Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

“You told me on numerous occasions what you were looking for in a partner. And I was there when Atty Trixibelle asked to be with you.”

  “Atty…”

  I gritted my teeth. I had been trying to avoid thinking about the other Frith Guild apprentices. It brought nothing but anguish, and Atty especially left a dull ache in my chest.

  “I barely know her,” I stated, anger lacing my words. “We didn’t spend much time together, and when we started to change that, I was infected with the plague. So what does it matter?”

  Luthair shifted through the darkness of the room. “Should I keep these comments to myself in the future?”

  “No.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I just… I thought I didn’t have to rush anything with Atty. I could take it slow. I thought I had more time. Now even thinking about Atty… I’m just an idiot.”

  “You have more time than you realize. Nothing is set in stone.”

  “What’re you trying to say?” I asked.

  Luthair mulled over my question before saying, “All I know is that I want you to live without regrets, and I fear your dire situation may lead to you acting in ways you normally wouldn’t. I merely wished to remind you that I intend for us to overcome this. Please, just don’t act rashly.”

  “I’ll try. Thank you, Luthair.”

  Days crawled by.

  Karna refused to speak to me about the Mother of Shapeshifters and even released me from her request to share her room. After that, I couldn’t find her, but I supposed she was a doppelgänger arcanist. For all I knew, she remained nearby as one of the crew.

  Why wouldn’t she speak to me about her trial of worth?

  I tried to distract myself with training or reading, but nothing worked. My mind wandered, and multiple alternative plans took root in my thoughts. Out of the many preposterous schemes, one seemed plausible, and I had to speak with Jozé.

  I knocked on the door labeled Blacksmith and waited.

  My father answered a good thirty seconds afterward, the sound of his heavy steps easy to detect, even through the bulkhead. When he caught sight of me, his eyes widened, and then he offered a tepid smile.

  “What can I do for you, boy?” he asked. He wore nothing but loose trousers and a button-up shirt, though most of the buttons remained undone. His relaxed stance and stubble told me he probably hadn’t been expecting visitors.

  “Can I speak with you about the Grotto Labyrinth?” I asked.

  He opened the door to allow me inside. His phoenix sat on her perch, her head curled around her body and her beak tucked behind a wing. Strange noises squeaked out of her occasionally, but otherwise, she slept soundly.

  Keeping my voice low, I asked, “Do we truly have to wait eighteen more days before we can explore the Grotto Labyrinth? Why not enter now and force our way through the moving parts of the maze?”

  Waiting drove me crazy. Every hour that ticked by added to my anxiety. Were the khepera worth it? Adelgis seemed to think so, but the price of patience was worse than the price of a glass of water in the desert.

  “I can step through shadows,” I continued. “It allows me through narrow spaces. Even the slightest crack between moving walls would allow me to slip by.”

  “It won’t work,” Jozé stated. “The walls of the Grotto Labyrinth are made from nullstone. It’ll stop all magic.”

  “Nullstone? I thought the nullstone mines were in Thronehold. That’s hundreds of miles from here.”

  “New Norra used to be ruled by the Argo Empire. During that time, nullstone was brought in for all sorts of reasons—the main one being the Grotto Labyrinth. The khepera are considered sacred. I told you that.”

  Although this didn’t change anything, the knowledge upset me. I turned back for the door, uninterested in further conversation.

  “I see,” I said, curt. “Thank you.”

  “Wait.”

  I hesitated at the door.

  “Why don’t you have a drink with me?” Jozé asked. “I can get you water if you like.”

  “I can’t waste my time while I wait for the khepera,” I said as I opened the door, my grip on the handle tight. “If I sat and had drinks, it’d only add to my stress.”

  “Okay. Why don’t I show you more about magic? You don’t have your mentor anymore, right? You need someone to help you along.”

  “We don’t have any more star shards. How can we imbue any more items?”

