by Kimbro West
The three continued to walk past the fisherboy, ignoring his pleas for help. Ivy instinctively ignored blue-hued boy and followed the trio.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Auren,” whispered Ethan, leaning into Auren’s ear.
“I know … trust me, Ethan. This is a trap, and if we talk to that boy we’ll be in danger — I know it,” whispered Auren.
“We can’t avoid every boy that asks for help though,” replied Ethan.
“No, just every boy that’s fishing with bluish skin,” chuckled Auren.
Ethan agreed and kept walking, even though the guilt weighed down on him with every plea from the fisherboy.
“Hey! Wait! I really need help — I’ve been lost for days. I’m so hungry … won’t you please help me?!” pleaded the boy. “Why won’t you stop? I miss my parents! Please!” He followed them down the shoreline for a while, crying, but finally stopped when they veered away from the lake.
The comments lingered in the back of Ethan’s mind. They made him think of his own parents and how he missed them. He wiped at his eyes as he walked away from the distressed fisherboy. “Is he out of view yet?” asked Ethan somberly.
“Dunno,” replied Auren. “I don’t really want to turn around if I don’t have to … for more than one reason — feel bad and stuff.”
“Me too … aaaghhhhh,” complained Ethan as he grabbed his stomach again. He hunched over in pain. The Orobori swallowed and tasted something odd in the back of his throat. He felt around his mouth with his fingers. As he pulled them out, his heart skipped a beat when he saw black on his fingertips.
Auren freaked out. “WHAT IS THAT? Ethan — you okay? What’s that on your fingers?”
Abbey stopped walking and quickly grabbed Ethan’s hand, licking the black substance on his fingers. Both Ethan and Auren gave her a strange look, which did not sway Abbey in the slightest. She rolled the goop around her mouth and spat on the ground.
“Poison,” she stated.
“Poison?!” exclaimed Ethan. “From where? I mean … how?”
“Must be from that torture arrow — seems it’s setting in slow though, so I think we have plenty of time. We need to get you to Wegnel … er…” After realizing what she had just said, a sad look came over her. “We need to get you to Wegnel’s hut — I have a few tricks up my sleeve — may be able to get a medical alchemist friend of mine, Nurse Helga, to help take a look.”
“Will he be okay? I mean—”
“He’ll be okay, Auren.” She looked directly at Ethan and put her hands on his shoulders. “You’ll be okay.”
Ethan was worried, but nodded with confidence at the words of Wegnel’s eventual replacement.
With Black Lake now behind them, Abbey began to slow her pace. She was looking deep into the forest as they walked down the path. Soon, she spotted what she was looking for and headed into the woods. Ethan was tired of trudging through dense forest and moaned as he entered the thick brush. After struggling for a time, he looked up and saw they were entering a clearing with a great white tree just ahead. Abbey touched the tree for good luck and continued to walk past. They forged ahead through more forest and then came to another, smaller, clearing.
There in front of them was the entrance to a cave. The opening stood several feet higher than Ethan was tall. Looking into the opening, the cave descended rather deep rather quick. Steps were carved into the stone as far down as the eye could see. Torches were lit every so often down the staircase.
“What is it?” asked Auren in wonder.
“This is the shortcut — runs straight inside Tirguard’s walls,” said Abbey. She snorted, adjusted her pack and walked over to a stone carving etched into one of the pillars that flanked the entrance.
“But … it can’t … I mean … the Aegis can just walk in then, can’t they?” exclaimed Ethan.
“If they could see it, then … yes. There are alchemical properties created by the Stone Sanctuary alchemists — the entrance is invisible to non-humans. Not only that, but you must be accompanied by, or be, an alchemist to enter. See…,” Abbey spit on her hand and put it on the stone carving. The symbols flashed and she walked through the entrance, “…if you were to try and enter without knowing how to do a simple reaction, you would find yourself blasted through the woods.” She pointed straight back, where they had just walked through. Several branches had been broken, as if a rough path was carved into the shallows of the forest.
