by Sever Bronny
Leera inspected it. “It’s the only one with a line around it.”
“Shall we … shall we push it?” Jengo asked. “I mean, nothing bad is going to happen, right?”
“Only one way to find out,” Leera said, placing both hands on the block and shoving. “It’s … stuck …” she said through gritted teeth, straining, feet sliding against the sodden earth. Everyone quickly joined in, squishing together. There was a snapping sound and the block lurched inward. A grinding noise immediately took place beside them. The earthen ground began collapsing, as if there was a trap door underneath, revealing a set of stone steps.
“Wow,” Augum said when the grinding stopped.
“Should we perhaps check for traps?” Jengo asked.
“By ‘we’ you mean us, right?” Leera said with a smirk.
“To be safe we should,” Bridget said, “but I do not believe a 6th degree academy Trainer will be booby trapped.” Nonetheless, she splayed a hand. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus,” but soon shook her head. “Nothing.”
“At least we’re improving with the spell,” Augum muttered. They had been casting Reveal a lot lately. He lit his palm and hopped down the steps, the others doing the same.
“What the …” Haylee said under her breath.
Inside the spacious stone-walled cellar they found heaps of empty bottles; ancient once-cozy cushioned chairs, much of the upholstery eaten away; old moldy books and booklets; broken storage barrels; and crooked blackened paintings of young warlocks.
Haylee gave a scandalized gasp before reading aloud the title of a thin booklet. “ ‘The Youth Herald: The Cutest Warlocks of Antioc and Where to Find Them’.” She snorted. “How lewd!”
“What? Let me see this debauchery,” Leera said, snagging it, but the pages were so rotten they fell apart upon opening them. She dumped the lot to the ground and readied to repair it arcanely.
“Is that really necessary?” Bridget said with a raised brow.
Leera gave a disappointed shrug. “Guess not.”
“Wait, check for a date on the cover,” Haylee said, crouching. “First day of the fourth month, year 3313.”
“Thirty years ago,” Jengo said. “That’s, like, ancient. Seems like nobody’s been by since.”
“The Unconceal reverberation was faint,” Bridget said.
Leera looked around. “It’s a hangout den!”
“A what?” Augum asked.
“You know, like a tree house, but for teenagers. Think about it, it’s a 6th degree trainer, which is for teens about our age. Look.” She telekinetically summoned a pottery bottle to her hand. “Empty ale bottle. Lewd books. Comfy chairs. And a total mess. It’s a hangout den from ages ago. They probably hung out here instead of studying or training.”
Augum snorted before breaking out with laughter. There was something so silly about the stuffy seriousness of the academy being disregarded in such a brazen manner.
“Those old fogeys were rebels!” Leera said, chortling.
Bridget shook her head. “Are you really that surprised? I mean, look at Jezebel, she’s a rascal.”
“Point taken.”
“Adults were teenagers once too,” Haylee said absently, kicking aside a rotten shoe.
“Anyway, let’s see if there’s some sort of secret passageway,” Augum said.
They began a thorough search of the dingy room, palms lit.
“Unnameables help me, I don’t believe it,” Leera said. She was standing before one of the old warlock paintings. “You have to see this. All of you.”
They rushed over immediately.
Haylee gasped. “Is that …?”
“It can’t be …” Jengo said.
All Augum could see was a beautiful young woman with long, rich chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes. She was holding something in her hand, but the painting was so dirty it was difficult to make out.
Bridget brushed the bottom, revealing an etched plaque.
“Gods,” Augum couldn’t help but say upon finally recognizing the person before him.
Leera read it aloud for them in a solemn and proud voice. “ ‘Unbeaten consecutive champion in the annual Antioc Classic and renowned arcane artist, dueler, and mischief-maker, here thus stands the legendary Anna Atticus Stone in her twentieth year.’ ”
For a moment the group just stared at the lithe and beautiful figure a twenty-year-old Anna Atticus Stone cut. She was wearing a fine golden robe that accented her long brunette hair, and in her hand she held a small orb, which had to be the family scion.