  Jozé chortled as he stepped closer. “We don’t need to practice imbuing right now. We can focus on something else. I saw you at the Sovereign Dragon Tournament. You never used your eclipse aura. You can’t manifest it, can you?”

  I shook my head. “Master Zelfree said learning how to use an aura was one of the last things an arcanist should focus on.”

  “But you need a challenge, right?” Jozé tapped my chest. “What’s more challenging than learning a complicated magic? You won’t have time to dwell on… well… lost time. Trust me.”

  Although I hadn’t come to him seeking a distraction, my father presented a good argument. If I practiced creating a magical aura, I would at least have a new tool in my box, should the situation arise. Knightmare arcanists created a forced eclipse whenever they manifested their aura—the magical darkness snuffed out lights and empowered anything that used shadows. As an added benefit, the enhancements from the eclipse aura negated the ill effects of my second-bonding.

  It would be helpful to master, and I wouldn’t feel like I was wasting my time.

  “I helped Vethica and Devlin develop their magical auras,” Jozé said. “I’m damn near an expert on the matter.”

  Also impressive. Auras were the most difficult to master. An aura wasn’t like imbuing or evocation or manipulation—it affected a large area and could even do things like bringing added prosperity to a people. The potential was great, but so were the requirements for mastery.

  “You helped the captain with his hurricane aura?” I asked. “What does he use it for besides distracting the city of New Norra?”

  “He’d capsize sailing ships or defeat enemy airships. It’s a useful aura on the offensive and less for everything else.”

  “And what does a thunderbird aura look like?”

  “They create a thunderclap aura. Lightning fills the air and strikes out at most metals. Anyone carrying anything—and especially those wearing armor—are caught in electric powers that lock up their muscles.”

  “All muscles?” I asked.

  “It depends on the strength of the arcanist,” Jozé said with a shrug. “But I’ve seen thunderbird arcanists fight armored soldiers. If those soldiers were wearing full plate armor, they were as good as dead, and any metal weapons attracted enough power to keep people paralyzed for a prolonged time.”

  A roc’s hurricane aura was devastating—hurricanes always were—but what if there was a thunderclap aura mixed into it? A terrible one-two combo that would end most non-magical threats.

  Perhaps my father could interpret my furrowed brow, because he tilted his head and smirked.

  “Blue phoenixes have an exhaustion aura,” he said. “Years ago, when Vethica, Devlin, and I were attacked, we combined our efforts. It worked well… until it didn’t.” Jozé chuckled to himself as he shifted his gaze to the floor. “Let’s just say the attackers didn’t know what hit them, but we hadn’t anticipated the backlash to our own forces. It was an interesting couple of weeks after that.”

  My father’s reminiscing got me smiling. “Sounds similar to some of those old tales I used to read.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Hm. Well, maybe they’re not as bad as I thought they were.”

  I had been anxious and frustrated before, but now that I had spoken with my father, the stress melted from my being.

  “When do we start?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow night. When it’s cold. Out on the sand dunes.”

  “Do you mind if I invite Adelgis and Fain?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if they’re ready for thi
s kind of training, but they’re more than welcome to try.”

  26

  Equalizer

  The freezing sand dunes of the desert stretched on for miles, all the way to the horizon in both directions. It reminded me of the ocean, especially since the glow of the moon gave the sand a blue hue. The dunes were waves frozen in time, forever rolling with the wind.

  I disliked walking on the desert sands. It wasn’t like the beach, where the water kept everything packed together. The desert shifted under my feet more often than not, and it required more of my attention than I had anticipated. I shadow-stepped whenever possible, thankful for the night, even if the clear skies kept it lighter than usual.

  Fain had a difficult time, but he never said a word. He trudged through the dunes, sand filling his boots with each unstable step. Adelgis followed close to him, even going so far as to keep a hand outstretched and half on Fain’s shoulder. He wobbled a few times when he went up a sandy hill, but he, too, never complained.