“Is that from…?”
“That … is probably from an alchemist who had a bit too much ale and forgot to create a reaction on the pillar here — oh dear, that must have hurt,” snorted Abbey with a giggle. “Once we get in we will be quite safe. I’ve passed through here many times — haven’t even seen another person, alchemist or anything else down there … not once,” she added. “Got me wondering if anyone even uses the thing anymore….”
They headed down into the deep. Ethan wondered how far down the tunnel went. The passage was rather narrow but the ceiling stretched high. Every so often they would pass another torch. They looked like an old-fashioned version of the miracle torches that Wegnel had given them — but larger, and instead of being a portable device, they were permanent fixtures attached to the sheer walls. After what seemed like hours, they reached the bottom of the staircase. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and then immediately panted for air. He felt weak and his legs ached. He turned around and looked back up the passage to the entrance. It was a very small dot of light, which he could easily cover with his thumb, from his perspective. It made him feel dizzy to look up all those stairs, so he looked down at his boots instead. The feeling did not pass and Ethan knew why. He stepped onto the landing and there was nowhere to go except to the right. He followed Abbey, Auren and Ivy around the corner. Ethan groaned as he saw another, equally deep, stairwell in front of him. They delved further into the deep, and the one thing burning in Ethan’s mind was the poison that was setting in.
The walls were dank and dimly lit. The air was stale except for a peculiar musty odor that wafted about. The smell became stronger the deeper they traveled. Ethan gave a sigh of relief as he stepped down to the second landing; there were no more stairs. Instead, this landing had a left turn that led them into a cavernous room. A double row of pillars marched across the length of the room, stretching to a great height which was lost in darkness. Strange symbols were etched onto every visible surface of the pillars. Ethan recognized them to be of alchemical origin. Three unique doors lined both sides of the room, along with one unadorned stone door at the opposite end, for a total of seven singular doors.
“What is this place?” mumbled Ethan as he passed by a door with crooked, gnarly branches reaching across the front. He examined the symbols on the nearby pillar as he passed another door that sparkled with gold specks.
“Some believe it’s a place of power for a group of alchemists — much like the Stone Sanctuary or my origin, Red Oak. I’m not sure how it was built; only that it’s always empty. I don’t think alchemy is as popular as it once was — not since the Curse,” replied Abbey. “I’d like to study this place more — seems like whenever I go this way I’m always in a hurry — next time I guess….”
The group hurried across the room. Abbey spit on her hand and placed it on the plain stone door. She whispered something to the door and a flash of light shone through the room, and with a crack the door slowly shifted open. They walked through the entrance to a long and wide hallway. It was made from pristinely carved stone — it was apparent that a master stone builder had made the hall, as the dimensions and angles were all perfect.
Ethan was exhausted. The hallway seemed to go on and on. Even with the poor lighting coming from the torches, it was easy to tell he was getting weak. Auren could see Ethan’s veins through his sickly pale skin. “Are we almost there, Abbey? Ethan’s not looking so good,” pestered Auren, now assisting Ethan who had beads of sweat rolling down his face. He looked sick, and felt sicker. Too weak to carry on
, his knees buckled. Auren quickly halted and shifted his grip to support all the Orobori’s weight.
“Can you carry him, Auren?” asked Abbey, rushing over to the boys. “We’re almost there, Ethan — hang on….”
Her voice echoed in Ethan’s head as if she were getting further away. He blinked and was no longer in the hallway, but going up a stairwell with very large, deep steps.
“Hang on … just a moment longer….” He blinked again and the sun flashed in his eyes. He was outside.
“Just hold on, Ethan.” The voice may have been miles away now, lost in the distance. Not recognizing his surroundings any longer, he lost any train of thought and drifted out of consciousness.
Chapter 10
The Summer Sword
CRACK! A sharp echo rang through the seats and up to the walls of the Stadion. The great High Perch loomed over the crowd, where the Castellan entertained King Basileus. The local authority fidgeted with his tunic as the King observed the match below.
