The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  Kurian opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “This is a marathon, not a sprint. We’ll go to the base of the tree and make camp there.”

  The marshlands around Syseril were so vast that from the ground they seemed to span the entire continent. If it weren’t for the giant tree in the center of it all, it would’ve been impossible to tell where we were, or how far we’d traveled.

  We trekked for four hours in silence, but Syseril still seemed many miles off, like some looming mountain of leaves and branches. We took a break near a rivulet that ran past a rock face. I upended my canteen and chugged. It was so hot, I almost poured the rest on my face, but I resisted the urge.

  “Is it just me, or is it getting hotter?” I said, beating my uniform shirt out.

  “My eyes are starting to burn,” Fenn said, rubbing his face with the side of his hand.

  “It’s the fumes coming from the marsh,” Kadia said, rummaging through her packs of alchemy supplies. “Keep your hands out of your eyes; it’ll only make it worse.” She passed Fenn an eyedropper of greenish liquid and told him to use it on his eyes. He did so, then passed it to the rest of us. It helped, considerably, and the incessant burning stopped.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, sighing with relieve. “What’s in that?”

  Kadia bit her thumb with a girlish smile, obviously happy to be of help. “Just aloe and tamphur.”

  “How’d you get tamphur?” Fenn asked. “Antherion wouldn’t give me so much as a thin leaf for my end-of-term exam.”

  “He likes me better,” Kadia said.

  “He likes everyone better than Fenn,” Kurian added glibly.

  We continued on, Kadia just staring at her feet as she walked, Fenn with his nose in a book, and me and Kurian slightly ahead of the others.

  “You said your grandfather planted this thing?” I said quietly, motioning toward the giant tree.

  Kurian nodded. “I don’t pretend to be an expert.”

  “Anything could be helpful, no matter how small.”

  “The only thing I can really tell you is that ‘Syseril’ is Draconic. It means ‘hold.’”

  I scrunched my face in confusion. “Hold what?”

  Kurian shrugged. “I don’t understand it, either.”

  “Maybe something’s lost in translation,” I offered.

  “Maybe,” Kurian said. “If there is some sort of device inside that’s malfunctioning, the sooner we fix it, the better. Dragons were the premiere builders and shapers for the Old Gods, so their leftovers can cause serious problems.”

  I nodded. “I heard of a village in Celosa that was terrorized by a mechanical construct for weeks before the Magisterium sent anyone to handle it. By that time, over thirty people had died.”

  “Centuries of wear and tear can wreak havoc on old machinery,” Kurian said. “The Magisterium should’ve sent a courier to the dragonkin for this. They’re the only ones qualified to repair something like this.”

  “You’re not going to skip out on me, are you?” I said proddingly.

  Kurian just smirked. “Not a chance, princess. We’re going to win this thing.” He jumped and grabbed onto a tree branch overhead, swung for a moment, and landed on a soft patch of grass. The move was sinuous and effortless.

  “Please don’t break your neck,” Fenn called ahead to us. He barely looked up from his book when he spoke.

  “That’s remarkably tenderhearted of you,” Kurian said.

  Fenn scoffed. “I just don’t feel like hauling your ass through here. Besides, we need you. You’re the best templarist here.”

  Kurian put his hand to his heart in an exaggerated motion. “That’s quite an admission.”

  “It’s not an admission, it’s a fact,” Fenn said. “I’m not here to stroke my own ego. I’m here to win. I want my commission.”

  Slightly distracted by their exchange, I didn’t notice a large, craggy rock sticking halfway out of the soil a few yards in front of me. My foot struck it with such force that I would’ve gone face-first into the dirt if Kurian hadn’t grabbed me. When I’d regained my balance, he let go, and I limped off to the craggy roots of a nearby tree. I removed my boot, and found I’d peeled off a good portion of skin from the top of my foot. Luckily, it wasn’t broken or sprained, but it hurt like hell.

  While I was wrapping my foot, Kurian and Fenn were standing still as statues, looking at something not far ahead of us.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw what had unnerved them. It was a body. Or rather, it used to be a body. It must’ve been out here for years, because all the flesh was gone, leaving only bones behind. But it was human. There were thin scraps of orange cloth left on it and a beaded wooden necklace that looked familiar.

