by Sever Bronny
Bridget pushed the large tome towards Mr. Goss, who sat down, patiently taking off his spectacles and folding them onto the table. He then placed his finger on the appropriate page and began scanning downward. The trio watched open-mouthed as he raced through the tiny scrawl, occasionally toning out a, “Hmm” or “Yes, indeed now.”
“Well, it seems quite straightforward,” he said after reaching the end of the page. “Which parts are you stuck on?”
The trio gaped before talking all at once. Mr. Goss held up a hand to still their clucking. “From the beginning, I take it?”
“Yes please,” Augum said.
And so began a most unexpected tutelage under Mr. Goss, who was surprisingly adept at navigating the many complex words, being especially helpful with ones they never heard of, such as “onerous”, or “ubiquitous”, or “discombobulate”, words which made important instructions sound like gibberish.
“How did you learn to read so well, Mr. Goss?” Bridget asked.
He leaned back and smiled wistfully. “I loved reading since I was a boy. I tried to get my hands on any book I could find. Alas, my joy of reading did not translate to a profession. I was content to be a chandler along with Annie. I suppose you can say I did not want my profession spoiling my love of reading.” He straightened. “Shall we continue?”
Mr. Goss was informative, modest, and patient. Although he didn’t have an arcane bone in his body, his sharp intellect allowed the trio to make progress with Push and Disarm. Mr. Goss was so impressed by their determination he stuck with them until well past bedtime.
***
The next day the trio woke up early, ate a quick breakfast, and went on to study their entire roster of spells until supper, by which time they suffered from headaches, nausea and nosebleeds from pushing their arcane stamina.
Mr. Goss made supper while they recuperated at the table. Discussion quickly turned to how they’d tackle Hangman’s Rock.
“We’re out of time, we have to go tonight,” Augum said, spooning up beef stew, nerves preventing him from tasting a thing.
And he wasn’t the only one—Bridget kept curling strands of hair around her ears while Leera tormented the same potato with her fork.
“I think we should go early in the morning and observe them a while,” Bridget said.
“Can we throw snowballs at them?” Leera asked.
Bridget ignored her. “We can use the Orb to watch their patrols, figure out where Haylee is, quietly free her, and tell her what needs to be done.”
“If she hasn’t been moved yet,” Augum said, tapping the table idly. His finger froze in mid-air. “We need a distraction.”
“Yes,” Mr. Goss said, nodding while wiping his mouth with a cloth. “Send the majority of their force on a fool’s errand, allowing you to free Haylee and use Hangman’s Rock to make the wish.” He delicately touched his burnt scalp before looking up. “I can help.”
“But Mr. Goss,” Bridget began in a whisper, “should anything happen to you, we’d never—”
“I know, Bridget, thank you.” He glanced at his son, who pawed the table looking for his mug of water. Leera pushed it into his outstretched hand.
“I assure you, I will exercise the highest state of caution,” Mr. Goss continued, watching his son clumsily drink. “Further, I have an idea. I could start a large lamp oil fire and run before they come. The Unnameables know I have scavenged enough of it.”
“But what about the undead that roam the woods?” Leera asked.
“That is a risk we are all going to have to take, is it not? Besides, should anything …” Mr. Goss made sure Leland was occupied with his food before finishing in a whisper, “should anything happen … Miralda will take care of him, I am certain of it.”
The trio exchanged a worried look. What if she didn’t, or couldn’t?
“Are you sure we can’t talk you out of it, Mr. Goss?” Bridget asked.
“I am determined to help you whether you like it or not.” He gave Bridget’s hand a consoling pat. “Let us plan well.”
“All right, so we have our distraction,” Augum said, counting with his fingers, “we’re going to watch the Legion and wait for Mr. Goss’ signal, and then we’re going to free Haylee and have her perform the ritual. Which just leaves—”
“—learning the Slow Time scroll,” Leera said, glancing to the rucksack. “We’re probably going to need it tonight.”
“Right. Are we forgetting anything?”