“I do think that the Tanbe girl should be the favorite in this … Summer Sword?” queried the King.
“Yes Sire, the Summer Sword, one of our most prestigious events for students. It narrows down the field of … how should I say … winners,” replied the Castellan with a smirk. “I would point out that the Tanbe girl is an alchemist, not a member of the Guard,” he added. “More of an underdog in a match of strength and skill — I should say that any student entered by Heinrich would be the favorite in this contest.”
The King played with his signet ring as he pondered the Castellan’s comments. “Well, the Tanbe line is a trade family historically. They have passed down a very effective method of swordplay from generation to generation, all originating from the protection of tradable goods. I would not underestimate any daughter of the Tanbe family.” The King chuckled and leaned forward in his chair as Availia took the field.
“If I may, Sire.”
The King nodded.
“She is … how should I say … too small. The runt of the litter, if you will,” argued the Castellan. “I would say she is lucky to be in this competition at all.”
“A wager then?” prodded the King.
The Castellan nodded and smiled uneasily. “I will take Renkins, of course. I fear any wager against one of Heinrich’s students is a futile effort.”
The King chuckled. “Well, I suppose you won’t mind giving me two to one odds then … for my underdog selection.”
The Castellan awkwardly checked the pockets in his tunic before finding a small bag of coins attached to his belt. He hefted the bag before responding. “Yes, Sire … I don’t mind — it would be my pleasure,” he answered hesitantly.
They watched Availia’s match from above as the clanking of hand to hand combat gratified the anticipation building within. Moments later, when the match was awarded to Availia, the King leaned back in his chair in triumph. He chuckled and clenched his fist in victory. The Castellan humbly waved to the audience to recognize the winner. He sat down and took a swill of freshly squeezed juice that was placed at his side by an eager attendant.
“You were saying?”
“It’s still early, Sire,” defended the Castellan.
“I see your son is judging the event this year,” stated the King, squinting to look down at the field. “Tell me, how is Magnus? And how are the preparations for him taking your place as Castellan coming along?”
The Castellan choked on his beverage, spitting dribbles of juice down the front of his tunic. He was quickly handed a linen napkin by an attendant and dabbed at the spill.
“Um … yes … about that,” he stuttered. “I’m afraid Magnus has not shown much interest — I do try, my Lord, but to be perfectly honest, he is well into the Stadion events.” He picked up the goblet of juice, preparing to take another sip.
“As he should be — there is no better way to gain the favor of the people than to show your might in the great Stadion, eh?” The King laughed and gave the Castellan a sharp jab with his elbow, spilling more freshly squeezed juice down the front of the Castellan’s tunic. Another napkin was instantly handed to the Castellan. He began the task of cleaning up as the King focused his attention on the event. “But remember, my friend … the day you turn sixty is the day you will step down and hand your duties over to your son, James Magnus, making him Magnus … the Seventeenth, is it?”
“Yes, my Lord — Magnus the Seventeenth….”
“This is important … as tradition would hold, I will seek your advice as a member of my council. Every Magnus before you is still very active on my council, except for—”
“Yes, yes … Magnus the Second and Magnus the Ninth,” snorted the Castellan.
The King grimaced slightly at being interrupted. “You do recognize the importance of this? Because of the time difference from Tirguard to Whitehaven at thirty to one, I can have every Castellan for the past countless decades of Tirguard at my disposal. It gives quite an advantage when it comes to making important decisions for Tirguard, and Whitehaven for that matter. The future of the kingdom may depend on the Magnus line.”
“Yes, my Lord — I believe heavily in the tradition and it will be my honor to serve you in any way I can.”
A cheer could be heard from below, followed by a barrage of bellowing boos.
“Looks like Renkins advanced,” said the King, chuckling. “Maybe a favorite to win, but not a favorite to the crowd.”
The Castellan made a final attempt at his juice and successfully gulped it down, giving the empty goblet to the attendant before shooing him away.
