by Sever Bronny
“Blast this infernal ledger,” he muttered as Augum approached. “You again. What is it this time, you want to delve into the depths of the Black castle?” He bellied a laugh, throwing the quill at the parchment.
“No, sir, I just came by to ask if I could earn some coin repairing anything or moving things for you.”
“You look a little thin to move the kind of stuff I need moved, my boy, and I throw out what gets broken—no sense in keeping it around now, is there?”
“What is it that you need moved?”
Huan snorted. “We need to replace two empty casks with full ones from the basement. Usually it takes two strong men, so we needn’t talk about it.”
“How much is it worth to you if I accomplish this task on my own?”
“I’ll eat my boots before the entire town, my boy.”
“Sir, I’m serious. We need the coin to purchase supplies.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
Augum stared at him, drawing a complete blank. What did he tell Huan his name was? Leera was Penelope, but what was his false name again? Huan’s almond eyes narrowed. Augum had to think quickly.
“What does it matter if I get the job done?”
It seemed to work because Huan didn’t hesitate replying.
“You can’t get the job done, it’s impossible.” The large innkeeper leaned closer, breath smelling of ale and roasted peppers. “Impossible, that is, unless you’re a warlock …”
Augum gave him a faint smile.
“I knew it,” Huan said, shaking his head. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew it. You and that friend of yours wear the same matching robes. Years ago, a couple warlocks came through town with a gaggle of kids on some kind of academy excursion or whatnot. They, too, had the same robes, but different colors.”
“Where were they from?”
“Some fancy southern desert school. They all had thick accents. Could barely understand a word. Had every custom of kid though. Seemed like one of them snotty, worldly kind of schools, know what I mean? Anyway, luckily the older warlocks spoke the common tongue, so we got along fine. Let me tell you, that man complained and complained about Solian wine, said it didn’t compare to their vintage. ‘Well’, I says to him, ‘and what vintage might that be?’ And so he says—”
“Sir, can I get started?”
Huan made a grand gesture to the staircase at the back of the room. “You go ahead and try then, young man,” and snorted another laugh.
Augum strolled to the staircase and down the steps, carved from the earth and planked with cedar. The basement was full of crates, candles, tools, and oaken casks, stacked on their side and banded with iron straps. They were smaller than a barrel but still looked very heavy. He wandered over to one and tried pulling on it. It didn’t budge. He retreated a few steps, took a deep breath, and extended his arm, palm splayed. He envisioned the cask floating along and up the steps. It groaned and began to move, but the effort was immense—it was heavier than he thought. If he wasn’t careful, it would smash into the ground and split apart. It teetered on the edge of the casks below it.
“How’s it coming down there?” Huan asked, and Augum had to run to prop up the cask else it would have fallen.
“Fine—”
“What happened to that magic, huh?”
“It’s called arcanery, sir, and I don’t mind you watching, but I just need to concentrate.”
Huan threw a dirty cloth over his shoulder. “Right … well let’s see it then, I don’t have all day to indulge youthful fantasies.”
Augum shoved the cask back over the tipping point. He then stepped away and raised his arm again. This time, he knew exactly how heavy it was and how much concentration he needed, though his head had already begun to throb.
The cask began to grind towards the edge.
“I’ll be a pig on a spit,” Huan muttered.
Augum ignored him, using all his concentration to catch the cask as it dipped off its resting place and swung forward. Amazingly, he discovered he could use its momentum to kind of push it along, straining from the effort in its low position and relaxing when it was a little higher. He turned completely around, the cask under his spell but not in total control, and stepped along behind it. He had to be getting better at the spell, for the barrel was nowhere near as heavy as it should have been. Huan tripped and fell as it practically rolled over him on its journey up the stairs.
Augum settled it at the top before plopping down on the steps, wincing.
Huan stood beside him, shaking his head. “That was some magic trick. Where are the strings?”
“Wasn’t a trick.” Augum got up, determined to finish the job.
