Magecraft

by Antoine Henderson

Bishop scanned the statue several times before he spoke. “No wonder he was always so confident.”

  “Ah yes, Niles Lockhart, one of the greatest Avatar Champions to compete in the War. His aptitude in magecraft was second to none. It’s a shame what happened to him. He was on the fast track to being the Director of Order in the M.A.N.A.”

  “What’s the M.A.N.A?” Rook asked.

  “Remember, the Magic Police I told you about? Them.”

  “Oh,” said Rook. “He never told me what he did before he retired and opened the café,” Rook confessed. “What happened?”

  “Wait—go back,” Bishop insisted, surprised by what he learned. “You mean to tell me the blind man that owns a café almost became the Director of Order in the M.A.N.A? Tell me you are joking.”

  “Well, I know nothing about this café you speak of, but what I can tell you is this. After Niles’ victory in the forty-second Avatar War, the M.A.N.A approached him to join their ranks. He accepted and became one of their most successful and renowned agents,” Parmchez explained. “For years his status grew and was on the fast track to becoming the Director until the accident.”

  “The accident?” Bishop questioned.

  “When he was on a mission, he suffered an injury at the hands of his former friend—someone he considered his best friend. Several agents died on the mission and the blame fell on Niles. They accused him of allowing his feelings to get in the way with the mission even though he suffered irreversible injuries to his sight. He disappeared after that, never to be seen again.”

  “I… I never knew,” said Bishop, trying to absorb what he heard. “I never knew your uncle was such a bad mofo, Rook!”

  “Yeah,” said Rook. He was unsure how to feel. Part of him felt proud knowing his uncle did great things while the other part of him felt sad for the way things ended for him. “Who was his friend that betrayed him?”

  “Lionus Dermott, Niles’ childhood friend. Somewhere along the line he became a radical and created the terrorist organization known as MYTH. He’s still at large and no one has seen him since the night Niles and his men confronted him,” Parmchez explained, as the ceremonial procession walked down a hall in the distance, alarming him. “It’s time for me to get you to your room. Follow me.”

  Parmchez led them down the hall as the procession passed, turning right and taking them to another floor until they arrived at a door down a long hallway. They entered the room where two couches lined either side of the wall with a glass table in between. The door to the bathroom was on the left and Rook walked past as Parmchez closed the door behind them.

  “All right, you can get dressed in here, Rook. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and when I return, I will escort you down to the Links’ chamber where you will wait until the ceremony begins. I trust you’ve brought the contract with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be outside. This is as far as you go, Bishop. Another Guide will be along to escort you to the observation balcony with the other guests and viewers of the War. You can watch from there.”

  “Thank you, Parmchez,” said Rook with a nod.

  Bishop nodded before Parmchez exited the room, closing the door behind them. “I wonder if he would be mad if I called him, Parm for short.” Bishop joked.

  “And you tell me I need to take things seriously,” Rook remarked.

  “You do, that doesn’t mean I have to. I’m not in the War, you are,” Bishop replied. “Go get dressed, Rook. You’re short on time.”

  Rook shook his head before grabbing the black robe and entering the bathroom to change. He didn’t put on the robes immediately; he stared into the mirror for a couple of minutes, reflecting on everything that led him to this moment. Seeing his uncle’s statue in the hall was inspiring. To think, his uncle Niles, the man who raised him, was once one of the greatest Avatar Champions was shocking to hear, but it was inspiring and lit a fire in Rook he hadn’t had before.

  He took only a few minutes to get changed into the black robes. It wasn’t his preferred style of clothing, but he looked cool in it in his mind. They were long and shuffled on the floor as he walked and had a hood that hung in the back. The thunderous ringing of the bell signaled the ceremony was drawing near, causing Rook to finish fixing the robes to a comfortable position before exiting the room.

  “Bishop, how do you think this—”

  Rook paused at the sight of the empty room, Bishop was no longer there. He knew it was strange that he wasn’t making a joke or another while he waited, but it was unlike him to leave without saying a word. The Guide must have arrived to escort him to the observation balcony while he was getting dressed inside. He exited the bathroom when a sudden knock came to the door.

  “Are you ready, sir?” Parmchez asked from the other side. “The ceremony is about to begin.”

  “Coming now,” said Rook, tossing his bag aside and grabbing the contract. He placed it inside his robe as he opened the door and exited the room.

  “This way, sir.”

  Rook followed Parmchez as he led him down the hall and down the stairs, into the lower levels of the tower. Torches on either side of the walls lit the hallways and corridors up in a radiant orange glow. As they turned down another hallway, Parmchez spoke.

  “The chambers are right this way, Rook. Inside are the other ten Links who will take part in the War this year.”

  “Are there always eleven Links?”

  “No, actually. This year’s turnout was rather unusually low, to be honest. There are normally over twenty to participate.”

  Rook swallowed the lump in his throat after hearing what Parmchez told him. He figured himself lucky to get such a low number of people entering this year.

  “When the next bell tolls, you and the other participants will be led to the ceremonial chamber and the Flame Ceremony will begin. I will greet you when it’s complete. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, Rook. Here we are, the Links’ chamber.”