“Yes, well … Heinrich’s tactics may appear cruel at times, but they are some of the most effective techniques this city has ever seen.”
Heinrich, as if on cue, walked through the stone archway that led onto the Stadion’s High Perch. He nodded to the Royal Guards that protected the entrance as they let him pass. The Castellan noticed his Guard Captain and waved him to approach. Heinrich was dressed in decorative armor and had a matching sword sheathed at his side.
“And here he is now,” said the Castellan, pleased.
King Basileus gave a slight nod to Heinrich who, in turn, bowed gracefully.
“My Lord, enjoying the event?” asked Heinrich of the King.
“Indeed I am. We were just dicscussing the sword techniques of your students.”
With his large nose, Heinrich sniffed. He brushed his long black hair from his eyes and held his sword hilt firm. “Yes, we tend to be very direct in our approach to swordplay. Unfortunately, Renkins is tending to be a bit on the sloppy side in this event. I will be giving him a pep talk soon — should allow for a higher entertainment value, Sire.” Heinrich cleared his throat a couple of times, attempting to alert the Castellan for the reason of his visit.
“Oh … yes, Heinrich … I remember,” coughed the Castellan. “Sire, my reason for inviting you here is of course to enjoy the Summer Sword, but also to discuss a serious matter.”
The King looked slightly concerned. “It’s not about Ethan, is it? I was under the impression that he was acclimating nicely to the routine here.”
“Yes, he is doing admirably, my Lord—”
“That would be a matter of opinion,” muttered Heinrich under his breath.
The King changed his focus to Heinrich’s needling comments. “You have something to say, Heinrich?”
Heinrich waved a figure through the archway to join them on the Perch. It was Marcus Grenwise. “Nothing too pressing, Sire,” said Heinrich, with Marcus now standing at his side. “It appears that while Marcus was leading Ethan and Auren on a small expedition, they simply wanted no part in the assistance from the Guard, so they made a stone statue come alive and … attack … my student.”
“Making statues come alive,” grumbled the Castellan. “I’m starting to agree with Heinrich’s assessment. Stone Sanctuary alchemy is bad for this city — maybe I should reconsider the ban,” he added under his breath.
King Basileus held
his hand up to the complaining Castellan and signaled Heinrich to continue.
Heinrich sniffed again and adjusted his belt. “Marcus here is fully capable of fending for himself, which he did, might I add … but, the issue remains that Edison’s students are not responsible with his teachings of alchemy. They must be held accountable, Sire.”
The King thought for only a moment. “I totally agree,” he said, “but what of their professor? Has he anything to say of these actions?”
The Castellan quickly interjected. “That is why I called you here, my Lord. Edison Rupert has confessed to killing Wegnel MacArthur.”
King Basileus turned bright red. He slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. “THAT’S PREPOSTEROUS … and you believe this … confession?” he shouted. The King didn’t wait for an answer and looked over at Marcus. “Please excuse us, Marcus, I need to speak to these two.”
“Yes, my Lord,” answered Marcus. He looked up at Heinrich, who gave him a nod indicating the youth Guard captain should take his leave.
As soon as Marcus passed through the High Perch’s archway, the King exploded. “YOU TWO!” he shrieked. “You had better have a good explanation of why … my selection … is confessing to murder!”
The Castellan gulped. “He had a—”
“My Lord, if I may?” interrupted Heinrich.
“Well, somebody get on with it!” bellowed the King.
“Professor Rupert had a bloody dagger that he presented during his confession. It matched the weapon of the attacker. He claimed he was now the ‘best alchemist in the history of mankind’ … Sire,” stated Heinrich factually.
“And did you use any type of persuasion during this confession?” asked King Basileus, troubled.
“No, Sire — Edison Rupert stepped forward on his own accord.”
“Witnesses to the attack?” asked the King.
“None, Sire….”
“Fascinating,” answered the King with a sneer. “And where is Edison now?”