Mr. Goss stood up and went to his room, coming back with two small identical bronze hourglasses, handing one to Bridget. “These were my father’s. We can use them to synchronize. One turn is an hour. I suggest we make our way up there together, turning them over just before we separate. When the sand runs out, we turn them over again. At the end of that second hour, I will light the distraction fire. It should give me enough time and distance to build something to burn and then make my getaway.”
“What about footprints?” Augum asked.
“One moment.” Mr. Goss strode out of the room, returning with a pair of giant feathered snowshoes. “I built them to avoid the Legion. They are a bit slow, but do the job quite nicely.”
Leera gave Augum an is he crazy? look.
“Oh, you know what? I have something else that would be of use.” Mr. Goss paced back to his room, returning with a small brass cylinder-like object.
“What’s that?” Augum asked, having never seen such a device before.
“It is a spyglass, made by the same glass maker that fashioned my spectacles. He extended it and handed it to Augum. “Give it a try.”
Augum looked through the wide end but only saw a very tiny image. “It’s broken.”
“Try the other end.”
Augum turned it around and saw everything magnified much closer. “Now that’s a contraption!”
“Let me see—”
He handed it to Leera, who immediately used it in reverse to look at Bridget’s forehead. “Whoa, there’s a whole other world here—”
“—give me that—!” Bridget said, snatching it from her.
“Is it arcane?” Augum asked.
“Not at all,” Mr. Goss replied. “In fact, it is made with nothing but patience.”
“Anymore of that patience stuff left over for Bridgey-poo?” Leera mumbled.
“Ugh.” Bridget retrieved the Slow Time scroll. “Can we begin please?”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“This is serious, Lee. We have to focus and prepare. Lives are at stake here, and you’re … you’re making jokes!”
Leera dropped her chin. “Sorry.”
The trio took great pains in reading the scroll and understanding the instructions. Mr. Goss helped with translation while clearing the table. The spell was written in such a way as to be read quickly by one person, the most complex part being the very words that triggered the effect. They were difficult to pronounce, though not as difficult as the Group Teleport scroll they once had to read. As to who’d be casting the spell, that decision they’d leave until the time came to use it.
Satisfied with the scroll, they moved on to the lengthy task of wording the wish. This part was tricky. The margin-scrawled words, “Beware thy wish be true and plain, for in exchange thy soul she’ll drain,” reminded them they had to get it right. And who cared if their arcane stamina was drained if they appeared at Mrs. Stone’s side?
Augum twirled a quill while reading what they had thus far. “So we agree that we mention Mrs. Stone, name everyone we want teleported, and also say the destination, which is the Northern Peaks.”
Leera nodded absently, eyes glazed.
Bridget frowned. “Instead of naming a location, let’s just say we want to be teleported right to her. And maybe we should also start on a respectful note. Something like, ‘Oh, ancient crone, please allow us to communicate with you—”
“—but what if simply communicating with her turns into our wish?” he countered.
> “Hmm, good point.”
Augum held up the parchment. “All right, the phrasing we got so far, as if Haylee was saying it. ‘We wish you to teleport Bridget, Augum, Leera and myself to Mrs. Stone’s side without causing injury to us or anyone else’.”
“Change it to Anna Atticus Stone,” Mr. Goss said, drying plates with a cloth.
“Good one, Mr. Goss,” Augum mumbled, scribbling away on the parchment, the page now filled with their earlier attempts, all scratched out and edited down to this one simple line.
“Maybe we should have her say all our names in full then,” Leera said, head lolling on her hands on the table. “You know … just in case?”
He once again scratched out the last line, writing a new one underneath with their full names present. “Anything else?” They shook their heads. He dropped the quill. “All right then, the wording of the wish is done.”
“It would be best if we all rested before departing,” Mr. Goss said, putting the last of the dishes away. “Come along, Leland. Let us give them peace.”
