by Sever Bronny
The torches immediately snuffed, plunging the throne room into pitch-darkness, broken only by intermittent flashes of silent lightning, which Augum quickly realized were coming from his scion. The ancient artifact was floating near his head and buzzing like an angry wasp. But when his eyes returned to the painting, the flesh on his arms rose, for each silent flash of lightning revealed the painting in a new state of movement. At first, Atrius Arinthian’s eyes were staring at him rather than into the distance. The next flash revealed the whole body had turned to face him. The following flash showed the great man stepping out of the painting. Suddenly Atrius’ arm lit up electric blue. But it was not rippling with stripes.
It was a solid blue sleeve.
The Arinthian Line
Augum stared in hair-raising disbelief as the form of Atrius Arinthian stood before him, features brushed like a painting. The form crackled with little fingers of lightning that connected with whatever was near. The whole room was bathed in these miniature flashes, along with the cool constant light of Atrius’ solid blue sleeve. This legendary man from eighteen hundred years ago, known as the original arcane artist … had been a master warlock.
“Welcome, beloved descendant,” Atrius’ voice finally boomed. “You wish to become the Keeper of the Keys.”
Augum’s throat was dry but he managed a response. “I do.”
“Then thou shall prove thyself as the true heir, for only the true heir may become the Keeper of the Keys. I doth pose thee but three queries, which thee shall answer sincerely.”
What a coincidence, Augum thought aside, for here in this hall Augum had been asked three sacred initiation questions to become a brother of the academy.
“The first query.” Atrius Arinthian extended a hand, palm up. “Doth thou carry the great burden?”
“I do.” Augum directed the scion to float to the man’s palm, which closed over the ancient orb. The scion flashed with a rapid succession of silent lightning strikes before he let it float back to Augum.
“The great burden you doth carry. My second query, beloved descendant, is what is thy greatest strength?”
Augum thought carefully. He mentally went through all his battles, his champion victory at the Antioc Warlock tournament, the times he saved a life … yet none quite fit. He was certain being good at a spell was not what Atrius Arinthian had in mind. It had to be an answer that fit the framework of what he expected in a true heir.
Augum next ran through all the fields of study Mrs. Stone had raised, including arithmetic, astronomy, history, language, leadership, literature, logic, ethics, and the art of war, but those too did not quite seem to fit. No, his greatest strength lay in Mrs. Stone’s bird test, he was sure of it. But what did that reveal about Augum that the Lord of the Legion lacked?
After some more thoughtful reflection, there was only one answer that made any sense. And it fit perfectly.
“My greatest strength … is compassion.”
“Thou answers as only a true Arinthian would.” The man raised his regal chin. “My final query, beloved descendant, is what is thy greatest weakness?”
Augum frowned in thought. This one was even tougher. A bunch of immediate ones came to mind—gullibility, impatience, temper, insecurity, recklessness, irrationality, inattentiveness, immaturity … but as damning as these were, they too did not quite fit. They felt … too easy.
He carefully went back over his interactions with people, taking his time … until something came to him. He recalled placing himself in Prince Sydo’s shoes when he was being mean … and thus doing nothing about his meanness. He recalled letting Robin go when he had the opportunity to slay him with the Banyan Beast … then ending up watching as Robin took Mya’s life, among many others. And smaller events came to him from his long-buried past: the time he allowed himself to take the blame for the theft of a carrot during a famine, when in fact hungry young Wyza Penderson had stolen it; the myriad instances of youthful bullying when he could have said something cruel to win a verbal argument but held back only to lose; and so on. Once more, only one reply truly made sense. It was a complicated response, but it felt right.
“My greatest weakness … is compassion.”
