by Sever Bronny
Augum heard the creak of leather as the man tightened his grip on the reins. “You better answer me, boy …”
“I’m neither—”
A twig snapped nearby. Augum and the Black Robe whipped their heads in the direction of the sound.
“You lie, boy. You behind the tree—show yourself!”
A very small boy with dimpled cheeks emerged. He wore a wolf pelt and held a miniature bow and arrow in his hands.
“Go away!” the boy said in a squeaky voice, aiming his little bow and arrow at the rider. “Or I’ll shoot!”
The rider’s horse neighed, but the Black Robe only laughed. “So brave for one so young. You shall make a fine commander one day.”
The tiny boy tried to make his face hard but came off looking like a wolf cub.
“Perhaps if you brought that kind of bravery to the academy, you might earn an arm of stripes.” The Black Robe made a show of flexing. The air crunched as his right arm flared with ten rings of crackling lightning. Augum felt an electric current pass through the area. The hair on his entire body stood on end; even the hair on the boy’s wolf pelt stiffened towards the rider.
The boy stood with his mouth open, limply holding his miniature bow and arrow.
“Wow … a lightning warlock! Those rings are amazing …”
The Black Robe burst in a booming laugh and extinguished his rings. “You have spirit, boy. If you trained at the academy, I have no doubt you’d earn your own one day.” He turned his attention back to Augum. “How old are you, son?”
Augum remembered the notice. “Twelve.”
“Twelve? Too bad. Soon as you turn thirteen, you are to report to a constabulary for testing.”
The red-robed rider cantered up. “Commander, everything all right—?”
“Perfectly fine, Lieutenant; we will be moving on now.”
“But sir, should we not investigate the wood? There might be an insurgent village near.”
The Black Robe eyed Augum and the boy. “No, Lieutenant, we do not have the time. They are too young anyway.” He turned his horse and the pair trotted back to the column.
“‘Wow, a lightning warlock!’” mocked a second boy, emerging from behind a nearby tree. He had a pinched face, mottled sandy hair and wore a red robe. A rusty short sword dangled by his side. Accompanying him was a girl with long cinnamon hair wearing a patched emerald robe, clutching a simple wooden staff. Both looked to be Augum’s age.
She swept her hair out of her eyes. “Oh shut it, Robin—he got them to go away, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but did he have to kiss up like that?”
“I did good, better than you would have!” the boy in the wolf pelt shouted.
Augum stood up and brushed snow off his bottom.
The little one’s cheeks puffed out in a smile as he waved with his bow, almost dropping it. “Hi, my name is Leland Goss.”
“Hi, uh … I’m Augum.” He tensed, not sure what to expect. All his interactions with other children had ended badly.
“I’m Bridget Burns,” the cinnamon-haired girl said. She had a pert nose and hazel eyes that closely matched her hair. She nodded at the boy with the pinched face. “And that’s Robin Scarson.”
Robin folded his arms across his chest.
She tilted her head slightly. “We’ve been following you all day, you know.”
Augum raised his brows. “You have?”
“Heh, wasn’t that difficult either,” Robin said. “A blind man could have followed you, walking in the open like that.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Give it a break, Robin. Why always so cross?”
“Because I hate tending to the two of you babies!” He strode past them to watch the fading column of riders.
Bridget patted Leland on the head. “Don’t worry, you did very well,” adding in a whisper, “see how jealous you made Robin?”
Leland giggled and flashed a dimpled smile.
Bridget’s gaze returned to Augum. “So, Augum, where are you going?”
He flushed, unable to remember the last time a girl actually addressed him by his real name. “Um, to Hangman’s Rock.” He cringed. Any moment now, she would make some comment that gave her true motive away. Yet when he met her eyes, he was surprised to see only concerned warmth.
Robin rejoined the group. “All alone? You on some kind of quest or something?”
“Kind of … just delivering a parcel.”