Leland, who seemed to never tire of extending and collapsing the spyglass, handed it over and allowed himself to be led away. The trio unfurled their Dramask blankets on the floor and tried to catch some sleep. It didn’t work. Anxiety about the dangerous quest ahead kept everyone tossing and turning. They ended up going over the plan, as well as their spells.
Mr. Goss strolled in a few hours later, circles under his eyes, face lined. “Are we ready?”
The trio, quietly sitting by the hearth, gave somber nods and folded up their blankets.
Mr. Goss wandered over to his counter. “I have provisions for you all—”
“No, thank you, Mr. Goss,” Bridget said.
“Please save it for you and Leland,” Leera added.
Augum nodded in agreement. “It’s all or nothing on this one, Mr. Goss. We’ve already discussed it.”
Mr. Goss glanced at them and shook his head. “You are good kids.” He packed several skins of lamp oil, as many logs as he could fit, some dry tinder, and his special snowshoes, giving him the appearance of a large insect.
“We should depart,” he said at last, calling on Leland to come in. The boy stumped in, scratching at his linen bandages.
“I told you many times not to scratch.”
Leland moaned as Bridget embraced him in a gentle hug, followed by Leera and finally Augum, who kneeled before the boy.
“Don’t worry, Leland, you’ll learn arcanery just like the rest of us when you turn fourteen. Maybe the academy will be clear of the Legion by then and we can go to school together.”
Leland drew Augum into a tight hug, holding him until Mr. Goss gently pried Leland’s tiny hands away.
“Come, son, let me show you where the food is.” He placed Leland’s hands on the assorted sacks and cupboards, whispering careful instructions at every turn, before taking him to his room. There were more whispers followed by quiet moans and sniffles.
When Mr. Goss re-entered the room again, his eyes were moist. He took a last long look around, gaze settling on a framed embroidery of two hummingbirds. Augum saw that it was initialed A.G., for Annie Goss.
“Let us go,” Mr. Goss said finally, and the foursome departed into the cold night.
The Wickedest Stone
Dark clouds trawled overhead like soldiers marching off to war, backlit by starlight and the sliver of a new moon. Snow crunched underfoot. Breath fogged in the crisp, windless air.
Leera took it upon herself to unlock the Orb of Orion and stuff it in the rucksack, the straps already digging into Augum’s shoulders. He used the occasion to take a final look around at the ruins of Sparrow’s Perch, almost hearing the ghostly echoes of laughing children. He wondered when he’d see the place again—if he’d see it again.
Soon they were on their way, quietly passing the graveyard where Leera and Bridget’s families were entombed. Augum, taking up the rear, stared into the darkness, recalling scores of twitching bodies as they dangled off the ground, lightning coursing through them. He thought of Leland’s sufferings and Mr. Goss’ quiet dignity. He thought of the many faces that ceased to be, all a result of the actions of his deranged father.
As their journey progressed, he reflected on the fact that this was his third time traveling to Hangman’s Rock, and sure to be the most difficult. Butterflies of anxiety fluttered in his stomach, the same feeling he used to have when one of the Penderson brats wanted to beat him up.
It was the agony of the wait.
He kept going over the plan in his head, finalizing the details, imagining it going off successfully. Mr. Goss sets a distraction fire. They creep into the camp and free Haylee. They explain the ritual to her. Then they all sneak to Hangman’s Rock and perform it.
But the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the plan sounded. So many possible things could go wrong—could they free Haylee and teach her the wish and ritual in time? Would Haylee even be there? Would Mr. Goss light a strong enough diversion fire and safely return to Leland? Would Canes be at the Rock, or Corrigus, the high-degree sorcerer? Would there be protective enchantments that would give them away? Above all, could they do it while avoiding capture or death?
These questions and more buzzed around his brain like mosquitoes, until he found his breathing shallow and his nerves on the point of fraying.
Hours later, in the thick of a cold winter night, there came the distant sound of galloping horses.
Mr. Goss froze, his face a mask of stern awareness. “They are on the Tallows, headed to Hangman’s Rock.”
“A patrol?” Bridget whispered.
“Larger, I am afraid.”
