by Sever Bronny
Augum’s chest tightened. The shame of it was unbearable. He stole a peek to witness Mr. Goss’ mouth hang open a moment.
“Dear me,” Mr. Goss said again. “But surely it has been perfectly youthful innocence, Leopold, nothing but a misunderstanding—”
“I am afraid it has not, Mr. Goss. I assure you there has not been a ‘misunderstanding’ of any kind. They have soiled themselves with each other’s company—”
“But Mr. Harvus,” Mr. Okeke interrupted, “they are almost man and woman grown—”
“Ah, but almost is not quite there now, is it, Mr. Okeke?”
Harvus rocked on his heels again in that disgustingly giddy manner, only stopping to adjust his hairpiece before resuming the motion.
“No, the gods have witnessed their indiscretion, as have I,” Harvus continued. “Luckily I consulted Mrs. Stone on the matter and she agrees with me on a suitable punishment.”
Mr. Goss put Leland down, his face unusually grave. “And that is—?”
“They are forbidden to look upon each other in that way, as they are forbidden to have physical contact.”
“Oh. I see. Well, if Mrs. Stone thinks it appropriate—” He exchanged a bewildered look with Mr. Okeke.
“She has given me the authority to train the children as my conscience demands.”
Augum couldn’t take anymore. He narrowed his eyes, focused on Harvus’ hairpiece and, summoning his arcane energies, flicked his wrist. The hairpiece was yanked off the stubby man’s head, landing in a nearby puddle of mud. Harvus, his bald head revealed in all its wispy glory, immediately scrambled for it, while everyone—Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke included—snickered. Leera fell to the ground rolling in laughter.
Harvus raised the soiled hairpiece using Telekinesis, nostrils flaring. When he slowly looked around, everyone clammed up.
“That was quite a gust there, Kwabe,” Mr. Goss quickly said.
“Yes, yes it was, Albert,” Mr. Okeke agreed with a grave nod of his head.
Leland moaned, even making a sweeping gesture with his arms and a garbled whistling to imitate the wind.
Harvus’ cold stare landed on Augum.
Augum tried to act casual. Inside though, his stomach was buzzing. Great, now he’d done it …
“We can certainly build you another cabin, Leopold,” Mr. Goss went on, as if nothing had happened. Augum knew otherwise—they were in serious trouble.
Mr. Goss hoisted his son up again. “The only question is, where?”
“Right here by this cabin would be most appropriate, I think,” Harvus replied, voice ice cold, eyes still fixed on Augum, corner of his mouth twitching dangerously. “That way I can be sure of everyone’s safety.”
“As you wish. We can begin right after supper.”
“That would be fine.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well, goodbye then, Leopold.”
“Mr. Goss. Mr. Okeke.”
Augum felt Jengo’s shaking knee accidentally bump into him. “We’re goners,” Jengo whispered, flipping through the book.
Augum made sure to keep his face slightly averted until Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke were out of sight. Then he stole a glance back at Harvus, only to find the man still staring at Augum, hairpiece hovering and dripping mud, corner of his mouth still twitching.
Augum swallowed. He had a bad feeling, a really bad feeling …
Threats
The wind picked up as the sun slowly reddened the sky, yet Augum, Bridget and Leera were still at the cabin, the girls separated from him across the stream. Jengo had been sent back home, but not before a stern and hushed conversation with Mr. Harvus. Jengo towered over the man but nodded again and again, eyes on his feet, until he was finally allowed to leave—and then he strode quickly, head bowed. If he had a tail, it would have been tucked between his knees.
Augum had abandoned trying to absorb a single word from the book—which he was not allowed to touch—choosing to pretend to study the open page before him. His lips had long gone numb from the soap Harvus was still arcanely forcing him to hold in his mouth. Its acidic taste made his stomach gurgle unpleasantly and he began to feel queasy. He longed to rebel, to lash out, to do something, anything. But part of him also realized he needed to control himself. It was like a test. Some sort of crazy, twisted test of his tolerance.
