Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1)

by Bernie Anés Paz

  It wasn’t long before the inner vest of his raiments ended up soaked with sweat and his body throbbed from a hundred stubborn wounds. Sethra waited across from him, giving him a chance to catch his breath. He could tell she was going easy on him, though maybe it was his imagination, because his body was still a tapestry of bruises and pain. On the other hand, the few gashes and blows he had landed on her hadn’t even left a mark.

  Roun lasted a while, but then Sethra scored a chop with a halberd that should have cut his hand off at the wrist. He threw down his own spear and scowled while clutching the trembling hand.

  Gold and red ichor gushed from the wound. Coldness filled him, and his heart was hammering faster than he thought possible. Breathe. His vision swam, but Roun was able to keep the nausea at bay so long as he didn’t move too quickly. The pain, though! Fate be kind, because this agony will kill me long before exhaustion does. His hand felt like it was perpetually trapped in the state of being sawed off, and, instead of fading, the intricate pain crept up his arm.

  Roun focused on his rhythmic breathing while his body closed the wound.

  Sethra stood anxiously next to him. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped. The words sounded harsher than he intended, so he took another breath, swallowed, and added, “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Besides, I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore.”

  She frowned and glanced over at Kamil and Laeshiro, who were still sparring in the warm daylight. “I mean, just yesterday you said it was to judge how comfortable we were with different weapons?”

  “That wouldn’t take more than a day, and I’d bet Yhul probably had a perfect enough impression of us before we even knew his name.”

  “I did indeed.” The statue’s voice radiated out from beside them.

  Both Sethra and Roun jumped. Despite being a hulking stone statue, Yhul was capable of moving around with surprisingly little noise.

  “That wasn’t the point of the exercise, however,” Yhul continued as they faced him sheepishly. He used his lance to prod Roun. “You both still fight as humans rather than as sacred champions. Laeshiro attempted to do otherwise the first day, and now Kamil tries, but I’m disappointed to find you two remaining stagnant.”

  Sethra and Roun exchanged confused looks.

  “What do you mean?” Roun demanded. He didn’t bother trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

  “We have not yet truly begun training; this is play akin to that of a child left free to test themselves against whatever adventure lies before them, heedless of the danger. In other words, I had hoped to allow you a chance to experiment with your new bodies at your own pace.” He raised the gigantic lance upright and turned around to leave. “You might want to consider how your flesh draws élan to heal and attempt cycling it yourselves.”

  The giant left them with that puzzling advice and strode off towards Oyrivia and the brown-haired boy, who were chatting with each other.

  “He’s got a point, I guess,” Roun muttered.

  Sethra nodded, but she looked worried when she turned towards him. “Think you can keep going…?”

  No. Roun nodded back.

  He struggled through a few more matches with Sethra, all the while trying to hide his fatigue and lingering pain. Yhul’s words helped distract him a little; Roun hadn’t considered the full potential of the élan in his vessel. What little I seem to have.

  It took only a little experimentation before they realized they could control the flow circulating throughout their bodies at will. This allowed them to do things like empower the muscles of their arms and legs or boost their mental coordination. The technique seemed so obvious now, but Yhul's words had hit their mark; Sethra and Roun had been moving and thinking the same way they always had.

  During another break, while he caught his breath and Sethra fetched another weapon, Roun thought about how to readjust himself against her. She’s the stronger one between us, and my endurance is worse. A battle of attrition won’t work.

  Sethra came back with a spear like his and bowed. Roun bowed back and tried again, this time focusing on careful pulls of élan. The power available to him was only a trickle, but it still seeped into his muscles, lungs, and heart. It also soaked his mind, allowing him to sharpen his balance and timing. Not all at once; his bursts of enhanced speed were brief and he only empowered his blows the moment before he needed the extra strength.

  Roun still lost every match, but he was able to land more blows on Sethra and could now at least maintain a defense for a while. His strained resources left him unable to do much else, but it was enough to keep Sethra from holding herself back.