Huan grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait, let’s roll it together, I don’t want my other patrons seeing a warlock in my establishment.”
Augum helped Huan roll the cask around the tables and behind the bar.
“Tell you what, you get two more to the top of those steps, and I’ll give you two silvers.”
Two silvers! For that price, he’d do ten barrels. Augum kept his face smooth. “Deal.” And so he performed the feat two more times. By the end of it, he was in so much pain he could hardly roll the barrel.
“Thank you,” Augum croaked upon accepting payment, trying to keep his nausea at bay.
“That’s more than the labor’s worth, but it’s Endyear and these old drunken fools couldn’t move their behinds off the seats if I paid them to. Say, you look a little pale, boy, are you all right?”
“Just great …” Augum said, stumbling out of the place, studying the coins. On one side, they had King Ridian’s crowned head; on the other the Solian evergreen—a tall pine. He wondered what kind of coins the Legion was going to issue.
“Look, five coppers!” Bridget said when they met. “Got them by repairing Ms. Singh’s chair, though if it wasn’t for Priya, I would have probably been chased out of there. Wait, what happened to you?”
“Used Telekinesis to move a few casks …” he showed her the two silvers.
“Aug—way to go! That’s four times more than me—!”
“Keep your voice down please,” he whispered, holding his throbbing head. “Huan was feeling a bit generous I think. Endyear and all.”
“Well great job, Aug. Now I wonder how much Leera got …”
“I’m going to lie down for a bit if you don’t mind.”
“You earned it. I’ll keep looking for more work.”
Augum returned to the Okeke home to find Jengo sniffing the contents of a bunch of jars filled with different colored powders.
“Oh hey, Augum, how did it go?”
“Two silvers,” he whispered, still holding his head. It hurt more than usual, but then again, he had pushed the boundaries of the spell. Usually he had help moving something so heavy.
“What’s in the jars?”
“They’re supposed to be healing sands,” Jengo replied. “You soak them in water and wash with them. I think I might be coming down with a dangerous northern skin pox, and one of these is supposed to stop it in its tracks.” He glanced at Augum. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, just need to rest. Arcanery and all that …” He didn’t bother explaining and strolled by to one of the pine living room chairs.
“Hi,” he said to Haylee, who was holding a spoon, staring at her soup. She didn’t even look up. She was dressed in a simple light blue linen dress, her face and hair freshly washed, a result of Bridget’s efforts.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he added, still whispering. Talking louder hurt too much right now, though the throbbing was slowly retreating.
Haylee looked up with glassy blue eyes, seeing past him. “They should have killed me.”
“Don’t say that—”
“They should have killed me, like they killed my parents and my grandfather. No, not they—he. He did it … he murdered them.” Her eyes wandered back to the soup.
Augum didn’t need to ask
who she meant by “he”. He remembered Robin slicing Mya’s throat, that surprised look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry…” he said.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” she asked, voice rising. “Is that going to bring them back!”
He looked away, feeling smaller than a pebble.
“You should have left me there. I didn’t ask to be saved.” The words had a venomous sting to them. “You should have left me back in that snowy field when I ran away from you the first time.”
Augum’s throat felt dry and his headache had suddenly gotten worse.
Jengo quietly placed a cup of steaming tea before Haylee.
Her eyes narrowed. “Who is this giant reptile?”
Jengo stepped back, brows raised.
“Haylee, you don’t mean that—” Augum began, but she shot him a withering look.
“Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean, you don’t get to tell me—”
“I understand that you’re lashing out—”
“So what! What does it matter! They’re dead, and I should be too—!”
“Forgive me for intruding,” Jengo said. “I’ll take my leave. I … I need to cut some wood today anyway.” He brought over two chocolate biscuits, delicately placing them between Augum and Haylee. She glared at them. He then quietly took his fur coat and departed, leaving the two of them alone.