Harvus ignored him, spending time patiently training the girls. The hairpiece sat on the log beside Augum, dripping down the sides. Harvus had walked it over and ceremoniously dropped it there without a word before returning to the girls. Augum spent a good deal of time fantasizing about what he would do to the mangy lump. Current favorite was sticking it into cow dung then lighting it on fire.
Augum tried to catch Leera’s eye, yet she seemed to be avoiding him now, though he guessed it was probably because Harvus was too close. Sighing, he looked away, trying to think of a way out of this mess. He knew the only real solution was to somehow reach Mrs. Stone—except they hadn’t heard from her since her voice had been cut off by an explosion. It was also obvious she had not heard a word Harvus had since said to Augum, for if she had, she would have instantly teleported over to set the man straight.
Or would she? She had once spoken of older, harsher methods of training that were supposed to advance the arcane arts quicker. Was this all part of some lesson, some plan for him to ignore Leera and study really hard? Did Mrs. Stone already know they liked each other, and was in fact regretting being so liberal? The thought made his stomach plummet to his turnshoes.
After a while of what seemed like ordinary training, Harvus brought the girls close, placing a gloved hand on each of their shoulders. He smiled as he spoke to them. He gave a quiet speech and they actually began to nod along. After concluding, he politely gestured for them to depart. Without glancing Augum’s way, Bridget and Leera walked by, on their way to eat a hot supper, no doubt.
Augum could not believe it—why had they not even looked at him? What had Harvus told them? He watched as the man dusted off his gloves and approached, careful to step well over the stream. All Augum could taste was the acid of the soap. His loathing increased with each of Harvus’ measured steps.
Harvus stopped before him, glancing at the muddy hairpiece. Augum’s stomach contracted and he felt bile crawl up his throat, only to jam in his mouth. The sensation was so vile he thought he might actually pass out. Harvus only watched, hands behind his back. Finally, Augum had enough and desperately pointed at his face, feeling himself turn purple. Infuriatingly, Harvus kept observing. At last, the pressure was too great and Augum vomited through his nose, choking and gagging and gasping to get his airway clear.
And still, Harvus only stood there, a smug expression on his face.
Augum fell to the ground, writhing, feeling the tunnel of darkness closing in on him, nausea overcoming every sense. The sheer texture of the soap mixing with vomit made his stomach roil with more heaves.
At last, just as the tunnel closed to a pinprick, he felt the soap yanked from his mouth. He instantly vomited the rest of the nasty bile.
Harvus brought him to his feet using Telekinesis and held him there, for Augum would otherwise collapse.
Harvus’ voice was matter-of-fact. “You like humiliating people, do you?”
Augum could barely summon the strength to glare—and he still could not speak; Harvus’ spell casting was indeed strong.
Harvus tilted his head slightly. “And you seem to have a liking for filthy thoughts. One day, should the gods deem you fit, they will purify you. Until then, we have to resort to such … crude means.”
A rage began building within Augum, an old arcane rage he had not felt in some time. It was wild and provoked, dangerous and hungry. Cognizant of its potential, he decided to try to aim it—at the soap. He stiffened his body like a lion about to pounce and expelled the buildup of energy through his mouth. A lightning blast emerged, vaporizing the soap and boring into the ground.
Harvus was so surpri
sed he lost his concentration, allowing Augum to fall to his knees, gasping for breath.
“Damn you,” Augum said, surprised he could talk.
“Excuse me?” Harvus’ voice was a deadly whisper.
“When Mrs. Stone hears—”
“Voidus lingua!”
Augum’s voice again snuffed. He slammed his fist into the ground in frustration.
“Temper, temper,” Harvus cooed. “And wild arcanery will not do, Augum Stone, it will not do at all. I have to be honest. I am very disappointed in you. You seem to lack the ability to follow common instructions. Further, you lack respect and discipline. An entire kingdom is relying on you to somehow defeat your father, perhaps by convincing him not to be evil—or some such nonsense, who truly knows—and yet you cavort with some stupid little harlot who should have been left back at the farm.”
Augum stood up, spitting out the last of the bile. He snorted through one nostril and then the other, before suddenly shoving at the air before him, screaming “BAKA!”
