The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  At night, they slept in the open air, looking up at the motionless stars in the night sky. Kyra and Fenn, in particular, seemed fascinated by it.

  The first night they made camp—little more than a fire and four cots—after a night of songs, they stared up at the twinkling lights with wide eyes.

  “You don’t see too many stars in Endra Edûn,” Kyra said.

  Lokír sat a distance from the group, his back propped up against a crooked bur tree. He was taking first watch, the main threat being a bear or wild animal stumbling across their camp in the night.

  “No stars?” Lokír asked curiously.

  “It’s too bright,” Fenn explained. “It’s always daytime.”

  Lokír grimaced, shifting to get comfortable. “Sounds dreadful. Nighttime is when the world is most alive. When you can hear the heartbeat of Arkos beneath the soil.”

  “I admit it has a certain charm,” Fenn said. “Still, it’s bloody cold.” The sound of a wolf howled far in the distance. “And I could do without the wild animals ready to tear me to pieces.”

  Lokír laughed, wiping some snow from his beard. “A chill wind is good for the lungs, Fennrick-ama. And healthy fear sharpens the senses, makes you strong.”

  “I’d rather be weak and in a warm bed,” Fenn countered.

  Lokír waved off the comment. “Bah!”

  “I don’t know much about the Nuren,” Kyra said. She was laying diagonally near the fire, a thin woolen blanket covering up to her elbows. “Why do the dragons let you live on their land? Even if they don’t use it, it seems odd.”

  Lokír leaned forward, his huge fingers laced together. “It is a story we tell our young, to remind them of where we come from. My people weren’t always what we are today. In the old days, we served the Mad God, Nuruthil. The old mystics followed in the footsteps of Sacrolesh, practicing twisted magics and bringing abominations into our world to swell the Mad God’s armies.

  “But dark magic always has a price. The beings they pulled from the reach between worlds began to corrupt the land we once called home.”

  Fenn spoke up. “What kind of beings?”

  “I dare not speak their names,” Lokír said, looking unsettled by the question.

  Kyra answered for him. “…Isaroth, Suborgath, Cthurihl, Sith-Narosa.”

  Lokír made a motion to stand, stopping just short. “How do you—”

  Kyra’s eyes were distant. “It’s not something I like to talk about. Me, Fenn, and the dragon Kurian encountered the one called Sith-Narosa during our Magister’s Trial, in the marshes of Syseril.”

  Taro leaned up. “You never mentioned that.”

  “The mission was sealed by Magister Ross, and on a need-to-know basis,” Kyra said. “A lot of good artificers died. We barely escaped alive. Kurian was able to hold off the creature for a good long while.”

  “This Kurian,” Lokír said. “He is one of the dragonkin?”

  Kyra nodded. “The grandson of Craetos, in fact. His father was a dragon. His mother was human. He attended the Magisterium briefly, but after that trial, he was exiled back to Castiana.”

  “Exiled?” Taro asked. “What did he do?”

  Kyra gave a quick smile. “I think we’re getting out of need-to-know territory.” She gestured to Lokír. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  Lokír cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the sorcery practiced by the Nuren poisoned the land. Vicious summoning magic left tears in the—” He paused, trying to find the right words. “—space between spaces. A small few, led by Thrain the Hunter, opposed the mystics, but their numbers were too small.

  “Fearing for their lives, they fled to Caelis Enor. There they met with the All-Seer, pleading for refuge. With their help, Craetos was able to track and defeat the four great evils. When Nuruthil was defeated, the dragons allowed my people to stay in the lowlands.”

  Taro frowned. “Then a Northman using void magic would be considered disgraceful.”

  Lokír nodded. “A vast understatement if ever there was one. But yes. Disgraceful.”

  “Then Mjolir really screwed up,” Fenn said.

  “His sons and daughters will bear his dishonor for three generations, and it is likely the elders will call for his name to be removed from the Halls of Valhaldir.”

  “Whatever happened to rest of the Nuren after the war?” Taro asked.

