by Sever Bronny
Before departing, Mrs. Stone made them practice some of their spells, at least the quiet ones. Augum thought it a bad sign. Was she expecting an attack of some kind? He decided not to push himself, saving his arcane energies in case something should happen.
Just as they finished packing, a rancid smell filled the air.
“Stay close—” Mrs. Stone immediately said.
They held their noses, for the smell was the scent of death mingled with foul dung. A tree rocked nearby and piles of snow came falling. They heard the sound of flapping wings and then silence once again.
“Is it up there?” Leera whispered. “Can anyone see it?”
“Stay right here.” Mrs. Stone made to stride off, but Haylee grabbed her sleeve.
“Don’t leave us, Mrs. Stone—”
“I shall not go far.”
Haylee reluctantly let go, taking a step closer to Augum. The foursome stood with hands out ready to cast a spell, while Mrs. Stone plodded behind a clump of trees. In the silence that followed, Augum listened to the frantic beating of his own heart and swore he heard the girls’ too.
They stood absolutely still, backs to each other, eyes darting at any noise or movement.
At long last, Mrs. Stone returned with a vexed look. “Whatever it was, it is gone now.” She picked up her rucksack, strung it over her shoulder, and stood thinking a moment. “Let us go,” and strode forth. The foursome hurried to catch up.
Augum took up the rear as usual, preferring it to be him than anyone else. The group stopped often, allowing him to catch up. Sometimes Mrs. Stone would test one of them with a spell, or there’d be a noise nearby and a tree would lose some of its snow. Everyone would stop and listen, hearing nothing but their breathing and the soft falling snow, and nothing would come of it. It went on like this for the greater part of the day.
They traversed hilly forest that thinned and thickened in cycles, crossing long rolling hills and wide shallow valleys. The pristine path meandered like a great snake, lonesome in its quiet solitude.
When the sky began to darken, Mrs. Stone decided to set camp. They found a spot under an enormous fir whose gnarled trunk was the length of two horses. These giant trees almost exclusively made up the forest here, with hardly a shrub in sight. Perhaps they choked out the sun to such a degree nothing was allowed to grow below their sprawling boughs.
“It will be dark here faster,” Mrs. Stone said, glancing up at the thick canopy. “Please gather some wood, and do not stray.”
Nobody needed reminding—they hardly stepped twenty paces from the camp, using Telekinesis to float branches over to a pile. Luckily, the snow was only ankle deep here, swooning in wind-sculpted waves.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Stone set to wandering in a great circle casting an enchantment. When she finished, she once again used arcanery to dry the branches. They soon burst into flame, allowing the foursome to warm themselves. After that, they began erecting the small square tents, made of hide and sinew and held up by two notched sticks. The girls were to sleep in one and Augum and Mrs. Stone in the other.
Later, they quietly sat around the fire eating supper, watching the play of shadows on the gargantuan trunks. Augum thought the only thing lacking was a haunting ghost story. Instead, Mrs. Stone lectured them on the other standard spells in the 3rd degree—Object Alarm and Object Track. The former would alert them when their enchanted object was touched, and the latter would trace where it had gone. She went on to tell them of the varied uses, such as casting Object Alarm on a door handle or a gate.
“As for Object Track …” She smiled. “Allow me to tell you a brief story. Back when I was in the academy, a certain unwelcome suitor kept appearing before me, interrupting my studies to talk about utter nonsense. After the tenth time this happened, I lost my temper and levitated him to the ceiling, inquiring exactly how he kept finding me despite my best attempts at keeping myself hidden with my books. He confessed that he had enchanted a small rock with the Object Track spell, plopping it in my pocket without my knowledge. So you see, one can get up to all sorts of mischief with such a spell.”
The girls chuckled.
Mrs. Stone winked at them. “I was once considered quite pretty by some.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t the only one following you, Mrs. Stone,” Bridget said. “So are there counterspells to Object Alarm and Object Track?”
