Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown

by Farrell Keeling

  ‘Wait, you know Thorne?’

  The woman paused in between the bookcases.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Ever since he wore the Sparks and had those dreadful pantaloons.’

  It was hard to picture Thorne in billowing breeches, he burst out laughing at the thought. The woman chuckled with him.

  Hang on…

  ‘Did you say he wore Sparks?’ Nathaniel inquired

  ‘Oh yes, didn’t you know?’ the woman said. ‘Thorne used to be a Warlock.’

  Nathaniel coughed in surprise.

  ‘Well it was a pleasure meeting you Nathaniel,’ she smiled, her maroon dress floating past the corner of the bookcase.

  For how long he stood there stunned he could not say for sure. Thorne Grey, his Grandfather, a Warlock and a Lycan? And who had that women been who knew so much about him? Things just kept getting stranger.

  He turned away and noticed that the book the woman had been reading sat half-open on the table-top.

  ‘Hey! Uhh, my lady,’ that seemed fitting. ‘You left your–’

  The ‘lady’ had, of course, long since left the alcove and, by the time he’d rushed back to the balcony overlooking the library’s core, he could not spot her amongst the Lycans below.

  Nathaniel was on the topmost floor, and it was hardly busy, so he surely would have noticed someone so colourfully dressed making her way down the spiralled steps. He waited for a moment then checked the other alcoves one by one. They too were empty, and he doubted she would have moved to another below.

  The book remained when Nathaniel returned. It was a hefty tome, leather-bound with yellow, parchment like pages that crinkled to the touch.

  Curious, he turned it aside.

  Lifting the Veil – the Beginner’s Guide to Majik, it read, by Arcturius Pax.

  A book on Majik… Actual Majik.

  Suddenly, realising the nature of what he was holding, Nathaniel snatched his hand away. As if the book was liable to set him on fire, with a mere touch.

  What had that woman been doing with a book on Majik?

  An errant thought suddenly struck him as he stumbled back towards the gap in the bookcases – Thorne had been able to wield Majik.

  Nathaniel whipped his head back to the book on the table.

  If Thorne had been able to use Majik… could his father? Could he?

  Tentatively, he returned to the table and sat down slowly in the chair the woman had previously occupied. He’d seen her with the book open, so it couldn’t possibly be harmful, yet he still felt reluctant to put his hand upon it.

  What’s the worst that could happen, it’s just a book! Nathaniel tried telling himself. Still, Majik had a sneaky way of surprising you. Even more gently than the book had been handled by its previous owner, Nathaniel turned to the opening page. The first few lines twisted knots in his stomach.

  Majik is not for the faint of heart. It is fire and brimstone, rain and storm. It shackles you to its whim as much as it frees your imagination. Know this apprentice: you are NEVER in control, for Majik is a force beyond controlling.

  Nathaniel should have dropped the book then and there, and have been done with it, yet he was captivated.

  You may only hope to appease Majik, manipulate it to your will but disrespect it, and it will sap your very existence until you are little else than a gibbering husk of flesh.

  He flicked on a few pages.

  A number of diagrams covered the two pages before him, some bearing strange symbols. One image in particular caught his attention – a rough sketch of a hand, a lone flame writhing between contorted fingers.

  Conceiving fire – see page 44, it read underneath.

  Licking his lips nervously, Nathaniel laid back in his seat and began brushing through the pages at speed.

  Chapter 15

  Click. Click.

  Click. Click.

  Click. Click. Nothing.

  Nathaniel was disappointed to find that, rather than teaching him how to loose a torrent of flames from his palms, he would have to start small, very small. It was probably for the best, given he was already struggling with the first exercise, and everything around him – on closer inspection – was probably highly inflammable.

  Click. Click.

  Click. Click.

  Click. Click.

  No matter how hard he concentrated on clicking his fingers, the spark simply refused to emerge. There must have been something he was missing, something he’d misread or misunderstood from the book. Nathaniel just hoped no one would find where he’d hidden it in the alcove.

  The Weapons Wielding room, or the ‘blood pit,’ as Brother Garrett had jokingly – he hoped – introduced it, was already packed with Lycans, lining the tapestry covered walls. They stood in huddles of four and five, bragging to anyone who’d listen about their past bouts. All, invariably, seemed to involve a great number of broken bones and bloodied noses.