Augum allowed silence to permeate the room, listening to the faint crackle of the fire and distant swoosh of the evergreens.
“I saw them crawling, you know …” Haylee mumbled, closing her eyes. “He made them crawl to me, beg me for their lives. Mother said I was brave, that I deserved better. Father said I was his special little girl …” She sniffed deeply. “He made them crawl, then he …” a hand shot to her mouth and she shook her head, unable to say what happened next.
Augum reached over to a cloth Haylee had been using and gently placed it into her hand. She squeezed it in her fist.
Bridget and Leera suddenly spilled in through the door, laughing.
“… believe it when I see it—” Leera stopped mid-sentence, gaping at Augum sitting across from Haylee, who shrank beneath her blanket.
“Oh, sorry,” Leera mumbled, giving Augum an odd look.
Bridget quietly closed the door and the pair sat themselves at the table, talking in low voices.
Augum returned his focus to Haylee. “Robin murdered Mya in front of me.” He could almost smell the fire again; the thatch; the oil and flesh. “He’ll pay for what he did. One day, he’ll pay …”
He became conscious of Haylee watching him, but when he met her eyes, she looked down. Behind her, Leera stole a look his way.
“Mrs. Stone is going to perform a memorial ceremony soon,” he said. “It’ll help a little.”
Haylee only sat there staring at nothing, spoon in one hand, cloth in the other.
Not knowing what else to do, he slowly got up and made his way over to the girls.
“How is she?” Bridget whispered.
Augum only shook his head.
Bridget nodded.
“Probably loves the attention,” Leera muttered.
Bridget gave her a look. “Leera—”
“Just kidding, sheeze. So I hear you scored two silvers.”
Augum smiled half-heartedly and withdrew the coins from his robe, placing them on the table.
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “I had to wash a filthy floor, didn’t even get to use my arcanery, and all I got was a lousy six coppers.”
Bridget swept strands of cinnamon hair away from her forehead. “Why don’t we do some quiet studying for a bit.”
Leera scowled while Augum shrugged. “Sure,” he said, secretly relieved. He wasn’t in the mood to talk anyway.
From the table, Bridget gathered the yellow book, the Slam spell scroll, and the blue tome on arcaneology. “Which of the three you want, Lee?”
“Scroll, I guess.” Leera held it like a filthy cloth, shoulders sagging. She propped her head on her hand and began to read, eyes glazing over immediately.
“Book,” Augum said. He fared no better in the mood he was in, the tiny scrawl of the ornate tome about as decipherable as dog scratchings.
Bridget, meanwhile, quietly turned the pages of the yellow tome, lips moving.
Eventually Leera placed her head on her arms and fell asleep. Augum soon did the same. Bridget did not protest.
The Memorial Ceremony
Augum was startled awake by an implosive crunch. As he raised his head, the page of the blue book he was supposed to have been studying stuck to his cheek.
“Oh, hi Mrs. Stone,” he said, peeling the page off his face and quickly repairing it arcanely.
Jengo dashed out of his room. “Has the apocalypse started?”
“It’s just Mrs. Stone, Jengo,” Bridget replied, rubbing her eyes. Augum thought she might have succumbed to an afternoon slumber as well.
Mrs. Stone glanced at Leera, who still snoozed, head lying on the Slam spell scroll. Augum jabbed her with his elbow and she shot up, scroll plastered to her forehead.
“There’s only raspberry jam left!” she blurted. As it dawned on her where she was, she smacked the scroll aside and shrank, mumbling, “Sorry.”
Mrs. Stone’s lips thinned. “I see you have all been keeping yourselves remarkably busy.”
“We gathered two silvers and sixteen coppers, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget quickly said, trying to salvage some of their dignity.
Leera rubbed her sleep-creased cheek. “Bridget got most of the coppers, but Augum scored both silvers.”
“Adequate—but only barely, and only because it was your first time. I look forward to hearing the details of what spells you performed and how much you charged, but right now, if you do not find yourselves too busy, I would like to know where Mr. Goss is.”
