Warlocks of the Sigil (The Sigil Series Book 1)

by Peri Akman

  It meant she would have more time to learn, to grow, and to perfect whatever skills she had.

  Quinn would have six years at the most until he became legally an adult, Kay might have less.

  The warlocks began to pour in, chatting idly. Asim stood out like a shining beacon, although the other warlocks weren’t any less impressive. Tall, short, old, young, bony, broad—it was a rainbow of eccentricities and oddities. Most striking of all were the colors. Their cloaks and outfits underneath were some of the most garish and clashing color combinations Quinn had ever seen. Bright green with bright reds, all threaded together to make a light silk jacket. Purples were paired with oranges as they swirled together in a single oversized hat. He blinked a few times, taking in the sight.

  Head Vodyk straightened up and began to proudly announce the warlocks.

  The first she announced was Asim of Trell, her pride evident with every syllable. The few wards that hadn't been on the expedition reacted with the appropriate measure of shock and surprise.

  Asim gave a flourish, a bow, and a wink before sitting down.

  From there, Head Vodyk began to announce the warlocks that they had been able to accrue for this test.

  “Han-Yue of Larenx, Skinchanger.” A short and stout warlock waved. For a moment, their skin turned a bright purple before flashing back to the normal tan. It didn’t seem like a particularly unique inclination, but what did Quinn know?

  “Lyra of Westkill, of the 23rd Division.” A tall and flowing warlock gave an idle nod. 23rd division was military—ground warfare, maybe? Either way, not something Quinn was interested in.

  “Jess of Trell, Empath for the Vizier of Estane.” A large warlock wearing the earthiest tones imaginable. Politics weren’t Quinn’s forte, but Quinn could almost envision that life in some distant hypothetical. Although what was really impressive was that the warlock was an empath. Empaths usually remained secluded in their own little temples to avoid being overwhelmed by other people's emotions.

  “Serethen of Javier, award-winning researcher for several classified breakthroughs in the warlock program.” The warlock was bald, scarred, and deadly serious. The sheer vagueness of the credentials would be hilarious if it wasn’t also mildly terrifying. All warlocks worked for the government—there was no other place to work—but there were layers to it. Someone like Han-Yue probably just did mandated jobs in their local town. Serethen had direct access to government facilities, their information, their resources. Serethen could hypothetically murder a person in cold blood and have it be legally sanctioned.

  Working as a government researcher would be cool. Quinn could see himself amongst piles and piles of books. It would be quiet, and probably pay well. Serethen, however, looked like she could gut Quinn with a flick of her wrist, and Quinn did not think he was ready to handle a mentor like that.

  “Reyne of Shorne, Freelancer.” This warlock, a young-looking guy with a crooked nose and a lazy eye, gave a half smile. It wasn’t exactly an impressive title compared to the others. It would, however, mean more freedom of choice. Someone apprenticed to a freelancer could try all sorts of jobs and odd ends before deciding where to settle.

  “Oleander. Elder for the Grotto Reef Prismatic Temple” That explained the oddly translucent robes the one warlock was wearing. He was incredibly old and incredibly tiny. Quinn shivered slightly. He would not be interested in immersing himself in religion. It seemed like too big of a leap, too much devotion. Quinn barely had the self-discipline necessary to represent himself. Trying to represent the gods would just be overwhelming.

  Head Vodyk continued with the names, but they almost became a blur. There were twice as many warlocks as there were students, which meant that some of the warlocks might leave with no interest in any of them. It occurred to Quinn that this was probably advantageous, it meant that if the warlocks were unhappy, they could just come back in six months and see who else was available, or travel to another Academy. It was probably convenient for them, like it was a marketplace.

  The thought unsettled Quinn slightly, but he quickly shook it off.

  Some of the warlocks had literal titles, job descriptions, whereas others had more figurative titles. Usually ones like “Wind Walker” and “Skinchanger” were nicknames that had passed into common knowledge, and were thus easily recognizable. Alternatively, it meant their jobs were so inconsequential and lacking of note that all they had was a cool-sounding nickname.