  All fell silent when Brother Garrett appeared, or rather, as Nathaniel observed, stumbled in. His eyes had a dazed look to them, as if the Lycan wasn’t entirely sure where he was. His shirt, half-untucked, and made of white linen - an interesting choice given the man seemed to attract filth - was admirably clean despite the rest of him.

  Yet, his mere presence commanded respect, a different kind of respect to that which had been paid to Skew. As his eyes scanned the room, Lycans sought to meet them rather than avert their gaze. Backs became straighter and chests puffed out, much to Garrett’s satisfaction.

  ‘So!’ he said, his voice was gruff, almost hoarse, as if the man spent half his time shouting out orders to disobedient soldiers. He staggered to the other end of the room, supporting himself against the tapestry that was draped across it.

  ‘So!’ his eyes scoured each individual, pausing momentarily by Nathaniel.

  ‘Fael?’ he leaned forward, catching himself on the tapestry before he could tumble over, nearly taking the whole thing down with him.

  Too late, Nathaniel noticed that no one else around him found this quite as amusing as he did. Not even Gabe, who gave him a look like he’d just stripped naked and done cartwheels across the floor.

  ‘Something funny, Fael?’ Garrett barked at him.

  Who in Athrana’s grace was this Fael?

  Nathaniel shook his head briskly.

  ‘Brother Garrett,’ a boy with blonde hair and red cheeks cleared his throat.

  ‘Yes, yes, what, Iden?’

  ‘Fael left. He’s Nathaniel Grey,’ the boy squeaked.

  Garrett stared at Nathaniel blankly then the realisation dawned upon his face.

  ‘Another Grey!’ he belched.

  Nathaniel was unsure whether the man meant thought that was a good or a bad thing. At the very least it was an improvement on Skew.

  ‘I also have a very special guest for you all today,’ Brother Garrett nodded past his students.

  Nathaniel spun around and jumped, several of the Lycans audibly gasping.

  The ‘guest’ clung to the shadows in the corner furthest behind them, black sleeveless overcoat and long raven hair camouflaging him within the darkness. Were it not for his gleaming silver eyes, Nathaniel could have passed the spot a hundred times without noticing the man.

  ‘Is that-’

  ‘Ozin’s beard!’

  ‘Did you see his eyes?’

  ‘That’s a blazing Hunter!’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  There was something different about seeing a Hunter quietly observing them all, sword draped against his back. Nathaniel hadn’t really had the time to properly take in the bald Hunter who had gate-crashed the Spire. Yet here stood another, silver eyes, as sharp and sinister as a cat’s, appraising the gaping Lycans coolly.

  They hunted demons, yet some claimed they were demons themselves. A strange twist of fate turning them against their former brothers and sisters – Fogspawn of the Foglands. Many a tale there was of the Hunters of Horizon and so very few of them that ended well.


  Before he realised it, Nathaniel had become trapped within the Hunter’s gaze and quickly peeled himself away with a shudder. It had been as if the Hunter’s eyes were a giant magnifying glass, closely inspecting any weakness he could exploit. Even Garrett seemed a little nervous. His eyes snapping regularly back to the Hunter’s dark corner, as he paced the room, as if to make sure he was still exactly where the Lycan could see him.

  ‘Since for some of you this will be your first time, we’re going to make sure that you all understand how to handle a sword,’ Brother Garrett barked at them all.

  The Lycan threw out his arm to the baskets leaning against the wall behind him where wooden hilts could be seen jutting out over their brims.

  ‘Well? What are you waiting for lads? A written invitation? Get!’

  A great deal of pushing and shoving took place as soon as Brother Garrett had clapped his hands, the Lycans swarming towards the baskets. Nathaniel heard Gabe boast about how he was going to impress the Hunter. Some made similar promises, but most were just downright scared of the man with silver eyes.

  Nathaniel gave up trying to push in through the crowd and sat back in wait. The Scorched boy stood beside him, chewing his lip thoughtfully, whilst staring blankly ahead. He’d not spoken to Samir since running out of Skew’s History class and he’d actively ignored him since then.