Leera was the first to crack. “ ‘Mischief-maker’. Ha!” She laughed hard, the sound coming from deep within her belly. “ ‘Mischief-maker’ …”
“That is pretty funny,” Bridget said, chortling.
“We’re taking this with us,” Augum said, yanking it off the wall, surprised Bridget didn’t object. “I’m going to get it cleaned and then hang it in the castle.”
“Can’t wait to hear her explain this place,” Haylee said.
“She was probably a regular back in the day,” Leera added.
Jengo pointed at the wall where the painting had been. “Look!”
There, crudely carved into the wall, were the words Settle mirTh With Palm oil. Underneath, You went down where? You found what? Say together …
“What in Sithesia does that even mean?” Leera asked.
“Check that out,” Haylee said, craning her neck. “Looks like a trap door, doesn’t it?”
Leera raised a hand to the ceiling. “I’m too short. Jengo, give me a boost.”
He grabbed her by the waist and hefted her up.
“Hold still,” she said, concentrating. “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus.” After a moment, she blurted, “All right, put me down. Thanks, Jengo. There’s definitely an enchantment up there. I don’t recognize it though.”
“We could probably dispel it,” Augum said.
Bridget shook her head, frowning while she slowly bit the end of a fingernail. “I don’t think that would be wise. The trap door might not open at all if we disable the enchantment. It’s probably triggered somehow.” She kept staring at the phrase.
Haylee interlocked both hands on top of her blonde head and expelled a breath. “Why is there a painting of Mrs. Stone here?”
“Remember that we’re talking about multiple generations of teenage warlocks,” Bridget said. “Mrs. Stone’s generation was around our age when they came, which was almost ninety years ago. But she also then became a legend to future academy kids.”
“We could just go ask her what this means,” Jengo said.
“So she could shoo us right out of here?” Leera asked. “Nah.”
“Interesting that it was behind her painting,” Haylee said, standing beside Bridget with crossed arms. Both girls had their heads tilted as they studied the wording.
“ ‘Settle mirth with palm oil’,” Bridget read and reread. “ ‘You went down where? You found what? Say together …’ ”
Suddenly she glanced between the painting and the words, narrowing her eyes. Her hand slowly went to the first phrase, Settle mirTh With Palm oil, and tapped the letter T with a finger. “This is a clue.”
“Unnameables!” Leera blurted, grabbing Augum beside her and Bridget on her other side. “I know what it is! We’ve done these before! It’s an anagram! That’s why the T is capitalized!”
“Of course, yes!” Bridget said. “But what does it say?”
“Well let’s look at the capitals first,” Augum said, delicately leaning the painting against the wall while he drew the letters S T W P in the dust. Then he stood back as they all pondered what it meant.
Haylee glanced between the painting and the phrase. “What did you say the name of that friend of Mrs. Stone’s was?”
The trio immediately caught on, chorusing, “William Smith the Plotter!”
“Yes!” Bridget said. “WSTP stands for his name, and if you rearrange all the letters, they spell his name!”
Bridget tapped the phrase below the clue. “ ‘You went down where? You found what? Say together …’ “
“He was trying to remind himself of the trigger phrase,” Augum said cautiously. “I mean, he was always a bit loony, wasn’t he? And forgetful? Fits his character.”
Bridget glanced between the clue and Augum a couple times, then her gaze drifted to his neck and she smiled.
He withdrew the necklace they had made for his birthday. “What, this? Why are you—” but then it hit him too, and he grinned.
Leera looked between the pair of them. “Not this again, just fill us in already, the suspense is murderous!”
“Care to do the honors?” Augum asked Bridget.
“All right.” She smiled up at the trap door and said, “William Smith the Plotter, Shaftspur Mine, dragon tooth.”
There was a click and the heavy stone trap door swung open, nearly knocking Bridget on the head.
“You did it!” Leera squealed as the pair hugged in celebration.
“What’s Shaftspur Mine dragon tooth mean?” Jengo asked when they let go.