“Don’t you know that place is haunted? Wait now, show your stripes—” Robin reached for Augum’s wrist, but Bridget caught his arm.
“Robin Scarson, that is nothing short of rude.”
Robin yanked his arm away. “What, going to tattletale to your older brother again?”
“Just ignore him, Augum. He’s been foul ever since we were forced to leave the academy. You don’t have to show your stripes to us.” She flashed Robin a sharp look. “Besides, none of us have a stripe yet.”
Augum only gaped.
Robin snorted a malignant laugh, the kind Dap or Garth Penderson unleashed when they thought Augum was being stupid. “He doesn’t even know what we’re talking about!”
Augum felt his skin go hot. “That’s not—” he was about to deny it but stopped himself. Now that Sir Westwood was gone, there was no one left to teach him to be a better person, to prepare him for being a man. Sir Westwood once told him, “Learn to control your emotions, Augum, and you can control the outcome of a confrontation.”
He gave a sidelong glance to Bridget and felt himself cool a little. “Um, I’m hoping to be accepted as an apprentice warlock. The parcel delivery is my last test.”
“So that’s what this is all about,” Bridget said. “Then you simply must let us accompany you.”
Leland began dancing and singing. “Yay, a quest, a quest … we’re going on a quest!”
Robin raised a hand. “Uh, excuse me, but you know we have to be back by nightfall.”
“What, and leave Augum to do this alone, in this weather—? I think our parents would approve this time. Besides, you don’t have to come; Leland and I will accompany him.”
Augum blushed, completely unaccustomed to receiving kindness from someone his age, let alone a girl.
Robin thought about it for a moment before making a dismissive gesture. “Nah, I’ll come. After all, somebody’s got to keep you fools alive.”
A tiny chirping began from Augum’s rucksack. “Oh, I forgot—he must be hungry.” He opened it up as the others leaned in for a closer look.
Bridget’s face melted. “Aww … it’s a wittle birdie. It’s so cute …”
Leland reached out with a grubby paw. “Can I hold it?”
Augum gently enclosed the bird in his hands. “You’d better not; it’s hurt. I’m going to bring it home with me and nurse it back to health.”
Robin hissed, a putrid look on his face. “That bird is broken and all this lovey-dovey dung makes me sick. I’d have just let it be.”
Bridget’s brows crossed. “Of course you would have. You disgust me, Robin Scarson.”
“Whatever, Broken Bridget.” Robin went to grab his rucksack from behind a tree.
Bridget closed her eyes and sighed.
Augum gave her and Leland some seeds to feed the bird. “Why did he call you that?”
She gave a pained smile. “I once fell from an embankment after trying to reach a stranded baby goat. Broke my leg and collarbone, but I guess it could have been worse. Anyway, Robin and a bunch of his friends found me unconscious and seemed to think it was funny.”
“I don’t think that’s funny at all.”
She fed the bird a seed. “They took their time calling for the healers too. Robin made sure everyone saw first. Wasn’t even him that brought them, but some stranger.”
It was Augum’s turn to give her a pained smile. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
The little creature gave a contented chirp.
“Think he wants to go back inside,” sh
e said.
Augum scooped him up and gently placed him in the rucksack, minding his little wings.
They gathered their things and joined Robin on the Tallows.
“Take your time, no one is waiting,” Robin said with a scowl.
Bridget gave Augum a see what I have to put up with? look.
They marched northward in single file, Augum leading the way. Bridget followed, prodding the snow with her staff, emerald robe fluttering in the wind. Leland crunched along after in his little wolf pelt, bow tucked behind his back. Robin ambled in the rear, rusty sword dangling, a sour expression on his face.
As the day wore on, the clouds darkened and a shrill wind picked up.
“We should arrive at the rock before nightfall,” Bridget said. “My father and I passed through there just last month. We were on our way to Antioc for school supplies, but had to turn back when we spotted knights.”
Augum adjusted his rucksack. “Was it the Legion?”