Atrius Arinthian closed his eyes and gave a solemn nod. “Thou answers as only a true Arinthian would.” The voice had a slight tinge of sadness. His great arm slowly rose, the sleeve crackling louder. An ornate key with the letter A in the bow appeared in his palm, glowing bright electric blue. Augum understood what was expected of him and placed his own scarred palm against his ancestor’s. The sleeve brightened then dimmed and Augum felt an energy being passed from Atrius’ hand to his. A burning heat in his palm almost caused him to flinch away, yet he persisted. At last, Atrius’ sleeve went dark and he withdrew his hand. Augum examined his palm and saw that there was a bright blue key insignia there with the letter A in the bow. He watched in amazement as the key slowly faded and disappeared.
“Thou art becometh the Keeper of the Keys. Thy first charge is to justly protect the castle and its people. Thy second charge is to passeth on the scion to a son or daughter thee deem worthy of the great burden. Shouldst none suffice, thou art to findeth an heir of mine own blood worthy of the burden.”
Augum bowed his head, body tingling and hands clammy. “I accept the responsibilities, Great Ancestor.” He could barely swallow. Not even Mrs. Stone had been the Keeper of the Keys.
“May you live brightly, beloved descendant.” Atrius Arinthian then took a single step back into the painting, becoming one with it once more. The torches flared back to life and Fentwick rattled away with a query about a duel. But Augum could barely concentrate past the blood rushing through his head. Two thoughts gonged about like bells.
He had become the Keeper of the Keys.
Atrius had wished him to live brightly … just like Nana.
The Keeper of the Keys
Augum practically floated out of the throne room, absently closing the door behind him while staring at his still-stinging palm in wonder. The castle was dark and quiet. Wind rattled distant windows. It felt like he was the only one awake.
Suddenly he had the overwhelming desire to perform a task he had wanted to do for some time. It was a task of homage, a duty he felt belonged solely to him.
And so, in the thick of night, body buzzing with disbelief and scion humming contentedly by his ear, Augum set off downstairs to the cellar, stopping before the gates to the crypt. There he raised his lit palm and boldly said, “Entarro.” The ancient gates, locked for who knew how many generations, clinked and squealed open.
He slowly stepped in, passing all sorts of tombs—pillars, vaults, and miniature mausoleums, engraved with generations of ancestors. Miraculously, they remained untouched. For whatever reason, Sparkstone had not raised them from the dead.
Strolling solemnly among these ancient resting places, without fear or worry, Augum felt more at home than he had ever felt before. He was their protector now, responsible for making sure they continued to rest in peace. And as his eyes found ancient dates and names, as his hand brushed the old stone like it once did the tall grass of the Tallows, another powerful realization came to him, one so overwhelming it made his throat close up.
One day, he too would lie among his ancestors. This would be his final resting place, and that of his wife and children.
Augum stopped and allowed his hand to snuff. Even the scion’s humming ceased. And so there he stood in perfect silence in the crypt, in perfect comprehension. For at long last, he knew in every fiber of his being where he belonged, who he was, and what he had to do.
“An Arinthian stands with you,” he whispered. “I promise I will do everything I can to not let you down.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “ ‘Quarrel, quarrel for the light. Know naught but darkness should you lose the fight.’ ”
He allowed his feelings to run their course. When the tears dried on his cheeks, he relit his palm and solemnly made his way to the spot that called to him.
As he approached the looming ancient mausoleum, for a brief moment he almost expected to see the body of Vion Rames, or even the undead version. Yet the doorway was empty.
He glanced up at the giant letter A, recalling how Leera had saved his life in this very spot what felt like eons ago. How he had changed. How far he had come. How far they had all come. And now he returned as the Keeper of the Keys, alone, and without beloved Mrs. Stone.
He took a measured step into the mausoleum, finding the place ransacked. The far ancient golden sarcophagus had been broken apart. Atrius’ mummified remains lay scattered on the floor.
It was strange knowing that the Lord of the Legion had been here. He had most probably used an emergency escape portal, like Augum and Leera once before, to get past the locked gate. Then he raised Atrius using a powerful necromancy spell, before killing him anew, thus taking possession of the Dreadnoughts. It was all ancient arcanery beyond his understanding, and did not matter much anyway.