  Quinn tried to imagine what title he would get. “Quinn of Haldon. The—”

  His mind drew a blank. After all, it wasn’t like he had any idea what his inclination would be. But he knew he wanted to help people. “Quinn of Haldon. The Healer Supreme.”

  No, that sounded really stupid. Maybe there was a titlemaker that put out titles for warlocks. That’d be cool, although knowing Quinn, he’d make the titlemaker hate him. “Quinn of Haldon. The Idiot Warlock.”

  Yeah, that sounded more likely.

  Head Vodyk got to the last name.

  “Kole of Estane. Freelancer.” The last warlock gave a halfhearted wave. Their skin was covered from head to toe with cloth and bandages. They held a rather large walking stick. The only thing that was visible of this gender-ambiguous warlock was their eyes: pure black.

  Quinn only had a second to take in this information because of what Asim of Trell did immediately afterwards.

  Asim leaped over the table the moment Kole’s name was mentioned, and immediately muttered something in Head Vodyk’s ear.

  Head Vodyk frowned and shook her head. Asim’s eyes widened with anger, and he insisted something, more vehemently.

  Head Vodyk pointed to the heavily bandaged warlock almost dismissively. Asim’s eyes widened even more with shock. He did not move from his spot. The bandaged warlock gave no indication of noticing this, although a few others did stare at Asim with annoyance.

  After a few more moments of awkward shifting, Asim trudged back to his chair, his eyes almost watery as he glared daggers at the bandaged warlock. The other warlocks politely, or rudely, ignored this, and Head Vodyk cleared her throat.

  “All right, everyone, now that we’ve introduced our amazing and talented warlocks, we will start with our presentations! Teacher Brandie will be handing out your test results and scores over the past few years for everyone to look over as you showcase your best talents,” Vodyk explained in a soothing voice.

  The teachers in the end and the middle passed along papers, which the warlocks took and read over. Quinn’s counting had almost been right, there was one chair that had remained vacant, which was subtly removed from the row.

  A few other teachers surrounded the area, preparing what was basically a ball of energy. The official term was… well, Quinn honestly didn’t remember, but the abbreviation was IITMBEB. Interactive… Inclination Tested Magic Based… naw that wasn’t right.

  Inclination Information Testing Malleable… dammit no, not that either.

  Energy Ball. That was all that mattered. It was an energy ball. A giant, floating, harmless energy ball that could be generated by most warlocks, but that could only be handled by other warlocks. So you know, great for chucking at small infants and seeing which ones caught it, and which ones cried as weird sparky bits of energy dispersed around them.

  If what the teachers said were true, when Quinn had been four and was handed it, it dispersed, he cried, and they were going to write him off until he hiccuped from crying too much, accidentally ingested one of the sparks, and began to choke on it.

  Quinn had no memory of this and was not inclined to start remembering it.

  Hogarth volunteered to go first. The minute he stepped up to control the energy ball, it took the form of a fish, as it had for a few years now. Hogarth played with it a bit, clearly trying to show off, but it didn’t exactly work. The shape really didn’t mean much, it didn’t act like a fish, it just looked like one. Not even a good fish. Just an oval with triangles coming out from one edge.

  Appare
ntly the warlocks could see something wards could not, because they seemed to be nodding approvingly. Oleander, the reverend, seemed to be particularly interested, and asked him several questions.

  He asked Hogarth’s favorite animal (a weasel), his opinions on current world events (a golden age of innovation and enlightenment), and if he was allergic to nuts (not in the slightest, although he was allergic to, ironically enough, fish).

  It… was not what Quinn was expecting.

  Sordidhe went next. The minute he touched the orb, it exploded into dozens of particles that rained around him. When he was tested initially, it was assumed that it had dispersed, but when he was tested again years later it was realized that he had actually made it explode somehow. Slightly different trajectory, although Quinn never really understood the difference.

