by Sever Bronny
“Cast the spell,” Sparkstone said.
His father knew everything. The whole plan. Somehow, Augum should have known. The man was not stupid, and looking back, this whole attempt now seemed as idiotic as it was clumsy.
“Cast the spell,” Sparkstone repeated, eyes narrowing ever slightly.
“Don’t, Aug,” Bridget said in a horrified whisper. “He wants to kill you—”
Augum could barely breathe. She was right—he could see it in his father’s demon eyes. There was anger there, but now he knew what that anger wanted—by killing Augum, not only would the kingdom lose faith in the Resistance, but Nana would lose all hope—and therefore her strength—and be found quicker!
Augum’s head swam. He almost passed out. How could he have been so utterly stupid! So utterly naive! So—
The Lord of the Legion’s skeletal smile widened, as if he could read Augum’s thoughts.
Erika Scarson’s nostrils flared. “Your Lordship, he has murdered my nephew in cold blood. I request vengeance.”
The answer was swift. “And you may have it!”
The crowd yelped. Some cried out in horror, others in disbelief.
“Aug—” Bridget’s voice wavered. She was weeping. “Aug …”
Augum closed his eyes, summoning every bit of courage he could muster. “You want to kill me?” His fist closed around the Reflecting crystal as his voice echoed through the stands. He spoke through his teeth, preparing himself. “Do it then. DO IT!”
Erika did not hesitate. She slammed her wrists together, screeching, “ANNIHILO!”
Augum reacted instantly, meeting her extended palms with the tip of the crystal, being sure to angle it just right and framing his thoughts perfectly. “MIMICA!” he shouted, feeling a massive pull on his arcane stamina. The mammoth fireball made a reverse sucking sound as it was suddenly shot back at her. She burst into flames with a gut-wrenching scream. But he did not stop there, quickly and eloquently evoking, “Centeratoraye xao xen!”
His thoughts instantly sharpened. The first thing he became crisply conscious of was the warping effect from the scions. It was like looking through a great fishbowl. He simultaneously became aware of the clammy sweat on his palms; the face-burning heat from the fireball; the raucous roar from the stands; the pebbles bouncing on the oaken platform.
All became one.
This was it. The true fight of his life had come, except now he faced the most powerful man in Solia—perhaps all of Sithesia. Not to mention the multitude of other foes on that platform.
Under the influence of Centarro, some things became as clear as a mountain stream. The Lord of the Legion knew Augum was going to cast that spell, and he knew it because he had heard him use it to save Nana back at the battle at Hangman’s Rock. He probably did some research on it, but Augum guessed he did not know how to learn it, for each spell had secrets only mentors could pass along. He also knew Augum was going to attempt to steal the divining rod. He knew and expected these things.
So what would he not expect Augum to be able to do?
Augum’s heart raced along with his thoughts, instantaneously quantifying the scene before him. The platform rumbled as the heavy boots of the Red Guard charged, flaming swords raised. Erika Scarson thrashed in a burning heap, the divining rod still clutched in her hand. The Lord of the Legion, Vulica Vaneek, and a bunch of Legion warlocks were all casting an offensive spell. Martus the Black was pointing at the platform, also casting a spell, but Augum sensed it was in aid of the Resistance.
He understood all of this in the blink of an eye, and he did so by channeling all his arcane energies into Centarro, the one spell that allowed him to tap into his arcane and strategic genius—a general organizing cerebral troops. It was his finest casting, a casting so acute it intuitively gave him a powerful ally—overdraw. Specifically, wild arcanery and overdraw. It was madness and the most dangerous thing a warlock could do, but it was the only thing that gave him a chance, the only thing the Lord of the Legion did not expect.
Before anyone actually completed a spell, the entire platform vanished with a whoosh. All on it were sent into free fall, interrupting everyone’s spells—except for the Lord of the Legion’s. The man fell as if he had not noticed the platform disappear—his concentration was that potent.
And he was about to cast a murderous mid-air lightning attack.