  “Dust and ash,” Fenn said before Lokír could answer. “Nuruthada is dead, nobody lives there anymore.”

  Lokír nodded. “At its heart was once a great crystal lake, Vor’aj. Word says a few cultists still linger.”

  Fenn prodded the fire with a stick, turning over some of the glowing embers. “Legend says that Sun King Renethon brought the Arclight there, attempting to heal the land, but the corruption runs so deep that even the Arclight couldn’t repair it.”

  “That’s not true,” Kyra said with weary sigh, as if she’d heard the story before.

  “There are some well-documented accounts—” Fenn said.

  “Then they’re well-documented lies,” Kyra countered. “The Arclight has never left Endra.”

  Fenn turned over. “Whatever. Let’s get some sleep, we’ve got a long hike tomorrow.” A smug smile grew on his face. “Besides, the sooner you sleep, the sooner you get to see Kurian.”

  Kyra caught the implication. “Shut up.”

  “What?” Fenn said, grinning like a wolf. “I miss the jumpy son of a bitch. Maybe not as much as you miss him, I’ll grant you that.”

  Kyra kicked him. “We’re just friends. Besides, he probably barely remembers me.”

  _____

  They awoke the next day just as the sun was creeping over the mountains. Vibrant hues of red and orange bathed the mountainside in the soft glow of dawn. A dusting of snow remained from the night before, coating the pine trees and grass, but the snow had stopped falling. In fact, it was a fair bit warmer despite being early in the day.

  Taro sat up in a daze, looking around and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Kyra was pressed up beside him, having shifted while she was sleeping. Lokír and Fenn were missing, but after getting over his waking daze, he heard their voices coming from a short distance off, in the direction of a river. He gave Kyra a shake, and she awoke quickly, stretching her arms up above her head.

  Taro looked over his prosthetic, checking the straps and magistry runes, as was his morning ritual. It was especially important on treks like this, as the wear and tear of hiking and climbing put extreme stress on the brace and leather. Even with the modifications he’d made over the years, it was, ultimately, a hunk of well-crafted wood. It wasn’t intended for such prolonged and strenuous use. All things considered, however, it had held up well. His fight with Mjolir had stretched it to the breaking point, and he could feel that the iron pins were beginning to bend, and there were tiny cracks in the joint.

  It wasn’t an issue at the moment, but Taro had been careful to put more weight on his staff than he normally did, and limited his standing when he could. The idea of his prosthetic failing him at a key moment was a constant, nagging fear in the back of his mind.

  The pain was the worst part. Ever since his mechanical leg failed him in the ice and snow of Endra, the stump of his missing leg was especially tender. The first stand of the day was always the worst. Taro pulled himself up with a groan and closed his eyes as a sharp jolt of pain ran up his body.

  “Are you okay?” Kyra asked, half awake.

  Taro quickly put on a smile. “I’m fine. Just going to go find Lokír and Fenn. I hear them over by the river, hopefully catching us some breakfast.”

  Lokír and Fenn were indeed by the river. Or rather, in the river. Both had their boots off, and their trouser legs rolled up to their knees. They stood in the middle of the water, as Lokír was teachi
ng Fenn how to catch fish without a net or pole. The huge man stood opposite of the comparatively tiny Fenn, his arms outstretched, and his beard almost touching the water as he leaned forward.

  “Don’t move so much,” Lokír said seriously. “Steady yourself. Keep your feet firmly grounded and wait.”

  Lokír hovered his hand above the water. Even from where Taro stood near the riverbank, he saw the fish begin to ignore their feet as hundreds of salmon swam downstream. When the fish no longer avoided them, Lokír reached into the water like a lightning bolt and grabbed a fish with his bare hands.

  The fish was three hands wide, and though it flopped and fought to escape, it was firmly caught in the bear-like man’s massive grip.

  Fenn took a breath, paused, and tried the same thing. However, when his hands came up, they were empty.