  Say something to him!

  What could he say? The fact that Samir was a Lycan hardly made matters any easier.

  ‘REGAL!’ Garrett made Nathaniel jump.

  The Lycan marched towards him, keeping remarkably upright despite his violent swaying. His eyes were set into a squint, as they ran Nathaniel closely up and down, like he was inspecting a sword for notches to re-sharpen. He gave a satisfied grunt at his legs and a ‘hm’ at his arms.

  ‘Sabre?’

  Nathaniel blinked.

  ‘Do you use a sabre, boy?’ Garrett growled.

  ‘Uhh, no,’ Nathaniel said, ‘a rapier.’

  The man ran a grubby hand through his beard. It was difficult to tell where the grime started and stopped. His arms looked as if some attempt had been made to cleanse them and then he’d got bored halfway through his forearms. His beard, perhaps hiding another colour underneath, was singed black from coal. The only part of his body that appeared completely untouched by dirt was the top of his bald head.

  ‘I thought it might have been one of the two,’ the man nodded absently to himself. Nathaniel almost flinched as he leant in suddenly with a quizzical expression, ‘I thought you preferred lances?’

  ‘Our guardsmen do,’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘Hm, hm,’ he grumbled in acknowledgement, ‘and why haven’t you got a sword? Think you’d do just as well against these lot with your fists?’

  ‘No!’ Nathaniel resisted the strong urge to shout back ‘sir!’ and salute.

  ‘Well that raised nose of yours says something else, lad,’ Garrett snorted. ‘You’d best guard it well before someone buries it in the dirt.’ Garrett went off with a chortle.

  Nathaniel still wasn’t sure whether the Lycan was joking or not but moved quickly to grab what remained from the baskets, lest the Lycan roared at him again. There were no rapiers to be found, nor any weapon made from steel. There were shortswords, the wooden blade no bigger than his forearm, and a lone longsword, the top of the hilt meeting his hip.

  Wooden swords. What were they – children?

  Nathaniel picked up the longsword, weighing it in his palm. It would have to do.

  ‘Get into a pair Regal, you’re holding us up!’ Garrett growled at him.

  Gabe and Nathaniel instantly caught eyes and each made to move towards the other. The former, however, was hauled away by Garrett to demonstrate footwork to the class before he could reach Nathaniel, Samir stepping out to block the Regal’s path.

  ‘That would be unwise,’ Samir’s deep voice advised. He hadn’t looked up once from the latest book he was immersed in.

  ‘For me? Or him?’ Nathaniel pointed at Gabe with his shortsword.

  Samir didn’t have an answer for that.

  ‘Well… I guess we’d better…’ Nathaniel raised his sword, somewhat reluctantly given how tall the Scorched boy was.

  Fortunately for Nathaniel, Samir seemed far less interested in their bout than he had been in the book he had previously heldin his hands. Parrying the Regal’s blows half-heartedly. When Nathaniel disarmed him, Samir didn’t look particularly surprised, if anything, quietly pleased that his hands were rid of the sword.

  ‘You fight well, Nathaniel,’ Samir said kindly.

  Nathaniel felt another pang of guilt watching Samir stoop for his sword.

  After a few more bouts with Samir, with Nathaniel taking it significantly easier on the Scorched boy, Garrett called ‘SWITCH!’

  The Lycans lowered their wooden swords and shuffled about the room instinctively. Samir found one of Gabe’s cronies, who seemed just as apprehensive about the boy’s height, as Nathaniel had been, and Nathaniel found Brey.

  ‘Uhhhh,’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never fought a girl before?’ she raised an eyebrow mockingly.

  ‘No! I mean… I wouldn’t! Not that I – uhhh…’ Nathaniel said skittishly.

  He wasn’t just annoyed that the girl’s words were entirely true – in his tutored sessions, he’d only ever fought boys, after all, the guards only recruited men. In fact, as far as Nathaniel knew, the only women who took the sword in the Regal Armada were the infamous ‘Sisters of the Dagger,’ and Emperors’ daughters. Not it wasn’t just that, which got on his nerves. Brey seemed to be able to twist his tongue in such a way that made even basic speech laborious.

