The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  “Sorry about that,” Kadia said, sniffling. Her nosebleed was gone, and in her hand was an empty glass vial with the stopper removed. “You’ve met my sister?”

  I gave Vexis a brief nod.

  “She was holding onto some medicine for me,” Kadia continued. “With all this trial preparation, it slipped my mind.” She motioned for Vexis to sit beside her.

  Vexis hesitated. “You’re sure it’s okay?” She knew the order of things well enough. It was odd for recruits and artificers to eat at the same table; it was a small corruption of the social order in the Magisterium. Nevertheless, none of us protested, and she pulled up a chair beside her sister.

  Vexis put her hand on Kadia’s forehead. “You’re still burning up. I’ll fetch some straightroot from the Cons, after lunch; that should bring your fever down.”

  “Thanks,” Kadia said. “But that’s not why I brought you.” She nudged toward me. “Tell her what you told me. About the music.”

  “Music?” Vexis said, before it seemed to click in her head. “Oh, yeah. I was in the western junction on the fiftieth floor. It’s loud up there, lots of moving parts, but I could’ve sworn I heard music playing.”

  This got my attention. “What kind of music?” I asked hopefully.

  “Some kind of stringed instrument. Maybe a lyre?”

  “Or a harp,” I said to myself. I pushed my chair out and thanked Vexis before hurrying off to the fiftieth floor.

  Now, Uncle, the Magisterium is much more than just a tower. The best way I can describe the interior is that of an enormous grandfather clock, with gears turning, floors shifting, and ten thousand moving parts. Even after many centuries, the interior hasn’t been mapped out in its entirety. The less dangerous areas were converted into workshops, barracks, and lecture halls; but places like the western junction were wild areas, completely off-limits to anyone without express permission of Magister Briggs. Somehow, however, I doubted that Kurian cared much about the rules.

  As for myself, I wasn’t especially worried. Despite my distaste for it, I was the Sun King’s daughter; if I were caught, I’d likely get little more than a slap on the wrist.

  The western junction was everything I thought it would be, like stepping into a jungle of moving parts and machinery. Getting there was no easy task; I had to pull myself through two crawl spaces, shimmy across a giant copper pipe, and jump over a missing floor plate that led down a fifty-foot drop.

  Not to stretch my clock metaphor too far, but every inch of the junction seemed to move, click, and tick as I walked through. I was especially careful to avoid the gears jutting up from the walkway, as getting your foot caught in one of them meant losing your leg. I could see why this junction was off-limits; it was a veritable death trap, and the further in I went, the more I wished I’d brought someone along.

  It was with no small bit of relief that I soon heard the faint strum of a harp intermixed with the thousand sounds of grinding machinery. The sweet flutter grew louder as I skirted through a narrow shaft that exited on the outermost wall of the tower. I smelled fresh air nearby, and I soon found that the walkway ended onto an outside balcony.

  There, perched onto the balcony with his feet over the edge, was Kurian. He looked calm, despite the fact that he was only inches away from a lethal fall. He strummed his harp, following the tune wordlessly with a few hums.

  I didn’t speak, afraid to startled him into a fall. Instead, I took in the view. The Magisterium didn’t have windows, as far as I knew, and this was the first balcony I’d ever seen. From so high up, I could see the entire cityscape of Endra Edûn, sprawled out like a complex tapestry of roads and buildings. It was as beautiful as ever; it looked carved out of white marble, intermixed with flowers and foliage as far as my eyes could see. The air was fresh. The sunlight and arclight, coming from the top of the tower, poured into the city, making it positively glow. In all my seventeen years, I’d never gotten tired of seeing it from the air.

  I took a step forward, trying to get a better look at the palace and courtyard below. Kurian heard my step, and the music fell apart in his hands. He turned sharply, looking legitimately surprised, at first; but eventually he gave me a shy smile. He patted the balcony beside him, motioning me to sit.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Fear doesn’t suit a magister,” Kurian said casually. “Sit.”

