The Novice

by Taran Matharu

  ‘I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it,’ Arcturus reasoned to Sacharissa, listening for the dull sound of the second morning bell. His mouth was dry and the evening meal Ulfr had brought him remained untouched beside his bed. Even Sacharissa had refused to eat it, although that might have had something to do with it being a salad. Arcturus suspected that to her, it might as well have been a pile of grass.

  The knell of the bell echoed down the corridor, leaving his heart thundering as he realised the moment had arrived.

  ‘Come on, Sacha,’ Arcturus murmured, opening the door. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say and then leave as soon as possible. We’ll run back to the room and lock ourselves in for half an hour, then make our escape when the coast is clear.’

  They hurried down the corridors, feeling their way in the darkness. Arcturus didn’t risk a wyrdlight, for they would be too bright against the pitch black of the castle interior. If any of their teachers caught him out at night, his chances of meeting Charles would be scuppered, not to mention any possibility of escape.

  It felt like an age until they reached the atrium, and for a moment Arcturus was worried that he was too late. It was only when he saw a bright light flickering beneath the summoning room’s door that he realised that Charles was waiting within.

  ‘OK, Sacha. This is it.’ He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door.

  For a moment Arcturus didn’t understand what he was seeing. After being in darkness so long, the light within half-blinded him, so bright was it in his vision.

  It was a portal, the blue orb hanging in the air like a miniature sun. Rook was kneeling beside it, pulsing mana into the violet pentacle beneath. This wasn’t right.

  Arcturus turned to run, but Charles was standing in the doorway, a nasty smile on his face. He swung the door closed with a kick of his heel.

  ‘What’s going on here, Charles,’ Arcturus growled, gripping Sacharissa by the scruff of her neck. She was preparing to pounce on him, driven by equal parts of fear and fury.

  But before Charles could answer, Arcturus felt something wet and sticky whip around his body, trapping his arms to his chest. Sacharissa leaped, but Charles was already rolling out of harms way as the Canid’s attack slammed against the door. Another thread hissed through the air, glowing like a shield spell. This time, it wrapped around Sacharissa’s hind legs.

  ‘Trussed like a chicken, ready for the kiln,’ Charles cackled as more threads shot out of the shadows, swathing Sacharissa as she scrabbled at the oak floorboards. Another lashed around Arcturus’s neck, tighter than a hangman’s noose.

  Arcturus fell to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest. He gripped the dirk in his hand and eased it from the scabbard, even as he became entangled by more of the deadly strands. Soon he could barely move, only watch as Sacharissa howled and snapped at the strange fibres that constricted her. A few moments later, a last thread encircled her muzzle and tightened, reducing her noise to a strangled growl.

  ‘Beautifully done, Anansi,’ Charles called. ‘You can come out now!’

  Charles’s Arach crept out of the shadows, the strange glowing fluid dripping from the back of its abdomen, beneath a deadly stinger. It was an enormous black spider, with a body as large as a human head and long spindly legs that scuttled along the floorboards. It had a cluster of beady eyes set in the centre of its forehead and a swollen body peppered with stiff brown hairs. The mandibles that served as its mouth clicked menacingly as it circled around Arcturus to return to its master.

  ‘You know, I think you did me a favour, stableboy, by taking that pathetic Canid from me,’ Charles sneered, hunkering down to bring his face close to Arcturus’s. ‘The Arach is a glorious specimen, able to trap its prey with a mana web, inject them with its stinger and then consume them at their leisure. Anansi can even scratch away at his hairs, which float into the air to blind and irritate his victims – as his owner, I’m immune, of course. He is versatile, agile and deadly. I couldn’t ask for a better demon.’

  ‘Thanks for the demonology lesson,’ Arcturus said sarcastically, though the tremor in his voice revealed his fear. ‘Why don’t you tell me what all this is about. You’re taking a great risk, trapping me like this. When the king finds out—’

  ‘The king won’t find out,’ Charles interrupted gleefully, slapping Arcturus lightly on the face, just because he could. ‘You won’t be in a position to tell him, or anyone else for that matter, what with you being dead and all.’

