by Sever Bronny
Bridget’s palms rested gently on the frame of the window. Tears dripped from her chin. Leera’s face was also wet, her lips trembling.
“Where will we go?” Augum asked quietly.
Mrs. Stone tucked away the scion. “First we must pack provisions and supplies. Augum, grab your rucksack and fill it with as much food as you can from the pantry, and be sure to take the kettle, a pan, and flint. Bridget, grab one of the rucksacks from the closet and find the blankets—are you listening, child?”
Bridget tore herself from the window. “Yes, Mrs. Stone. Grab rucksack and blankets—”
“—and socks. Leera, find another rucksack and fill it with the scrolls on that particular shelf there, and that book—” Mrs. Stone pointed at the ornate blue tome. “Then fill all the waterskins you can find. It would be best to hurry.”
They scampered to complete their tasks while Mrs. Stone rested in her rocking chair, occasionally calling out another item for them to bring. At last, the trio met in the center of the room, rucksacks bulging.
Mrs. Stone groaned as she stood. “Augum, grab the sword and scabbard, it is for you to use now.”
For a moment, he thought he had not heard her right. Sir Westwood had not trusted him with a sharp blade, yet here she was giving him an arcane one to use.
He sheathed the sword and secured it to his waist, feeling brave like a knight, before realizing how useless it would be against his father.
Mrs. Stone gave the room a final long look, pausing at her favorite rocking chair, before striding down the hall, the trio right behind. Just before entering her bedroom, Mrs. Stone abruptly glanced back to the front door, eyes narrowing.
“They come. We must hurry.”
Augum looked back at the old oaken door, which suddenly appeared threatening. “But how do you know, Mrs. Stone?”
Mrs. Stone paced to the center of her bedroom. “The enchantments I have placed on the mountain have been tripped. Now—prepare yourselves.” She closed her eyes in concentration.
Just as Augum wondered how they were supposed to get out of there with no windows or doors, Mrs. Stone’s arm flared to life, shining as one solid band of lightning. The room warped and the hairs on the backs of their necks and arms stood on end. She began invoking words in fluent arcane, tracing a large oval in the air with her finger.
Bridget gave Augum a look he understood as Spell of Legend.
When Mrs. Stone finished, there was a sharp ripping noise and a shimmering hole appeared where she had traced, its edges crackling with lightning. A strong wind began blowing from the portal, sending parchment flying and forcing Augum and the girls to grab a hold of each other.
Mrs. Stone turned to the empty hallway and raised her arm, robes flapping violently. A thunderous vibration began in the cave.
“Prepare to enter the portal!”
Augum, Bridget and Leera braced while Mrs. Stone wielded a thick rope of lightning like a whip. Whatever it struck it set ablaze in blue fire. The arcane flame spread in sheets, consuming everything in its path.
Leera grabbed the bed for support, raven hair flying about. “She’s going to destroy the cave!”
Augum barely heard her above the screaming wind. Mrs. Stone’s entire body suddenly ruptured with a pure white lightning that made his hair stand on end. The ceiling began to fracture and crumble; he witnessed the kitchen area collapse and caught a last glimpse of the dining table as it disappeared into a fissure. The fissure advanced toward them, swallowing everything in its path. Explosions boomed as larger chunks of rock tumbled from the ceiling.
Mrs. Stone glanced back, eyes flaring with lightning. “For mercy’s sake, why are you still here—!”
Augum frantically gestured for the girls to go. They scrambled to the gaping hole just as large cracks began to open and close on the walls of the bedroom like hungry mouths. Bridget went first but the wind from the portal was too strong for her. Flailing, she was about to fall back when Augum shoved her into the portal—it swallowed her instantly. He pushed Leera through the same way.
The room grew very hot and the wind increased to a violent maelstrom. Augum looked for Mrs. Stone but was unable to see her through all the flying debris. He braced and lunged for the portal, but the wind threw him to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He found himself pinned against a shaking wall as the room crumbled around him. A huge chunk of the ceiling suddenly smashed onto Mrs. Stone’s bed, pelting him with stone.
