by Peri Akman
Author: Peri Akman
Editing: Alex Brennan
Layout and proofreading: Nicola Kelsall
Cover design: Angie Suarez and Seth Aaron Hershman
Internal art: Mousa Touré, Cindy Ho and Brandon A. Reuter
Special thanks to: Patrick Ford, Pierce M. Baris, Shoshana ‘Pixie’ Kirsh Nirenberg, Nate Brogan, June Barber, and family and fellow writers
Copyright © 2017 Peri Akman
Contents
Flash Forward
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Flash Forward
There were plenty of times Quinn had almost died. Falling off a table when he was five and hitting his head. Being surrounded by frothing demons ready to tear him apart. Staring his former hero down.
But those events had been small. Far away. Deaths that would have left him as a forgotten body, another statistic in the void.
This was different. The events that led to this moment were something that shouldn’t exist, couldn’t exist, and yet it was happening all the same, reality be damned.
Here he was, in a dark room, black marble floors stained with the blood of his friends. In any other situation, any other death, any other traumatizing horror, the sight of seeing two people on the ground, twitching as the life drained out of them, unable to die peacefully, would have been enough to chill Quinn to the bone.
In this very singular moment, they were nothing compared to the being who sat on the black throne. The blood that dripped into his eyes made it hard to see, but he couldn’t look away all the same.
An actual god. The story of horrors and the origin of demons, the Dark Queen. No text or stained-glass window had ever captured the horror. It was like a warped approximation of a pure black human body, only stretched to be ten feet tall.
And yet, it was still more horrifying to see the person kneeling before her. The one who had caused all of this.
The Traitor.
Rise my faithful slave. the Dark Queen ordered, her unnatural voice harshly grating against the crevices of reality. She didn’t even have a mouth, how could she talk?
Quinn’s head pounded from the pain, his tears running across his forehead as he remained pinned to the wall, motionless, and very much upside down.
Why? Why him? All he had wanted to do was become a warlock. Why did this have to be how he died?
Chapter One
Several months earlier
“Yo Quinn, you coming?” Mackie asked, hopping from one foot to the other. His lime green tattoo dimly illuminated the dark night sky.
Four other wards surrounded Mackie, an eager posse of a similar mind. The light of their tattoos pooled together, creating a soft multi-colored glow around the teenagers.
Quinn smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I… I think I’m feeling sick today, I’m just… going to bed early, if that’s all right with you.”
“Aw c’monnn! This is our last night of freedom! Our last night as friends! Our last night together! Don’t chicken out just ’cause you’re afraid of… I dunno, what are you afraid of? Bears? Is it bears?” Mackie whined, spitting out what Quinn could only assume was stolen chewing tobacco.
“Yeah, Quinn, please?” Kay pleaded, in between chewing her braid. She was one of the few girls left, and had been sneaking out for at least five years longer than everyone else.
Quinn gripped his long sleeve, but inclined his head hesitantly. “I… ok.”
A cheer erupted from the group in response.
Kay lowered her hood for a moment, miming putting it back on a few times before Quinn got the message, and put up his own hood.
It was, admittedly, a very poor attempt to hide their tattoos, but if it had failed before, they wouldn’t be doing it now, right?
The group of adolescents descended into the city.
Outside of the Academy everything was, well, strange. The Academy was symmetrical, packed with necessities at every corner, with always someone somewhere. Here, outside, there was… nothing. There was a dark void of forest framing the horizon, with weeds growing by the road, and not a familiar face in sight. Sure, the town was visible, but no one had ever mentioned the giant gap of nothing that separated it from the Academy.
Quinn hadn’t expected his venture out to leave him so flabbergasted, but he really should have seen it coming. He hadn’t left the Academy walls since he was four, and now, almost eleven years later, every step tightened his stomach further into knots, and not just because of the jarring change in location.
For one, they were breaking the law. This simple fact seemed to elude his peers. Wards weren’t allowed to leave the Academy, and with the tattoos, their status was a dead giveaway.
At the Academy, Quinn hardly noticed his tattoo much, considering everyone his age had something glowing on their faces, but now that he was out and alone… he felt sort of freakish. Like there was something wrong with him.
The other wards didn't seem to mind as much. They laughed and ran around as if they were just a bunch of rowdy children out for a simple night. Lakinn was even jumping around like some sort of rabbit.
Mackie was right, though. It was their last night together, at least if they were fortunate. Gods only knew where they would all individually end up, and when, but now that they were all deemed mature, they could all test for apprenticeship. If they did well, the sky and beyond was the limit.
A government warlock could take them on and teach them how to be an elite bodyguard. Or a military warlock could teach them how to take down monsters with a flick of their finger. Or something like… a city planner warlock! Who could teach them… city… things. Quinn was sure cities had something cool.
