by Sever Bronny
Leera said nothing. A student had disappeared down the Hall of Rapture only last month, and hadn’t been heard from since. The old way of the academy was harsh and cruel. It was about survival, strong arcanery, and daring. Prior to Mrs. Stone’s time as headmistress, everything about the place had been more dangerous, from the training methods to duels to how students used the academy, going on expeditions inside its labyrinthine halls, on adventures in the catacombs, and on treks and explorative quests in its arcanely extended horizons. But that had been during a time when such things were expected from pupils. Now they were kept busy with homework and studies by anxious mothers and fathers eager to keep their rambunctious teenage warlocks safe, not to mention warlocks were a precious commodity that could not be gambled with like in the old days.
But the trio did not have parents. They were orphans. What bound their horizons together was decency, love, loyalty, a deep friendship, and the Sacred Chivalric Code of the Arcaner.
“We can’t get caught down here,” Bridget said. “Restricted means restricted. We don’t have permission to descend these steps.”
“Well, we don’t have much time until the bell rings and we have to go to that stupid worship meeting or whatever,” Augum said. “Now’s the time to decide.”
“I say we go for it,” Leera said, giving Augum an imploring look.
“Me too,” he added.
They turned to Bridget, who stood in contemplation.
“The Grizzly did give me a key for a reason,” Augum prodded.
“That’s true.” Bridget nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”
“Door open or closed?” Augum asked. “I know it’s risky, but if we want to discover who’s following us, we should leave it open.”
“Then you just answered your own question,” Bridget replied.
“And let’s leave it unlocked from now on,” Leera added. “You know, in case we need to return for any reason.”
They glanced over their shoulders again, listened carefully and, concluding that no one had followed them this far, descended the steps.
“Been in way worse spots anyway,” Leera said, as if trying to convince herself.
Augum felt it too—there was a distinct spookiness to the place, a feeling that the ghosts of ancient maligned students waited for hapless fools to stumble into their clutches. But they had faced the undead, he kept telling himself; surely this was nothing.
The catacombs were cold and damp. Augum had been expecting huge gray stone blocks, but the stone walls gave way to mottled brick. The academy had been built over the ruins of an even older academy, and those ruins were said to have been founded upon the ruins of an ancient Rivican construct. But this certainly was not Rivican architecture. He had already seen two Rivican constructs in his time—the deep catacombs beneath the Black Castle, and the smooth old stone complex beneath Occulus’ ancient castle-within-a-mountain, Bahbell. Both had been awe-inspiring sights and both had used huge smooth stone blocks.
The hallway was twenty feet wide, the ceiling forty feet high, and the floor made from slabs of cracked marble yellowed by time. But someone had swept the floor in the last month, perhaps a quiet servant who performed their duties after academy hours.
“Speaking of servants,” Augum muttered to himself as they passed four ancient oaken doors, two on each side of the wide hall. All had giant iron padlocks on them, and each door was neatly inscribed with old script. There was a Servants’ Salon, a Servants’ Mess Hall, a Servants’ Quarters, a Storehouse, and even an ancient sealed coal tunnel entrance from when the academy used coal instead of arcanery.
“No one was speaking about servants,” Leera muttered, glancing over her shoulder.
“Huh? Oh, I was thinking about stuff.”
Leera hovered a palm over one of the huge padlocks. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” After a moment of inspection, she dropped her hand. “Enchanted so densely it looks like moss. Sunk to permanence too. Try your key.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Bridget said.
“Just for fun.”
Augum shrugged, dug out the key again, and tried to fit it into the lock. “Doesn’t fit,” he reported. “These padlocks came later.”
“And if they lost the key …”
“Then it’s locked forever,” Augum concluded for Leera.
Bridget trailed a hand gently over the old brick wall without touching it. “There was a time when the thousands of students required hundreds of servants. I read that all servants were required to be at least 1st degree. But over the centuries, as the student population plummeted, having so many servants became unnecessary. They’re now brought in from the city. Cooks and the like in the day, cleaners at night. Pretty sure they still have to be at least 1st degree though.”