  I imagined it was even more difficult for Jozé, but he had walked out here long before I had. He and Tine waited on the top of a crescent dune, his coat fluttering in the winds, embers from his phoenix flaring in the night.

  He smiled as I drew near.

  “There you are,” he said. “It’s a good night for practicing.”

  A harsh chill swept over us. I rubbed my arms. “If you say so.”

  Fain and Adelgis made it to the top of the dune a minute later. Adelgis shivered the entire time, but Fain didn’t show any indication he was bothered.

  Although I had only known him a short period, I could already tell when things genuinely interested my father. Jozé clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, his enthusiasm apparent in the way he glanced around, his dark eyes scanning the environment. He obviously loved magic—whether imbuing, studying, or discussing it. He had been excited to craft my sword and discuss the khepera, and now, when we were going to study auras, he couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Our fathers are a lot alike,” Adelgis spoke telepathically.

  I nodded as the realization hit me.

  They were similar.

  “Take a seat,” Jozé said as he motioned to the dune. “Don’t worry about the sand. You can wash up afterward. And sit on your coat.”

  I did as he instructed, even though I thought it strange. “We won’t have to stand to train?” I asked.

  “No. Auras aren’t like evocation or manipulation. They require more inner focus.” Jozé removed his own coat and placed it on the sand. Then, with some awkward movement, he sat down, keeping his bad leg outstretched. “I want you to imagine an empty cup slowly being filled with water. When the liquid reaches the lip, it clings there for a moment before finally spilling over.”

  Fain, Adelgis, and I—all seated on coats, our legs crossed—waited and listened. I imagined the cup, though I found it difficult to visualize while under such stress.

  Jozé leaned forward. “Pretend you’re the cup, and your magic is the aura. You must fill your being and then allow the magic to pour from you and affect the environment.”

  “That’s it?” Fain asked, his brow furrowed. “That sounds easy.”

  “Well, you might succeed in creating an aura quickly, but that’s not why it’s difficult to master. Ya see, a lot of arcanists learn this technique incorrectly. They force the magic outward as fast as possible, and when that happens, you’ll create an aura, but you’ll have to focus on it—like with your evocation. However, if you’ve created an aura properly, you won’t have to force it. The effects will happen naturally, and you’ll be able focus on other things while it persists.”

  I had only seen a knightmare’s eclipse aura three times in the past—once with the Grandmaster Inquisitor, once during my fights in the Sovereign Dragon Tournament, and once when the castle at Thronehold had been attacked. When the Grandmaster Inquisitor made his aura, he did so with little effort. The eclipse happened and then remained, no stress to him. During the tournament, when the Inquisitor’s apprentice had created an eclipse aura, it obviously had required a vast majority of his concentration.

  Which meant the apprentice had been doing it incorrectly.

  It had still worked, it had just been inefficient, and that was the reason he had lost.

  “What’s the first step to manifesting an aura correctly?” I asked, eager to test myself with this new challenge.

  Jozé sat straight. “Clear away your thoughts and emotions. You need to be an empty cup.”

  Adelgis dropped his gaze to his lap, his shoulders slumped.

  Could he clear his thoughts when he heard everyone else’s? Perhaps if we were all blank, he would be as well.

  Without his coat on, Adelgis’s shivering intensified. Fain let out a soft sigh before picking up his coat and throwing it over Adelgis’s shoulders. Then Fain sat back down in the sand—I could only imagine it would get everywhere.

  When Adelgis gave him an odd look, Fain just turned away, like an entire silent conversation and argument had happened between them in a matter of moments.

  “You should all focus,” Jozé said. “Try it.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The cold of the night burned my nose, and it took me several minutes to shake off the lingering concerns of the chill. Once tangled in my own thoughts—far from the world around me—I inhaled again.

  At first, I thought I would have a clear mind in a matter of moments. Then I wondered…

  What would a wendigo aura look like?

  What would an ethereal whelk manifest?

  What would Illia’s rizzel create?