The only dark part of all of this was the looming threat of failure. If no one wanted you, no one wanted to risk your powers, or you just weren’t good enough, then you’d be doomed to be stuck in the Academy until you aged out, and then released into government approved workforce, tattoo never removed, serving as a reminder of your failures. Worst of all, those wards who aged out would be forever barred from using magic.
Quinn had never actually encountered someone who had had to get a labor job in the government, but it was always weighing on his mind, and he could only assume it weighed on everyone else’s mind as well. Even if he didn’t know anyone personally, someone always knew someone who had a friend who had been doomed to the job of eternal farmhand, or some other labor-intensive job.
Quinn lightly touched his own tattoo. Its long jagged lines traced along his nose, eyes and jaw. It was almost violent. He would have preferred to have Mackie’s tattoo, which was just a circle. But it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. The warlocks just provided the ink, the ward’s residual magic did the rest.
So wha
tever Mackie could do apparently evoked a green circle. And whatever Quinn could do apparently evoked a lot of lines. A lot of white-blue lines. Like shelves, or a waterfall, or lightning, some going up and down, others still going left to right. He didn’t have the faintest clue what it could mean. Maybe some sort of ability to make nets? That seemed awfully specific… or perhaps the ability to create lightning out of his fingertips? While it sounded impressive, he hoped that was not the case.
For better or for worse, Quinn had no desire to hurt people. It wasn’t like he was a very intimidating person to begin with. He had just hit his growth spurt, sure, but he was still just an awkward five-foot-seven kid with a mess of curly, poofy hair, a smattering of dark freckles, and, despite the broad shoulders, a weak constitution.
One of the other kids, Hogarth, gave a whoop and a jump, tumbling over and revealing his tattoo. The other wards cursed and ran over to him, scolding him. They jammed his hood back onto his face. Everyone seemed to huddle around him in worry.
Quinn, however, stayed back and took in his surroundings. A farmer was walking by in the distance. The farmer… she looked at them. She looked at the kids, she looked at Hogarth’s face, and then her face immediately snapped forward, as if she had seen nothing, and began to walk ahead, away from the town and into the forest, to where Quinn could only assume, and pray, she lived.
That was… strange, wasn’t it? They had been told that wherever they went, if they didn’t have a warlock master, they would be regarded with fear and terror. That… had not happened. Instead she had just up and left.
Maybe it was too dark to see? If it wasn’t for the tattoo, Quinn practically blended in with the dark night. Hogarth wasn’t exactly luminous, either.
The other wards, however, did not appear to notice this minor interaction. They plowed forward, most likely to throw rocks at the ducks and maybe explore the town.
Hogarth proudly proclaimed he was going to buy beer. Quinn had no idea how this was going to happen, since they were not given any money and that would also involve talking to complete strangers, but Hogarth seemed so confident in his plan that Quinn did not have the heart to be the naysayer.
Kay meanwhile, being the leader of this expedition, excitedly exposited the places she had visited previously. She mentioned that there was some sort of huge tree in the center of the town, which apparently was a great place to climb, far better than the trees in the Academy gardens. There were some stands that occasionally left some old food behind for the birds and the rats, and if they got there first, they could have it, and some of it would still taste good, especially if it was food left behind at the Star Spires. There were even some people who stayed out late enough that they could talk to them, and if someone saw their tattoos all they had to say was that they were an apprentice fetching something for their master, it worked every time!
It was all perfectly figured out, apparently.
That did not stop the erratic pace of Quinn’s uneven breathing. This had been such a terrible idea. It was a day before testing and he was going to be killed, he just knew it!
The group huddled together and finally made their way to a tavern. The first tavern they came across really did not evoke the image of a tavern. In the storybooks, taverns were one-room wooden open spaces, with a bar and lots of singing bards. There, heroes of legend would convene and tell their tales and show off trophies.
In actuality, the first tavern they ran into was desperately posh. Easily four stories with a huge open garden where tables were set up, and the upper class seemed to be enjoying sparkling wine in the moonlight. It was situated right next to a white marble building that twisted and turned up into the sky. This was probably one of those Star Spires Kay had talked so much about. Gold dotted the marble building, which in turn reflected back onto the tavern.
Individuals were walking out of the Spire, chatting and singing, making a direct beeline for the next-door tavern. Quinn hesitated in his stride, a lump in his throat. Was this really safe with so many people around?
Kay broke forward into a stride, walking right past the wealthy socialites and religious congregation; Mackie followed suit, albeit far less confident.
If the happily conversing patrons noticed the teenagers clad in mysterious robes, they gave no indication of it.
Quinn was beginning to feel more unnerved at being ignored than he had been at the prospect of being stared at.
Inside the “tavern” was even more unnerving. The four stories were actually one floor with a high glass ceiling, and three stories of open arches that lead to balconies overseeing the rest of the night lights, as well into the marble spire next door. The stars and moon were shining down brightly.