“It’s where Mrs. Stone, William, and Jordan went for an adventure,” Augum replied. “Down Shaftspur Mine. That’s where they found the supposed dragon tooth, which One-Eye later made into an amulet … and gave to me.”
“After regaling us with the story of how he got it,” Leera added.
“So how do we get up there?” Haylee asked. “Boost?”
“There’s an easier way,” Augum said, striding to a series of empty barrels. He shoved them aside telekinetically, revealing an old broken wooden ladder, which he arcanely repaired before hauling it over.
“Smart,” Jengo said, helping him lodge it into place.
“I think you should have the honors this time, Aug,” Bridget said with a proud smile, nodding at the ladder.
“More than happy to. Shyneo.” His palm crackled to life as he began climbing the rickety ladder, imagining a young Anna Stone doing the very same thing ninety years ago.
He soon found himself in a relatively small room with three chairs, a low table, a few shelves, and three small cots lined against the dingy walls. Scattered about were moldy books, ink-stained parchments, a wooden model of a dragon, and a used smoking pipe, among other things. Different-colored robes hung on hooks on the wall. A thick, sticky layer of dust covered everything like a blanket.
“Whoa,” Leera whispered when they all joined him.
Augum agreed it was a shrine worthy of whispering. It appeared nothing had been touched since Mrs. Stone and her gang had occupied it.
“The academy crest,” Jengo noted, nodding at the robes.
“No wonder nobody has come in here,” Bridget whispered. “The answer to the riddle below is very specific. Only a few people could possibly have figured it out. One Eye set it up that way so that only he, Jordan and Mrs. Stone could get in here.”
“It was their own private den-within-a-den,” Leera added. “How cool is that?”
“I think you need to see this,” Jengo said, glancing over a piece of parchment on the table.
“Is that …?” Augum yanked and dusted it off. “It’s a map of the sewers under the Black Castle!”
They all gathered close to peer over his shoulder.
“It’s a maze down there,” Leera said. She tapped a spot at the very end. “There’s the secret door and the symbol of an iron key. Looks like they scrawled a few notes in the margins too.”
“This is fantastic.” Augum folded the map and tucked it away. “That key has got to be in here. Let’s find it.”
They spread out, careful not to damage anything or move objects if they didn’t need to. They used Unconceal of course, but nothing came up.
Augum bent down to the grimy floor and inspected the area on his knees. And there, lying randomly under one of the cots, appeared the outline of a large key. But it wasn’t missing. On the contrary, a layer of dust floated above the outline indicating it was sitting right before his face. For a precious moment, Augum just stared at the invisible object, feeling victory course through his veins.
“Hey guys?” he said. “You’re not going to believe this, but I found it.” He snatched it and thrust it aloft in his fist, before allowing each of them to feel for themselves, celebrating the great historical find with fist pumps and pats on the back.
“Don’t you lose it,” Leera said, giving his waist a squeeze.
“That’d be all too easy, wouldn’t it?” He dropped it into a pocket. It was heavy, weighing the pocket down like a rock.
“Look at this,” Leera said, finger running along a faded parchment as she read it aloud. “ ‘… managed to finally get into that ancient Rivican Cloud Chamber and actually flew. What glory! But getting out of there turned into quite the harrowing adventure …’ ”
“It say anything else?” Augum said.
“Nope. Water damaged beyond repair.”
“What’s a Cloud Chamber?” Jengo asked.
No one had the answer to that.
“Flight, huh?” Leera said to Bridget. “You don’t think they actually flew, do you?”
“As far as I know, warlock flight is impossible in arcanery.” She withdrew the Exot orb and brought it to her lips. “Yes, Mrs. Stone, we’ll be right there,” and put it away. “She’s wondering where we are. Says we have to get back to the castle for the Advancement Ceremony.”
“Wait until we tell her the news!” Leera said giddily, racing for the ladder.
“Are we going to take any of this stuff with us?” Haylee asked, looking around. “Would be a shame to leave it, wouldn’t it? Besides, who knows what else is in those parchments.”
