The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  But, thinking back, all I can remember is the sound of the trees.

  - 3 -

  Dragon Eyes

  A week later, I was back where I’ve always felt most at home: the Artificium; the deep, inner maze of workshops that spanned several floors in the Magisterium. Nature’s great, no doubt, but I’m a gearhead at heart.

  There’s something about the hiss of steam rising from grates, the smell of oil and gasoline, the clinking of a hundred tools chipping and banging away at a thousand projects that I find enthralling. Not to mention the heat coming from the many furnaces and kilns.

  Many people don’t know that, while the Magisterium is a branch of the Endran military, most of its funding actually comes from artificing works sold abroad. Weapons are strictly under the control of the kingdom, but items like lamps, heating pillars, clocks, and other small magics are widely sold.

  Of course, the Artificium is just one of many, many different levels of the Magisterium tower, but it was my level. It was where I thrived.

  I received no great punishment for holding up the Eventide in Dorwick. Honestly, that bothered me. While most of the other recruits and artificers didn’t know I was the Sun King’s daughter, many of the instructors did. I wanted to become a magister based on my own skill and merit, not because of my family’s name. I didn’t want special treatment. But what could I do? Insist that I be punished? I tried not to think about it.

  I’d been in the Magisterium for three years at this point and had already risen to the highest rank of artificer. The road to becoming a magister was not an easy one. While the lower trials were brutal, the trial to become a magister was on another level, entirely.

  But I was determined. My final trial was only a week away. Not so long, you might say; but if you’ve ever waited for a life-changing event before, you know how those last few days drag. I tried to busy myself with prep work. Perhaps I could’ve been brushing up on my survival skills. Perhaps I could’ve been checking and re-checking my Class B inscriptions. Perhaps I could’ve checked out more material in the Librarium.

  My sponsor, Magister Briego, advised against it.

  Briego was the head of Artificing, and many of his peers considered him a bit scatterbrained, but I saw through it all. Behind his burned face and thick accent, he had a keen, analytical mind.

  I’d been given a workshop and desk on the second level of the Artificium, overlooking an airship fuselage. It was out of the way, which I liked. With the exception of Magister Briego, the head of the artificing department, nobody came by too often.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Briego said, watching me finish the fine detail on a set of flash grenades I’d designed for the final trial. Technically speaking, they were already done. I was just using them as an excuse to keep my hands busy.

  I looked up from the soldering iron I was working with and took my hand off the runes powering it. The iron went cool, and I pulled my goggles onto my forehead. “I need something to occupy my time, or I’ll go mad,” I said to him. “Besides, I want to make sure these work properly.”

  Briego shook his head. “You’ve tested them twice already. They’re done, Kyra. You should be using this time to acquaint yourself more closely with your trial group.”

  I sat my soldering iron aside and wiped my hands in a nearby washbasin. “I’d like to think I know them pretty well. They’re all competent artificers. Kadia and her sister, Vexis, are pretty famous in the alchemy department.”

  Magister Briego held up a finger. “Not like that. I mean on a personal level.”

  “What does that have to do with surviving my trial?” I asked, a hard edge creeping into my voice.

  “Everything. Being a magister is not only about artificing or combat. A magister is meant to work with a group, not by their lonesome. This is why trials are always done in teams, never individually. Spend some time with your team. I’ve heard Kadia is an exceptionally gifted young alchemist. And Fenn…what he lacks in grace, he makes up for in book-smarts.”

  I rubbed my temples and sighed. “Do I have to?”

  Briego gave a serious look. “I insist. The Artificium will still be here when you return.”

  Begrudgingly, I set my tools aside, knowing that it was pointless to argue once Briego made up his mind. I didn’t know much about my teammate’s schedules, though I knew Kurian spent a large amount of his time in the Conservatorium. I decided to start there.

  The Conservatorium, more commonly called “the Cons,” was a miracle of artificing. In truth, it was only a moderately sized room covered in complex runes; but through special magistry, the inside of the room appeared as though it were a lush forest, stretching for miles in every direction.

