He shook his head. She had always coddled him, he thought to himself—a side effect of his brother being tasked with his own teacher far to the east. No, Kelvin considered, there was no way Selene would allow the future king to be put in the face of danger if she could help it.
“Go to bed, child,” she pressed. “I shall see you when you wake.”
He nodded. With all the excitement he had experienced that night, a respite was something he looked forward to. He slipped inside his room and shut the door behind him.
When she was alone in the hallway, Selene let go of a weary sigh as she placed her hand on the door and let it linger there for a moment before she proceeded on her way, toward the stairwell to the first floor.
*****
Steam rose into the air around her, and Marin sank into the tub until the water was just above her lips. That hot water offered some relief, and though she could still feel the subtle thrum in her ankle with every pulse of her heart, it left her comfortable enough to ignore that pain. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the secret hero wondered if it was, in fact, just a blink or if she had fallen into slumber for far longer.
Stifling a sigh, she lifted from the tub, the water dripping from her skin, and grabbed a robe she had left out beside her. Wrapping it around her body, she crept out of the tub, taking time to protect her injured leg. As the cool air of the room kissed her damp figure, goose bumps appeared on that bronze body.
She took a moment to adjust to the air, and when she lifted her gaze, it fell upon the opposite wall where a chain hung from the ceiling. The thought that imparted on her had her looking at the bucket her protégé had used to fill the tub. She reached for it but stayed her hand, finally waving away the thought. Extinguishing the coals and draining the tub could wait, she mused. There were more pressing matters to tend to.
Marin moved through her cottage, slipping from room to room until she arrived at a study near the back of the house. There, she and Kelvin had shared their first lessons—one in academia and one in combat—but it was the ladder in the corner of the room she gravitated to. Despite her aching leg, she ascended that ladder, arriving in the attic of her house a few moments later.
Unlike the floor below, the attic was one continuous area of the house. A small platform was constructed to be utilized as a landing for that ladder, and she hoisted herself up onto it. On the far side of the attic, another platform like that was splayed out against the east wall, and a window was there above it.
Morning had not completely arrived in Argos yet. Some dark blues and purples poured into that window, casting a meager light down upon the only thing she kept in the attic. A gleam caught on that rapier then, its gorgeous white basket making the weapon she carried into battle look crude by comparison. The pedestal it sat upon was turned so that when the blade was placed upon it, anyone who ventured up the ladder would see it the moment they turned around.
Though her leg throbbed once she finally arrived there on that other platform, she felt a sense of peace and relief and fell to her knees before the sword, sitting in as comfortable a position as she could muster. Her fingers ran along the blade as she swallowed away the tension she always had when approaching the beautiful weapon.
“Today was the day when I needed you the most,” she said. “You would always strike true, and I have always been a little less without you by my side.
“I’ve tried to remedy that recently,” she went on. “There’s a young lad—younger than I was when I began. He is untrained now, though I’ve done my best to prepare him for the dangers of the world. In time, he could be as good as me. But then, I’m not sure this path will carry him the same way it did us. We cared for a city; he may care for more.”
*****
True to Helen’s words, there was a pleasant aroma outside the herbalist’s shop. If Gerard hadn’t known any better, he wouldn’t have supposed he was anywhere near those foul canals. A knock on the door produced no results, except for a gentle rapping that seemed to echo on for too long. The constable tried the handle, but the way forward was locked.
Undeterred, the former marine walked the perimeter of the shop, peering in through windows and checking to see if they would allow him entry. None did, and the place was covered in a fine layer of dust and grime—most of what lay inside was left to the imagination. Gerard shook his head, knowing that the dead end he found himself at was likely to put a stop to his investigation.
But it was his turn to be inspected.
“What are you doing?”
Though Gerard was a big man, the sudden sound of that voice had him throwing up his shoulders and dipping his head. He turned around to see a wiry young fellow just at the road, his hands on his hips. The lad tried to maintain an imposing pose, but when the constable settled back into form, he realized how much larger the man he yelled at was. That nervousness wasn’t lost to the constable, and he let a weak, one-sided grin ease the fellow’s anxiety.
“My name is Gerard Purdell, and I’m the new constable in Argos. Ormund may be connected to a...” He paused as he considered how much information to volunteer. “There’s an event I’m interested in, but it seems he’s not available right now.”
“He’s always gone this time of year,” the younger man offered. “He’s out scouring the countryside for dragonwort or frostypine or whatever strange things he uses in his concoctions.”
The constable nodded. “So none of this is out of the ordinary? He leaves his shop unattended, without an apprentice. Don’t his sales suffer?”
A shrug was returned to him. “Perhaps. But he’s the only person in this city that sells some of the rarer things. Not even the richest in the city sell the things Ormund does because he’s so good at finding those herbs and roots and everything; there’s nothing left for anyone else to find.”
“And how long is he typically gone for?” Gerard asked.