Except he could make no sound so Harvus was unaffected. Instead, the man chortled to himself as Augum’s arms dropped to his sides, hands balled into fists, chest heaving like a bull.
Harvus leaned in a little. “You are nothing more than a common brute, Augum, like those disgusting Sierrans back there that should have stayed in the desert; like those barbaric, filthy Henawa that should keep to the north; like everyone in this hovel of a village. And you know what? I no longer believe you are going to save us or anyone from your father’s insanity. You are simply … how shall one put it … too stupid. Too stupid and too weak, and I think our time together is going to be rather short, yes. And I assure you, I would take far more pleasure sipping a delectable fine wine than wasting my precious time with the likes of you and that … little fiend of yours.” Harvus straightened, examining his gloved fingers. “However, I am a man of my word, and since I have promised your esteemed great-grandmother that I will look after you, well, I suppose I must endure your ignorance and unruliness for a little while longer. Of course, she also owes me a lot of money, but between you and I, that will be remedied one way or another.” He winked.
Augum froze, wondering what he meant by that. Then he firmly pointed at his mouth.
“Oh, you wish to speak? All right. Just be sure it is something worthy of discussion, else you will truly regret it.” Harvus made an idle gesture and Augum felt his throat loosen.
“I won’t let you get away with this—”
“Now that is worthy of discussion, my dear boy, for let me tell you precisely why nothing will come of this. You see—” Harvus placed his gloved hands on Augum’s shoulders, breathing his rotten rat stench into Augum’s face.
“If you do not behave yourself, my dear boy, I am going to take that Agonex and disappear. In fact—” He reached behind Augum with one arm and stripped him of his rucksack, maintaining his grip on Augum’s shoulders. “I am going to keep both the Orb of Orion and the Agonex, at least until I get paid. Should I hear even a single word of complaint, I shall—” He made a small sweeping gesture here. “—poof, disappear, never to be heard from again, and not even your legendary great-grandmother can stop me, for I have learned long ago how to evade those searching for me.”
Harvus let go of Augum’s shoulders with a slight jerk, holding the rucksack with two fingers as if it had been fouled. He glanced over at his sodden hairpiece. “You are going to clean my hairpiece thoroughly. After, you may go to supper. Then you are going to help build us a new cabin. And you will do it obediently without uttering a single whining word of complaint. And tomorrow, you are going to happily study, for we must keep up appearances, is that not so?”
Harvus took a step closer as Augum glared at him mutinously. “If I discover any kind of … rebelliousness, or … filthiness … or anything of that nature, I assure you, I can be quite mean, and not just to you, but to that little disgusting harlot. Now get cleaning.”
Augum did as he was told, seething all the while. As he washed the cursed hairpiece in the stream, fantasizing about setting it on fire and placing it in a dung catapult, he kept asking himself what they could do. Nothing came to mind, other than hoping for Mrs. Stone to return. Yet if she didn’t return for some time? They still had to learn their first summoning spell, and they still had to get to the Antioc library and figure out a way to use the Agonex against his father.
The more he thought about it, the more absurd it all sounded. Harvus was right again—they stood no chance, none. It was obvious now that the man was in it for the money and that was all. If only they had found out sooner! He didn’t care one lick about them or the quest or anything. All he wanted was gold—gold and some twisted sense of control …
Augum suddenly realized something—he had been in this position before. The Pendersons; Dap; Vion Rames; The Blade of Sorrows; Erika Scarson and her vile nephew, Robin Scarson; even his own father—all wanted something from him, and all had failed. He had never let anyone triumph over him.
And he was not about to start now. A plan began to form …
“Here you go, Mr. Harvus,” Augum said, handing over the freshly-washed hairpiece. “I am sorry I did that. I regret it now.”
Harvus frowned, no doubt suspecting some trick. “Well then I am most glad to hear it, my boy. An apology is the first step to redemption. Now run off to supper, there’s a good lad.”
Augum strode off, not looking back, feeling better for some reason. So what if he can’t kiss Leera or hold her hand? So what if the loaf of a man had the Agonex and the Orb of Orion in his possession? So what if Mrs. Stone might not be able to come to their rescue?