  Even after years at the Magisterium, the Conservatorium never ceased to amaze me. I walked in to the fresh smell of trees and grass; it was as if I were stepping into another world. In the distance were mountains and valleys, rolling hills and waterfalls. They weren’t simply illusions, if you walked far enough you could get to them.

  The chamber could replicate any environment required, and it was here that the master of herblore, Antherion, grew special plants that were used in magistry inscriptions.

  When I entered, the door disappeared behind me, and I followed the footpath through the trees. Each was so high that it formed a large canopy above, letting only sporadic, orange-speckled light reach the ground.

  The clearing at the end of the footpath was a few acres wide, and in the middle was tilled earth set in even rows. Long green stalks sprouted from the soft earth, and there were piles of shovels, gloves, and other tools nearby. However, Kurian was nowhere to be found. In fact, the place appeared deserted—even Antherion was gone.

  Just as I was going to give up and look for Kadia, I heard the familiar flutter of harp strings. The quick notes danced in the air, accompanied by Kurian’s powerful singing voice. I followed the notes, through a veil of brush and mist, and found Kurian sitting on an old tree stump, strumming on his wooden half-harp. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be playing it all from sheer muscle memory:

  The war has ended for the bard,

  as all the world betrays him.

  The grace of song and fluttering harp,

  saves not the sting of ages.

  The bard fell by the warder’s blade,

  and his soul could not be saved.

  The harp he loved never spoke again,

  and his young heart fell to ashes.

  The tree line on the opposite end ruffled, and from it Antherion appeared. He must’ve been there for some time, as I never heard any footfalls.

  Antherion was a dragon. The only dragon in Endra, and the only dragon commonly known to associate with humans. Like all dragons, he had two forms which he could shift between, depending on the circumstances: a full dragon form, and a vaguely human form that he rarely used.

  He was in his dragon form now and was positively enormous. Several stories tall, with a wingspan as long as his body from nose to tail. His scales were smooth and silvery, and he had graceful amber eyes that shined like lanterns in the morning mist.

  Kurian stopped singing and lowered his harp as Antherion moved closer to where he sat. The great dragon slumped onto his front claws and huffed so hard that it ruffled Kurian’s messy black hair.

  They sat in silence for a long while. Antherion eventually spoke first.

  “So, no explanation, then?” the dragon said. “No defense?”

  “I’ve got nothing to defend,” Kurian said simply. He went back to tuning his strings.

  “Magister Ross doesn’t agree,” Antherion said.

  “She’s a spiteful woman.”

  Antherion folded his wings behind him like a canopy and shook off some of the leaves that had fallen onto his back. “Do you want to be a magister or not?”

  Kurian hesitated, seeming to repress some hard words. “I want…I want to be a part of something, with my kind. But I don’t need her to do it.”

  “You’
d do well to mind your place. These humans are remarkably good at remembering slights. Don’t sabotage yourself.”

  The bed of branches I stood on cracked as I took a step forward. Antherion turned his head toward me; but I ducked just in time, and he shrugged it off.

  Kurian strummed his harp again. “I’ll pass the trial.”

  “You’re so sure?” Antherion said.

  Kurian seemed momentarily distant. “There’s no Hell they can put me through that I haven’t already endured.”

  Antherion’s voice softened, as if he were talking to a small child. “You still have a choice, my boy. You can return to Castiana and forget this business. Nobody will think less of you. I’ve received word from Sivion. She’s willing to forgive—”

  Kurian set his harp down forcefully. “I don’t belong with them. These are my people. I need to get used to that fact. If I’m going to be a magister, I might as well be the most powerful one around. I imagine the trial will be little more than a formality.”

  Antherion sighed. “You’ve got it all backwards.” He stretched out his wings, extended his neck, and all at once his body was enveloped by light. It shrank, and morphed into his human form. His wings remained, tucked neatly behind him, and his piercing dragon-eyes remained.