Augum felt a shiver creep up his spine. “It could be the Blade of Sorrows.”
Bridget listened to the fading sound. “Canes may have used a speaking orb to warn him when Haylee was captured.”
“Great,” Leera said. “So there’s a chance we’ll see Canes, the Blade of Sorrows, and Corrigus all in one place. That should go well.”
“We will adapt,” Mr. Goss said. “I do suggest we hurry though, as we may need more time observing the camp. Let us not stop to eat.”
The trio agreed and they took up a quicker pace. It helped warm them as well as fight the fear. They maintained this march for a long while, until Mr. Goss raised a hand. Everyone stopped as he put a finger to his lips.
“We are close,” he whispered.
They quietly veered northeast, the sky now an open field of innumerable stars crowding a knife-like moon. The light made the snow sparkle brilliantly. Soon, they could hear the sounds of a bustling outpost, much like a disturbed beehive—the neigh of horses, the clatter of metal and harness, the sharpening of swords.
They crawled through the powdery snow to the forest edge, hiding underneath a large blue spruce with low-hanging branches. A manned watchtower perched atop Hangman’s Rock, a giant banner with the Legion emblem of the burning sword ruffled from its pointy roof. Rows of canvas tents fanned out in concentric rings from the tower. Men in black armor and furs bustled about. Horses stood in long lines, drinking at troughs of water kept thawed with fire. Smoke rose in columns from countless other fires. A smithy worked away even at this late hour. The scent of grilled meat filled their noses.
Augum’s palms were sweaty in his mitts. It was supposed to be a sleepy camp they had a chance of sneaking into. As it stood, counting the horses, tents, and parked wagons, he guessed there to be around a hundred men.
Suddenly something large arose from within the camp that sent a chill down his spine. It moved like a monstrous shadow among the tents, the men steering well clear of it.
“It’s a wraith …!” Leera whispered, hastily retrieving the spyglass from the rucksack.
The wraith glided through the camp as if hunting for prey, its shiny wet black rags hanging in long strips that occasionally caught a glint of fire light. Those large limbs that seemed out of proportion for its body swung in sweeping arcs, perhaps hop
ing to catch a soldier unawares. Men held their noses if they came too close.
Mr. Goss’ face turned pale. “What a horror …”
“Is that what you encountered in the woods?” Bridget asked in a fearful whisper, as if the thing, although so far away, would hear her.
Augum only nodded, unable to take his eyes away, expecting it to sprint towards them at any moment.
Leera bumped his arm, offering the spyglass. He took it and swept the camp, fixating on a figure wearing ornate black armor and a black surcoat. He instantly recognized the confident gait and the relaxed gestures dispatching men to various tasks.
“Commander Tridian,” he whispered, confirming their conjecture that it was he who rode by them earlier. The others stirred. “And Robin,” he added. Robin was near the commander, talking to someone ahead. Augum searched with the spyglass.
“Robin’s talking to the wraith,” he reported. “He’s giving it commands or something …” Suddenly the wraith smashed one of the tents with a massive claw-like appendage. Men ran in all directions. Tridian even took a step back, shouting something incomprehensible from this distance. Robin calmed the wraith down, bidding it to sit like a dog. Tridian gave a nod and patted Robin on the back.
Another figure stepped forward, an old man in an ornate black Robe, its edges fringed with brilliant gold. He had a long gray beard and a thin, hard face. Even from this distance, Augum saw eyes as black as coal. Something about the way the man carried himself exuded power.
“Corrigus,” he whispered.
“Damn,” Leera muttered.
He spotted a portly man with curly hair approach. “And there’s Canes … looks like they’re having a meeting.” He watched the villains make jokes, congratulate Robin. The Blade of Sorrows charged a few men to fix the tent the wraith had destroyed. The men did so hesitantly, never taking their eyes off the sitting monster that watched them.
Augum passed the spyglass to Mr. Goss, who frowned as he looked through it.
“This is going to be a little tricky, but do not lose faith.”
“We might have to change our plans,” Augum said.