Augum set to replacing Atrius’ remains back into his sarcophagus, then arcanely repairing the damage, piece by piece. He was meticulous about it, even dutifully sweeping the floor with an old broom. And as he worked, he promised himself that for as long as he lived, he would charge no one else with the burden of cleaning this particular tomb. It would be his responsibility, and his alone.
He finished sometime in the middle of the night. Then he solemnly stood in the center of the room and glanced about, admiring the ancient beauty of the ornately gilded ceiling, the fine masonry walls with their etched portals, and the two opposite sarcophagi, only one of which he had appreciated before. The other was that of Atrius’ wife, whose golden sarcophagus was etched with a small bird. Above was a stone plaque with the simple epitaph, Lived and loved and lost have I, a life of sunshine saw sunset goodbye.
Augum’s eyes lingered on the bird. Here the two lovers rested forever at peace.
Before departing, Augum stopped to read the ancient stone inscription above the tomb of his ancestor, a man whose birthday he shared.
Here lieth Atrius Arinthian
Borneth thy second day of thy second month in thy 1513th year
Husband to Atreya Sinthius Arinthian
Father of seven
Builder of herein Castle Arinthian
Master of thee element of lightning
First possessor of thee lightning scion
Slayer of Occulus thee Necromancer and proclaimed King of Solia in reward
Besought to renounce Sithesia for thee Ley in his 71st year
Built thy first portal to thee realm of thee Ley within these here castle walls
Chose to be the last man to lay eyes upon a living Dreadnought
Died a natural death on thy fifth day in the eighth month of thy 1849th year, aged 336
Passed in peace surrounded by thee beloved
“Thus I bequeath, with love fulfilled.”
—A
But after carefully reading the plaque, Augum realized that Atrius Arinthian, who had been a Leyan for almost 300 years, had returned to the castle to die a mortal death.
The Last Gate
The next day, Augum was indeed woken early by a chirpy Jez. And as tired as he was, he had a peaceful smile on his face as he quietly floated down to breakfast with a chatty Bridget, Leera and Haylee. Jengo stumped along behind them, nose buried in the old yellow book, no doubt reading more about the healing element. Augum was in the rear, feeling positively radiant, for no matter what happened, he had fulfilled one powerful destiny: he had found a true home, a place he truly belonged in. And it was real, not imagined, but real in every sense of the word. When he looked upon the castle now, it was with new eyes. The ancient stonework, the carvings, the tapestries, all felt intimate and close to his heart. The people, too. As they greeted him with his royal title, he smiled kindly in return. As young and inexperienced as he was, he felt responsible for them all. Yet amazingly, the weight of that responsibility had lessened somewhat.
And beyond that, after visiting the crypt and the tomb of his great ancestor and his wife, he never more appreciated being alive and with his friends and his beloved.
The usual Resistance meeting took place earlier, just after sunrise, thus only a few core members attended. The rest of the castle, including the remaining academy students and their relatives, were still asleep.
Despite the dire predicament of the kingdom, conversation was light and happy, echoing Augum’s mood. Laudine regaled a romantic sonnet while Haylee and Bridget swooned and Leera grimaced. The early sun shone hot through the stained glass windows. The chirp of birds could be heard along with the pounding of a workman’s hammer. The castle was slowly coming back to life, and the simplicities of it made Augum smile with joy.
While the treat of a steaming breakfast of sunny-side up eggs, hearty potatoes, bread and sausages was served, they shared the news. Apparently Jez and Mrs. Hawthorne had already teleported out, both collecting the Antioc and Blackhaven Heralds, not to mention gathering gossip and intelligence. The revolt of the kingdom was intensifying, bleeding over into Tiberra, but so were the Legion suppression efforts. More and more homes were being raided, with people forcefully being converted to the undead. It made Augum wish he was prepared to face the Lord of the Legion already, for every day that passed, every hour, meant more lives lost, more undead converted. Luckily, as when the Legion first took power, people were fleeing the towns and cities to the countryside, taking shelter amongst the trees.