“I think he and Leland are still taking part in Endyear activities with the other children,” Bridget said.
“I see. Could you fetch him for me please?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone.” Bridget ran off.
“Any news from Tiberra, Nana?” Augum asked.
Mrs. Stone took a seat across from Haylee, who sat with a blank look on her face. “The Legion have advanced to the Tiberran border, numbering in the tens of thousands. King Bimal Pradeep has summoned every soldier and warlock in all of Tiberra, trying to raise an army powerful enough to stop them. Warlock emissaries have teleported to Canterra in hopes of brokering a pact. I daresay the common folk are terrified—shops have been closing; people are going into hiding; and towns are fortifying their gates. I expect battle to break out any day now.”
Jengo sat beside Augum. “I didn’t know they number that many …”
“This is only the beginning, I am afraid. Lividius will use necromancy, Dreadnought steel, and the scions to augment his armies. History further portends that he shall raise those he slaughters, making his armies stronger and ever more difficult to stop.”
Jengo looked to Augum a moment. “Lividius—?”
“The Lord of the Legion.”
“Right, of course.” Jengo sidled away from Augum a bit, as if afraid of catching an awful disease.
Mrs. Stone’s cool eyes fell upon Haylee. “They took Erika Scarson as a hostage intended for trade.”
Haylee’s hair whipped up. “What! How could you—”
“I am afraid I had no choice, my dear child. I came as an uninvited guest to the king’s court. I risked offending the Tiberrans if I did not accept their request with regards to the prisoner.”
“You should have killed her then—”
“I understand why you feel that way.”
“You don’t understand anything! All this is your fault! If you’d only given them the scion in the first place, my parents and my grandpapa would still be alive!” Haylee’s face dropped behind a curtain of blonde hair. Tears fell onto the blanket. “I never should have come with you …”
Mrs. Stone watched
her a time before standing up, leaning on her staff as if feeling three times her weight. She strolled over to Jengo, passing on quiet instructions.
“Yes, I’ve heard of that tea, Mrs. Stone. I’ll get the ingredients ready.”
The front door suddenly opened and in walked Bridget leading Mr. Goss, Leland, and Mr. Okeke.
Mr. Okeke’s smile quickly faded upon spotting Haylee. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked, removing his coat and hanging it on an iron hook by the door.
“I could use some assistance finding tea ingredients, Father.”
Mrs. Stone turned to address Mr. Goss. “I was rather hoping to teleport you to Dramask to purchase you a new pair of spectacles, Albert, but I am afraid it will have to wait until this evening.”
“I am most grateful, Mrs. Stone,” Mr. Goss said. “Please take as much time as you need.” He let his son go. A snow-splattered Leland pawed his way over to the table and sidled in beside Augum.
“I wish to perform a memorial ceremony.” Mrs. Stone glanced at Haylee. “I believe now would be an appropriate time.” Her gaze swept over them, settling on Mr. Goss. “As I understand it, Albert, you have not attended one since your wife’s passing.”
Mr. Goss nodded slowly.
“So be it. And you, Mr. Okeke, do you wish to attend the ceremony?”
“Thank you, but my son and I have long made peace with the death of my wife.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Stone came near and placed a hand on Mr. Okeke’s arm, whispering, “May I trouble you then with a request?”
“Of course, Mrs. Stone.”
“We require suitable black robes. If I were to—”
“I actually have just the thing, Mrs. Stone, no need to trouble yourself.” Mr. Okeke strode over to a blanket box, withdrawing two large black cloths of heavy fabric. “These were meant to be used in the mines, but they were traded to me in exchange for iron. I was intending on making them into tablecloths. I know they are far from ideal, Mrs. Stone, but perhaps—”
“They will do just fine, thank you. Bridget, could you please grab a knife and cut the cloth into seven portions?”
“I’ll help,” Leera said.