  They arrived at a set of steel double doors with flaming torches on both sides of the wall. Rook’s heart raced as he looked at the door. It was thick and heavy, with symbols carved onto both sides.

  “I’ll leave you here. Good luck. Oh, before I forget, put your hood on and keep it on until the ceremony calls for you take it off.”

  Rook followed his instructions and placed the black hood of his robe over his head, concealing part of his face. He nodded, silently thanking Parmchez, before the short man turned and walked down the hall, disappearing as he turned down another.

  Rook faced the door and inhaled. He exhaled when he reached for the door. His heart raced in his chest, wondering who or what waited for him on the other side. After several moments, he gained control of his breathing and opened one of the steel doors, and walked into the chamber.

  9

  Flame Ceremony

  Shutting the door behind him, Rook scanned the room. Ten other black-robed Links were spread around the room. Some leaned against the stone walls while others sat on couches or chairs. They turned in his direction upon entering the room, but their hoods masked their features.

  Rook found a place near the door and leaned against the wall as his heart raced a mile a minute. Although he couldn’t see their faces under their hoods, he could feel their eyes watching and analyzing him.

  "Even though you're covered with those robes, I can see how nervous you are, boy," a woman's voice blurted out, without prompt.

  “Careful lady, you don’t know who’s under that hood,” a male voice argued. “Already making enemies before the War begins. Smart.”

  She was sitting on the couch and snapped her attention to the wall where he stood. “Mind your tongue, boy! Do you know who you are addressing?”

  The man stepped off the wall, sniffing the air, and then leaning back. “Hm, from the smell of your cheap perfume, I can take a wild guess.”

  The woman shot out of her seat
. "I was going to save my aggression for the War, but if you'd like a demonstration, I would be happy to oblige you disrespectful rat!"

  He lifted his hand, causing the sleeve of his robe to fall down and spread his fingers into a grip. Sharp nails extend from the tips of his fingers swiftly. “Do me a favor and try.”

  “Enough!” exclaimed another female voice. She sat across from the other. “Neither of you will do anything. Unless you both want to end up dead for breaking your contracts?”

  A moment passed before the man’s nails retracted and he folded his arms, while the female took her seat. The intense back and forth made Rook realize how real things were. These were no mere warlocks or witches. They were Links—mages who made the choice to join the War.

  The female that spoke to him was correct in her assessment of his demeanor. He was shaken. As if being in Star City wasn’t real enough, being in the chamber surrounded by those he would engage in battle with made it even more real.

  After several moments of silence in the tension-filled chamber, the bell rang once more and with it the door to the Links’ chamber opened. Parmchez and three other men dressed like him were on the other side.

  “The time has come. Follow us,” said Parmchez.

  Rook was first out of the door as the others moved from their positions, exiting the chamber and following the Guides. The walk was long, and the closer they got to the ceremonial chamber, a more distinct and powerful voice became clear. His voice boomed, echoing through the stone hallways and corridors in the distance. By the time they reached the door, Parmchez raised a hand, signaling them to stop when the man’s voice became clearer.

  “This has been a tradition in our community for sixty years and it has produced several of the greatest Avatar Champions in history. Tonight, ladies and gentleman will be no different…”

  Rook swallowed hard. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face as he continued down the hall. He was happy that the hood of his robes hid his nervousness. Rook tried to focus on the man's words as he walked, but his nerves were getting the better of him as thoughts of what lies ahead overtook his mind.

  Parmchez opened the door and stuck only his head through for a few moments. He closed the door and the man’s speech changed.

  “It’s now time, ladies and gentlemen. For those with courage and bravery to be honored—those who stepped up and accepted the challenge, I give to you, the Links for the sixtieth Avatar War!”

  A chorus of applause erupted from inside as the doors swung open. A small tunnel leading into a large auditorium came into a view. Against the back stone wall sat a stage that elevated a large podium near the center with a man wearing white robes with a long gray beard standing behind it. Two large wooden doors stood on both ends of the auditorium.

  With his arms stretched out, he welcomed the Links inside. To his left and right stood ten other men and women wearing emerald green robes, clapping in chorus with the crowd above them. A keyhole-shaped table stood in front of the room, with a several dozen clear orbs sitting at its circular end. Eleven torches stood lit, lining either side of the stage as Guides scrambled to a position near them.

  Entering the tunnel, Rook saw the bleachers, wrapping around the entire auditorium, filled with men and women dressed in expensive suits and gowns of various fashions, styles, and colors, clapping and pointing as they lined up in front of the stage.

  He tried to look for Bishop underneath the shroud of his hood, but there were too many people. At least two hundred stood watching, pointing and cheering. Overwhelmed with nervousness, he took the end position in the line, turning to the stage and exhaled. The old man at the podium lowered his hands, and with it, the cheers and applause died out until there was silence.

  “Welcome, to the Flame Ceremony. I am Belgarath Stormgarde; the Flamekeeper for this year’s Avatar War and behind me are the Council of the Flame, the presiding members of the Avatar Commission,” he said. “You have all chosen, at great sacrifice, to take part in our society’s greatest honor, the Avatar War. This year is a special year for all of us as we lost many members of our society earlier this year. Lyberia Lafayette was the Flamekeeper for the War last year and we will honor her untimely death and contributions to our society with this year’s War!”