None of that mattered, because he vowed to find a way to fix it all.
* * *
By the time Augum got to the Okeke cabin, everyone was gone except for Mr. Okeke, who kindly re-warmed a generous portion of stew. Augum sat at the table without a word, mind racing with ideas, none of which proved practical as of yet—retrieving the Orb of Orion and the Agonex without Mrs. Stone would be risky at best. And how were they to get to the Antioc library without Harvus? Horses could prove very dangerous in these times. What about appealing to a higher authority? No, there was no higher authority, except, ironically, the Legion here in town. Mr. Haroun was not a warlock, nor was anyone else in Milham—
“Augum?” Mr. Okeke was sitting across from him, hands folded neatly. He was wearing a linen long-sleeved shirt decorated with woodblock-printed Sierran desert animals.
“Yes, Mr. Okeke?”
“Your food.”
“Oh. Right.” Augum absently picked up the wooden spoon, slightly unnerved by the way Mr. Okeke was looking at him with those perpetually bloodshot eyes. He must think him a lecherous fiend now. How disappointed was he in him, and what other stories had Harvus concocted for the man?
Augum tentatively spooned some soup, quickly realizing how hungry he was. He resisted the urge to rush. “Where is everyone?” he asked between mouthfuls, glad to be tasting something other than tallow soap.
“There is a meeting in town between Mr. Haroun, the townsfolk, and the Legion. After which, we will go and hastily construct a cabin for you and Mr. Harvus, though I cannot fathom why it must be done in such short order.”
Augum could think of a few reasons. He noticed Bridget and Leera’s royal blue robes folded neatly on a chair in the living area. His heart panged. Suddenly he felt alone. He missed Leera terribly. He missed Bridget’s smiling face, her level head, her friendship.
“Augum, is there perhaps something you would like to tell me?”
Augum felt the blood drain from his face. Great, Mr. Okeke did think the worst of him. “No, Mr. Okeke,” he said meekly. He returned to his soup, keeping his eyes low, mind once again racing with ideas. They could tie Harvus down and run away with the artifacts. No, that would still leave them short of a library trip—
“Augum, is Mr. Harvus … is he mistreating you?”
Augum’s spoon briefly f
roze in midair before continuing to his mouth. How was he supposed to answer that? And what could Mr. Okeke possibly do about it anyway? He had no arcane powers, and if he got involved, who knew what Harvus would do to him or Jengo in revenge? It was no secret the two quietly despised each other. Yet something about the way Mr. Okeke was looking at him told him he could trust the man with what he longed to tell him, to tell someone.
Augum quickly checked the windows, half expecting to find Harvus’ pale pudgy face peering in. Seeing them dark and empty, he left the spoon in the bowl and sat up, jaw firm. “Harvus is keeping the Agonex and Orb of Orion hostage.”
Mr. Okeke immediately slammed the table with his fist. “I knew it, that foul dog. If I had any arcane—”
“Mr. Okeke, I never did anything … untoward … with Leera—”
“Of course you did not! You have not done anything any of us have not done before manhood or womanhood, and although I was opposed to it at first, my own son is going to marry a young Tiberran woman when they turn of age next year. Young love is precious, especially in these dark times, and we as a community must nurture it. Although I urge strong caution with young love—there is no need to rush into marriage, for example, for you have your entire lives ahead of you—I do now recognize people must be allowed to make their own choices, their own mistakes, and choose their own paths.”
“I … I can’t tell you how much it means to hear you say that, Mr. Okeke.”
“You are almost a man grown, Augum. You have a great deal of responsibility on your shoulders, far more than any youth I have ever met, or probably ever will. Far more than I think healthy for one so young. You will make mistakes. You will know failure. But I have no doubt—none whatsoever—that you will make the best of those situations, and learn from them.” Mr. Okeke finished his speech with a slow, proud nod that lifted Augum’s spirits even more.
Augum swallowed and nodded his thanks, not knowing what more to say. But a creep of shame still remained—he only hoped he could live up to Mr. Okeke’s expectations.