  I did so with a caution. My feet dangled over the ledge, and I felt a sharp jolt of fear rip through my body. I tried not to look straight down. Kurian noticed my anxiety and pointed to a far point in the streets below.

  “See that boy in blue right there?” Kurian said, glancing sideways at me.

  I shook my head. “Everything’s just little dots; there’s no way you could make someone out down there.”

  “Are you sure? He’s got sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and it looks like his brother just stole his ball.”

  I looked into the vast city and shook my head again. “You’re just messing with me.”

  Kurian smiled, but something was hidden behind the smile that I couldn’t quite place. Some hard emotion. He continued to point to different areas below. “Right there is a fruit cart that just got tipped over. The merchant’s wife is yelling at him for not hitching the donkeys right before they left home. Over there is a constable chasing down a pickpocket, but he’s got the wrong boy. The real boy is heading the other way, see?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t see.”

  “Of course you don’t. No human does. Dragon eyes are a bit more finely tuned.” He pointed to his own eyes.

  “You said you weren’t a dragon.”

  “I’m not.” In a dizzying display of balance, Kurian stood up on the ledge, extended his arms, and began walking the length of the balcony. He didn’t seem even mildly concerned with falling.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you in the Cons,” he said, staring at his feet. “I’m just not used to opening up to people about this kind of stuff.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said.

  “No, but I want to. I can’t keep it bottled up forever.” He sat back down. “Like I said, I’m not a dragon…but my father was.”

  I wore my expression of disbelief plain on my face. “How could that be?”

  “Dragons are shape-shifters, all able to take human form. When my mom was alive, she told me about my father. A strong, proud brood lord. Mom always told me that he loved us, and would come back one day, but he never did. When she died, I traveled to the dragon city to find him.” His mouth curved into a frown. “Let’s just say that the other dragons didn’t particularly care for me. I’m human in every way that matters to them. Stuck in this one form. I can’t even fly. I can’t change forms. Doesn’t that just beat all? I lost the genetic lottery.”

  “You’re a half-breed,” I said, then cupped my hands over my mouth. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Kurian shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s true, at any rate. I wasn’t welcome in Castiana, so they sent me here to live with Antherion. Probably because he’s the only dragon that cares to live around humans.”

  “Is he why you want to become a magister?” I asked.

  Kurian twiddled his thumbs. “What else could I be? A cobbler? A blacksmith?” He laughed, looking down at his hands. “No, I might be human, but magic’s in my blood. I just wish I didn’t have to start from the ground up. I could wipe the floor with half the magisters here.”

  I cocked my head. “Really?”

  Kurian stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. “Not to brag, but I’ve got a bit of a leg-up.”

  “That ‘genetic lottery’, eh?”

  “Something like that.” Kurian stood.

  I looked over the balcony again and felt my stomach tighten. “I’m here to take you back to the others, Kurian. We need your help with the trial. We can’t do it alone.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s head back.” He held out his hand.

  “Just like that?” I
said curiously.

  Kurian smiled like a fox. “Just like that. We’ve got a trial to win, right? Let’s win it.” He held his hand out toward mine. “Together?”

  I took it. “Together,” I said.

  - 5 -

  The World Tree

  Several days later, we were corralled aboard the Eventide and taken to the trial area. We weren’t told where we were going, specifically, but we flew southwest for days, passing a large body of water peppered with islands.

  Soon, we arrived at a vast stretch of land that seemed to go on forever. The misty countryside below was a strange sight, sprawled with mountains and hills covered in grass. The area seemed like a vast marshland, with thousands of lakes and ponds peppering the landscape, from horizon to horizon. Water seemed to boil up from the earth, flooding the land with mist.

  I’d spent most of my time below deck with my team. By now, all the teams had been finalized—five in all, each with four members. I knew many of our opponents better than I knew my own teammates; but in this, it didn’t matter. This was war.