  “I’m telling you, I can’t do it,” Fenn said, making a motion to get out of the water. “And I’m freezing my ass off.”

  “Wait,” Lokír said. Fenn begrudgingly stayed. “You’re much too tense. Too much is going on in here.” He touched his finger to Fenn’s forehead.

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Fenn said glibly.

  “Catching prey comes from here.” Lokír touched his finger to Fenn’s heart. “Pure instinct. Try again.”

  Fenn did so, but was again met with failure. Lokír made a disgruntled noise, then seemed to shift tactics. He pointed to the sky. Overhead was a single hawk, circling around. “See that bird? It doesn’t calculate or overthink. It moves on instinct. It knows what it’s capable of.” He folded his arms across his beard. “Close your eyes and try again.”

  “But—” Fenn began.

  “Trust me. Trust yourself. Close your eyes.”

  Fenn grumbled, but did as he was asked. He was quiet for the space of several breaths, then reached into the water. This time, he pulled up a flopping, slippery salmon a bit smaller than the one Lokír had caught. It thrashed and almost slipped through his fingers, but Fenn was able to hold on.

  The look on Fenn’s face was marvelous. For a member of the Magisterium, someone who’d seen magic and wonders few on Arkos could dream of, the simple act of catching a fish with his bare hands seemed to bring him more joy than he’d ever experienced. When he spotted Taro on the riverside, he hurried out of the water carrying the fish.

  “Did you see that?” Fenn asked. His smile was very wide.

  “Pretty damn impressive,” Taro said appreciatively. “Good thing, too, I’m starving.”

  They cooked up the salmon and ate in preparation for the last leg of their journey to Castiana. For a good hour, catching the fish was all Fenn could talk about, as if he were now an expert in the matter. It wasn’t long before they were again on their way. By Lokír’s reckoning, they’d arrive by midday.

  What Taro didn’t expect was that, as they went through a small pass carved between two mountains, the sky changed considerably. No longer bright blue, the clouds bunched up to such a degree that it felt later than it really was. The valley on the other side of the mountains was a strange sight. It was as if a huge chunk of earth and stone was missing, leaving a crater directly in the center of an ancient forest.

  Above the crater were jagged rocks floating in the middle of the air. Thousands of them, some large, some small. Some had whole trees and grass on one side of them, but were spinning in the air. Every so often there was an arc of electricity leading from the ground to one of the stones above, and the entire area had what could only be described as a “charge” in the air.

  As they walked through the crater, Taro was close enough to touch one of the smaller rocks floating in the air. When he poked one with his forefinger, it bounced and glided across the clearing as if it were floating in invisible water.

  Kyra and Fenn were just as astounded by the sight, and Fenn went so far as to grab one with both hands and have it lift him several inches off the ground before he let go.

  “I’ve never seen magic like this before,” Kyra said, picking a leaf from one of the floating trees. She looked around as if she were searching for something. “There must be emitters somewhere. Where are the runes? Where are the wards and leys?”

  “Dragon magic,” Lokír said. “This place was once the seat of power for the dragonkin, before Nuruthil. To protect it from the Mad God’s armies, Craetos ripped Castiana from the earth and lifted it into the heavens.” He pointed up toward the sky. “There.”

  Taro looked straight up, but didn’t see anything at first. It was nearly midday, and the sun was high in the sky. Taro cupped his hands over his eyes, searching. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw it. Castiana.

  From the angle, and his location, it was hard to tell just how far away it was, or make out what its exact shape was. One thing was clear: it was massive. The city sat on an enormous chunk of floating earth and stone, and water flowed from the sides into the open air. On top of the flying landmass were peaks and shapes that spoke of large structures, but they were little more than silhouettes against a foggy haze that surrounded the city.

  Fenn looked as dumbfounded as the rest of them. “How in the ever-living Hell are we supposed to get up there?”

  Lokír brandished the king’s jewel he’d taken from Mjolir. “Legend says this is the key.”

  “Legend?” Kyra asked.