Leera glanced at Augum and made a face like she was half asleep. He elbowed her to knock it off. So what if Bridget loved history? Her interest in the subject had helped them countless times.
They traveled on, descending a set of shallow steps well-worn in the middle by a thousand years of people stepping on them, giving them the appearance of buckling noodles.
They passed empty ale bottles and an academy tray licked clean by rats.
“I see students are still finding ways in and enjoying this creep hole,” Leera muttered. “Ugh, who’d find this a fun place to hang out in?”
“Maybe they dared each other,” Augum whispered. The stillness of the place called for hushed voices. “And maybe they found another entrance, a secret entrance. Or they snuck in while it was being cleaned.”
“This is the last place I’d want to get drunk in,” Leera said. “But I have to say, it’d be neat to find some academy secrets.” She held up her hands like weighing scales. “You know, balance out the tedium of studies.”
The light dimmed the farther they got from the doors, forcing each of them to light their palms. A combination of blue lightning, pale water and green-glowing ivy lit up the old corridor. Shine was the first elemental spell every warlock had to learn, and the most oft used.
“I love my element,” Leera muttered, playing with the lit water of her palm and making it lap around her fingers. “Only wish we had more occasion to swim. Think we’ll find a pool down here?”
“Who knows what we’ll find here,” Bridget said.
The hall continued with ten doors on each side, all labeled Storage, followed by a numeral. Each was padlocked and dusty, not having been accessed in decades, perhaps even centuries. Augum suspected they stored things like old sets of tables and chairs and cabinetry. But the more he thought about it, the more his imagination ran wild. Perhaps there were old stage decorations, or long out-of-date field equipment, or archery targets and old horse bridles and arcane jousting equipment from back when warlocks and Arcaners were required to ride horses. The academy was supposed to have an ancient underground stable somewhere. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was here in the catacombs. Or what if there was dragon-riding equipment! He almost wanted to mention that nugget to the girls, but changed his mind after envisioning their skeptical faces.
They soon came upon the first signs of truly ancient wear—a great patch of brick had been replaced, along with a strip of gravel that ran diagonally from wall to wall. It had likely been a break in the old piping, or perhaps sewage, as there were ancient calcified water stains along the brick and floor.
“Was expecting more of a labyrinth, to be honest,” Leera whispered. “It’s only a corridor.”
“For now,” Augum replied under his breath. He wondered if the bell even rang down here. Being underground always distorted his sense of time and he tried not to think about what would happen if they missed the obligatory worship meeting.
The hall split for the first time into four branches. The left branch had a long row of twenty-foot-tall stone statues that disappeared into the darkness beyond their circle of palm light. The paint on them had faded, giving them muted tones. The faces were stern and full of concentration,
and there were equal numbers of women as men. All wore cream robes.
“Who are all these statues of?” Leera whispered as the trio strolled over to examine them. “And did you notice that every single person is old?”
“I believe they’re former students,” Bridget said, nodding up at one fearsome-looking warlock woman with an eagle-like face. She tapped the embroidered academy crest on her own chest. “They all have crests over their hearts like us.”
Leera blew strands of raven hair from her face. “I see academy fashion hasn’t changed in, what, forever. Well, for the most part.”
Augum rubbed the cream robe, only to discover there was a sticky buildup of dust and grease, and underneath was a different color. “Wait, they’re all wearing white robes—” he blurted. Academy lore was ingrained into every student from day one. And even though the trio had skipped a couple years of initial academy training, their studies had taught them certain crucial historical facts about the academy, and this was one of them.
“They can’t all be 20th degree, can they?” Leera asked in wonder as she circled the first statue.
Augum brushed the dust aside from the blocky base and solemnly read the inscription aloud. “ ‘Margaret Anne Fletcher, distinguished healing element graduate of the 20th degree in thy year 2361, aged eighty-eight.’ That’s, what, almost a thousand years ago!”