Realizing time was running out, Augum made one final attempt to fight through the roar. He reached for the portal but only grasped thin air—his exhaustion, the wind and the weight of the rucksack was too much, dumping him to the floor again. Around him, the room was a jumbling mass of rubble and lightning fire.
Just as it dawned on him he was not going to make it, an iron force gripped him and hurled him through the portal.
Long Abandoned
Going through the pitch-dark portal felt like being pulled apart in all directions while tumbling end over end. Thankfully, the trip was brief, discharging a dizzy Augum onto a blanket of pristine knee-high snow. Mrs. Stone landed on her feet beside him, wheezing, as the portal disappeared with a loud sucking sound.
“You all right?” Bridget asked as she and Leera helped him stand. “We thought you were a goner—”
“Me too,” he said, trying to hold the contents of his stomach down.
They were in a clearing encircled by a needled forest blanketed with snow. Their breath fogged in the sharp frosty air.
Mrs. Stone studied a brilliant clear sky, nodding at a particular formation of stars. “This way, it is not far.”
“What’s not far, Mrs. Stone?” Leera asked, surveying the still trees.
Bridget hugged herself. “And is it warm there?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Stone said as she strode forth.
Augum exchanged perplexed looks with the girls. “Where are we, Mrs. Stone?”
“Ravenwood. I dare hope it far enough east to be out of your father’s reach.” She strode forth and they followed.
Ravenwood loomed thick around them, an evergreen forest of pines, cedars, spruces and firs. Sometimes the unbroken snow rose past their waists. At other times, when the canopy obscured the sparkling sky, only up to their knees.
Mrs. Stone made a small gesture with her right hand, out of which flew a pumpkin-sized globe shining with lightning. The floating lamp crackled gently, making shadows creep along with their plodding. She eventually stopped in a tiny glade to examine the stars again, while the trio watched the wood with wary eyes. Bridget’s quiet voice broke the silence.
“Mrs. Stone, may I ask what spell you used to collapse the cave?”
“It is off-the-books, a Spell of Legend that took me years to find and proved quite difficult to learn.” She nodded at the sky and renewed the trek, adding, “Narsus certainly failed to see it coming though.”
Augum leaned near Bridget. “What does she mean by ‘off-the-books’?”
“That the spell is unofficial; not taught in school. Off-the-book spells are usually dangerous for one reason or another, that’s why they’re responsible for a lot of self-inflicted warlock deaths. To find a lesser and mid-range off-the-book spell is uncommon enough, an advanced spell extremely rare, but a Spell of Legend—? Almost unheard of …”
He wondered how many off-the-book spells Mrs. Stone knew, or for that matter, the Lord of the Legion. Thinking about his father made his insides roil. He could not get those lightning eyes out of his mind.
They trooped onward, Augum noting the occasional set of rabbit or deer prints. He recalled once tracking a great brown bear with Sir Westwood, then making a giddy but hasty retreat when the bear noticed them. He felt a pang, missing those happy times.
They hiked for what felt like hours, the wood silent except for the gentle rustle of snow underfoot and the crackle of the floating lamp. Tired and shivering, Augum found himself fantasizing about a warm bed and a hot meal. He hoped to arrive soon, w
herever it was they were going. Yet no matter how he felt, he knew his sufferings paled to Bridget and Leera’s.
“Not far now …” Mrs. Stone said, waving the orb forward, but the march seemed to have worn Bridget down and she began weeping. Leera placed an arm around her, whispering soothing words.
The group trudged on, coming across the remains of an ancient stone wall.
“Yes, here it is.” Mrs. Stone stepped over the rubble. They walked until something tall loomed ahead in the forest, blacker than night.
Mrs. Stone stopped, the shadows on her face moving with the floating light. “We have arrived.”
“What is it?” Augum asked in a whisper, peering up at the dark structure.
“An ancient castle.”
He noted how silent it was though. “Is it abandoned or something?”