  You see, in earlier trials, recruits and artificers are encouraged to work together in large groups. While they might be pitted against other groups, they were not intended to be lethal. This was different.

  Of the five teams, only one could gain their magister commissions. And while in the lower trials there were stringent safeguards to keep recruits alive, there were no such safeguards here. Deaths were not only possible, but at least one death per trial was expected. Given the stakes, it wasn’t uncommon for those involved to get a little crazy.

  Becoming a magister is a dream for many. Magisters hold prestigious places in the Endran military and government, and they’re afforded a hefty salary by the kingdom to pursue their research.

  Endra has been at peace with its neighbors for many years, and magisters have moved into a more research-oriented role. In the end, however, they’re soldiers. And no matter how far away a magister travels from Endra Edûn, no matter their age or condition, no matter how intellectual they fancy themselves, they’re oath-bound to return to fight for the Sun King should he call his lords’ banners.

  Magisters also gained access to the Higher Mysteries, including specialized magistry runes and templary forbidden to all but the most elite.

  Still, all of these benefits didn’t come easy, and it wasn’t uncommon for artificers to stay at their lower rank for the rest of their lives.

  All I wanted was the recognition. I wanted to prove that I could become a magister, without my father’s help, without any special treatment. I knew I could do it. I would do it.

  “Kyra,” Fenn said, shaking me back into my senses. I blinked a few times, realizing I’d been daydreaming. “Could you please pay attention for five minutes? This is important.”

  I shook my head to clear it and wiped the hair from my eyes. “Sorry, I was…sorry.”

  Fenn gave me a look of profound annoyance. “I guess I’ll start from the beginning.” He sat down on the floor of the airship cabin, with his back against a bunk bed, and began to arrange a stack of papers into three separate rows.

  Each team had shared a room on the trip, and we’d been stuck inside with little more than a porthole to look out of for the last two days. Now that we’d seen the final team compositions, Fenn had used the time to assemble detailed analyses of each of them.

  “There’s no telling what our objective will be,” Fenn said. “But knowing who we’re up against will give us a better chance at staying alive.”

  Kadia was sitting nearby with her nose in an alchemy book. She set the book face-down and looked over Fenn’s notes. “Five teams, no surprise there.” She leaned in and her eyes widened. “Wait, Cidrin is trialing this year?”

  Fenn nodded grimly. “He was a last-minute addition.”

  Kadia’s face went white. “But I thought he was in Celosa with his family—”

  Kurian was hanging upside-down from the top bunk; he let go, and tumbled onto the floor, rolling effortlessly into a sitting position beside Kadia.

  Fenn pushed a sheet of paper toward Kurian. “Cidrin is one of the most skilled templarists…well, pretty much ever. This is second hand information, but I’ve heard stories of him bending steel bars from the other side of a room.” He sighed. “And it gets worse.”

  Kurian seemed a bit more somber as Fenn pointed to another sheet.

  “Cidrin’s got quite a team this year. Some might call them unbeatable. It’s like the magisters stuffed an entire team with only their golden boys,” Fenn said. “Then there’s Team Lon. He knows more about machinery and magistry than all of us combined.”

  I knew Lon well. He was around forty years old, and I’d once seen him take apart an airship engine and put it back together blindfolded.

  “And we’ve got Team Pyke,” Fenn continued, matter-of-factly. “I don’t need to remind you of the incident in the alchemy lab last year. Pyke somehow avoided a court martial.”

  “I’ve heard they’re still picking body parts out of the walls,” I said with a frown.

  “On a positive note, there seem to be some internal problems with Pyke’s team, and he’s having trouble keeping them in line. We might be able to use that to our advantage.” Fenn turned over the last sheet. “And finally, Team Dia.”

  “Never heard of her,” I said.

  “That’s not surprising,” Fenn said. “She’s a quiet one, not especially outgoing. She’s been a tribune for five years. I’m not sure why her teammates made her the leader. Her team could be a wildcard, and it includes Rokan, who’s trialed before.”