“Yes, but you must be able to sense a spell had been cast first, which requires which spell again?”
“Reveal,” Bridget said.
“Correct, and what degree—”
“11th.”
“Correct again. All counterspells are mere extensions of their original spell—”
“I don’t understand, Nana—”
“Perhaps if you would let me finish, Great-grandson.” There was a pause in which Augum mumbled an apology.
“So,” Mrs. Stone continued, “for example, Augum’s Shine extension is the ability to shock someone. Bridget’s Shine extension is the ability to weave her vine around an object and grip it. But there are some spell extensions that simply counter the originating spell, such as Slow. Slow does not attack the mind, but rather the entire body, and thus requires the use of its own extension to counter it. Arcaneologically speaking, it is quite an elegant solution, for to counter such a physical spell, you need to know its signature, and therefore the spell itself. Performing a counterspell is quite tricky as well, for one has to pronounce the spell incantation and perform the gestures backwards.”
Augum was confused but nodded anyway.
“All my Shine extension does is light up some water,” Leera muttered. “Useless.”
“Ah, but use is limited only by imagination.”
“What’s mine, Mrs. Stone?” Haylee asked.
“Well, since your element is ice, what do you think it would be?”
Haylee thought about this a moment. “I could freeze things?”
“Partially correct—more precisely, you could cool your hand down a great deal without suffering damage to your person.”
“Oh, what’s the point of that?”
“Well, let us say for example that you could pick up something very cold or very hot, or even snuff out a glowing ember with your fist. You must be careful to understand its limitations, however, for one can easily hurt oneself with arrogance. And again, it is only constrained by your imagination. Further, extensions can be far more difficult than the original spell. Some warlocks learn them many degrees later.”
Haylee raised her hand a little as if in class, drawing an amused look from Leera.
“Yes, Haylee?”
“We don’t need to know our extensions to pass our degree tests, do we?”
“Though I prefer otherwise, you are not required to know the extensions to your spells to attain the next degree.”
Augum withdrew Priya’s chocolate bundle and passed it around.
Mrs. Stone broke off a piece. “Haylee, am I right to assume you have undertaken some training in necromancy?”
Haylee dropped her eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”
“We’ve seen her tell a wraith to go piddle off,” Augum said, recounting the time she saved his and Leera’s life on the way to Hangman’s Rock, “and a bunch of walkers too.”
Haylee blushed.
“And you trained at the academy, I take it?” Mrs. Stone asked.
“I did. It’s … it’s not the same anymore, Mrs. Stone, you wouldn’t recognize it. All the hallways have dead things, and all the mentors do is focus on necromancy and standard arcanery.”
“What about subjects like arcane history, arithmetic, astrology, or the written hand?”
“We were only taught what we needed, Mrs. Stone.”
The lines on Mrs. Stone’s face deepened. “So you can communicate with the undead, is that right?”
“Only a little bit. It’s pretty much the only thing I know because Robin and I spent a lot of time on excursions. He trained a lot more than I did.”
“That ability to communicate with the dead may one day be useful to you. Do not let it go.”
“I’ll try, Mrs. Stone. Oh, I also know how to arcanely appear dead and decomposed, want to see?”
“That is not necessary, I believe you.”
“Leera and I saw her do it,” Augum said, throwing Leera a friendly elbow. “It was very believable.”
“It was, uh, convincing,” Leera said. The look on her face gave Augum the impression she was surprised to be saying something supporting about Haylee.
“Are we going to need to setup watches?” Haylee asked, nibbling on the chocolate.
“That will be unnecessary. My enchantments should prove sufficient.”
They all relaxed a little; apparently, nobody liked the idea of sitting alone in this cold, wondering what was out there watching them.
“Are you really 20th degree, Mrs. Stone?” Haylee asked.
“I am.”
“When did you get your 20th stripe?”
Mrs. Stone sat back. “Let me see here, it was just before my encounter with Narsus underneath the academy, so I would say eighteen years ago or so now. It took me another ten years to achieve mastery.”