  They were both panting and spilling waterfalls of sweat by the time Yhul called them to a halt.

  “You did much better today!” Sethra told Roun cheerfully. The plain honesty in her voice forced a smile from him.

  He was exhausted, but he did still feel better about himself. Probably because he had stopped taking so many hits; the élan within their bodies guarded against things like dismemberment, but he still very much preferred catching a sword strike against his own sword instead of an arm.

  He frowned at the shimmering sword in his hand as everyone else made their way to the racks. Roun was still a little surprised their training equipment was élanic, but he supposed the expense made sense. The weapons would have likely been shattered into pieces by now if they had been mundane. It was also important to learn how to care for them, as an élanic weapon would likely be the only other reliable source of light a Grimoire had if they somehow found themselves at night without a lantern.

  He put the sword away and tried to avoid dragging his feet while Sethra speculated about lunch. They paused at the stairs for Laeshiro and Kamil, but the larger man waved and shouted for them to go on ahead.

  It puzzled Roun until he saw Laeshiro and Kamil turn to speak with Yhul. The expression they shared was enough to hint it was going to be a lengthy discussion—or maybe debate.

  Sethra tugged his sleeve to draw his attention, and as they descended the stairs together, he decided this was a good time to ask about his spirit.

  She paused outside the tower and cocked her head. “Well, your spirit is like everyone else’s. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Roun frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s really dim; I have to focus pretty hard to sense you with Farsight. When you did that self-blinding thing, I really only knew you were next to me, because, well, you were literally standing right next to me. It wasn’t Farsight.”

  He digested the information. “I don’t think that’s good. Sethra, this morning I couldn’t even see my own spirit. I just sat there doing nothing.”

  “What?” The other Grimoire frowned. “Your spirit is dim, but I can still see it, if barely, so it should be obvious to you. Like someone else’s spirit, but a hundred times larger and pressing up against your nose.”

  Roun said nothing for a very long time, thinking, or rather, wondering, what he should think.

  “Alright, I know what I said sounds a little concerning,” Sethra began, “but don’t forget that it’s only been a few days since your awakening. Most of us had months to spring back onto our feet, so my gut is telling me you just need a little rest and a whole lot of food. Besides, Yhul and Zareus don’t seem too worried.”

  Roun unclenched his jaw as he considered her words. “Those are good points.”

  “Of course they are; I’m very wise. And my next tidbit of wisdom is to come eat with me before you worry us both gray.”

  They strode over to the meal hall and made small talk while they ate, then spent the afternoon studying Radiant Historia and practicing their cantrips. Zareus had instructed Roun to only use Farsight and leave Imbue for later; Roun now guessed that Zareus more or less had the same goal as Yhul, and wanted them to grow accustomed to manipulating élan.

  The basics, and he was already horribly incapable.

  Despite that tr
uth, Roun continued to try his best as the days passed by. He studied every evening with the others and dragged his trembling, exhausted body to the tower summit every morning to sit through the useless dawn. He tried different things each time, hoping to glimpse his spirit or some insight into why he wasn’t retaining élan like everyone else.

  His efforts earned him nothing, but he pressed on and continued to spar with Sethra by using the same tactics as before. Sethra, for her part, never complained when he needed a break or was having an off day. Kamil and Laeshiro shared her concerns and forced a variety of food, medicines, and questionable clan remedies on him, as if whatever was afflicting him was closer to a dripping nose than some irredeemable flaw.

  Zareus and Yhul both continued to say nothing, but he doubted it was due to cruelty because they never reprimanded him, so he pushed on.

  Three weeks blurred by like this. Today, all six of them sat together beneath the afternoon warmth of the Throne in a field nestled between the rear of their tower and Avyleir’s southeastern walls.

  It was time to begin training with their personal artes and Roun was terrified.