In the same moment came Bridget’s frantic voice. “Casting scroll now—”
Heart in his throat and body falling, Augum focused his over-burdened mind on the flaming and writhing Erika, plummeting just feet away from him. He yanked sharply on the black rod while simultaneously summoning his shield with his other arm, concentrating on reinforcing it, sensing his father’s attack by the rising hairs on his arms. The lightning strike happened a split moment later. It was so strong it plowed through his shield, blasted into his chest, and sent him cart-wheeling toward the opposite side of the arena.
He experienced a jolt and his entire body was seized with an excruciating pain that felt like he was being stung by a thousand wasps from the inside. An instantaneous memory overcame his senses, that of a searing flash he had once felt flying high above the yellow grass of the Tallows.
Except this one was much, much stronger.
Luckily, it was only momentary, and in the next twirling instance, under the focus-enhancing effects of Centarro, Augum made a connection, and an old mystery abruptly became clear.
The bolt of lightning from his father should have immediately killed him, for unlike natural lightning, his father’s was arcanely amplified to the 20th degree. Yet in that tumbling mayhem, when Augum was able to glimpse his chest, the area had a gaping hole that went through his robe and undergarments. The edges of the cloth were on fire, but his skin was unbroken.
The lightning had done no damage!
Now, in centarric perfection, he knew why. Herzog the historian had asked Augum if Atrius Arinthian passed down a gift in the blood. At the time, Augum thought surely not, but now it dawned on him he had been wrong—and it should have been clear from the very beginning, for after being struck above the Tallows, Mrs. Stone had noted that the lightning had not left a mark on him. Atrius Arinthian had passed down to him one crucial advantage …
Lightning immunity.
It was as if the legend was reaching through the eons with an ancestral echo, giving Augum a fighting chance against his greatest foe.
As he cartwheeled through the air before thousands of screaming spectators, Augum took a quick moment to acknowledge how amazing Centarro was. Only this spell allowed simultaneous understanding on multiple levels. Only this spell allowed him to appreciate simplicity during the most harrowing of moments. The somber and brooding clouds above, laden with eager rain. The wind whistling in his ears. The bulbous throb in his head amplified by spinning force. The oozing of blood from his nose and ears. The multitude of battle cuts stinging sharply—everything amplified by Centarro.
As long as it lasted, of course. And he was acutely conscious of the fact he had not planned for the side effects.
This was all or nothing.
His body was slowing—there was a force pulling on it, willing it to reach the ground safely. Caireen and Leera had come through in their crucial part! The initial plan had called for him to jump off the platform, his fall halted by their combined Telekinetic efforts. Luckily, they adjusted, though it had to be testing their range.
But something else flew through the air beside him, and it was that which he needed to retrieve most. Soon as his feet hit the arena floor, he reached out telekinetically to the spinning rod. But, hearing a massive whoosh approach, he purposefully overextended. The rod snapped over so quickly it knocked him back—just as a giant rock slammed into the spot where he had been standing.
Augum stopped rolling in time to see the Legion warlocks were regrouping at the base of the platform, amongst a pile of writhing bodies. One of those warlocks was the Lord of the Legion, and he had just finish
ed casting a spell Augum had feared from the beginning—it was the one that made him move so fast he was a blur.
It gave Augum a final moment to act, a moment he would once again use to dangerously overdraw wild arcanery. There was only one spell that would get him from the far side of the arena to the portal Bridget had cast inside the tunnel to the dressing room. But this time, he knew the words, and he had already cast it once, albeit clumsily. Unfortunately, Centarro’s power was already beginning to ebb. He could feel it draining like a pierced waterskin.
Not yet … not yet!
Augum focused every morsel of his throbbing concentration, pushing his arcane boundaries beyond all his known limits. He ignored the massive volley of arrows, fireballs, mini tornadoes, and vine attacks hurtling toward him. He ignored the blur that was his father, who would most probably arrive before he could utter the words. He ignored the chaos of the crowd, shouting and running and panicking. He ignored the vibrant rumble of the ground, the way the rocks and dust danced on the ancient arena floor, soaked with generations of warrior blood. He ignored everything, instead focusing on the complex arcanery involved in making the spell work while envisioning the spot he had to end up in. Just before casting, he glimpsed something eternal and dark. Centarro allowed him a brief moment of understanding. He was looking at the great arcane abyss, the eternal ether from which arcanery manifested. It was black and cold and so very, very lonely.
