls, giving the atmosphere a faint, sweet fragrance. Aligned with the center of each wall were tables laden with food and refreshments, and a stage had been set up in a corner, where a quartet of musicians played a popular tune while their female singer sat quietly to the side until she was required to perform later. The musicians were a luxury and must have been hired by one of the wealthier students.

  Not recognizing anyone he knew well — but seeing plenty of people he didn’t want to run into — Caldan stepped down the flight of stairs to the bottom, where he helped himself to a glass of fruit punch. He took a hefty swallow, gagged on the sweetness, and returned to the drinks table where he added wine and took another sip. This time it was palatable, if only just.

  A pale face framed by a shock of fair hair appeared in front of him. Yasmin. Dressed up for the party, she wore a low-cut dress made from a sheer material which left little to the imagination. Caldan reddened and looked away. He thought it likely she wouldn’t be able to wear that dress on the mainland under her parents’ supervision.

  “Caldan, how lovely to see you here tonight.”

  Her voice was too smooth for him, and he wondered what she was up to. “A pleasure to see you as well, Yasmin,” he replied. “Is Jemma with you?” He made a show of peering over her head, as if looking for her friend.

  “Very amusing. But we both know your humor tries to hide the truth.”

  Caldan looked at her sharply, his gaze trying to penetrate her smug exterior. “And what truth is that?”

  “I’m not blind, as you may have noticed. And neither are most people.” She sighed and touched his arm gently. “Jemma is my friend and I know her better than most. Your thoughts are as plain as the sun.”

  “You’re mistaken. She cares for me no more than a friend does. Anyway, why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do. And some people would look unkindly if things progressed further. You two have been spending far too much time together and it has been noticed.” Caldan snorted but she continued. “I have heard as well that you may not be with us for much longer.”

  Caldan stared at her in amazement. “How… What I do is no concern of anyone’s. And what Jemma does is her business as well.” If Yasmin knows, then all the students probably do as well. Most will be glad to see the back of me.

  “Unless she could get hurt, and then it’s her friend’s responsibility to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  He couldn’t believe what she’d just said. She wasn’t being subtle. “I know you’re trying to protect her, but Jemma is her own person and can make up her mind about what she wants. But… because I value her friendship, I’m not about to ruin anything by doing something that would hurt her. Especially since I’m leaving soon. I’d like to know how you found out already?”

  “A friend told me.” She shrugged. “Still, it’s good you are leaving. For her sake.” She gave him a wave of her fingers. “Bye. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

  He stood there seething while she weaved away through the throng. She’s right, he realized.

  Flustered and uneasy as he was with crowds, he nevertheless decided to make something of the evening. He needed to take his mind off everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

  Moving around a couple of students who both had a drink in each hand
and were in some sort of competition, he spied Jemma over by a wall, surrounded, as usual, by her friends. She caught his eye, took a moment to excuse herself from the group, and hurried over to greet him. She was dressed in close-fitting black pants with a tight black shirt, and wore a fine silver necklace and bracelet.

  “Hello, Caldan. Would you care to dance?” She nodded towards the space in the hall in front of the musicians, where a few couples were already dancing. Surprised, Caldan could only nod his agreement.

  She clasped his hand with hers and led him over to the dance floor. Several people stared at them as they passed, no doubt offended by his presence and startled by his companion. Unflattering comments were audible, no doubt pitched to be heard by those around them.

  “…never would have guessed…”

  “…don’t understand why she would lower herself…”

  Ignoring the narrow-minded people, Caldan tried to concentrate on having a good time, although trying to concentrate meant it was hard to relax. Then the music stopped.

  “Great timing,” said Jemma. The musicians had finished a particular piece and started tuning their instruments before beginning the next song. She took both of his hands in hers and leaned in close.

  “I hope your dancing skills are adequate,” she whispered in his ear.

  “They should suffice. I can do a few things well.” He gave a short laugh. “Anyway, enough flirting, the music is about to start!”

  And with that the musicians struck the opening few chords of a lively tune, to which Caldan and Jemma struggled for a few moments with their inexperienced dancing but managed not to step on each other’s toes during the first few verses.

  A few songs later, Caldan realized he was having the best night of his life. An attractive girl wanted to dance with him, someone who, despite their differences, had become a firm friend.

  He didn’t want to leave early, as he’d thought he would. Becoming breathless, they both agreed to take a break and have some refreshments. As Caldan acquired two glasses of wine, Jemma excused herself to freshen up. Hot and sweaty from the dancing, Caldan told her to meet him outside, where the fresh air should cool them off.

  He pushed his way through the press of bodies and out onto the balcony, where the crowd thinned out. A breeze blew across his head, drying the sheen of sweat and offering relief after his exertions. He leant on the balustrade, looked out over the moonlit garden, and relaxed, taking a sip from his glass. A few souls were wandering amongst the trees and bushes, mostly couples, he noted enviously. One man stopped to pick a flower, which he placed in his companion’s hair. Her soft laugh of delight reached Caldan on the wind.

  Someone slammed into his back, knocking him sideways. Wine splashed onto his shirt, marking it with a red stain. Caldan cursed and turned to look into the eyes of Marlon, who grinned from ear to ear. Much like his sister, Marlon was dark, tall and handsome. Exceptionally athletic from all his work with the sword, he moved with a languid grace that was hard to mistake for anything other than dangerous.

  “Looks like you’ve made a bit of a mess,” Marlon said, sneering at Caldan. “Perhaps you should retire for the night, after all, we can’t have you going around looking like a dirty commoner. Oh, I forgot! You are a dirty commoner!”