  “Mine isn’t all that impressive.” Laeshiro already stood in the center of their circle, a gentle smile on his face. He raised his hand, palm upwards, and briefly closed his eyes. Strands of amber light sparked into existence and swirled together into a dense, liquid mass. A heartbeat passed, the mass hardened, and a little creature was left grasping Laeshiro’s arm.

  It was as large as a moderately sized crab, but looked like a milky-white spider with the texture of clay. In fact, its eyes looked like painted imitations and other than the eight legs and mouth parts, there seemed to be a lot of details missing. Nothing about the spider suggested it was alive.

  And yet, the spider moved as if it were blood and bone. The creature shifted around Laeshiro’s arm as he rotated it, seemingly able to remain attached from any angle despite its pudgy, rounded legs. After a while, it dropped and swayed on a glistening amber thread.

  Sethra’s eyebrows rose. “What is it?”

  “A construct. They can either be objects like a blade or imitate life like my spider. Mine is capable of basic autonomy, but isn’t very intelligent, so I still need to supervise it.” Laeshiro sighed. “Which is probably for the best, because the construct unravels if I don’t focus.”

  Zareus snorted. “You will improve with training.”

  “I hope so; thinking about where I might take my arte already leaves me excited.” The spider-construct dissolved into élan, and Laeshiro grinned as he sat back down.

  Kamil took to the center next, but they had already seen his arte, so his demonstration was brief. Roun was still impressed by the ease with which he manipulated the liquid-fire orbs, and Roun now better understood just how meaningful the Grimoire’s ability to create and manipulate more than one at a time was.

  After Kamil sat back down, Zareus looked over to where Oyrivia and the brown-haired boy sat. Roun had learned from Laeshiro that his name was Fane. They knew nothing else about Fane other than that he seemed to get along well with Oyrivia; the two of them often chatted throughout the day. Laeshiro had tried to bridge the gap between their groups, but Oyrivia still outright ignored him and Fane remained hostile.

  Roun didn’t particularly care; his own problems were already too much of a distraction for him to spend time wondering why those two were being so childish and dishonorable.

  The silence stretched on as Oyrivia continued pretending she was deaf, but then, to everyone’s mild surprise, Fane moved to the center of the circle with an overdrawn sigh.

  “I’ve already been ordained the Grimoire of the Shining Seed,” he muttered. He bent over, scooped up a stone, and held it in an open palm. Writhing, intricate patterns spread across his other hand and arm. At first Roun thought it might be script despite its inability to be anything more than writing while on flesh, but the patterns didn’t contain any glyphs he recognized; they were decorative and continuously twisted and stretched out from several bright origin points across the boy’s hand and arm.

  Fane threw the stone into the air and punched at it with his pattern-covered fist. A soft amber glow rippled back to the origin points, erasing the patterns as it traveled, but it all happened so fast that Roun barely caught it.

  A sharp, deep clang rang out and the stone burst apart, showering fine bits of rocks down onto them.

  “Apologies,” Fane muttered. “Didn’t think that through, but there you go.”

  “Impressive,” Laeshiro said after a moment.

  “You can create explosive heat, then?” Kamil asked. “I suppose fire is the most common aspect found among Grimoires.”

  “It’s just force,” Fane explained unhelpfully as he left the circle.

  Everyone left it at that and turned their attention towards Sethra and him. She jumped up from Roun’s side and stepped into the circle with a grin.

  “The librarians also ordained me a few days ago!” she announced.

  Zareus nodded. “The Grimoire of Earthen Wards.”

  Sethra glared at the scribe. “You ruined the surprise!”

  “Go ahead and show us, Sethra,” Roun said in a consoling tone.

  Sethra puffed out her chest and reached down to rest her palms against the ground. Nothing happened for a heartbeat, but then the earth around Sethra surged upwards as if it were instead water. She sprang up with it, arms moving as if she were coaxing the soil to follow. Waist-high hexagonal pillars surrounded her within moments, then the ground beneath her feet rose even higher, leaving her elevated above them on another pillar. She gestured and thin hexagonal panels sprang up along the upper outer edges of her pillars.