  Lyra, the military man, and Serethen, the government researcher, both took an interest in him, asking his opinions on the world, how athletic he was, if he had any heart problems, and if he felt that entering the Academy older than most had changed his experience.

  Just mild everyday questions, as if this was some sort of warped dating game. Quinn had been expecting something more… he actually didn’t know what he had been expecting. Some sort of elaborate fight to the death, maybe.

  One by one, Jeffern, Kay, and Kosloski went up, showcased what little skills they had been able to accrue, and then answered questions.

  Finally, when it felt as though waiting any longer would stop his heart, Quinn volunteered.

  He stood up and took a deep breath. His hands instinctively went up to his hair to flatten it and brush it away from his eyes.

  The warlocks looked at him nonchalantly. A few looked down at his papers, no doubt judging his tests. They weren’t that bad. Not great, but not bad.

  Trembling slightly, Quinn walked up to the Energy Ball. As it had every time Quinn interacted with it, it shuddered and jittered slightly, and did nothing else. It wasn’t particularly impressive, but he wasn’t the least impressive by far. Kay, for example, always just made it expand slightly, and that was it. Mackie, who hadn’t gone yet, couldn’t get it to do anything, not for the life of him.

  Quinn smiled nervously and turned to face the warlocks.

  There was a brief silence.

  Head Vodyk cleared her throat. “Any questions for Quinn?”

  The silence continued.

  Quinn’s heart sank. Oh gods. Oh gods. He had failed. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be doing and he had failed! He was going to leave and have to work in the mines somewhere!

  Quinn’s eyes darted to Asim for just the briefest of seconds, desperately hoping he would say something and save him, but nothing happened. Asim still seemed to be distracted by the bandaged warlock.

  Quinn fought the urge to hyperventilate.

  “Anyone at all? Any questions?” Head Vodyk spoke, frowning. She seemed to at least have some understanding of the torture Quinn was under. “Quinn here has had the cleanest record of anyone his age. He has always been on time, and is an incredibly healthy lad.”

  Head Vodyk tried to exposit some of his other traits, but he saw it, the distant boredom, the glazed looks, and some of the warlocks shrugged and shook their heads.

  “Well…” Head Vodyk's voice trailed off, carrying a layer of worry. “Thank you, Quinn, you may sit down now.”

  Quinn turned around to leave, not daring to make eye contact with anyone. He sat in his chair and buried his face into his hands. His eyes felt hot, and when he closed them, he felt tears welling up. That was mortifying.

  He felt a slight rub on his shoulder— Kay. She gave a small smile, and mouthed the words “It’s okay, you did fine.”

  It was a nice sentiment for a complete lie.

  There had been TWENTY-FOUR warlocks at that table. Twenty-four! And not a single one was interested in him!

  Had he done something wrong? What if this was all a lie? Maybe him being able to interact with the energy ball was a false positive. Maybe he wasn’t magically inclined at all. Maybe the tattoo was a false positive too.

  Mackie went up next. He did what he normally did, give a solid thwack to the orb and have it not even move or budge.

  He got questions.

  They asked him if he’d ever made it budge. They asked him if he was ok with tropical climates.

  Quinn’s hands were wet. He was crying.

  Another hand on Quinn’s shoulder, Teacher Brandie, looking down at him.

  Do you want to take a breather outside? Brandie asked telepathically.

  Quinn nodded, and Brandie escorted him outside of the mess hall and into the hallway.

  The minute the doors closed, Quinn found himself bursting out, sobbing and retching.

  “Hey, hey, hun.” Brandie patted Quinn on the shoulder. “It'll be ok, you didn’t fail. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then… then why didn't they want me?” Quinn blurted out.

  Brandie grimaced. He went to ruffle Quinn’s hair, but hesitated. The fact was, neither of them knew each other very well. Teacher Brandie was only here because he had to be.

  However, Quinn was not in the game of picking and choosing who received his veritable vomit of emotions.

  “Quinn… it had nothing to do with you. Your scores were all straightforward; you’re a straightforward kid. You wear your emotions on your sleeves. There just… wasn’t anything they needed to question,” Brandie explained slowly and awkwardly.

