by Sever Bronny
“By the way, what happens to the future us?” Leera asked as they slowly made their way back to the castle. “What happens to the ones that don’t cast the spell? Is there some kind of alternate timeline for them?”
“Nothing happens to them,” Bridget said. “It’s explained in the Cron book. Everything reverses, so you’re still you, and I’m still me. Our thoughts reverse, as do our actions. Everything erases, only to start again in the moment chosen by the caster.”
“It’s better to say those things don’t happen,” Augum added. He had achieved a new level of understanding after casting the spell. No wonder it was so difficult and so rare. He recalled Mrs. Stone’s teachings all too well: imagine a spell that, when uttered properly, no one gets to see or hear. A spell that can bring untold riches, save or take lives, kill kings, upend kingdoms, and change the course of history … by reversing only a few heartbeats of time for the caster.
That was Annocronomus Tempusari.
Darkness
Augum bolted upright with a scream. His heart raced as he tried to slow his rapid breathing, body soaked in cold sweat. He jumped out of bed and backed against a wall, eager to hold something firm. The chamber was dark, the sliver of light piercing a parted curtain like a blade, slicing the vast bedroom in two.
His thoughts returned to the nightmare. Leera …! Wearing only his linen nightgown, he opened the door and sprang out. The castle was dimly lit by starlight from the great sky windows, the hallways dark and silent. He raced barefoot down the cold marble stairs, fearing what he’d find. The walls of the castle felt like they were closing in on him, which made him run faster.
He careened around the balustrade only to stop, for he thought he heard the ghostly giggle of a girl. He listened a moment, but hearing nothing more, he sprinted on down the hall, past the doors and unpacked crates, coming to a rug-burning halt before a certain dark door. He placed a shaking hand on the handle and pushed. The door squeaked open, revealing jagged shadows of instruments that were meant for one purpose only … torment.
He stood at the precipice of the torture room breathing quickly. “Leera—?”
From inside came a weak gurgle.
“Shyneo.” His arm crackled to life, the light subtly pulsing with his frantic heart. The shadows moved quickly as he stepped inside, shadows swaying along with his shining palm. Everywhere he looked, he felt pain. It was in the rusted iron, in the scratched wood, in the dust on the floor.
“Leera, are you all right?” he whispered. “Where are you?” She was here, he had seen it.
But there was nothing except dust and the distant echoes of dying souls.
He was midway through the room, surrounded by these empty dark implements, when the door began squeaking closed. His stomach leaped into his throat; he sprinted back through the door in the nick of time, pinning himself against the far wall of the hallway.
It was nothing but a draft, he kept telling himself, palms flat against the cool stone. Nothing but a stupid draft and a nightmare. She was fine. She was totally fine …
Suddenly he saw something move in the deep darkness of a nearby battlement. “Fentwick—?” he asked in a shaky voice, keeping his palm forward. But the light didn’t reach around corners. He had seen a real shadow move. It was darker than the black night of the castle, darker than its black stone, darker than his fears.
He swallowed, unable to go forward, unable to explore or to investigate. Instead, he turned and sprinted back upstairs, only to careen into someone as he made his way around the corner on his floor.
“OOF!” a girl’s voice said.
“Bridge? That you?” he whispered. But as the girl turned toward him, he saw an emaciated skull face with oily long black hair and a blood-soaked nightgown. Just as he was about to scream in sheer terror, the girl shot forward, snatching his arms.
“Aug, it’s all right, it’s only me,” she hissed.
His eyes were wide as he stared into a vile face that would surely feast on his skull, that at any moment would reveal sharp canine teeth before rabidly tearing his flesh apart—”
“It’s the side effects,” the girl whispered. “Look at me, you’re all right, it’s only the side effects—”
He shoved the demon girl back and she yelped as her head hit the wall. Her body crumpled to the floor with a groan.
“Who are you—?” he hissed, readying to cast his First Offensive. “Who are you!”
“It’s me, Bridget—” the girl moaned pleadingly, raising one hand in defense, the other holding her head. “Just me …”
Augum rubbed his eyes a couple times, refocusing on her, trying not to see the demon girl. At last, maybe through sheer force of will, he saw Bridget.