“Who did the ceremony for you, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget asked.
“It is known as The Sleeving, and it actually happens on its own, as if the arcane ether makes the final judgment on proficiency. It is a strange, unknown thing. Some say the gods are responsible, others say the warlock achieves a heightened state of being and thus subconsciously knows when she is ready.”
There was a pause, but if anyone hoped to see her sleeve of solidified stripes, they were disappointed.
“Is it true that you’re the only living master, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget asked.
“I am not sure. That is what they say, but the world is quite large, far larger than most Solians think.”
“What’s the furthest you’ve ever been?”
“Now that is difficult to answer since I have visited the Leyan plane. Also, the academy Trainers are located in some … unusual and distant locations, as you have seen. The world is indeed quite large.”
Leera prodded the fire with a stick. “Ley still reminds me of that brat prince.”
“Oh, him …” Haylee said. “We didn’t get along.”
“Shocking,” Leera replied, but she said it with a smile, and Haylee smiled back.
Mrs. Stone used her staff to stand. “We should get some sleep. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” they all said, and snuffed out the fire, using Shine to see what they were doing.
That was one of the advantages of being a warlock, Augum thought as he went to sleep beside his great-grandmother—no need for candles or lanterns.
The Long March
Augum woke suddenly in the middle of the night. He listened to the darkness but heard only Mrs. Stone’s wheezing beside him. As he tried to go back to sleep, there was the faintest clicking, answered by another clicking from the opposite side of the camp. Curious, he stuck his head out the tent.
The cold bit at his face and ears. He could see absolutely nothing, yet his nose picked up the faint scent of rotten meat. Another noise came, this time a low hissing, as if a snake were speaking.
“Boy …” he thought he heard it say.
“Die …” came the reply from behind.
He froze. Both sounded about twenty paces away, but it was hard to judge in the dark. Should he wake the others?
Then the clouds moved just enough to allow the tiniest bit of starlight, and what he saw made his heart thunder—a great many plumes of frozen breath, as if a hundred mouths floated in the dark.
“Boy …”
“Die …”
“Blood …”
Augum slowly extended his hand. “Shyneo.”
The area lit up in electric blue. Scores of reflective eyes shone in a great circle around the camp, from the trees to the ground. His first thought was they were huge ravens, except with old woman faces. All had hooked noses and blotchy, wrinkled skin sprouting with boils, pimples and moles. The hair was long and frazzled like a witch’s, the upper torso that of a hag, everything else a twisted bird of some sort. The ones on the ground would stand to his shoulder.
All of them hissed quietly, some clicking their clawed feet.
“Harpies,” Mrs. Stone whispered beside him. He had not heard her wake over the beating of his heart. “They are known to torment their victims for long periods before eviscerating their bowels. They are very dangerous, and I have never seen more than one together.”
“Can … can they get us?”
“No. Do you see how they perch on the edge of a great invisible circle? They cannot pass my protective enchantments.”
Augum watched as one of the harpies opened its nose, before realizing those were beaks. The predator eyes gleamed in his light, never wavering. Occasionally one of the things would stretch out its black wings like a great moving shadow.
“Where are they from?” he asked quietly.
“Summoned from the same plane as hellhounds. They are said to be undead, for no one has seen one die. Of course, few see a harpy and live to tell about it, let alone study them for great lengths of time. They have a master. We are being watched and followed.”
“A master? Could it be the Legion?”
“Highly doubtful. It takes a lot of necromantic skill to command a harpy. I do not believe anyone, even Lividius, has the capability to command this many.”
“So you mean there’s a more powerful necromancer around than my father?”
“Your father is singularly powerful because of his combination of scions, lightning element knowledge, and necromancy. Combine that with control of the Dreadnoughts and you have a formidable opponent. But as to necromancy as a formal discipline, that, I believe, he is not as advanced with … yet.”