The lad arched an eyebrow. “Is he in any sort of trouble?”
“He’s just part of an investigation. My understanding is that he was somewhat smitten with a—”
As he spoke, a shrill cry rang out just to the south of them. While the young stranger hesitated, Gerard burst into motion. A short sprint toward the canals led him to a woman who had her hands drawn to her face. When the constable stepped up beside her, he saw the terror in her eyes.
“Miss, what is it?”
She didn’t say anything, but, at great length, she drew a hand from her face and pointed a shaking finger at the murky water below.
Gerard brought his attention to that shallow flow, and he understood why the woman was affected so.
There, in the water, was the body of a woman.
*****
Blinking away that lingering pain, he realized he was no longer in the company of the good-natured woman. Thoro sat up, and the hollow thrum in his arm left him sobered from the effects of the whisky. His vision remained blurry, but he could not tell if it was the remnants of his drunken stupor that caused it or the dried tears from the pain of Brielle’s interesting manner of first aid.
He looked to his side, scrutinizing the bandages wrapped into place upon his wound. A dark splotch of red oozed through, but that cloth held tight. Any movement still reminded him of the pain he felt after being struck, but a cold, steel arrowhead no longer chewed through his muscle. At least he could be thankful for that.
The secret hideout beneath the tavern had grown quiet. Gone were the boisterous voices of the patrons and members of the Brotherhood. All he heard was the dim, fading flames of the torches and lanterns.
A voice on the other side of the wall informed the injured fellow he was not alone. When he stood from the bed and made his way to the edge of Brielle’s room, the voice remained indiscernible, but the tone and the inflections made it clear who was speaking.
“Jerrod,” Thoro whispered. The single word was spat with such umbrage that the lad felt his skin crawl. He walked to the bed again and picked up the bottle of whis
ky. No longer needed as an antiseptic, he lifted it to his lips and guzzled the last of it down.
He turned and drew his arm back, ready to heave the empty bottle at the wall, but he squared his jaw instead. With a sigh placating him, he dropped the container on the bed and made his way to the door. It opened without a sound, and in the silence of that empty room, Jerrod’s voice came through even more clearly. Intrigued, Thoro tiptoed beside the bar and stood before the door to that room the leaders of the guild called their own.
“If you truly think it’s a good idea, I’ll not disagree,” the Magician said.
“The Arcanax Compendium will make our Brotherhood stronger than ever,” a deep, raspy voice beyond that door said.
“You have earned it, child,” a mischievous one added. “This is your victory.”
“Embrace the arcane arts, and let them embrace you back.”
Unsettled by the leadership’s faith in the traitorous Jerrod, Thoro bent low and looked through the keyhole.
That man he loathed—the so-called Magician—stood before the door, and the leaders remained out of sight on the far side of the room. Jerrod held his hand over the glowing treasure he had pilfered, reached out to the leather-bound tome, and twisted the emblem on its cover. Intricate golden runes projected out from there, and the cover opened of its own accord. That light it cast expanded tenfold, and everything in the room was suddenly enveloped in white. In a split second, that white was gone, and the book hovered in midair.
A new glow was cast from the Arcanax Compendium. Shades of blue and green and purple ebbed out like an odd wave, and it flowed through the nearest person: Jerrod. The aurora hit him, and at once he crooked his head back and expelled a deep, delighted sigh. His muscles contracted, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
And then it was over.
The aurora was gone, moved on from that room, leaving just the effects it had produced behind. A weary smile was on Jerrod’s face, and he turned his attention to the door, as though he knew someone was watching him.
*****
How he wished he was back at the herbalist’s shop. The smell of the sewage that pushed through the canals invaded his nostrils, and Gerard knew that he would never be rid of that odor. It was up to his knees, then, reminding him of how surprised he was when he stepped down into the channel, finding it deeper than he expected.
As the sun just crested over the eastern walls of the city district, he noticed the crowd that was in attendance had grown. Besides the woman who had alerted him of the body in the canal and the lad who was telling him about Ormund, another score of onlookers arrived, watching the man below pull the poor woman from the murky water.
A dejected sigh shook his shoulders, and he turned his attention back to the corpse. It had to be Esme, he reasoned. No one else had been reported missing, and someone would have missed that woman he cradled beneath his hands. She was lovely, and he understood how the herbalist could be so smitten by her. Had she not been covered in grime and filth, she would have been one of the more striking beauties of Argos.
While Gerard studied her features, a strange light appeared in the water. It took several moments for him to realize that it was reflecting just above the canal, though it swept through the area in a long, wavy line. As the aurora passed over him, he felt a sudden peace that he was unprepared for.
Somehow, he felt empowered, then, and he scooped the woman from her watery grave with renewed strength.
*****
She didn’t know how long she had lain there with her head against the pedestal. The sword still had a subtle sparkle to it, and when she lifted her gaze to it, she felt compelled to rise. Her hand landed upon the blade, and she recoiled at the cool touch.