  “It’s one of the monks,” Fenn said, backing away and coughing hard like he’d throw up.

  After wrapping my foot, I slipped my boot back on and approached the skeleton. Clutched in its hands was a moldy, water-ridden book held together with thin twine. I picked it up gingerly, trying to be as respectful to the body as possible. The pages were so fragile and worn that I felt as though it’d fall apart in my hands if I opened it.

  Fenn reached for it. “Let me,” he said. “I’ve got experience handling ancient texts. We don’t want to damage it any more than we have to.”

  Fenn was the resident historian and linguist in the group. He’d worked in the Librarium since he was a recruit and was a well-known bookworm. I handed the book over without argument, and he and Kurian looked through the pages with deliberate care.

  “Why would he be holding that in his final moments?” I asked.

  “Maybe it’s a prayer book?” Fenn offered, wiping gray muck from the cover. He opened the book and skimmed a few of the worn pages before speaking again. “It does mention Old Gods, but I don’t think it’s a religious text. It’s almost like a blueprint or a schematic.” He turned it to face me, showing off some detailed mechanical diagrams. The water had blotched out most of them, leaving the images half-destroyed.

  Fenn pointed to the words around the diagrams. At first glance, I they appeared to be ancient Deific, but there were several unfamiliar symbols that didn’t quite fit.

  My hand grazed over one of them. “These aren’t Deific.”

  “They’re Draconic,” Kurian said.

  “Can you read them?” I asked.

  Kurian gave an unsure look. “Maybe. Draconic’s a complicated language, heavily influenced by the other words in the line.”

  “You speak Draconic?” Fenn asked dubiously.

  Kurian glanced up with his yellow eyes. “A bit.”

  “Well, please, enlighten us,” Fenn said, crossing his arms.

  “It’s hundreds of pages long,” Kurian said, flipping through. “Most of it’s technical schematics for some sort of machine, and a smattering of mentions about the dragonkin and the Old Gods.” He turned the book around to the cover. “The cover says ‘Syseril.’”

  “You told me it means hold,” I said.

  “It does, but like I said, context matters a lot with Draconic. It could mean hold, keep, or prison, if you wanted to get technical.”

  “We’re artificers,” Fenn said, snatching the book back. “Getting technical is our job.”

  “Besides the machine diagrams, it just looks like a referencial history of the war of the Old Gods. It mentions Nuruthil, his servants, and the War of the Aegis,” Kurian said. “Pretty basic stuff, nothing you couldn’t find in the Librarium.”

  Fenn bit his lip. He pointed to a spot on the page and turned his head. “These symbols here look almost like alchemical equations. Kadia, do you think—”

  His voice cut off so abruptly, it startled me. Fenn glanced around frantically, searching through the mist. Kadia was nowhere in sight.

  “Where the hell did she go?” Fenn said, then cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted her name.

  No answer came.

  “Shit,” Fenn said, a twinge of panic in his v
oice. “We have to go back.”

  - 10 -

  The Treetops

  We followed our footsteps in reverse, running fast over the moist soil. I kicked up so much mud and murky water that my pantlegs were drenched by the time we got to Kadia’s last footprints.

  Kurian knelt and examined them. He mouthed some inaudible words to himself, then looked back at me. “They just…stop.” He stared into my eyes and made a slight motion with his eyebrows, upward. He cleared his throat, and stood, not breaking his glare. “We should move along without her.”

  “What?” Fenn said, sharply. “We can’t just—”

  I took Fenn by the arm. “Kurian’s right, let’s keep moving.” I tugged his arm up slightly, and gave him a look. I could see the wheels in his head turning, and for a split second, his eyes tilted upward toward the treetops. Slowly, almost casually, his hand went for his sword.