“Gods, I’m so sorry!” he said, but he still didn’t want to get too close to her. What if it was a trick? Instead, he slid down along the wall to a crouch, eyes darting about, heart still pumping fiercely. “I’m so sorry …”
“It’s all right,” she whispered, rubbing the back of her head while wincing.
“Is it bad? Should I wake Jengo?”
“It’s fine.”
“Is … is the castle haunted?”
“I don’t think so, though I can’t be sure. I suspect it’s the side effects of the spell. First casting is always tough, apparently.”
“Cron?”
She nodded before slumping against the wall. The two friends sat opposite each other in the hallway near Augum’s room. He noticed her face shone with sweat and, like him, she was also barefoot. He extinguished his palm, allowing starlight to flood the quiet hall.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Tried. Nightmares. Then I heard a scream. Went to investigate.”
“That shadow you saw in the vestibule earlier. Part of the side effects as well, you think?”
“Can’t be sure, but I think so.”
“We’ll have to warn Leera.”
The outline of Bridget’s head nodded.
“Think Nana suffers from them?”
“Can’t tell. Mrs. Stone certainly hasn’t mentioned them. But it would explain her behavior of late.”
He thought about it while his heart calmed down. “Can you repeat back to me that quote again, the one from the Cron book?”
Bridget paused a moment. “I think I know what you’re getting at. ‘But hark, oh weary traveler, for yonder count of but the barest breath of one, the shade shall enemy, the ether dagger, and every beat of thy heart maketh taut skin slack, thick bone thin, vibrance dull, hair gray.’ ”
“ ‘The shade shall enemy’,” he echoed.
“It was talking about the side effects and I didn’t even clue in,” Bridget whispered. “Ugh, just goes to show memorizing something doesn’t mean you understand it.”
He stood with a weary groan, exhausted and emotionally spent, then helped her to her feet. He needed a good night’s rest, as did she. Badly.
“Sorry about the shove.”
“Don’t blame you. Don’t want to know what you saw in me.”
“No, you don’t. Hey, do me a favor—check on Leera, will you?”
“Of course. Night.”
“Night.”
They quietly made their way back to their respective rooms. As Augum settled into bed, he received a whispered Exot message. “She’s fine, Aug. Sleeping snug as a bug.”
Mute Manor
The next morning Augum was jolted out of bed by a hard crystal thwack, a sound only made when Mrs. Stone’s scion-tipped staff smacked the door. Nana must be feeling well enough to be up and about!
“Coming!” he shouted, running over to his wardrobe and quickly changing into his royal blue apprentice robe, trying to fight off the effects of sleeping terribly. He could feel the weight of the bags under his eyes. When he opened the door, he found Mrs. Stone already shuffling down the steps, wearing her famous shimmering ivory robe. She would plant both feet on a stair before daring to take the next one. He immediately ran to
her side to help her.
“How are you feeling today, Nana?” he asked, hearing the other doors open. The girls spilled out, along with Jengo and Haylee.
Mrs. Stone did not respond. Her breathing came in long rumbling wheezes, which worried Augum greatly, for they sounded like a broken bellows. He glanced behind him at his friends. When they saw how slowly she descended and heard how she sounded, they exchanged worried looks.
“Did she take Bowlander’s potion this morning?” Bridget quietly asked Jengo.
“I forbade it until I complete my research on it. Lord Bowlander’s answers to my questions were … unsatisfactory.”
“Oh. I understand …”
Two floors below, they were greeted by a shriveled woman with large spectacles and a cane. “Panjita greets Great Archmage Stone,” Ms. Singh said with a curt bow. Her daughter and Jengo’s betrothed, Priya, was holding her arm, and bowed alongside her mother, flashing Jengo a loving look.
“Forgive Panjita, but she cannot help but notice that we have become old and weary, have we not, Archmage?”
“All things … must pass,” Mrs. Stone croaked.