“We think so, they patrol the forest edge. Thankfully it was the Black Guard, if it had been the Red …”
“The Red—?”
“Yeah. Rumor has it you see one you’re not going to live to tell about it. Easy to identify though seeing as they’re named for the color of their armor.”
Augum wondered if the last thing Sir Westwood saw was red armor. “So where do you all live then?”
“Just northwest of Mt. Barrow. We’re a village of refugees from Blackhaven. The community is all parents and youths from the same class, with some relatives and friends of course.”
“So you’re all from the same school?”
“Our parents thought it best to escape together. We ran when the insurrection broke out and all the Legion supporters rallied in the streets. It was total chaos, an awful situation. So sad about the school too, and we just started there. Now it’s in the hands of a bunch of hooligans.” She sighed. “So what about you? Where are you from?”
“I’m kind of from Willowbrook, a village three days’ walk east of here.”
“Kind of—?”
“The Legion burnt it to the ground.” Flames engulfing willows flashed across his mind.
“Is your family all right?”
“I’m an orphan.” That was stupid; he shouldn’t have exposed himself like that.
Bridget’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known.” He felt the weight of his disclosure lighten a little. “I don’t know much about warlocks …”
“It’s all right, most people fear or ignore them. A lot of villages pretend they don’t even exist, and some … well, some try to burn them at the stake.”
“Yeah, I thought it was witchery at first …”
“That’s common. So you’re from one of those villages then?”
“Wish I wasn’t. So, um, about stripes—why do you need them?” He kept his voice low, hoping these weren’t stupid questions.
“Stripes have been around for thousands of years, dating back to the Founding. They’re a major point of honor for warlocks. They not only serve as a warning, but tradition says it’s proper to show them in battle. A high-degree warlock would generally not duel a low-degree one. That would be beneath her.”
“How do you get them?”
“You have to be enrolled in an arcane school or become the apprentice of a warlock. You also have to choose an element, though many say the element chooses you. I suppose you can learn wild too—without ever meeting another warlock that is. It’s rare but does happen.”
Augum furrowed his brows. “Why’s that? Is it too difficult or something?”
“That and wild warlocks tend to kill themselves off.” Her voice quieted down. “Want me to explain how spells work and stuff?”
He felt his cheeks prickle. “Yes please.”
She ran up beside him and smiled. Just the fact that she did that, like a real friend, was enough to send his heart soaring.
“All right,” she began, still keeping her voice conspiratorially low, “most of the spells you learn are known as ‘Standard Spells’. There are three in every degree plus one from your element. Once you learn all three Standard Spells and your elemental spell, you’re tested on it. If you pass, you’re awarded your degree—or as we like to say, your ring, or even stripe—because they look like stripes from afar.”
He imagined his arm rippling with a full complement of lightning rings, just like the Black Robe.
“Traditionally, there’s a whole formal ceremony,” Bridget continued, “but the best part is really after, when a big celebration is held in your honor. Usually everyone you know—and even don’t know—comes. Sometimes whole towns attend an advancement ceremony. Also, if you’re part of an entire class that gets advanced, the party can last for days.”
She paused. “Not everybody advances through. The more you study, the greater the chance of dropping out. It becomes harder and harder to attain the next degree, until you hit your ceiling, so to speak. Just by the number of drop-outs, everyone knows the arcane path is challenging.”
Augum mulled over everything she had said. He had never attended school before, but secretly always wanted to. Willowbrook lacked one. Youths were expected to become farmers, millers, tanners, or blacksmiths, just like their parents, and everyone was home-schooled or apprenticed. Only the kids from richer families got to go to school in the city. As it was, Augum was grateful for Sir Westwood’s teachings.
“So you really had no idea warlocks were real?” Bridget asked.
“I lived on a farm for a while, then in a small village. I heard about warlocks, but mostly in children’s stories. Was always told they were demons, or witches and stuff. Didn’t really think much of magic till I met—”
“—oh don’t use the word ‘magic’,” she said. “It’s considered, um … amateur.”