  I hesitated, but eventually glanced up too, trying not to draw attention to myself. Amidst the tangle of branches and fog, I spotted something half-obscured by the leaves. I must’ve been a bit too obvious, because before I could even think, Kurian shoved me to the ground and an arrow flew past me, skimming the fabric on my upper arm and tearing out the stitching. I turned onto my back, looking up at where the arrow had come from. Even from this distance, I recognized him as Rokan, one of Team Dia’s artificers. He had Kadia nearby, bound with rope on her arms and ankles, and was re-stringing his bow.

  Kurian jumped a full ten feet into the air, almost flying, and his weight made the branch wobble. He charged forward, sword in hand, and Rokan dropped his bow. Instead, he took a knife and pressed it to Kadia’s throat.

  Kurian slowed, stopping mid-charge. Rokan was noticeably unsettled and panting, but upon seeing Kurian’s reaction, he calmed.

  “That’s better,” Rokan said. He motioned toward Kurian’s sword. “Drop it.”

  Kurian hesitated, but a quick motion of the knife against Kadia’s neck made him comply.

  I got to my feet, wiping some of the muck out of my eyes and fumbling to slip out of my heavy pack.

  “It’s a bluff,” Fenn said. “He’s not going to hurt her.”

  “This isn’t going to work, Rokan,” Kurian said, holding up his hands in a calming motion. “There are four of us and only one of you.”

  Rokan grimaced. “I don’t want any trouble. Just show me what kind of key you got.”

  Fenn looked at me with hard eyes. “We can’t.”

  I matched his stare. “We don’t have a choice.”

  A loud creaking sound interrupted our budding argument. The branch that Kurian, Rokan, and Kadia were on fell, like a lead weight. Kurian jumped to safety with his usual grace, but Rokan fell hard, striking his body on the severed tree limb and tumbling into the bog water below. Kadia was still up there, just past the unbroken bit of the branch, and still very much tied up.

  Fenn and I hurried to secure Rokan, while Kurian went to untie Kadia. We pulled him up from the foot-deep water. The tree branch had scraped him hard across the back, and he was bleeding heavily. His body was limp, and he didn’t seem to be conscious.

  A moment later, Kadia was free of her restraints, and Kurian tossed the rope down to us. “Tie him up,” he said.

  While Fenn did so, I rummaged through Rokan’s pockets and took his inscriber. Even tied up he was still dangerous; but without his inscriber, much less so. We pulled him to safety and propped him against a tree, then turned our attention to Kadia.

  Her whole body was shaking, and tears streamed down her red cheeks. She sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “He was going to kill me,” she said, weakly, taking Kurian’s hand.

  “We weren’t going to let that happen,” Kurian said, then something caught his eye. He examined the area where the tree branch had broken. “Kyra come look at this,” he shouted down.

  I shimmied up the tree, with some difficulty. Where the branch had broken wasn’t splintered at all. There weren’t even any saw marks, as though a blade had been taken to it. The branch was perfectly severed without even slightest groove or splinter. It was a clean, impossible cut.

  I ran my fingers over it. It was a smooth as finished wood.

  “How?” I looked to Kadia.

  Kadia hesitated. “I didn’t see.”

  There was something off about her tone. I couldn’t quite place it at the time, but looking back I should’ve been much more aggressive. However, for the time being, it was a minor mystery and had worked in our favor, so I didn’t give it much thought. We counted our blessings, and turned our attention to Rokan. He was beginning to stir, and his eyes cracked open.

  Fenn knelt in front of him and tilted his bloody chin up. “What do we do with him?”

  “I say we leave him here and move on,” Kurian said flatly. “Every second we waste is time for another team to get ahead of us.”

  “We could kill him,” Fenn offered. “He knows our position. If he escapes, he might decide to trail us and pick us off one by one.”

  I waited to see if he was joking. “You can’t be serious,” I said.

  Rokan struggled against his restraints.

  “He seemed to have no problem killing one of ours,” Fenn retorted.

  “Willful killing is against the rules,” Kadia said.

  Fenn scoffed. “Rules. You think Cidrin or Dia’s team give a flying fuck about the rules? Out here, there is only one rule: win. Who’s to say he didn’t die in that fall?”

  I grabbed Fenn by the shoulder and turned him to face me. “We’re not killing him. What are our other options?”