Augum felt a hollow pang at hearing her speak. She was deteriorating fast and it scared him. It reminded him of her husband, Great Grandfather Thomas Stone, and how quickly he had aged after leaving Ley.
“Ah, Panjita recognizes wisdom from Ohm when she hears it. It saddens Panjita her health has improved yet the Venerable One does not look well. Panjita hopes the gangly unsuitable that has stolen her daughter will mind the Archmage’s health.”
Priya gave her mother a scolding look while Jengo sighed and said, “I’ll do my best, Ms. Singh.”
Mrs. Stone’s lips merely thinned, her head perpetually shaking. She tapped Augum’s arm and they slowly shuffled on. Along the way, they were greeted with the usual royal titles, though faces turned grave upon seeing Mrs. Stone’s condition.
Everyone quietly stood as the group shuffled into the Great Dining Hall for the morning Resistance meeting. Bowlander gave Bridget a pained smile. The rest seemed to look everywhere but at Mrs. Stone. Charles and the Haroun servants served a light breakfast of eggs and bread. The sound of distant hammers could be heard as workmen began the day.
Mr. Haroun and Constable Clouds imparted news from the kingdom. Another series of towns had been razed and converted into the undead. Antioc was now under a state of siege, as was Blackhaven. The kingdoms of Nodia and Canterra reported border skirmishes with the Legion army. People were clamoring for the Resistance to do something. They wanted to see the bravery displayed in the Antioc arena. Their desire was an open secret, evidenced by the scattered revolts kicked up on a daily basis, and brutally suppressed. The news made Augum rub his forehead depressingly, for there was little their tiny force could accomplish on the scale needed. And on that point, he had the displeasure of imparting the news that their Agonex army, which they had presumed numbered in the tens of thousands, sat at a paltry four hundred and twenty-two units, and that they stood among the ashes of Sparrow’s Perch and would have to be moved.
An attempt to blunt the morning’s bad news was made by Lord Bowlander, who jovially stood up to announce that plans were well underway for the evening’s Advancement Ceremony, and that all would be greatly satisfied because he was working closely with Ms. Jezebel Terse to make it a very special affair. But then he burped into his hand as he sat down, making Charissa and Malaika giggle. After studying him closer, Augum noted his red eyes, puffy cheeks, and slumped posture. It dawned on him Bowlander had drunk the night before. And by the way Malaika and especially Charissa were flashing him secretive looks, he suspected it had been with them. Yet when he glanced over at Bridget, she was chatting obliviously with Mr. Goss about repairing the library.
As the meeting wore on, Augum’s attention returned to his great-grandmother, to the sound of her tortured wheezing, her shaking blue-veined hands, her tormented and withered posture. Hang in there, Nana, was all Augum could think. Hang in there …
The meeting ended after breakfast. All stood quietly as Augum led Mrs. Stone out, his group following. They were to teleport to some secret location and spend the day with Mrs. Stone, returning for the evening advancement ceremony.
Bridget gave Lord Bowlander a forlorn look. For whatever reason, he ignored her, instead choosing to whisper to Charissa something that made her giggle and share a look with Malaika. Bridget frowned and turned away with an expression of confusion. Augum wondered whether it was right for him to share his suspicions about those three with her.
Outside the dining hall, Mrs. Stone stopped to lay her shaking palm flat before her at waist height. “Leland,” was all she croaked.
“I’ll fetch him, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget said, running off with that confused look still on her face.
Mrs. Stone wearily shuffled on, down to the foyer, past bowing servants and villagers greeting them with hollow titles, past Captain Briggs and Lieutenant Cobb who were stationed at the castle entrance this particular morning, past the groundskeeper and gardener and stonemason and the slew of other villagers trying to bring the castle back to life, one stone and planted flower at a time, an effort Augum envisioned as going to waste should the Legion come.
She stopped at the fountain and patiently waited. Jengo and Haylee attempted to make Mrs. Stone feel better by striking up a cheery conversation about how pleasant a day it was and how wonderful the evening’s advancement ceremony was going to be, though all it seemed to accomplish was to make her lips purse.
“You notice Bowlander?” Augum murmured to Leera.