“Oh, okay.” He wondered what he should say instead, but she did not elaborate and he did not want to look even more stupid by asking.
A harsh wind forced her to walk behind him once again. They marched on in silence, plowing through fresh knee-high snow. All the while, Leland hummed to himself. After some time, Bridget pointed east across the plains.
“Looks like it’s going to snow again.”
Augum glanced at the dark clouds brewing on the horizon. He shivered thinking of the storm that nearly killed him. He could almost feel the tired aches return, the nauseous fear, the finger-biting cold. He loved storms, but that journey, after the harrowing events in Willowbrook …
He pulled up his hood and tightened his coat.
“So what element are you hoping to specialize in?” Bridget asked.
“Lightning.”
She stopped with a gasp, sending a drooling Leland bumping into her.
“Lightning—? Are you … do you know how many kids get killed every year thinking they can tame lightning?”
“No, I—” but he was cut off by a derisive laugh from the back.
“Lightning? He knows squat about the arcane discipline and he wants to tame lightning?” Robin asked some mysterious force across the Tallows. “No. Chance. In fact, I give him a tenday before he blows himself up.”
Augum contemplated going back and punching Robin in the face. After all, Robin was not built like Dap or the Pendersons, and he certainly did not have any cronies with him. But then, what would Bridget think of him? She would probably call him a base gutterborn animal like girls usually did.
He sighed and walked on.
Bridget caught up. “Wait—hey, sorry, don’t run into many lightning students nowadays. Legion goes after them more than the others, and like I said, it’s a more dangerous discipline.”
Had a girl just apologized to him? He almost did not know what to say. “So, um … what’s your element?” he managed to blurt.
“Earth. Robin’s is fire. Leland wants to train in ice but he isn’t old enough yet. My best friend, Leera, is training in water.”
�
�‘My best friend, Leera, is training in water’,” Robin mimicked from the rear.
“Ugh, just ignore him,” Bridget said. “He can’t help himself.”
Leland’s voice was pouty. “I don’t want to wait four more years …”
“‘I don’t want to wait four more years’,” came the whiny echo.
Augum struggled to ignore Robin’s taunting mimics. “How young can, uh, warlock talents appear?”
“‘… talents appear.’”
“Rarely before thirteen,” Bridget replied.
“‘… thirteen.’”
She turned. “Ugh, grow up, Robin.”
“You grow up. This is such a waste of time and all of you are insufferably boring.”
“You don’t even know what that word means.” Bridget turned back, ignoring Robin’s retort. She gestured for Augum to continue.
“So how many elements are there?” he asked.
“Loads. Let’s see, the major seven are water, air, earth, fire, ice, lightning and healing. There’s also summoning, illusion and alchemy—oh, and I forgot necromancy, which is mostly just evil stuff.”
The wind increased significantly, making it hard to hear. They trudged on without speaking further. Every time Augum glanced east, the dark clouds drew closer. Definitely a storm. He took up a faster pace.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Leland spotted Hangman’s Rock and wildly pointed with his tiny hand. “I think I see it, I think I see it! Laaaaand hooo!”
Augum and Bridget enjoyed a chuckle together. Night was almost upon them though and a distressed chirping began from Augum’s rucksack.
“Almost there, little friend,” he said through chattering teeth, but the storm descended quite suddenly, overtaking them three hundred paces from the rock. Leaning heavily into the wind, they had to claw through an icy gust that threatened to push them into the forest.
Augum shouted to have his voice heard above the din. “Let’s make camp on the other side!”
They wordlessly followed him to the leeward side, which afforded a little shelter from the gale, but not much. The rock was tilted, the overhang just above, a plume of snow ceaselessly streaming off.
He unstrapped the tent from his rucksack while Bridget covered the little bird with her hands so it would not blow away.
