Mercy's Trial

by Sever Bronny

  She drew the weavings while incanting, “Infusio gato captum paralizo carcusa cemente,” and a new Paralyze trap appeared beside the old one. She opened her hands. “Now let us compare.”

  At one point, Augum pressed the sides of his head. “Nana … this is genius. All of this, it’s genius.” He looked up. “Teach us more. Please.” He wanted to learn every spell this way forever!

  The others all nodded, pleading, “Yes, please, more, more!”

  Mrs. Stone glanced at the foliage and, seeing that they were safe for the time being, whispered in a giddy and conspiratorial voice, “Very well then, what spell shall I cover next?”

  The Arcane Artist

  Of all the improbabilities that could have been made known to Augum, sitting with a now-youthful Mrs. Stone on the edge of a giant pillar in the land of dragons under a sky with three suns—while learning spells in a previously unknown way—would surely have ranked as the least believable. More than once he had to pinch himself, and if not for the sharp pain of those pinches, he would have stood up and declared the entire thing a malignant illusionary hoax of the worst kind, a jest crafted by a cruel jester.

  And yet there they were, ignoring this fantastic world around them while effortlessly learning the most complex of concepts that lay behind spells they thought they had previously understood. And it wasn’t necessarily that they learned new ways to cast those spells so much as they learned to understand their inner workings on a whole new level. It was as if those spells had previously only been understood on the dimension of parchment—in nothing more than mere words—and yet here these things—objects even, for they were real and touchable!—had leapt off the pages of instructional books and danced about them, full of life and texture and vibrance, visible and naked and begging to be understood.

  Mrs. Stone’s energy never wavered. And even as strange and distant sounds came from the mysterious jungle, and even as they smacked giant insects aside, her eyes danced and her words never ceased to inspire. She kept curling her hair behind her ears with both hands, making the friends exchange more than one amazed look, for it was quite the treat to see her so … alive, let alone young.

  “This is how master mentors passed on the spells in the early days of arcanery, isn’t it?” Augum asked when they went over the simple yet spiderweb-strong arcane tendril bindings that formed between an object and one’s fist during a Telekinesis casting.

  “Ah, now you are starting to understand the power of the knowledge that rests within the library, Great-grandson. The power of ancient arcanery, the sort that crafted permanently floating objects and animated suits of armor like Fentwick.”

  The legendary woman leaned forward, one hand pressed on Bridget’s knee, the other on Leera’s—for they all now sat in the same cross-legged fashion, eager to absorb every lesson she had to teach. “And tendril reveal is but one skill. Imagine the countless many others locked away in those books and scrolls and tablets. Imagine them unleashed.” She leaned back and rubbed her hands together like Augum oft did when excited. “You will be the first ambassadors of the new age, taking back with you a new perception.” She glanced skyward at the now fading suns, for they threatened to set below a wavering horizon. “Imagine … imagine!”

  The friends gazed skyward, eyes full of wonder and amazement. She had cycled through every single spell in their arsenal—and even beyond, showcasing spells they had never heard of simply to make a point about this or that arcane concept to clarify and bolster their current knowledge.

  “I’ll remember this moment forever,” Leera whispered, shaking her head in wonder, something all of them had done throughout the lecturing. “Forever …”

  “Before you return to Sithesia, I plan on teaching you a couple spells currently only taught to pass exams, spells that can change the war and advance—” She froze, listening.

  Haylee cringed. “What’s the matt—” but she was silenced by a raised finger.

  Suddenly they heard a great whoosh as a shadow passed above them. Simultaneously, Augum felt a distinct ripple he recognized as the Fear spell cascade across his mind, forcing his Mind Armor to activate and hold constant guard.

  The trees and brush swayed and they ducked reflexively—all except Mrs. Stone, who shot to her feet, eyes alert and following the shadow as it disappeared over an edge they could not see from their vantage point.

  She pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh … watch.” She ducked behind a pink-leafed bush to peer down at the valley below. The friends gathered behind her, gawking over her shoulders like cubs behind their momma bear.

  Instead of the shadow appearing again, the pillar rumbled and swayed a little, making them all grab hold of each other and the brush around them. Then came a settling-in period of groaning and cracking rubble and branches and trunks as the creature squirmed to make itself comfortable, followed by a contented rumbling rather like the purring of a cat, but much deeper and many times louder.

  “Move not,” Mrs. Stone whispered, “lest you wish to become tonight’s feast. But what an opportunity for instruction!”

  The group froze in place. Jengo’s eyes darted to Augum with a look that said, Instruction? How about we get the hell out of here instead!