“Who cares how long ago it was,” Leera said. “Think about how smart she had to be as a healer to get to the 20th degree! That’s, like, super smart. Like ten Jengos smart, or fifty Bridgets smart. Wait, I meant that the other way around … I think. Anyway, we’re talking a lot of smart here.”
Augum suppressed a laugh at her fervent head bobbing.
“But a thousand years ago goes right back to the academy’s founding,” Bridget whispered reverently, hurrying to the next statue, a bearded man staring boldly at the horizon. “ ‘Matthew Breton Brickmaker the Seventh, distinguished earth element graduate of the 20th degree in thy year 2386, aged ninety-five. Master Excavator and Roomsmith.’ ” She looked up. “Twenty-five years later …”
The trio excitedly hurried along each statue, reading them aloud. Each was 20th degree and dressed in white academy robes that only belonged to that most desired and difficult-to-achieve degree, and each had achieved that degree twenty to thirty years after the previous person. But there were no mentions of the warlocks achieving mastery, the final rung on the degree ladder. Mastery was something that happened on its own, when the arcane ether—or the Unnameables, or the Fates, depending on which story one believed—deemed the warlock ready. At that moment the 20th degree warlock would experience The Sleeving, meaning their entire set of rings would fuse into one solid sleeve. It was the ultimate perfection in the craft, indicating total mastery over one’s element.
“I had no idea people even stayed at the academy that long,” Leera said as they walked on to the next statue. “I was always under the impression that warlocks left after the 10th degree.”
“Warlocks keep in touch with the academy after the 10th degree but don’t have to attend,” Bridget said. “In fact, I believe it’s unusual for a warlock to continue their studies here as you’re supposed to learn advanced knowledge on your own. Knowledge gleaned from the world.” She shrugged. “Or something like that.”
Almost forty statues later, near the very end of the passage, they were staring up at the majestic sight they’d known awaited them.
“ ‘Anna Atticus Stone, distinguished lightning element graduate of the 20th degree in thy year 3276, aged sixty-seven,’ ” Bridget read aloud.
“That’s young compared to the others,” Leera said.
“One of the greatest warlocks to have ever lived,” Bridget whispered, slowly shaking her head.
“Can’t believe they erected a statue of her in the courtyard as well,” Leera said. “But I guess she represents the ideal warlock. Smart, wise, powerful, knowledgeable, brave, patriotic but humble. Not to mention she was headmistress for thirty-five years. And you know I could go on and on with her feats.”
Gratitude and pride swelled in Augum’s chest; gratitude for everything Mrs. Stone had done for them, as well as for everything she had taught them; pride for using that knowledge to change the face of Sithesia. Or at least Solia.
But there were two other statues of note flanking hers.
“Narsus the Necromancer,” Bridget said in solemn tones, nodding at the statue before Mrs. Stone’s.
“And Lividius Stone, the Lord of the Legion,” Augum said as they came before the latter. Augum’s father stood with a compassionless expression on his face. The white robe hung loosely on his muscular frame and looked ill-fitting. He was the last warlock to have had a statue erected in his honor, and thus the paint was the freshest.
“Last one to hit the 20th,” Leera remarked. “Also at a remarkably young age. Gods, he was terrifying. I hope we never have to face someone like that again. Oh and obviously you’re right, Bridge. They erect you a statue even when you hit the 20th while studying outside the academy.” She glanced down the long row. “Still, pretty awesome. Imagine one of us reaching the 20th.”
The trio stared thoughtfully back down the row of looming statues.
“I’d be okay with that,” Augum said. “Not for the prestige though.”
“Why then?” Leera asked.
“Because it’d mean I could protect myself and those around me.”