“It certainly should be.” Mrs. Stone flicked a finger and the globe dimmed. “It has not been used properly by a king in two hundred years, since then having been inhabited by thieves, brigands, travelers, and those with … darker natures. Let us be quiet now as we approach.”
“‘Should be’—?” Augum mouthed to the girls. Nonetheless, he could not help but get a little excited; he always wanted to visit a castle. Sir Westwood had certainly told him plenty about them. He had pestered the knight about everything to do with castles, from what happened to the drawbridge during great sieges, to the routine life of its servants.
Augum surmised that the ruined stone they had passed was the perimeter wall and the entire area onwards the bailey, now long overgrown.
Mrs. Stone guided the way, following castle walls made of black stone and covered in frozen moss and dead vines. They soon came upon a large round structure—a battlement. The group fought the frozen overgrowth to circle it, continuing on to a new side of the castle. The stars provided enough light here for Mrs. Stone to extinguish her globe. There was a clearing with what looked like an ancient fountain in the center. In the distance, they could just make out another corner battlement.
Bridget pointed at a large pile of rubble in the center of the wall. “That must be where the doors were.”
Leera gazed upwards. “Wonder if it’s haunted …”
Bumps rose on Augum’s arms as he followed her gaze. The castle’s black silhouette pierced the sky with towers, tapering to a sharp point. The entire thing looked like a tomb.
Mrs. Stone turned and put a finger to her lips before creeping along the wall. To Augum, even the crinkling snow seemed too loud. The sound of an owl hooting in the forest made him think it was a guard alerting the castle. He pictured many dark eyes watching them, knowing, listening …
When they reached the rubble, Mrs. Stone signaled to wait before climbing the pile alone. At the top, she slipped into the castle through a hole in the wall.
The cold seemed to magnify with her absence, their breath freezing in quick bursts. Augum gripped the hilt of his sword as their heads swiveled to every rustle of the forest.
Finally, Mrs. Stone’s quiet voice came from the top. “You can come in now.”
The trio scampered up the pile, rucksacks swaying. They passed through the hole and clambered down onto a dusty stone floor strewn with debris, lit by Mrs. Stone’s ethereal orb.
They were in a vestibule with a high vaulted ceiling. Faded murals decorated the walls depicting a king’s court, servants catering to a prince and princess, a colorful crest, a jousting tournament, caped knights, and a line of warlocks in fine robes. Augum knew they were warlocks because their arms had stripes. Notably, every arm had a different color, as did every face.
Empty stone pedestals stood about, the kind that once held exquisite vases or marble busts. Ahead were two massive arched oaken doors with bronze fittings. Deep scratches gouged the ornately carved surface. He imagined some kind of large beast unsuccessfully trying to break in.
Mrs. Stone stood watching them, eyes reflecting blue light.
“Amazing …” Bridget said, turning all about, voice echoing.
Augum pushed on the doors. They did not budge.
“Arcanely sealed,” Mrs. Stone said.
Leera ran her fingers over the gouges. “How can you tell, Mrs. Stone?”
“Because I sealed them myself, child. I grew tired of hearing what transpired here. Something had to be done. This castle has … history.” She stepped before the doors, raised her arm and muttered something in the arcane tongue. Both doors shuddered and popped open with a click, releasing a plume of dust.
Mrs. Stone pushed on a door with one finger. It creaked as it swung inward. Augum winced; if something was inside the castle, it now knew it had company.
The crackling lamp hovered forward illuminating a central marble staircase flanked by two smaller curving staircases. Massive stone globes stood sentry in the corners, two of which lay destroyed on the checkered floor. Sets of square oaken doors stood to the immediate left and right. An enormous tattered tapestry hung on the far wall above the landing, too shredded to reveal who or what it portrayed.
“This is the foyer. We will be going up to one of the bedrooms.” Mrs. Stone began climbing the central staircase, the trio quickly following, gazing about. Embedded into the walls were perches and iron hooks that Augum guessed once held weapons, shields, armor and animal heads. There were more empty pedestals, as well as dark squares where paintings had hung. Everything had a thick layer of dust, yet there were no footsteps. Then again, he suspected ghosts left none.