  Kurian shrugged easily. “We’ll be fine.”

  All three of us looked up at him.

  “We’ll be fine? Were you even listening?” Fenn said sharply.

  “I’m not worried.” Kurian sounded profoundly confident.

  Fenn scowled. “Well, I am. And I’ve got a few ideas for how to counter each of them. First, I was thinking we could—”

  Kurian stood and stretched his arms high above him. “You do that.” He headed for the heavy metal door to the cabin and slipped out.

  Fenn shot me a glare. “What the hell is he doing?”

  I jumped to my feet and followed him out. “I’ll get him.”

  “Kurian!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the metal corridors. I passed dripping pipes and rattling deck plates, trying to catch up with him. Luckily, I was able to corner him at the end of the hall.

  “What are you doing?” I said, practically shouting. “This is serious. We need to plan out how we’re going to deal with this.”

  Kurian sighed, in a vaguely patronizing way. “Listen, I know you’re worried, but we’ll be all right. They’re just humans.”

  I yanked him by the collar. “Well, in case you didn’t notice, I’m human. Flesh and blood, and I’d like to stay alive.”

  Kurian looked a bit hurt by the thought. “Well…I’d protect you, of course.”

  “Look, I know you’re probably more powerful than any of us will ever be, but it only takes one mistake.” I held up a single finger. “I know Cidrin; he was in my recruit year. If it means becoming a magister, he’ll kill us all. You need to take this seriously.”

  “Well…”

  “Please,” I interrupted. “For me. We’re friends, right?”

  Kurian tilted his head and, for a moment, he looked a bit confused. “I suppose we are.” He paused. “Fine, if you’re worried, I’ll help with the planning. But I’m telling you, we’re not going to need it.”

  - 6 -

  Beneath the Soil

  We were called above deck by Magister Ross as the Eventide approached the trial area. Wind lashed across the deck beams as the airship descended, and when we pushed through the veil of thick clouds, I saw our destination: an immense forest, vaguely circular in shape. Springing up from the ground were thousands and thousands of sturdy, ancient trees and large vines in a tangle across a vast swampland connected with ponds and rivers.


  All the foliage surrounded a tree in the exact center. Or rather, it appeared to be a tree, but it was much, much too large. Unnaturally large. It might’ve been as tall as the Magisterium itself, hundreds of feet high, and its trunk and branches cast an immense shadow over the forests and marshes at its base, darkening the entire area. What’s more, the fog seemed unnaturally attracted to the tree, and it all coalesced nearby. The roots of the tree carved through the marsh and into mountains some miles away.

  Before I could say anything, Kurian spoke up. His eyes were fixed on the giant tree, and I saw something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place. Fear?

  “Syseril,” he said breathlessly. “The World Tree.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said honestly.

  Kurian looked at me like I’d gone mad. “You have a strange notion of beauty.”

  I shrugged. “True. But what’s so bad about it?”

  “It was planted by my grandfather, Craetos, to contain great evil.”

  “Wait,” I said, bewildered. “You’re the grandson of Craetos the All-Seer? The brood king?”

  Even half a world away from the dragon city, I’d heard the stories of Craetos. In fact, he might’ve been the only dragon that Magisterium texts put in a positive light. Craetos was the first dragon created by the Old Gods. He raised Castiana into the clouds. He built the temple of Nir Daras. He fought Nuruthil himself in close-combat. He was practically a god.

  This scrawny, black-haired artificer was his direct decendant?

  Kurian must’ve noticed my look; he returned it with a half-smile. “So hard to believe?”

  “A bit,” I said, honestly, then turned back to the subject at hand. “What kind of evil?”

  Kurian’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

  As the Eventide decended, I noticed Kadia was having trouble keeping her balance. I didn’t pay it much attention, at first. Thankfully, Kurian was quick on his reflexes and caught her mid-fall.