  Arcturus’s heart lurched as Charles’s eyes bore into his, their murderous intent as plain as the words he had just spoken. Twisting his hand beneath the webbing, Arcturus began to gently scrape at the gossamer with the dirk’s blade. It was hard to tell if it was having any effect, but it would not do to reveal his weapon to Charles. His only chance now was the element of surprise. He had to keep the young noble talking until he was free.

  ‘How’s it looking, Rook?’ Charles called, for the pentacle was spitting and sizzling behind them. Arcturus twisted his neck to see Rook’s kneeling figure, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

  ‘Five more minutes. I’ve found the Minotaur’s corpse. The Wendigo only took the heart, liver and kidneys. The flesh must have been too tough, it will still be hungry. There’s a trail of blood.’

  Arcturus saw a shard of scrying crystal on the ground between Rook’s hands, flashes of green reflected in it as his demon hunted in the ether. Why on earth were they hunting for the Wendigo, and now of all times? Even Scipio had been afraid of it.

  Arcturus turned back to Charles, who was gently stroking the Arach’s abdomen.

  ‘Why am I here if I did you a favour by taking Sacha. I’ve caused you no other offence.’ Arcturus felt the first strand of gossamer part, leaving him more room to manoeuvre the blade.

  ‘It’s not what you’ve done, but what you are. In more ways than one.’ Charles plucked a patch of hair from Anansi and stroked it along Arcturus’s bare arm. It raised a welt of red as it stung the skin, as if he were being stroked by a nettle. ‘Commoners should not be summoners. It upsets the natural order of things. Any commoner planning a revolt against the ruling classes knows they are doomed to failure. But throw common summoners into the mix and suddenly our spellcraft and demons aren’t so scary anymore. That alone should be enough reason to kill you. But it’s not the only one.’

  ‘Enlighten me then,’ Arcturus said, gritting his teeth as the pain in his arm began to throb. He didn’t want to think how much it would hurt if a hair found its way into his eye.

  ‘Do you remember, how a firstborn child of a summoner will always inherit the same gift?’ Charles asked, allowing the patch to fall to the ground.

  ‘I do,’ Arcturus grunted.

  ‘Well, a summoner can have several firstborn children with different partners, as long as it is the first child of that partner. For example, a man might father several firstborn children with various women, if it is each woman’s first child. As long as one parent is a summoner and one has never had a child before, the offspring will inherit the gift.’

  ‘I understand, get on with it,’ Arcturus snarled, redoubling his efforts with the dirk. The blade scraped along his skin painfully, but he didn’t care. He had only a few more minutes to make his escape.

  ‘So eager to die, Arcturus?’ Charles laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll hear the whole story before you’re dead.’

  Arcturus wondered what he would do when his arms were free. Would there be time to release Sacharissa, or would he have to kill the Arach first? Sacharissa was quiet now, as if she could sense what he planned to do. Another thread parted, and Arcturus felt like he could tear himself free if given enough time. But he needed it to be fast.

  ‘I see it!’ Rook shouted from behind. ‘Not long now!’

  ‘All right, looks like I’ll have
to make this quick,’ Charles snarled, taking a handful of Arcturus’s hair and drawing him closer. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

  ‘I don’t like the rumours going around.’

  ‘What rumours? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t you see, Arcturus. You grew up in Boreas, the same city my father lives in. Born with the power to summon. Abandoned as a child at an orphanage. You are proof of my father’s infidelity. You are his bastard, and it won’t be long before someone else comes to the same conclusion.’

  ‘No . . .’ Arcturus stammered, his escape forgotten as understanding began to dawn on him. Could it really be true? He pictured the beady eyed man who had imprisoned him in that cell, without food or water for days. He shuddered with horror. He had always wondered who his father was . . .