  He cracked his neck and motioned to Kurian. “Follow me.”

  They walked through the twigs and mist, leaves crunching underfoot. I followed as closely as I could, without being spotted. Antherion spoke as they moved toward the clearing I’d passed through earlier.

  “By human standards, you’re powerful. There’s no doubt about that,” Antherion said. “But there’s more to being a magister than brute force. What was the last project you completed in the Magisterium?”

  Kurian spoke quickly. “Fenn and I built a rotary motor with—”

  “I mean by yourself.”

  Kurian scratched his cheek. “Well, I’ve finished all the required workshops. And my sponsor is Magister Sullen; he doesn’t require any magistry projects.”

  Antherion stopped, and leaned his hand against an oak tree. With the other hand, he wagged a long, sharp claw at Kurian. “That’s the problem. You’re attempting to force through, and it’s not going to end well. Not to be rude, but you’re approaching it in a very dragon-esque way.”

  “Thank you?” Kurian said dubiously.

  “It wasn’t a compliment.” Antherion sighed again, and set his hand on Kurian’s shoulder as they continued. They reached the tilled earth, and Antherion slipped on a set of gardening gloves and motioned for Kurian to bring him a spade, which he did.

  Kurian seemed ready to bolt, but Antherion pushed on with his lecture regardless.

  “There’s a reason I left the dragonkin to be here. Our kind are stagnant, Kurian. When was the last time a dragon created anything?” Antherion began to dig a series of holes in the soil, periodically dropping a large flower bulb into them. “The others think we’re the pinnacle of civilization, the Old Gods’ perfect creation. But I’ve seen differently. In their own meager way, the Magisterium is trying to add to the order of the universe, much like we were charged to do long ago. Magisters create. If all you can do is destroy, you will fail. Consider taking another term or two before attempting the trial.”

  Kurian slapped Antherion on the back of the shoulder. “I’ll prove you wrong, Uncle. Just watch.” He started for the exit; as he did, he shouted back to Antherion, who was still working the soil. “And you don’t have to remind me about the failings of the dragonkin. Believe me, nobody knows them better than me.”

  Uncle Cassin, if this is to be a true account, then I have to mention my sheer stupidity at this point. If I’d had half a wit, I would’ve quietly slipped out unnoticed, and left Kurian to his privacy. That was the smart thing to do. That was the safe thing to do. That was the right thing to do. But, sometimes my mouth doesn’t listen to my brain.

  Instead of discreetness, I stood beside the exit to the Conservatorium with a smug, shit-eating grin that would’ve made you sick to your stomach.

  In the years that I’d known him, this was the first time I have ever seen Kurian truly surprised. He seemed to notice the expression on my face (though, in truth, it was hard to miss), and didn’t bother asking whether I’d heard their conversation.

  Kurian visibly cycled through a whole wheel of emotions before settling on a smile. He walked past me, matching my grin perfectly.

  “Sneaking around’s not very princess-like behavior, is it?” he said. A sinister undertone belied the comment. He stepped out of the Conservatorium and onto the hard stone and metal walkways of the Magisterium tower. I followed him out.

  “That supposed to be a threat?” I said, keeping pace with him.

  Kurian feigned ignorance. “Me, threaten you? Perish the thought.”

  I ignored the veiled threat. “You’re a dragon?” I blurted out.

  Kurian winced, as if I’d just prodded him in the ribs. “No, I’m not. That’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

  It was the first time I’d ever seen Kurian look legitimately distressed. His normally bright eyes seemed several shades darker, and I could see his muscles clenching; in that moment I could see how angry he really was. Looking back, I don’t think he was upset about the eavesdropping, per se; but rather because, despite his seemingly outgoing personality, he always played his past and emotions close to his chest. Having someone know something so personal about him must’ve been very unsettling.