It was beautiful, and unlike anything Quinn had ever seen in the Academy.
Or maybe it wasn't that impressive? Maybe Quinn only liked it because he had gotten so used to the same building after eleven years? He had no way of knowing. His heart ached. He was so close to the open world, and yet in this moment a mere tavern seemed to overwhelm him.
“How do we order?” Hogarth whispered, suddenly nervous. His confidence seemed to flee him.
Kay reached into her pockets, and out came a bag of coins. The wards crowded around her again in awe. “We should be able to afford a pitcher,” she said brightly.
How had Kay gotten money? Did she steal it? Quinn shuddered. Sneaking out and thievery. This was terrible.
Quinn bit his lip and turned to leave. He couldn’t do it. He simply could not do it. This was too much.
In his violent turnaround, he rammed straight into someone.
Quinn staggered and looked up. He was slightly taller than Quinn, bone-thin too. He had tan skin, with silver hair kept in a ponytail, and sported some sort of purple knitted vest. What was most notable, however, was his eye. A brand of a serpent with an open orb in its mouth coiled around itself, overlaying his skin, eyebrow and eyelid. It was the Sigil of Magic.
The Sigil was a sign of being a Grevelt Government Approved Warlock, approved to do magic and live without being hunted down. It was usually placed on the arm, or the chest, or occasionally the hand. Quinn had never heard of anyone putting it directly on their face.
The skinny man smiled, his teeth shining, his eyes casual. “’scuse me, kid. What are you doing out so late?”
Quinn sputtered, his words failing him.
The skinny man laughed lightly. “Are those hooded folks your friends, kid?”
Quinn glanced at Kay, Mackie and the others, who were now huddled in a crowd, terrified of the obvious warlock who had just walked in.
Quinn looked back and willed his brain to say “no sir,” but he found himself nodding instead.
The skinny man held out his hand, and Quinn took it, his own hand trembling. He really didn’t want to die and he was afraid that was going to happen soon.
Despite his thin frame, the skinny man seemed to have an amazing amount of strength; he pulled Quinn up with no problem. A well-timed puff of wind swept through the tavern, causing Quinn’s hood to blow clean off. His bright white tattoo practically danced against his dark skin.
“And what’s your name, kid?” the skinny man asked casually.
Quinn mouthed words, but they barely came out as a whisper.
The skinny man frowned, and patted Quinn forcefully on the shoulder, “Speak, kid.”
A gust of air welled up inside Quinn’s lungs and he suddenly found himself shouting. “MY NAME IS QUINN.”
Silence filled the tavern, and Quinn’s face flushed even darker. The slightest of “eeps” could be heard from the other wards.
The skinny man grinned, his teeth blindingly white. “I am Asim of Trell.”
Quinn felt his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. Asim of… the Wind Walker? The other wards had a similar reaction, with Mackie gasping audibly in shock.
Asim smiled, and idly took his hair out of its tie and began retying it. “Ah, you’ve heard of me. And here I was thinking I was frightfully o
utdated.”
The Wind Walker. Quinn just headbutted one of the most talented warlocks of this day and age. Asim of Trell! Able to run on the air as if it was ground! Able to dance through the sky and fly as if it were nothing! Able to control wind currents around him as if they were mere strings to pull!
Of course! The brand on his eye! How could he have been so stupid? They had learned all about him! He and some other warlocks had decided to get the brand on their faces, as… some form of protest? Quinn couldn't remember the specifics, and his brain was failing to make any other connections other than wanting to bow very deeply to this man, and possibly ask for his autograph or something.
Asim, however, had already started walking past Quinn. Quinn nearly screamed with frustration. He was just the most awkward ward in existence.
Asim stepped toward the server and spoke loudly.
“Hello there, ma’am. These are the wards of the Grevelt Academy of Haldon… I will be treating them tonight. Get them whatever they want.” Asim smiled grandly before taking out a single coin and handing it to the server.
Whatever the coin had emblazoned on it, it seemed to be a lot, because the server nearly jumped at it. She quickly disappeared.
Asim turned to face the timid and confused wards. “Now then, why don’t we get a table and you can all tell me about yourselves.”
He seemed to command power without even trying. Everyone stared at him with respect, surprise, and curiosity. He effortlessly weaved his way to a large table, and the wards followed him without a second thought. It was practically breathtaking.
Asim sat at the head of the table, leaned back and placed his shoes on the surface. Somehow they were completely clean.
“Hi! I’m Mackie!” He was first to talk. “Are you here for our testings tomorrow?”
Everyone hoped, but had not dared to ask.
Asim nodded, “That would be correct.”
A gasp traveled through the small crowd. “So…” Mackie sputtered. “You’ll be training one of us? One of us… gets to train under you?”