The moment of the spell arrived in blinding fury. “IMPETUS PERAGRO!”
Yet just as the ripping arcane forces began tearing him away, an arrow struck him in the back with a sickening squish. His body yanked a split moment later as the rest of the barrage destroyed the arena floor. Almost instantly, he smashed into the wall of the tunnel, feeling multiple teeth come loose and who knew how many bones break. His blood splattered the stone as he bounced off, crumpling in a jagged heap on the ground, vision obscured by something hot and sticky. But physical injuries aside, he knew something deep in his core was very wrong. Arcane overdraw had snapped something in his being, something crucial.
Leera loosed a frightened shriek upon seeing him. She grabbed him with both hands and yanked him to his feet. He was a loose puddle of bones and blood and flesh. Nothing worked right. Everything was filled with searing and grinding pain. The expression on her face when she grabbed him said it all.
It was sheer horror.
Past the blood that dripped from his brows, Augum saw that two Legion soldiers lay in a heap behind her. At the far end of the tunnel, Temper stumped about in a haze of confusion. Bridget wobbled near a portal, eyes unfocused, hair and robe blowing from its wind. She had successfully cast it and apparently suffered from the curse of breaking library rules.
He also noticed one other thing, clutched in his numb paw—the divining rod. Somehow, miraculously, he had maintained his grip on it.
“Help me, Aug—” Leera said with gritted teeth as she heaved him toward the portal. He stumbled and heard multiple bones cracking and scraping together. His entire body was an acutely throbbing mass. It was so intense he would have rather died, as if a thousand knives were stabbing him at once.
But the look in her eyes kept him going. It was a look of love and terror. He forced his legs, which barely worked, to move. But it was difficult, very difficult to get anything to work right. And Centarro was fading fast, quickly jumbling his thoughts. The glass of clarity was slowly shattering.
“Get Bridge,” he mumbled, though what actually came out was a sickening gurgle. Somehow though, Leera understood. She shoved him toward the portal and reached for Bridget.
And all that remained between safety and death was the few short paces to the roaring black oval, versus the blistering speed of his father’s blurred form.
He took one bone-cracking step and saw the hissing form take ten. A second crunching step and the form took another ten.
One … last … step …
The hiss was now so loud it was almost all he could hear, except for Leera’s screaming battle cry from a final heaving effort—she plowed into him, Bridget clutched in her arms, careening the three of them into the portal.
Aftermath
Silence. Long, cold, quiet silence. In time, that silence gave way to a gentle sound—that of soft rain splashing a nearby stream. Soon, the rain could be felt dully and subtly on his body. And as feeling returned, so too did pain. Searing, throbbing, excruciating pain.
Augum finally opened his eyes. The sky was cloudy and dark. Drops gently splashed on his cheeks. A grove of trees surrounded his blurry vision, the canopy swaying in a stormy wind.
Someone was weeping nearby. He tried to move his neck but couldn’t without experience a grating jolt.
Leera’s blurry face appeared over his. “Aug—? Say something—”
He tried to speak but all that came out was a gurgle. He tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. It was a pool of blood. He gasped and choked, exploding it over his face.
“Don’t you die on me—” she said in a shaky voice. Her face disappeared out of sight. “Bridge, stay here, all right? Look at me. Stay. Here. I’m going to get help. I’ll be right back—”
He could hear her run off, sobbing, footsteps splashing puddles in the soggy grass. He lay there, body throbbing sickeningly, wanting to throw up. He listened to the rain plink off a wooden roof, to the sound of a dribbling nearby stream. He tried to move again but only felt the jarring of bone-on-bone, and couldn’t help but let out a gurgling yelp. His body simply did not work. He kept seeing momentary flashes of something eternally ancient and dark and cold. It beckoned to him in tendril whispers.