  A chorus of applause erupted yet again, with members of the crowd standing, before Belgarath’s arm settled them into silence once more.

  “You eleven, you brave eleven, have lit the Flame with your courage and accepted the terms of your contract. It is now customary to hear the rules of this year’s War and for that, I give the floor to Commissioner Bardot Quinch!”

  Belgarath stepped away from the podium as the crowd applauded, giving way to a shorter, plump older woman with short curly auburn hair and silver-framed glasses hanging from her nose. Wrinkles lined her features and light skin. Stepping up to the podium she stretched her thin ruby colored lips into a smile while she scanned the room with narrowed brown eyes until the applause stopped.

  “Thank you, Flamekeeper,” she began, before clearing her throat. “The Avatar War will take place in our beloved Star City and will begin at twelve midnight, October the first and will conclude at twelve midnight, October the thirty-first,” she explained with a sharp nasally voice. “Each Link will be given a unique badge to carry with them throughout the period of the War. When a challenge is made, Links will wager an equal amount of badges for a single battle. When a Link or their Avatar is defeated or die during battle, their badge is rewarded to the Link who defeated them,” she explained.

  She reached under the podium, retrieving a glass of water and drinking from it before placing it back. She cleared her throat and continued.

  “Quitting is an option, but as your contract states, doing so will cause your death by the crest on your hands. You may Yield a challenge once and only once. Doing so will put an end to the battle and you cannot be challenged again for twelve hours. To win the War, you must collect the most badges and those that do will become the Avatar Champion or Champions of the sixtieth Avatar War! In doing so, you will have achieved the greatest status our society has to offer.”

  Rook absorbed all the information as she’d given it. It was simple enough, the War lasted for the entire month of October and the goal was to defeat people and collect their badge. You can only Yield during battle once and whoever attained the most badges at the end of the War became Avatar Champion.

  Rook knew nothing of his opponents or what type of magecraft they possessed or what Avatar would accompany them. He felt unprepared as this would not be like it was outside of Star City—Inworld as they called it. He would battle trained mages who all wanted to become Avatar Champion. Rook didn’t care about that. Surviving the War and finding his sister was the only thing that mattered.

  “The War will take its toll on you all and some of you will need a respite. That is why this year, we have established the five Sanctuaries within the War Zone and their locations will be indicated on the maps that will be given to you all. You may exit the War for any reason and enter a Sanctuary for a maximum of five days throughout the entire War’s period. The Sanctuaries have a 1 mile Neutral Zone that surrounds it and there is to be no combat of any type within the Neutral Zone,” she explained. “Failing to follow that rule will cause a Judge being summoned to end the conflict. Judges are summoned whenever a battle is taking place and they keep track of Yields and badge accumulations. If a Judge cannot stop the conflict in the Neutral Zone, an Executioner will be summoned who will stop the conflict. Those are the rules henceforth for the Avatar Wars, good luck to all of you.”

  Applause echoed from the balcony as Rook began processed the rules once more. A Sanctuary can only be occupied for five days in the War period and you couldn’t engage in combat inside or within a mile of the Sanctuary. Judges are summoned to every engagement and keep track of badge accumulations, Yields used as well and to declare victory or defeat. Rook understood the rules clearer now an
d strategized how he would use them to his benefit.

  Commissioner Quinch stepped down from the podium, taking her seat as Belgarath returned to it.

  “Links, hold your head up high, and when I point to you, remove your hood and state your name and what family you will represent during the War,” Belgarath ordered. He pointed to his right, at the person at the end of the line.

  Removing his hood, a man spoke with a clear and determined look on his face.

  “Darragh Dermott, and I am representing the Dermott Royal Family!”

  Dermott? Why does that name sound so familiar? Wait, a minute—he has the same last name of the Niles' friend that betrayed him, Lionus Dermott!

  A Guide picked up a torch and set it on a stand by his side as the crowd applauded. Belgarath went down the line, pointing to each person, they removed their hoods and stated their name and what family they represented.

  “Jermaine Wilmot, and I am representing the Wilmot royal Family.”

  “Sophia Sanburne, and I am representing the Rathbone royal Family.”

  That’s the woman from the Links’ Chamber that singled me out.

  “Amelia Kane, and I am representing the Kane royal Family.”

  “Avrice Archibald, and I am representing the Archibald royal Family.”

  “Tristan Ashworth, and I am representing the Ashworth royal family.

  He’s the one who stood up to Sophia?

  “Giselle Baptiste, and I am representing the Baptiste royal family.”

  “Neva Lockhart, and I am representing the Lockhart royal family.”

  Rook leaned around the person standing next to him to get a closer look.

  Neva Lockhart? His cousin Neva Lockhart?

  Niles didn’t tell him she was taking part in the War too. Her skin was dark and her long and thin black braids tied into a single ponytail fell over her left shoulder. Her eyes were hazel and her face serious. Rook never met her before, but Niles would always speak to her over the phone from time to time. Now he would have to face her in the War.