Leera’s face melted. “Aww. Come here.” She grabbed his face and gave him a big kiss as Bridget huffed a sigh.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Leera said. “And come on, Bridge, will you lighten up? You’re a bit sullen lately.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m humorless.” Bridget then raised a hand in apology. “Sorry, I know I’ve been a bit … moody. And now with the kingdom and academy taken over, I feel sort of …”
“Hopeless?” Augum offered.
Bridget recoiled, about to deny it, only to pause. “Actually, I think so. But I think that sometimes it’s all right to feel sullen. I’m getting to hate putting on a fake smile just to please people.”
Leera shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. I hate fakeness. I say let it all spill out. You want to have a cry, then coil up in a ball and cry. You want to smooch your beloved? Do it. I hate how everybody puts on airs by pretending they’re all right all the time, or pretending they’re so pretentiously civil. We should all be more, I don’t know, expressive or something.”
The girls glanced at Augum, expecting him to take a turn at spilling his guts. “Yeah, more expressive,” he said lamely. “What? I’m male. We don’t—” He flopped his hands about in a frilly manner. “—wear our emotions on our sleeves.”
“No, you certainly don’t,” Leera muttered. “But you should feel free to. You men are taught to hide behind toughness to your own detriment. Actually, come to think of it, to everyone’s detriment.”
Augum vividly recalled a childhood bully beating him to a pulp for doing something as unmanly as crying. “I … I can’t argue with that.”
Leera pointed at herself and wiggled her shoulders. “Eh? Get your nuggets of wisdom, going cheap!”
Bridget glanced up at Lividius Stone’s statue while idly tracing a finger over the embroidered academy crest on her robe. “There has to be an academy around to reward you with a 20th degree statue.” Her tone was unmistakable—Solia was the weakest it had ever been, with the lowest number of warlocks in its history. Those who remained had a duty to preserve that history and their kingdom and save it from the invaders.
For a time, they stood appreciating the significance of it all, the historical context. Here before them was a representation of the man who had killed so many, a man the trio had vanquished. And nearby stood Anna Atticus Stone, the formidable woman who had played a huge part in shaping who they had become.
And that’s when the distant muted gong of the bell sounded three times, indicating it was the third hour of the afternoon, and meaning the
Canterran worship ceremony was about to begin.
Rush
The trio were sprinting back toward the entrance when they heard distant voices … voices with Canterran accents. They extinguished their lit palms and hunkered behind a statue near the intersection.
“Shoot, dead end behind us,” Augum whispered. They could try one of the other two hallways in the hope of finding the primary entrance, but they would risk getting lost. Then it hit him that it didn’t matter how far they went, because—
“The cursed pebble,” Leera blurted, dumping out the contents of her satchel.
“Shyneo,” Bridget whispered, dimly lighting up her palm and partially covering it with the sleeve of her robe for good measure.
Augum kept watch while the girls hurriedly sifted through Leera’s stuff, all while the voices grew nearer.
“Hurry, they’re coming,” he whispered.
“Working on it, working on it!” Leera replied.
“Yes, sir, I enchanted it myself,” said Katrina’s all too familiar voice.
Of course, Augum thought. She must have slipped it into his satchel while purposely bumping into him earlier on her way out of Flagon’s class. Should have expected her to do something like this.
“That scoundrel,” Leera muttered as they frantically searched. “Going to wring her neck.”
“Object Track is telling me they’re somewhere up ahead,” Katrina said triumphantly.
Hurry, hurry! Augum kept thinking, not wanting to find out what the overseers had in store for them should they catch them down here.
“Found it!” Bridget said, immediately snuffing out her light.
“Chuck it—” Leera hissed.
There was a moment’s hesitation before Augum heard Bridget throw the pebble. It bounced a few times distantly and rolled to a stop in the opposite passage, just as Katrina and three overseers turned the corner toward it.
“Hmm, this way, I guess,” Katrina said uncertainly, probably having sensed the sudden change in direction. She led the overseers down the opposite passage, their palms lit with air, fire, earth and lightning.