A face appeared above his. “Hi,” Bridget said, examining him curiously. She covered her mouth and burst into a giggle, before her face changed to a look of child-like curiosity. She waved at him with floppy fingers and gave a silly smile. “Hi.”
Augum wheezed. Oh, Bridget …
“Hi,” she repeated. Her head tilted left as she kept looking at him. Then it tilted right as she began rocking, playing with something on his chest. His heart ached. The repercussions of casting a borrowed library scroll. Poor, brave Bridget …
She picked up the object on his chest to examine it closer. He saw that it was black and studded with seven polished stones.
The divining rod. Thank the Unnameables …
Nana, can you hear my thoughts? It’s safe to return now. Nana, we need you more than ever. Please, please, if you can somehow hear me, come to us. We need you so much, so very, very much …
The rain continued unabated. There was no teleportation noise. Instead, there came the sound of rushing feet. Soon familiar faces appeared—Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke and Jengo, and even Haylee. All went ashen upon seeing Augum. Haylee burst out a horror-stricken cry, a shaking hand over her mouth.
“How bad is it?” Leera asked in a weak whisper.
Mr. Goss placed a gentle hand on Augum’s neck. He gave her a dark look and did not reply. But Augum’s consciousness was rapidly slipping away. He felt weak, weaker than he had ever felt before. His vision shrank and shrank, until it was nothing, and he was nothing.
* * *
Augum woke in a small and dim candle-lit room. A fire crackled gently in the next room. The window above the bed showed that it was night. Wind howled overhead. He could hear the trees rustling outside, and rain pelting the roof. It was a comforting sound.
His body was on fire, like a thousand needles were pricking him. He felt light and nauseous, as if he was swimming upside down. His breaths came out as shallow wheezes. Unable to move, he moaned.
Bridget’s face quickly appeared above him. Her hair had been washed and tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a nightgown.
“Hi,” she blurted, drooling. “Hi.”
A door squeaked open and feet padded in. Jengo’s smiling ebony face soon appeared above Augum. He lifted a tray of steaming soup. “You’ve been out for a long while,” he whispered. “Day and a half. Been storming the entir
e time. And Leera hasn’t left your side even once. She’s quite distraught, let me tell you. I’ve been trying to get her to sleep, and here she is finally catching a snooze.”
He put the tray down. “Easy, Bridge, you’ll have some.” Augum heard her trying to reach for it, but each time Jengo had to gently pry her away. Jengo then shook someone nearby. “Augum’s awake.”
Leera immediately snapped into his vision. She wore a traditional blue robe, their favorite. The numerous tiny cuts on her soft cheeks had scabbed over. She was also clean-looking, hair washed and shiny and hanging around her face. But there were purple bags under her bloodshot eyes.
“Oh, Aug …” She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. “You’re a mess.”
He moaned, smiling with his eyes, though all he felt was a horrible grating and throbbing pain.
“Mrs. Stone hasn’t returned, no,” she said. “We think she doesn’t know it’s safe to come back yet. Who knows how long it’ll be.” She glanced at Bridget. “And … and Bridget’s kind of … gone simple. From casting that scroll, that is. I … I don’t know what to do. Nobody does.” She sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek. Augum wished he could wipe it away. He wished he could gently hold her in his arms, cradle her close.
Jengo placed a slender ebony hand on Augum’s forehead. “Still hot,” he said to Leera, before turning his attention back to him. “Father, Mr. Goss, and a whole bunch of others are on a quest to find medicine. Your whole body is in a splint, basically.” He smiled. “I think you broke every bone possible.” His hands twisted. “Err, everyone’s very concerned, but we’re keeping visitors down to a minimum. The village is basically on lockdown. The Legion’s in a right state, yes they are. A right state. And the kingdom …” He leaned closer, voice conspiratorial. “There’ve been riots, Augum, riots. And the Legion are using a heavy hand to quell—”
“Not now, Jengo,” Leera snapped.
“Right, of course, that can all wait.” Jengo bit his lip. “Say, I wanted to try something. I’ve been studying up on healing and—”