  Illia…

  During the attack on Thronehold, I had seen a plague-ridden rizzel. It had manipulated gravity—a power Illia hadn’t yet mastered. Had she learned it now? Was Master Zelfree showing her how that would be useful both on the battlefield and off?

  What would her aura look like? Would she control the gravity for miles around? Would she create the ability for others to teleport? Would something else happen?

  I was certain, whenever she learned of her ability, Illia would master it. She wasn’t like Atty—who wanted perfection—but Illia was dedicated, capable, and intelligent. There was no doubt in my mind she would become a stunning master rizzel arcanist.

  But would I ever get to see it?

  “You aren’t clearing your thoughts, Volke,” Adelgis said.

  I gritted my teeth and tried again.

  How quickly would Illia have cleared her thoughts?

  I shook my head, silently chastising myself. It was difficult to imagine life without Illia, and if I couldn’t find a cure for the plague, I would never see her again.

  Again, I reprimanded myself for stray thoughts. What was wrong with me? Images of her filled my head. Illia smiling, Illia worried, Illia laughing, Illia determined—I tried never to think of her because of the ache in my chest, but whenever I did, it was hard to imagine anything else.

  “Jozé,” I said as I opened my eyes. “What if I can’t completely clear my thoughts?”

  He frowned. “Instead of imagining yourself as a cup, imagine you’re a tea kettle. Have you ever seen what happens to water in a tea kettle?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, your thoughts and emotions will be the fire under the kettle. If you’re not in control, you risk having the aura become unstable, for lack of a better word.” He waved away his own statement. “But don’t worry about that. Take your time. Relax. Focus. The tea kettle is an analogy I use to warn arcanists against manifesting an aura when under duress. You’re not under duress right now, right?”

  I wasn’t under duress, but…

  “I’ll try again,” I muttered.

  I closed my eyes, determined to master this first step before proceeding to the next.

  An entire week of training, and I still couldn’t clear my thoughts away to nothing.

  Neither could Adelgis, it seemed. Was I the cause of his failure because I couldn’t clear m
y thoughts? He wouldn’t tell me. He just said he found it difficult to concentrate, and each night we practiced, he sat silently and still, never voicing his situation to my father.

  Fain said he had cleared his thoughts, and while he had moved on to the next step—allowing his magic to spill out into the environment—he had yet to manifest an aura. I didn’t know what a wendigo arcanist would create, and the mystery excited me. I figured Adelgis would know, or perhaps he could look it up, but I refrained from asking him, just to keep the sense of surprise.

  On the seventh night, when I returned to the airship, two of the deckhands greeted me with smiles. Caught off-guard, I returned the gesture, but they had never done that previously, even before I had accidentally lashed out with magic at one of them.

  When I went below deck, Tammi, the ship’s surgeon, waited near the storeroom door, a tray held in both hands. I had forgotten how short she was until I walked up next to her—she had to be a full foot shorter than me, perhaps a foot and a half.

  She held out the tray, and I noticed it was covered by a shallow lid. “I came to give you some food for whenever you wake up next,” she said.

  The airship’s jerky and crusty vegetables made my stomach churn. I had used most of Karna’s money just to purchase fresh food from the markets of New Norra.

  “This is from the galley,” Tammi said. “Our cook made it special for you.” She lifted the lid and showed me an assortment of breads, dumplings, and fresh jerky. It smelled beyond wonderful, to the point I could taste the savory flavors with a deep inhale.

  “Your cook knows how to make things that don’t taste like salt?” I quipped.

  Tammi offered a nervous chuckle. “The galley members had been feeding you and your friends the food they’d usually throw out.”

  That explained a lot. “Why?”

  Tammi shook her head. “It won’t happen anymore. Everyone knows about what you did for Biyu.”

  “You mean, she told you about the Dread Pirate Calisto?”

  “Yes.” Tammi held out the tray a second time. “She told us not to tell the captain, but most of the crew knows now. It’s only a matter of time before he does, too.”