  Everyone looked on in awe while Sethra crossed her arms and stood with a smug look on her face.

  “Why are they shaped like that?” Roun asked.

  Sethra shrugged. “It’s the shape that screams out to me whenever I use my arte, and I can’t make anything else.”

  Zareus stepped into the circle and tried to stab his scalpel into one of her walls. It bounced off and didn’t even leave a mark. “As solid as stone; a very interesting arte.”

  Roun couldn’t help but agree. “Are they difficult to keep up?” he asked. Laeshiro had complained about maintaining his single construct, yet Sethra stood there effortlessly.

  “Nope!” she answered. “Not unless I make a lot of them, or make them much larger. Creating them without using my hands is pretty hard, though, and they all have to connect back down to the ground. Otherwise, I just spray soil everywhere or end up with twisted hexagons or something.”

  She jumped down and allowed her miniature fortress to crumble back down into soil, and after a moment of thought, stomped the clumpy region flat.

  Since it was obvious Oyrivia still had no intention of participating, everyone at last turned towards him. Roun had spent the evening wondering about what he would say, but now went with the simple truth.

  “I can’t use my arte,” he admitted with a shrug. “Or maybe I don’t know how. Either way, I’ve tried to sense it and found nothing.”

  Kamil pushed up his spectacles while Sethra and Laeshiro both looked at him with concern. Zareus, however, merely nodded. “Some Grimoires need a little more time than others before they’re able to understand themselves. Either you are like Sethra, whose arte requires earth to be within reach, or there is something you are consciously or unconsciously allowing to hold you back from your potential.” He glanced over at Oyrivia when he said those last few words; the girl continued staring off into the distance. “Perhaps even both. My purpose is to help guide you, but you alone must choose the destination.” Zareus shrugged. “If you can think of something that might help, I’ll allow it.”

  Roun nodded at the scribe as he thought over the advice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  8

  Kuro plopped down on a pillow in front of the magister and set his parasol beside him. A humble garden surrounded them, though the n
earby manse itself was far less so; Koal Village wasn’t the most brilliant gem Rozaria owned, but the settlement did well for itself.

  And it was far away from the Endless Sea, much to his delight. Verdant scents had replaced the coast’s less delicate stench, and the magister’s garden in particular contained blossoming lilies and twined pairs of erosa trees, one of which was courteous enough to provide shade for them. The tree’s sweet, unmistakable aromas tickled his nose and lifted his mood. On any other occasion, he would have indulged in a book of poetry and some sweets.

  Kuro smiled as the village magister’s shaky hands set a tea bowl before him.

  “Thank you,” he said, and met her wide, unfocused eyes.

  A series of comically inappropriate expressions passed across her face before settling on something that might get passing marks for a smile, though it made her seem as if she were treading a line between failed seduction and obsessive interest.

  Kuro waited while she lifted a pot of tea that had long gone cold and tried to pour with stiff movements—and missed.

  “Ah,” she said. There wasn’t the slight hint of emotion in her voice.

  Kuro waved his hand and smiled. “Oh, no worries, no worries at all!”

  He sat smiling as she tried again, and again…. And again… Well, finally! The magister at last filled his bowl, though she ended up overfilling it and getting tea all over the bamboo serving mat. Kuro didn’t mind though, so he reached over and dolloped some honey into the bowl. He stirred and nodded his thanks before taking a sip. The tea was cold, but the tangy blend of spices and herbs more than made up for it.

  “Now, magister, what did you say your name was?” Kuro asked her.

  The magister’s eyes somehow opened wider than they already were. That impressed Kuro; she hadn’t blinked once since his arrival, so her eyes must sting to no small degree.

  “…help…” the magister said.