Marin blinked away her fatigue, stifling a yawn before it could take shape. The secret vigilante sat up and offered another bow to the splendid weapon.
“I would stay with you here until the end of time,” she whispered. “But there are still things for me to do here for the people of Argos. When next I return, I will spend more time with you.” She slid to the basket of the rapier and slipped her fingers inside as if holding a lover’s hand. “Good night, my sweet Lasho.”
As she drew her arm away from that sword, she saw another reflection on the blade. Rather than a sunlight-driven replication, though, a colorful release traveled across the blade in a rolling fashion. Marin crawled forward and looked out the window. When she saw the aurora in the sky, she locked her jaw and brought her hand to her lips to hide her disappointment.
For a moment, she reached for that sword again. The Silver Serpent stayed her hand but not her emotion. She turned, ignoring the pain as best she could, and stomped across the beam to reach the ladder that led below.
*****
A breeze shook the canopy bed’s drapes and had the candle beside it flickering as it clung to life. Kelvin pulled the covers up to his chest and leaned over to extinguish the flame.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, he noticed an odd sight through the open window. There, over his fair city, a wave of purples and greens flowed like some celestial creature. He was filled with curiosity and overwhelmed with a sense of peace.
Before he knew it, the prince was out from under the covers again, his bare feet sliding toward the far wall, with that window facing east. He leaned against the windowsill, staring into the distance. The slim ring of gold in his eyes flared, and he watched as that aurora rolled over the castle.
Down below, far away, he spotted the cottage of his mentor. From that vantage, he thought to himself that he had never seen it so clearly.
Unbeknownst to him, the golden halo in his eyes grew brighter than ever.
On the other side of the wall, across the corridor in another room, Selene opened the door to her chamber. Her husband, the king, was still asleep, and she approached him with a smile on her face.
“Nathaniel,” she whispered.
When he did not stir, she circled the bed, ready to rouse him to start his day. She stopped when she saw the familiar phenomenon trailing away from the castle into the western sea, and her brow furrowed at the sight of it. Without realizing it, she arrived at the window and brought her hand to her face.
“After all this time, it can’t be,” she muttered.
Hearing her husband stir, she pulled the curtains around that window shut and turned to help him begin a dark new day.
*****
The door swung open, and Jerrod gazed outside with a manic look upon his face. With his eyes darting to and fro, the Magician looked about as if he were a mountain lion attempting to find injured prey. No one was there in that underground tavern, though. He shut the door behind him and scanned the perimeter of the room, as though he was aware something lurked just beyond his periphery.
His gaze settled on the other door in that room, and his eyes narrowed. The man stomped across the floor and reached out to the brass knob before him. With renewed vigor, he tore the way open.
Just as before, though, there was no one present.
Jerrod was no longer alone, he realized. The door to the tavern above opened, and several of the men he had procured the artifact with the night before descended those steps. Bright smiles were still on their faces, for some of them were rewarded in more ways than one.
“Three cheers for Jerrod Bodan!” one of the fellows offered. He raised a pint of ale into the air, though no one else had a drink with them to mimic the action.
“Did you ever leave last night?” another man teased.
The Magician smiled and looked at the door to the leaders’ den. His eyes were wide and wild again, and he shook his head. “We had other business to attend to,” he said. “We were planning the future of our city, you see. Today marks the end of Nathaniel’s law. It marks the end of his tyranny. And his secret, costumed vigilante can no longer uphold his oppression.
“The time of the Silver Serpent is coming to an end, boys,” Jerrod snarled. “The age of magic has arrived.”
> As he finished speaking, those few sparks he conjured earlier came back into place upon his hand. But as he looked upon those men who trusted him and followed him to find the Arcanax Compendium, his eyes burned red.
At once, those sparks burst into bright flames, until his entire hand was consumed by them. Unburnt, he let his wicked smile burn even brighter, and the flames on his hand expanded, until his arm was enveloped by the fire. His opposite hand ignited then as well, and he looked at the surprise of his followers and saw eagerness in their gleaming eyes.
They watched on as the flames in the torches and the lanterns extinguished and their light floated across the room to join Jerrod’s already impressive power. Then, all at once, he ceased his magic.
All was dark.
Chapter Two: The Mad Titan
Scraps of vellum and rolls of parchment were scattered upon the tables in that tent. The man gave cursory glances to them all but shrugged as if they didn’t matter. He stroked his graying beard and stepped outside into the morning sunlight.
The building before him was coming together, he mused. A wooden skeleton was in place, but the body his laborers were creating would be an impressive specimen, he was sure. In the center of the site, a large brass bell that stood a few inches taller than he did rested on a wagon and was emblazoned by the symbol of the city: a golden shield atop a spear, with a single opened eye in the center. Workers were building a pulley system to bring that into the air to build the steeple around it, but it was taking some time to get all the moving pieces in working order.
Silver Serpent Page 4