“So … are they all under the control of one person?”
“This I do not know.”
“Does that mean whoever they serve can see us?”
“This I also do not know, my knowledge of necromancy and its creatures is incomplete.”
“But they can speak …” He hoped they had nothing to do with the Occi.
“Apparently so. Now let us go back to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.” Mrs. Stone retreated into the tent.
He immediately followed, extinguishing his hand. However, going back to sleep knowing those things were out there proved near impossible, especially since they’d routinely remind him of their presence by whispering, “Boy …die,” while clicking their sharp beaks and claws.
Eventually his tired eyes got the best of him and he drifted off to sleep, only to wake to the tent shaking violently.
“Get up, sleepyhead!” Leera said, snickering.
He fell back with a groan, craving shuteye. The camp bustled with activity and there was the crackle of a fire. He changed from his nightgown and back into his apprentice robe, fur-lined long coat, mitts and boots, before getting out.
The first thing he did was peruse the perimeter.
“See the tracks yet?” Bridget asked, preparing bacon over the fire, hair tied in a ponytail. “Big, aren’t they?”
“Harpies watching us …” Leera muttered, crouching by the flames and rocking back and forth. “You know, those giant baby-snatching things that we all thought were imaginary. Great, isn’t it?”
“I know, saw them with Mrs. Stone,” he said.
“They as scary as the stories say?”
“Not as bad,” he lied. “But very ugly. Where are Nana and Haylee?”
“Doing a bit of quick training—they already ate.”
“Ah.” He then relayed what Mrs. Stone told him last night about harpies.
“Wonder if it means we’re getting close to the Occi,” Bridget said, removing crispy bacon from the fire and distributing it.
“Fantastic,” Leera said. “Maybe we’ll get there in time for supper. I’m sure we’ll make
a great broth.”
Augum couldn’t help but crack a grin. “We’ll be fine, we’re with Nana. Besides, just think of the adventure.”
“I love adventure, but a village of cannibals is … different.”
It was a bitterly cold morning, the sky once again overcast. They finished breakfast and began to pack camp. Mrs. Stone and Haylee returned shortly after, with Haylee constantly raising her left arm as if to block invisible threats.
“How is Shield coming along?” Bridget asked.
“It’s hard—going to take me a while.”
Augum unconsciously used Telekinesis to grab his rucksack. Haylee’s blonde brows rose. “You do that a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Use your spells for everyday things.”
“Not really, I guess. Didn’t even notice I was doing it there.”
“He’s been doing it more lately,” Bridget said, folding a Dramask blanket and packing it away.
“I encourage you all to practice your arcanery at every opportunity available,” Mrs. Stone said. “In fact, from here on, I shall expect it.”
Leera gave Augum a Way to go, thanks for that look.
Haylee began to pack her things using Telekinesis but gave up, as it proved too difficult and time consuming.
They were soon underway again in search of that black dot on the map, being careful to stay very close together. Anytime they drifted too far apart, Mrs. Stone would wait. They watched the trees with incessant anxiety as they walked, stopping now and then to listen.
As the slog of the march set in and the cold bit at Augum’s face, he thought of Mr. Goss, Leland, Jengo, Priya, and Mr. Okeke sitting around a hearth enjoying the warmth. If he could teleport like Mrs. Stone, he’d never sleep in discomfort again. The idea made him wonder why they weren’t teleporting somewhere warm and safe every night, and resuming their trek the next day. It bothered him so much that the next time Mrs. Stone stopped to wait for him, he asked her about it.
“Do you think it prudent to always take the easy path, Augum?” She replied.
“No, Nana, I just meant—”
“I know precisely what you meant, my dear child. I may be old, but I like to think I still have my wits about me. You must know hardship to appreciate struggle and reward. It is an old unspoken Arcaner rule that warlocks work to achieve their ends without relying on one another too much. It is considered weak, if you will. Now, never mind your weaselly ways and let us continue.”