  ‘Your mother was nothing but a common courtesan, who whelped you and abandoned you for the state to raise. If only she had left you out in the elements to die. But no matter. I will take your life instead, before Obadiah has time to find out where you came from.’

  Sacharissa was struggling now, grunting as she strained against her bonds. Her claws scratched on the wood, but all she managed was to shuffle a few inches closer to them.

  ‘You’re my brother!’ Arcturus cried. Charles planted his knee in Arcturus’s stomach and began to twist his head. Arcturus felt his spine creak under the pressure, as if Charles were trying to snap his neck.

  ‘Half-brother,’ Charles hissed in his ear, pointing at the floating globe. ‘I guess this only makes this half-fratricide. Now look. See what fate we have planned for you.’

  The portal spun in the air, crackling with energy. Rook had stabbed a leather tie into the pentacle’s edge and was standing just a few feet away from them now. He looked exhausted, yet he was in a sprinter’s crouch, as if ready to run from the room at any moment.

  Suddenly, a demon hurtled from out of the portal, gliding out in a flutter of wings. It looked like a large, red-feathered owl with four legs. Arcturus caught a glimpse of round black eyes before it flew over him. A spatter of blood struck his face, and he realised the bird must have attacked the Wendigo with its talons before coming through.

  ‘Will it follow a Strix? They aren’t known for being prey,’ Charles wondered out loud, as the portal continued to spin.

  ‘If it doesn’t, no matter. We’ll just stick a blade between his ribs and throw him through.’ Rook panted, his breathing heavy with effort from keeping the portal open.

  ‘Too risky. Father said it has to look like an accident – that’s the whole point of this. Someone might find his body if they go hunting. Not usual this time of year what with the Shrikes, but still a possibility.’

  ‘The Wendigo will dispose of the body. What other choice do we have?’ Rook hissed.

  ‘You’re going to make it look like I tried to capture a Wendigo, alone, and it killed me?’ Arcturus realised with disgust

  ‘A living demon not connected to a summoner fades back into the ether, within a few hours,’ Rook laughed, glancing back at Arcturus. ‘They’ll never know what killed you, but they’ll have their suspicions.’

  Even as he spoke, the Wendigo emerged from the portal in a tumbled clatter of claws and antlers, dripping blood from scratches across its muzzle.

  ‘Have a nice life, brother. All thirty seconds of it,’ Charles whispered.

  14

  Arcturus was shoved to the floor, his nose thudding into the floor boards. The door slammed and the room was cast in pitch darkness as the portal disappeared, its power source gone with Rook.

  Salty blood gushed from Arcturus’s nose and on to his lips and chin as he struggled to get upright, ripping at his weakened bonds with all the strength he could muster. As the dirk sliced through the mana web, they dissolved into nothingness – no evidence to prove what Charles had done. They had planned his murder well.

  As quietly as possible, Arcturus shuffled back and began to work on Sacharissa’s bonds, all the while impressing the need for her silence with his mind. She barely breathed, even when he sliced her in his blind rush to get her free. Every moment mattered, for the gossamer still glowed, just enough for the Wendigo to track in the darkness.

  He could hear it now, its claws slipping and scraping on the floorboards. Arcturus could remember the way its hooked claws had dug into the earth for purchase when it had battled the Minotaur. It was a wild animal, completely new to such a smooth, hard surface. He would use this to his advantage.

  The final thread was sliced away and Arcturus helped Sacharissa to her feet, now in total darkness. The Wendigo was snorting lungfuls of air, hunting for them by scent alone. For the first time, he was glad of the stink of burning wood that polluted the air. It would help keep them alive.

  First, Arcturus tried the door. It was locked, but he could feel the keyhole, so large that he could stick two fingers through it. The lock was rough and simple, a relic of the old times the castle had been built in. If he was lucky, a bit of jimmying with the dirk might get the door open.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Arcturus saw that there was dim light from beneath the door, enough to see Sacharissa’s eyes. Instinctively, he re-formed their connection. Her black and white vision would not make much difference in the gloom of the room; hearing and sound would be key.