  “I’m gonna get sent to be a farmhand for the rest of my life. I’m never gonna be a warlock.” Quinn muttered.

  “Quinn, there’s nothing wrong with being a farmhand,” Brandie replied, almost automatically.

  “Then why is it our last resort? For a job that there's ‘nothing wrong with’ why is everyone so terrified of it happening to them?!” Quinn yelled hoarsely, nearly spitting. He swallowed slightly.

  “And—and—if I had hope, you wouldn’t be telling me there’s nothing wrong with it. You would—you would tell me that I was definitely going to get picked, and there was no way I was going to be a farmhand. But since you know—you know that I will, you go this different route.” Quinn practically stammered out his words. He tried his best to come off as authoritative, as opposed to scared and panicking.

  “Quinn, even if… and that’s a very big if, you’re not picked, you’re not just going to be carted off. You’ll just stay until the next testing. This has happened before, Quinn. In fact, it used to be way more common when I was a kid,” Brandie tried to explain with a comforting voice. However, the lack of confidence did neither Brandie nor Quinn any favors.

  Quinn nodded, but the words just washed over him. He had never heard of anyone else failing to get the interest of anyone. He was just some sort of terrible incompetent freak.

  They stayed in the hallway for a while and by the time Quinn was ready to work up the confidence to walk back in, the other wards left, talking amongst themselves.

  The warlocks were going to make their decisions and Quinn hadn’t even been there for any last-minute questions. Instead he had cried like a child and now no one would have any interest in him.

  He was a complete and abject failure. There was no other explanation for this.

  The other wards didn’t stop to talk to Quinn, not that he could blame them. What would they say to him? Sorry for sucking? Sorry for bombing? Sorry that you couldn’t do what we did with ease? Sorry that you couldn’t command a crowd if your life depended on it?

  Plus, they were probably happy. It meant that they had a line to compare themselves to. No matter how badly they thought that went, at least it didn’t go as badly as his. He just wished he knew what he had done wrong.

  Quinn broke ahead of the crowd, leaving Brandie behind. He could hear the telepath’s vehement protests to the contrary as he left, but he didn’t care. He began to run once he was sure he was out of line of sight. His heart was beating wildly still, but it longed for peace, and Quinn’s eyes had
long since dried.

  He turned the corners and headed back to his room. He wrested open the door to find his roommates either still asleep, or in the process of getting up. Without making eye contact, he stomped over to his bed, and flopped onto it with all the force he could muster. Either out of kindness or apathy, his roommates did not bother him.

  He placed his pillow on top of his face and let the blankets cover him. His heart began to slow, and sheer exhaustion began to set in. Maybe if he closed his eyes for long enough he would wake up and find out that this all had been some strange, elaborate dream.

  Chapter Three

  Quinn had been in his bed for barely an hour when he was interrupted. A loud, annoyingly invasive, knock on the door.

  “Quinn, please come out.” a rumbling voice called to him. Teacher Tellack, from the sounds of it. It was polite, but firm.

  Quinn wallowed in his bed for a bit, contemplating his future, but in the end he sat up defeatedly and trudged to the door.

  He opened the door to see his main teacher, red-faced as always, and frowning.

  “Quinn, why are you in your room?” Tellack groaned as she folded her arms and squinted. That was a weird tic of hers—perfect eyesight, but hard of hearing, so somehow this translated to her squinting all the time, in hopes of hearing better.

  “I was sleepy,” Quinn said, averting his face from her gaze. He was flushed with embarrassment.

  “We’ve been looking for you for ten minutes now! You have a ritual to perform!” she snapped.

  Quinn blinked. “R-ritual?”

  Tellack sighed. “Yes, Quinn. Do you not remember what you were doing this morning? You are going into training to become a warlock, like every boy of your stature.”

  The words seemed to hammer into Quinn’s head, but it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real. “You mean… you mean one of them wanted me? One of them… picked me?”