  THWACK!

  ‘OW!’ Nathaniel rubbed the part of his arm Brey’s sword had struck and gave the girl a dirty look.

  ‘Clumsy me,’ she smiled innocently.

  THWACK!

  Nathanial barely had time to knock the second blow away from his other arm.

  ‘Better learn quickly how to hit me, Regal,’ Brey said, advancing towards him.

  He dodged a few of her efforts but, having to parry the rest, was slowly forcing him back to a wall.

  The effort of protecting himself without accidentally harming the girl was proving tremendously difficult. Although, she kept encouraging him to do the opposite.

  ‘SWITCH!’

  Nathaniel blew a sigh of relief and lowered his sword.

  THWACK!

  ‘GAH!’ Nathaniel cried, clutching his right arm. ‘He said “switch!”’

  ‘And I told you to try and hit me,’ Brey sauntered away, grinning slyly at him over her shoulder.

  Nathaniel shook both his arms out, trying his best to ignore the throbbing soreness the girl had left him with.

  ‘Regal,’ a familiar voice growled.

  Gabe held his sword extended toward him.

  Now Gabe, he didn’t mind hitting.

  Nathaniel leaped past Gabe’s outstretched arm, the Lycan stumbling back to avoid the thrust of Nathaniel’s sword.

  They moved back to the middle of the room, before Gabe began to hold his own. His technique was sound, if a little sloppy, but what the Lycan lacked in speed, he more than made up for in the strength of his blows.

  The bout seemed to last for ages. One would push the other back, then the other would dodge a blow and gain back the ground they’d lost. Some of the other Lycans had left their own bouts to watch the fight. Even the Hunter had unfurled his arms.

  Nathaniel’s sword glanced off Gabe’s and the two jumped back. Circling one another. Gabe had already thrown off his sweat-drenched shirt and Nathaniel was tempted to follow suit with his own.

  The two flew towards each other again, swords striking quickly but neither managing to find a way through the other’s defences. Nathaniel wondered whether they were more likely to chip their swords till they snapped.

  ‘So… you can hold… a sword… at least,’ Nathaniel said grudgingly, through heav
y breaths.

  ‘The sword… isn’t… everything… grey-skin,’ Gabe’s breathing was equally laboured.

  ‘What… would you… know… dog?’

  Gabe side-stepped past Nathaniel’s tired lunge and threw his fist out.

  CRACK!

  Nathaniel was suddenly on his back, lights dancing around his eyes, a familiar metallic taste on his tongue.

  Someone, he couldn’t quite make out who, was squatting down beside him.

  ‘Sorry, Regal. I heard you talking about rapiers with Brother Garrett. You’re more predictable than you think.’

  Nathaniel tried muttering something coarse in return but it was taking all the effort he had just to keep his eyes open. An eye open. Then… neither.

  *

  Voices spoke distantly around Nathaniel, fading in and out of hearing. Occasionally he would catch a word or two, ‘…broken arm… touch of salve… damn Garrett …’

  His body ached but he could just about adjust himself where he lay.

  Am I still in the practice room?

  Nathaniel tried to open his eyes.

  Only one would cooperate and his vision was fuzzy at best. Suddenly alarmed he moved a hand to his head only for it to be gently steered away.

  ‘Ah good, you’re awake! No, I wouldn’t advise doing that. I’ve put some salve on that eye of yours and it won’t heal as quick with you poking around it! Really, you must stop touching it, child! Can you hear me?’

  The sight in his left eye was beginning to clear up.

  He was lying down on white linen sheets in a steel framed bed. Most of the other beds were empty around him, bar the one directly opposite Nathaniel, where a blonde boy with rosy cheeks sat nursing his bandaged arm. The boy who had named him to Brother Garrett.

  Iden… was it?

  ‘Nathaniel, can you hear me?’ a severe looking woman waved her forefinger about in front of him.

  Nathaniel nodded.

  Sister Mire, she called herself, wore a long white dress with sleeves closely cuffed to her wrists. Her hair, completely greyed, was tied together in a large bun behind her head. No matter how tightly she pursed her lips together as she fussed over Nathaniel, the woman couldn’t hide the kindness in her smile-lined eyes.