Mrs. Stone stopped on the third floor. A pair of ornate doors stood before them, with more doors to the distant left and right. “Ah, yes,” she said, turning one of the elaborate bronze handles.
It was the most beautiful room Augum had ever seen, and judging by the girls’ quiet gasps, he was not the only one to feel that way. The ceiling was made of square wooden panels, each intricately carved with a different scene. An ornately carved ironwood canopy bedstead stood against the left wall. For a moment, he mistook the wispy drapery for giant spider webs. Opposite, six arched leaded-glass windows let in dim starlight. Tattered red velvet curtains hung stiff at the sides. In the center sat an elaborate double-pedestal desk covered with a layer of dust. Embedded into the right-hand wall was an enormous marble fireplace still cradling a pile of wood. To their immediate right stood a large three-door ironwood wardrobe, evidently, like the bed and desk, too large to steal.
Mrs. Stone ambled over to the fireplace. With a flick of her hand, the wood roared to life. The trio dropped their rucksacks and raced to warm up by the fire.
“Augum, please unroll the blankets, we are going to sleep by the fire tonight,” Mrs. Stone said after they had warmed up a little.
“Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He made the bedding as comfortable as possible while the girls stared into the flames. He knew what was on their minds.
“I know it has been a very trying day,” Mrs. Stone said as the trio tucked in, “but I want you to know that you are safe now. Tomorrow is a new day and a new beginning for all of you. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Stone,” they chorused.
Mrs. Stone stood watching the fire for some time before she too retired. As exhausted as he was, Augum had a hard time falling asleep. Judging by how much everyone rolled about, he guessed he was not the only one.
Questions
Augum awoke to a sharp ray of sunshine in his face. He sat up and looked around, yawning. Bridget and Leera were still asleep, Mrs. Stone notably absent. The fire had reduced to glowing embers, yet the room retained some warmth. He clambered out from under the blanket, stretched, and stumbled over to a window.
A sparkling ocean of snow blanketed everything, reflecting sunlight through the towering windows, painting the ceiling with prismatic patterns. Something else flashed below. He squinted through the brightness, finding Mrs. Stone hunched in the clearing, right arm ceremoniously waving about.
What was she up to?
He left as quietly as he could, the castle silent and frosty, freezing his bre
ath. Sunlight reflected down from somewhere up high, dimly lighting the cold marble steps. Augum tiptoed through the dark foyer, pushed open the massive doors to the vestibule, and made his way outside, climbing over the rubble pile.
After carefully descending the other side, he got his first good look at the castle, glistening black in the sunlight. Arrow slits pierced the two battlements. The entire front face shot up four floors, the top two of which had windows. The six windows to their room sat on the third floor. The fourth floor had one enormous circular leaded-glass window, flanked by two pairs of arched windows. Above that was a terraced keep rising four more stories, each story smaller than the last, culminating in a sharp watchtower. Rooms, balconies and minarets jutted strategically from the facade.
Mrs. Stone stood near the snow-covered fountain, its top crowned by two warlocks frozen in an epic duel. She muttered while her hand made a complicated gesture. He crunched over and cleared his throat, hoping he was not disturbing an important spell.
“Mmm—?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Stone, I was just curious what you were up to.”
She turned to face him, wrinkles catching the morning sun. “I have just concluded adding one last protective enchantment. Have the girls woken?”
“I thought it best to let them sleep.”
She nodded. “Prudent. I expect you to continue to be sensitive; they lost their parents, friends, and almost everyone they knew—whereas you gained a great-grandmother and a father responsible for those deaths.”
“Of course, Mrs. Stone.” She needn’t have even mentioned it.
“But you will need their friendship too, as they will need yours.”
He nodded, wondering exactly what that meant. Did she expect them to stay? He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Mrs. Stone—?”
“Mmm?”
“I have a lot of questions.”
“I expect so.”
His words tumbled like logs over a waterfall. “Why didn’t you tell me that I was your great-grandson? Why was I left with the Pendersons? Who is my mother—?”