  A few of his hangers-on, who had gathered around, laughed at his attempted wit. Caldan tensed as Marlon leaned in close to him and sniffed. “And what is that stench?”

  More sniggers arose from the growing crowd. Students at the back asked what was going on.

  “It’s just as well you had this little accident, as now you can leave to change and have a wash!” He turned his head to grin at his friends.

  Caldan sighed. He had hoped tonight this wouldn’t happen. “Excuse me,” he said politely, and attempted to push past.

  Marlon shot out a hand and grabbed his arm in a strong grip.

  “Let me go,” Caldan demanded.

  “Not so fast,” Marlon said and used his weight to push Caldan back against the stone balustrade, which jammed into his side. “We don’t like you and the putrid filth you come from.” He leaned in close, breathing in Caldan’s face. “I’ve been told you’ve been seen hanging around with my sister, a lot more than I’d realized. She even admitted it to me earlier, as if she didn’t care what people thought of her or our family’s reputation. But I do care, and when I saw you dancing with Jemma… well… if I catch you with her again I’ll hurt you, is that clear?”

  Caldan shook his head. “Your sister likes me, and it’s up to her who she sees.”

  With a cry of rage, Marlon struck out at him. Caldan blocked and hammered a fist into Marlon’s stomach. Marlon staggered but took an uppercut swing at Caldan’s groin, which hit him in the hip as he twisted.

  Hands from the crowd forcibly restrained both of them.

  Marlon drew himself up, still held by two other students but regaining his arrogant air. “No more playing now, you bastard. This needs to be settled somewhere else, without these idiots interfering.” His tongue ran across his bottom lip. “The practice ground tonight. In an hour.”

  Caldan swallowed. “That’s fine by me, but what weapons?”

  “Your choice,” Marlon said with a smile. “It will not make any difference.”

  He was right, Caldan realized, but he could not let this pretentious, conceited bully think he had him scared. “Wooden practice swords,” he said and heard an incredulous intake of breath all around him as the crowd heard his choice. Marlon’s blade work was without peer among the students.

  “Swords it is then,” replied Marlon with a puzzled but satisfied look.

  Caldan nodded slowly and they were both released.

  Marlon turned without a word and strode off into the hall with a few followers. The crowd started to thin, leaving Caldan and a few students on the balcony. An older student, who Caldan only knew by his nickname, Quill, quietly approached.

  “You realize that he will try to hurt you?” Quill said.

  Caldan rubbed both his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I know.”

  Moonlight shone through patchy breaks in the clouds that passed over the practice ground. It looked much as it always had, hard-packed earth and stone walls. Tonight, the moonlight leant the place a sinister air, which gave Caldan a chill.

  Without warning, another hot flush through his body quickly dissipated that feeling. Caldan swayed on his feet, momentarily dizzy.

  He was pleased to see his opponent and the admirers that usually followed him had not yet arrived. He dropped the gear he carried next to a wall, slumped down and leant back to rest against the cool stone. A few deep breaths later he felt well enough to move again. Why he had agreed to this in the first place was beyond him. Part of him acknowledged the need he felt to fight back, to do something, at least before he was sent away. But he knew when this was over he would be just another unpopular peasant given a ‘lesson’ by a popular student. They probably wouldn’t remember this in a few months. Despite his own skill with a sword, he knew, as everyone else did, that he was outmatched. The ancestors were laughing at him, he was sure.

  He tried to relax. Although his defeat was inevitable, he could at least make a show of it and hope he wasn’t injured too badly. A slight numbness touched his skin, and another hot flush ran through him. He gathered his strength and tried to pull himself together. The crowd would be disappointed, he thought wryly. He began some stretching exercises.

  Marlon strode through one of the openings in the stone walls, followed, of course, by a group of friends. Behind his group followed more students come to watch the spectacle as part of the night’s entertainment.

  Still weary, Caldan bent over and picked up his well used wooden practice sword. He took a few steps forward in the moonlight to indicate his readiness. Marlon, as usual, took his time preparing himself. He liked everything to be just so. After much preening and adjusting of his clothes, he marched towards Caldan, practice sword in hand and a huge grin spread across
his face.

  Conversations between students and the occasional clever remark could be heard over the din, dissipating as the throng realized the fun was about to start.

  The two swordsmen stopped a distance apart, far enough that they couldn’t strike at each other but close enough to touch swords. Caldan sweating, and a grinning Marlon a study in confidence. Wooden swords reached out to barely touch as they strove to reach a calm state of mind, one where they did not think but let their bodies react.

  Long moments passed, neither one willing to strike first. Caldan knew Marlon was confident in his ability; he could wait for him to assume the initiative then take it from him. A cloud passed over the moon, blocking the light as the two remained motionless, the only movement a slight rising of their chests as they breathed. The crowd stirred, unsure how to react, their fun for the night not starting as they would have wished.

  “Have at him!” one shouted, which led to outbursts from others.

  “Give us a show, Marlon!”

  “Don’t hurt him too much!”

  Caldan took one step back and dropped his sword to a lower guard attitude, as if content to wait a while longer, then leapt forward, lashing out with a vicious thrust aimed straight at Marlon’s stomach. Marlon’s sword moved like lightning in defense. Caldan’s blade was brushed aside and Marlon brought his sword around in a straight cut across Caldan’s middle, which he only just managed to block. Another cut and block by both of them, carefully this time as each tested the other, before Caldan drew a quick shallow breath and launched a series of cuts…all parried neatly by Marlon.