  Some of the proper color was returning to Kadia’s face, and her voice was a bit stronger. “If we leave him here alone, he’ll die of infection.”

  “Can you do anything for him?” I asked.

  Kadia had anticipated my question and was already rummaging around through her alchemy supplies. She retrieved a few herbs from a leather pouch and ground them with a small wooden mortar and pestle until they were a grayish purple paste. She added it to liquid, and pulled up Rokan’s shirt to apply it. Against the cloth covering his mouth, he screamed, but the excessive bleeding quickly stopped and he settled down.

  “We could keep him,” Kurian offered, crossing his arms.

  “He’ll slow us down,” Fenn said.

  Kurian nodded. “A bit. But he’ll be a good bargaining chip when we run into Dia’s team. All living team members have to pass together, so as long as he’s with us, it doesn’t matter how far they get.”

  I cupped my hands over my eyes and looked out into the fog. Syseril stood like a monolith, its roots piercing through the marshland in all directions like a great tangled mess. I pointed to one of the ten-story high roots near the base. “We should be able to make it there before nightfall; we’ll make camp and follow it at dawn. We’ll take Rokan with us, but we’ll stick with the original plan and find the chamber entrance before we do anything else.”

  Kurian winced. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to spend a night out here.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice,” I said. Though I spoke with confidence, I’ll admit I was as worried as he was. Maybe a bit more, actually. There was something off about this place, something that defied explication. I could only imagine what night would bring. But we had our task to complete and, as they say, fear doesn’t suit a magister.

  - 11 -

  The Corruption of Syseril

  It took nearly nine hours to make it to the root. We might’ve moved faster on better terrain, but the swamp had not been kind. The land wasn’t flat, rather the deep roots of the World Tree seemed to push up rocks and soil, causing severe inclines in certain areas. Climbing these inclines was dangerous at the best of times, and going around them wasn’t always an option.

  Once on the other side, we’d often step into two feet of reeking bog water to the point where my uniform trousers were soaked throughout and, despite not falling in, the rest of me was drenched just fro
m kicking up so much.

  A small, solid clearing beside one of the roots was a welcomed sight. Almost too good to be true, but I was in no condition to look a gift horse in the mouth. I practically collapsed onto the grass, my pack slipping down my back. I was sweating, I stank, and felt as though I’d been bitten a thousand times by every single insect in this godforsaken place.

  I took off my uniform overcoat and tossed it aside, then rolled up the light cloth sleeves of my undershirt. Next, I removed my boots and socks with a satisfied sigh. The others went into similar states of half-dress and sat down panting. It wasn’t night, yet, just early twilight.

  I looked at Fenn. “Can you get a fire going?”

  Fenn turned onto his hands and stood like it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “There’s got to be some dry wood somewhere.”

  “I know some quick runes that’ll dry out just about anything,” I said, offhandedly. “Any wood will do.”

  Kurian upended a water skin into his mouth, then wiped his face with his uniform’s sleeve and took a hard breath. “We can’t sit around for long. We need to make a perimeter, and at least one of us needs to be awake at all times in case of an ambush,” he made a motion to Rokan, “or in case this one tries something.”

  “I’ll take the first shift,” Kadia said, weakly. Fenn looked as though he’d protest, but Kadia spoke up before he could. “I messed up. I let him surprise me. It won’t happen again.”

  I expected Fenn to give some backhanded remark, but he didn’t. He probably realized that if she didn’t take first watch, he might have to. Self-serving as ever.

  It didn’t take long for Fenn to fetch the drenched pieces of bog-wood, covered in moss and worms. He shook some of the debris from them and Kurian used a handheld spade to dig a pit for the fire.

  “A fire might attract some attention,” Kurian said, as he dug.

  “Possibly,” I said. “But we can’t continue in wet clothes and boots.”

  “It’ll start to eat at our feet,” Kadia said. “Trenchfoot’s nasty, and it can set on quicker than most people think.” She drew out a bag of ointments and lathered a solution onto her feet and legs, then passed it to me. “This is Elyrau oil, it’ll help a bit; but Kyra’s right, we need a fire.”