  I stood, slightly dumfounded. My fingers went to the hem of my uniform, almost like a nervous tick. “But you and Antherion—”

  “I said I’m not,” he said, looking down at the grass.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I said, trying to sound as comforting as possible. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. If you need someone to talk to, I’m—”

  Kurian started for the door, turning his head as if to hide tears. “Why don’t you just mind your own damned business.”

  My hand briefly grabbed his shoulder as he walked past, but he didn’t slow down.

  - 4 -

  The Magisterium

  After the incident in the Conservatorium, it was a long while before I saw Kurian again, but not from lack of trying. He didn’t show up to our joint magistry lessons the next day, nor the day after. In a fit of stalkerishness I’m not proud of, I made some descreet inqueries as to his whereabouts. His bunkmates on the ninth-floor barracks hadn’t seen him, nor had his sponsor, Magister Sullen. I briefly considered asking Antherion; but I decided against it for the time being.

  As I was essentially barred from the Artificium, I had little else to do other than play the dutiful detective.

  What I learned was that while he had many acquaintances, he had few friends. What I mean is that most everyone knew him, and most everyone liked him, yet nobody could answer anything but the most basic questions. He might as well have been a ghost.

  “What the hell did you say to chase him off?” Fenn was poking at his mincemeat pie with a metal spork, briefly looking up to give me a weathered glare.

  We were in the mess hall, eating—my entire team, minus Kurian. With him AWOL, and only a few days left before our final trial, I resolved to get to know Fenn and Kadia a bit more. I’d told them that Kurian had run off, but left out most of the key details.

  I grimaced at my plate and shoved it aside, untouched. “I was just trying to get to know him better.”

  “Well,” Fenn said, not bothering to stop talking even though he was shoveling food down his throat. “Every other team is going to have four members. If he doesn’t show up, we’ll be short. So, figure this shit out.” He choked, momentarily, and cleared his throat with a few chugs of mulled cider.

  I gave him a spiteful look. “I know what I have to do.”

  Kadia had been quietly listening since I sat down. She had finished her meager lunch already, and was reading from a medicinal alchemy textbook, Materia Medica: Ancient Alchemical Diseases by Walder Calcam
ir, Mgr. It was advanced stuff, too; not surprising, as her sponsor was the head of the alchemy department.

  Kadia stopped reading and placed her hand on my wrist in a comforting gesture. Her voice was soft, barely audible over the clank and clamor of the busy mess hall. Dozens of recruits and artificers laughed and ate in the background.

  “He’s right,” she said. “If we don’t have Kurian, we might as well concede now and try again next year. I’ve been watching the other teams closely, beating them is already going to be tough. Some of them have been artificers a lot longer than any of us. Most have trialed before. They’re experts, Kyra.”

  “Need I remind you,” Fenn began, not breaking his glare, “only one team can win? Handle it.”

  My eyes met his. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll handle you first.”

  Before Fenn could respond, Kadia shut the argument down. “We can’t fight each other.” A hard edge crept into her voice, and when she looked at me, I noticed her eyes were slightly bloodshot. A moment later, blood trickled out her nose and down her lip. She took a handful of napkins and held them to her face. “Excuse me.”

  She got up and left so quickly that I hardly knew what happened.

  Fenn and I stared at each other, not quite sure to make of it.

  “Is she okay?” I said.

  Fenn leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his forehead and into his dark, curly hair. “We’re going to die,” he whined. “All because I got saddled with the reject brigade. Magister Acker’s going to kill me. Not to mention my parents.”

  Kadia returned, presumably from the washroom outside the mess hall, but she wasn’t alone this time. Her younger sister, Vexis, whom I’d seen around the tower many times, was with her. She was the spitting image of her older sister, and looked Helian to a fault: bright blonde hair, creamy green eyes, and a pearly white smile that seemed to light up her face. The only real distinction between them was that Kadia wore her hair very short, almost like a boy. As far as I knew, they were the only Helians in the Magisterium.