Augum was hardly surprised that the Heralds loudly and proudly proclaimed that the Legion would next conquer the mighty Kingdom of Canterra, land of knights and castles. The Herald threatened a great wave of undead would soon be unleashed across all kingdoms, “damning all traitors and resistors to nights of sorrow”. Both Heralds further raged on about Augum in particular, denouncing him as “the most villainous traitor to have ever walked Sithesia,” and moaning on about how “he grievously wounded his father by denying his own bloodline.” Another choice quote was “the brainwashed thief has selfishly taken the scion for himself, depriving the great people of Solia eternal life.”
“Total rubbish,” was the general consensus at the table. Yet through it all, the subtle smile on Augum’s face persisted, and it was inevitable that someone would notice not only his silence, but his mood. And of course, it turned out to be his cute girlfriend, who slapped the table loudly.
“Enough already, mister,” she proclaimed, much to the chortling amusement of those assembled. “You’ve been sitting in blissful silence all morning with that stupid grin on your face. Fess up.”
“Alas, a happy tale we so yearn for, Prince Augum!” Laudine cried.
“Yes, do tell, Prince,” Constable Clouds wheezed.
“Come on, Aug, you’re hiding something, we’re not stupid,” Bridget added with a smile.
A table-slapping chant was taken up. “Tell! Tell! Tell—!”
“Fine already!” Augum finally blurted, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.
There was a suspenseful but excited pause.
“I did it.”
Leera punched his shoulder hard. “Did what!”
He raised an eyebrow at her, flashing a mysterious smile.
“Devious monkey is enjoying tormenting us,” Jez said. “Look at him. Shining with glee like a beacon fire.”
“I am not,” Augum lied.
Jez threw a piece of bread at him. It bonked off his nose. “Then tell us.” This led to a cascade of bread being pelted at him, followed by laughter.
Augum took his licks with poise, only closing his eyes and scrunching his face. “All right, all right, is that any way to treat a prince?”
“Shut up,” Leera sniped, throwing one more piece of bread for good measure.
Augum allowed it to thump off his head. “Fine. Fine!” He tapped his chin, drawing out the suspense. They all edged forward in their seats, eagerly awaiting what he had to say.
“Well, I could tell you, or I could jus
t show you.”
They exchanged mysterious and excited looks.
Leera stood. “Show us.”
Augum nodded. “Thought so.” The moment he stood, everyone shoved their chairs away and scrambled after him to the door, behaving like giddy school children, even the prudish Mrs. Hawthorne and the usually poised Mr. Haroun. That was how desperate they were for some good news for a change. This left only the servants to rightfully grumble about the mess and what a waste of bread it was. Constable Clouds remained as well, complaining of tiredness in his bones.
Augum led the chatty procession downstairs.
“Look at him preening like a king,” Jez said, striding beside Leera. “That head gets any bigger, you’re going to have a hard time shoving him through a door.”
“That’s when we give his Royal Highness a royal boot to the butt,” Leera countered, to many snickers.
Augum, cheeks aglow, only maintained his mysterious smile.
“Any idea what’s going on?” a limping Haylee asked Bridget.
“I think I do,” but Bridget, to her credit, did not elaborate, perhaps not wanting to spoil the surprise.
Laudine gracefully danced ahead of Augum. “Prithee, an adventure awaits!” and scooted ahead down the servant corridor, singing into the open rooms. “Oh, happy day!”
“Shut up,” a sleepy voice grumbled from within one of the rooms.
“She’s going to get stuffed into a service closet if she keeps up,” Leera noted under her breath as Laudine burst into the kitchen, already full of bustling servants, and did a graceful twirl, crooning, “ ‘Feel not thee sorrow of thy kingdom, but thee many subtle joys inside thy hearts’!” The busy servants chortled despite themselves.
Meanwhile, the procession moved on down the steps to the cellar, where Augum stopped at the ancient gates to the dungeons, gates not even Mrs. Stone had passed. They were fashioned out of fine wrought iron. In the center was an intricate letter A.