“I did. What was up with that?”
“I think he hung out with Malaika and Charissa last night because Bridget turned him down.”
Leera slowly placed her gaze on him. “No … that snake—”
Augum only gave her a Yeah, tell me about it look.
“Don’t say anything,” she said in a whisper. “Not until we’re sure.”
Bridget and Leland soon returned. The group linked up hands and Mrs. Stone teleported them off with a THWOMP. They appeared in a wide grassy valley completely surrounded by mountains, tall rocky behemoths with snowy peaks glittering in the sunshine, reminding Augum of the Muranians, except these were so steep they looked impossible to scale. Abutted against one of these mountains, before a tall waterfall circled by birds, was a quaint castle-like manor complete with mini battlements, creneled parapet walls, and tapered cone roofs with red shingles. Smaller waterfalls and shallow streams trickled web-like around the manor. A single majestic gnarled oak stood sentinel near the entrance.
“So pretty …” Leera cooed.
“What is this place, Nana?” Augum whispered, awed by the vastness of the valley and the sheer scale of the mountains.
Mrs. Stone said nothing as she let go of Augum and shuffled to the manor on her own, taking a grassy overgrown path.
“I think I know where we are,” Haylee whispered.
“Land of the giants?” Jengo asked, craning his neck this way and that.
Leland, guided by Bridget, tugged on her sleeve. She picked him up and quietly described the valley. He moaned with delight.
They came upon the door composed of carved rustic slabs of ancient wood. In the center was an old colorful crest divided into four sections, the paint faded. Underneath were the words Cogniata, Excellan, Servi. Above were two crossed pine branches.
Haylee broke out with a giant grin. “That’s the crest of the Academy of Arcane Arts!”
Augum felt a thrill travel through his body. He’d never seen the academy crest before. “What do all the divisions mean?”
Haylee gave Mrs. Stone an embarrassed sidelong look. “I … I should know this, but … I forget.”
Bridget let Leland down and placed a finger on each quadrant, starting with the top left. “The pine and the raven. The pine tree symbolizes Solia and the academy’s loyalty to the kingdom, while the raven symbolizes intelligence, intuition, and powerful secrets.” H
er finger travelled to the top-right quadrant. “The book, ink bottle and quill represent a studious mind, resourcefulness, and eagerness to learn.” She stabbed the bottom-right quadrant. “A creneled castle wall with a single arrow slit symbolizes fortitude, strength, and selective attack.” She tapped the last quadrant. “And the orb sitting on a pillow with three tassels represents arcaneology, leadership, and the three fundamental principles of arcanery.”
That orb looked suspiciously like the Orb of Orion, stolen from the academy by Erika Scarson and now sitting in Augum’s trunk at the foot of his bed.
“And what do the three words underneath mean?” Jengo asked.
“Cogniata, excellan, servi. That’s the school motto. Knowledge, excellence, service.”
“And the double pine branches above the crest?” Mrs. Stone pressed with a proud gleam in her eye.
Bridget did not hesitate. “The two branches of arcane warfare—offense and defense, each as important as the other.”
“Good, Bridget, very good,” Mrs. Stone said, withdrawing from her pocket a small white potion that looked like milk. She had Jengo uncork it and then drank its contents. “Trying something new today upon our young physician’s urging. Healing Nettle. Quite nourishing for an old and weary soul, I hear.”
“I researched it thoroughly, Mrs. Stone,” Jengo said with wringing hands. “I hope it helps.”
Mrs. Stone nodded at the crest as she put the empty vial away. “Do you recognize the orb?”
“I knew it!” Augum blurted. “I mean, yes, it’s the Orb of Orion.”
“Correct. The Orb of Orion had been gifted to the academy over a thousand years ago upon its grand opening. At the time, it was such a momentous occasion that the founders of the school placed it on the crest, symbolizing not just arcaneology, but unity of the kingdoms. Interestingly, many thought it represented a scion, but that is not so.” She gave Bridget a sidelong glance. “And I expect its eventual return to the academy, of course.”
“Of course, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget said quickly. “And we’ll return the pearl as well.”