They all turned to Augum.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “Leave it here for now. We can always come back and get it later.” He didn’t mention he thought it was safer here than in the castle.
They closed the trap door behind them, put away the ladder, and returned to Mrs. Stone. It was getting close to suppertime and the sun was moving beyond the tall peaks. Mrs. Stone stood leaning on her staff and holding Leland’s hand, gazing wistfully at the vibrant valley before her.
“We have some surprises for you, Nana,” Augum said, hauling the painting.
“Hmm?” she toned absently.
“Have a look, Nana.” He held the painting of her younger self up before her. Her wispy brows rose as she looked it over. A genuine smile passed her lips.
“My, oh my,” she said, chortling to herself. She allowed Bridget to take Leland from her while she inspected the painting up close, leaning heavily on her staff. “My, oh my …”
“You were so beautiful, Mrs. Stone,” Haylee said, before quickly adding, “I mean you still are of course it’s just—”
Mrs. Stone idly waved that silliness aside. “You have gladdened an old woman’s heart. I cannot tell you how many memories this brings back. And how fond they so be.”
“And look what it says underneath, Nana.”
Mrs. Stone leaned in close and read the inscription aloud. “ ‘Unbeaten consecutive champion in the annual Antioc Classic and renowned arcane artist, dueler, and mischief-maker, here thus stands the legendary Anna Atticus Stone in her twentieth year.’ ” She chortled, shaking her head. “Charming.”
Leera smiled wryly. “ ‘Mischief-maker’, huh, Mrs. Stone?”
Mrs. Stone seemed not to hear, instead gently brushing the painting with the tips of her shaking fingers.
“I’m going to have this cleaned up and hung in the castle, Nana. Right in the foyer, instead of that giant old burnt tapestry.”
Mrs. Stone patted Augum’s shoulder. “The castle is yours now, Great-grandson. You may do with it as you please.”
Augum’s chest squeezed at hearing those words.
&
nbsp; “Pardon me, Mrs. Stone, but … what’s a Rivican Cloud Chamber?” Jengo asked.
Mrs. Stone glanced over at him with a bemused expression. “A vast and dangerous cavern infused with ancient arcanery, one best avoided.”
“Ooo, we also found something else,” Leera said, gesturing impatiently at Augum, who dug about in his pockets, withdrawing an invisible key and the map of the sewers, both of which Leera promptly snatched with a roguish grin. “This, and this!”
Mrs. Stone glanced to the map. “Ah, very good. I had forgotten about that. I dare say I had feared you were going to have to blindly stumble your way through that sewer.” She frowned at Leera’s other hand, which appeared to hold nothing.
“Oh, right, it’s the key,” Leera said. “William made it permanently invisible.” She handed it to Mrs. Stone, who chortled as she weighed it in her hand.
“Of course he did, the fool, of course he did.” She idly returned it to Leera and glanced past them at Mute Manor with a misty expression, seemingly recalling joyous days of old. Augum looked at the old building and could almost hear the echoes of all those adventures. Mrs. Stone then slowly glanced around at the majestic view, at the eternal waterfall, at the gently rolling meadow of grass. Suddenly it occurred to Augum what she was doing, and it caused the lump in his throat to tighten. Watching her ancient lined face and cloudy eyes take in the scene of her youth, there was not a shadow of a doubt in his heavy heart that she was silently saying goodbye.
And by the faces of his friends, every one of which was long with sorrow, he was not the only one to recognize this fact.
When she spotted their expressions, she clucked her tongue. “Oh, for mercy’s sake! Can an old woman not have a reflective moment without someone thinking she has had an attack of the heart or has lost her mind?”
The group promptly muttered their apologies.
She sighed. “Now then. I had hoped to cover Annocronomus Tempusari with you three, but it seems, once again, that we are out of time. So be it.” Mrs. Stone gestured for them to link hands. After they did so, she glanced to her portrait once more. “A painting. Indeed, that gives me quite the idea …”