  The scratch of claws against the wood was sickening, like nails against a chalkboard. But it was nothing compared to the smell that the Wendigo gave off. It was like rotting carrion, sweet and ripe in the air. Arcturus felt as if it coated the back of his throat, so strongly did it reek of death. In his mind’s eyes, he could tell the demon was creeping up to him cautiously. Arcturus supposed that it must have not recognised his scent, since humans did not enter the ether. It was scared of the unknown – yet it approached nonetheless.

  ‘Get back!’ Arcturus yelled, slamming the dirk through the keyhole, twisting and scraping at the mechanism within.

  He heard the skitter of claws as the Wendigo leaped away, like a startled bird. Even so, it was but a moment before he heard the slow creep once again.

  Strangely, it did not seem to be approaching him this time, or at least, not that he could hear. Instead, the Wendigo appeared to be heading towards the lockers on the other side of the room. As Arcturus honed in on them, he could scent a trace of something he hadn’t before: a mix of bath soap, sweat and leather. Perhaps both he and the Wendigo could smell the aprons within, and the creature had decided they were easier prey.

  Arcturus didn’t care, as long as it was moving away from him. He could feel the lock in the door clicking with every rattle of his dirk, until finally, a dull clunk told him that the latch had popped on the other side. With a last wrench, he dragged the door open, tumbling through with Sacharissa just behind him.

  He slammed the door closed, threw the latch back in place and pressed his back against it.

  The Wendigo rammed against the door, its predatory instincts telling it to chase that which ran away. The door shuddered but stayed firm against the demon’s onslaught. Perhaps it had been made thick and sturdy for that very reason.

  Arcturus felt a rush of hot, moist air against his lower back, as the Wendigo snorted beneath the door, smelling him. He raked the dirk through the crack and was rewarded by a grunt of pain. The blade tip came away sticky with black blood. Then there was a clatter of claws as the demon crawled away in search of less dangerous prey.

  Arcturus took a deep breath and assessed his situation. His satchel was still attached to his back and Rook and Charles were nowhere to be seen. They must have returned to their rooms, in case someone heard Arcturus screaming and caught them.

  It had all turned out better than expected in the end. There was blood on the floor from his nose and Arcturus was sure that if they found no body, Charles would assume that the Wendigo had ea
ten him entirely, then faded into the ether. He had inadvertently faked his own death. It was perfect!

  Sacharissa nosed against his palm and he gave her a brief hug. He only wished he had time to try and infuse her before he disappeared into the night. She was in enough danger, and it would save him feeding her. She was already hungry, for Ulfr had only brought her one meagre portion of mincemeat in the afternoon.

  Suddenly, he heard a bellow from inside the room, like the last breath of a wounded bull. Then a scream, so loud and full of horror, that it cut him through to his very soul. There was no doubt in Arcturus’s mind who it could be.

  ‘Elaine!’ he gasped.

  He threw open the door, the darkness inside suddenly lit by the dim light of the Atrium. Wyrdlights flew from his fingers, zooming in to reveal the monstrous figure at the other end of the room.

  Elaine lay curled up on the floor in front of a broken locker, covering her head with her hands. Brave little Valens was buzzing around the Wendigo’s head, stabbing his juvenile sting at its eyes. With each swipe of the Wendigo’s claws, the Mite dodged into the maze of antlers that branched from the monster’s forehead, so that his attacks clattered ineffectually against them. Arcturus realised that Elaine must have overheard him and Charles, and then hidden in a locker to watch their fight.

  ‘Elaine, get out of there!’ he yelled.

  But Elaine didn’t move. She was motionless, as helpless as a newborn lamb.

  ‘Fetch her, Sacha,’ Arcturus ordered, running towards the Wendigo, his dirk outstretched. Sacharissa bounded beside him, skittering as she struggled to find purchase on the smooth floor.

  It was a good fifty yards to run, but it felt like a mile as the Wendigo flailed its claws around the room, each step dangerously close to Elaine’s prone figure on the floor.