  Lokír nodded. “I’ve never actually seen it work. To be truthful, I expected it to work the moment we stepped below the city.”

  “May I see it?” Kyra asked. Lokír passed her the gem. She reached into her uniform pocket and retrieved a magnifying lens, and started to murmur to herself as she tried to read some of the inscriptions along the sides.

  “The letters are Draconic, I can’t read it,” she said, waving Fenn over. “Two years of reading that journal, this should be cake for you.”

  Fenn looked it over, scrunching his face. “Oh, well, that’s new.”

  “What is?” Taro asked.

  Fenn pointed to two sets of writing: one along the outer edge of the jewel, and larger writing in gold on the inner edge. “The smaller letters are magistry inscriptions. The larger ones are instructions.”

  “That certainly helps. What are the instructions?” Kyra asked.

  Fenn cleared his throat and read them out loud. “Speak the guardian’s name and enter.”

  “The guardian? What guardian?” Taro asked.

  Fenn shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  As if in response to this, there was a rumbling nearby, like rocks scraping against one another. Taro had heard this sound before during his first trial, deep in the roots of the Magisterium: it was a Construct, much like the one he’d faced two years ago. It moved in a skittering motion, its dozen legs stabbing into the ground as it hurried toward them.

  As before, the Construct looked like a huge scorpion comprised of metal and stone. Gears clinked inside of its frame, and a huge lance-like tail extended from its back. It charged at them with deliberate purpose, and lunged its tail in Lokír’s direction. The huge man dodged it, and drew out his axe. However, when he struck the creature’s carapace, the blade simply slid off.

  While the creature was yanking its tail from the ground, Kyra produced several small blades from her pack. Each of them were inscribed with magistry runes. When she threw them, the blades followed her hand movements in the air and hurled themselves into the glass eyes of the Construct.

  The casual display of long-ranged templary was impressive. Trying something like that would’ve left Taro drained. Still, it wasn’t enough, as the Construct shrugged off the blades. Its eyes were perfectly intact.

  “Damn it,” Kyra said. She shot a glance at Fenn. “The guardian’s name. Come on, what is it?”

  “I don’t know! Ask him what his name is,” Fenn said, jabbing a thumb toward the machine.
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br />   The Construct skittered around them, trying to corral them into one place.

  “Fenn can you please stop acting like an ass and put some thought into this?” Kyra shouted as she backed up, her back touching Taro’s. The Construct’s tail lashed at them again. Lokír grabbed it by the end, able to stop it from striking the others, but unable to stop it from pulling him off the ground and throwing him a dozen feet into a floating rock.

  Fenn’s fingers tapped nervously as he tried to think. “Guardian’s name, guardian’s name, guardian’s name. Uh, I…I don’t know!” He began to shout at the Construct in Draconic. “Äläe lopet meitä hyökäm!”

  The Construct didn’t respond.

  Fenn looked like he was about to cry. “How the Hell am I supposed to know what its name is?”

  The Construct slammed one of its pincers into the ground on Taro’s right, and its other on his left, then loomed over him, its teeth grinding mere inches away. It drew up its tail, ready to skewer him.

  Taro’s mind raced. The guardian’s name? Maybe it wasn’t the name of the Construct, maybe it was—

  “CRAETOS!” Taro shouted, just as the Construct’s tail came down like a spear. There was a tense moment of motionlessness as the tail stopped mere inches from Taro’s chest.

  The Construct drew back, and its eyes went dark, its body motionless.

  Wearily, Taro staggered to his feet. Still panting, he made a motion with his hand as he tried to speak through his heavy breathing. “The guardian…it’s not the Construct, it’s—”

  “Yeah, we figured that out, thank you,” Fenn blustered, brushing the dust off his clothes. “Why is everything on Arkos trying to kill me? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

  “You’re fine,” Kyra chided. “Stop being so dramatic.”

  Fenn frowned hard. “I just got attacked by a giant mechanical scorpion, I’ll be as dramatic as I damn well please.”