  Mrs. Stone merely charged on in an excited whisper. “And speaking of feasts, they mostly feed at sunrise and sunset, waiting for movement. They are what is known as the apex predator—the highest predator in the food chain.”

  “Is it a dragon?” Haylee mouthed, not even daring to whisper or move as she grabbed Augum’s robe with one hand and Olaf’s with the other.

  Mrs. Stone ignored her, hands animated as she spoke. “Do you feel that quiet terror? That is because all dragons emit a natural Fear aura around themselves, and the more potent the Fear spell, the older the dragon—remember that lesson well. This one is young, for you have not soiled yourselves from fright. A truly old dragon’s natural Fear aura will eventually penetrate your Mind Armor at even this proximity. You see, what is most extraordinary is that they wield wild arcanery as easily as we breathe. Arcaneologists have historically theorized that arcanery comes from either witches or the Unnameables—” She raised her chin. “—but I now believe that it is dragons who are the source of all arcanery.”

  The friends gawked at the venerable woman as if she had completely lost her mind. Yet the more Augum thought about it, the more the theory could make sense. After all, arcanery always began with wild castings, as it had for him back when he had lashed out against enemies with uncontrolled expressions of self-preservation, before earning his 1st degree and steadily stamping out those wild appetites.

  “Countless eons ago, some sort of communication happened between the two realms,” Mrs. Stone went on in a voice brimming with mystery and fascination. “Somehow, knowledge passed between the two planes. Perhaps an adventurous Leyan teleported to this plane and brought knowledge of it back with him. Or perhaps the knowledge came by proximity, for we do not yet know where Endraga Ra is—nor, believe it or not, do we know where Ley is.”

  Jengo’s chin began violently trembling. “This is t-t-too much, Mrs. Stone,” he gibbered, voice cracking with panic as he breathed as fast as a mouse. “My b-b-brain is going to explode. Stop. Stop t-t-telling us these things, it’s t-t-too much—”

  “Shh, my child, shh,” Mrs. Stone whispered, a hand splayed before her as she hypnotized Jengo with gentle circular motions. “Rest easy. Relax. Breathe with me.”

  The pair took a moment to breathe together, the others joining in, until Jengo nodded and thanked her. Then Mrs. Stone continued while the friends listened with the rapt attention of babes hearing a frightful ghost story.

  “… but my point is that dragons are the most interesting of teachers—minding that one can get close to take a lesson, that is.” The corner of her mouth curled upward mischievously.

  “Nana—you took lessons from a dragon?” Augum hissed.

  “So to speak, Great-grandson—I observed them. More specificall
y, I sat nearby, cast Reveal, and studied the way they wove tendrils—and mind you, it was a tricky thing to accomplish as they can see arcanery.”

  “So they, like, naturally have the tendril reveal skill?” Leera asked.

  “Not quite. Tendril reveal makes arcanery visible for a short time. The skill involved here is known as tendril sight, which is the ability to see all arcane tendrils all the time. They are instinctual creatures yet they have total mastery of the arts. It is the most remarkable thing. And each one embodies their element most profoundly in a pure and unfiltered way. If only you could have seen what I have seen … and perhaps one day you will.”

  Augum felt a hollowness in his heart and a weakness in his legs. “And I have to kill one for my pilgrimage.”

  “Ah, but wait until you see what the necromantic dragons are like, Great-grandson. I expect that you will not hesitate. As to how to kill one, well, that is another riddle altogether that is only for you to solve.” She pointed in various directions. “Interestingly, the old texts say that dragons maintain a natural balance of lairs within a given area—and we are talking a large area here—so that each of the eight elements is represented in that area and no two lairs of the same element are near each other. There is a perpetual territorial dispute and balance amongst the elements in this regard.”

  The light abruptly dimmed as the third and final sun began to set. A wind sprang up and Mrs. Stone’s head shot toward where the creature rested, hidden behind the dense foliage. “ ‘Danger comes with the upwind breeze,’ ” she whispered, an old proverb Augum recognized from Survival class. And sure enough, the ground rumbled as the creature shifted. There were loud crackles as lightning fingers flicked across branches, searching for victims. Flies and spiders and snakes caught in those lightning fingers fried on the spot with a sizzle—and fell to the ground, burnt and dead, causing the air to stink like cooked flesh.

  “She is a lightning dragon,” Mrs. Stone whispered, reaching out her hands for them to grab. “Their reaction speeds are a thing to behold. Therefore I think it best we depart in haste.”

  They scrambled to form a circle, for when Mrs. Stone said “in haste,” that meant quick as a wink. Meanwhile, bushes and trees cracked and groaned as the creature moved through them, the lightning fingers creeping closer, snapping, popping, hungry. Augum felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the dragon’s advancing Fear aura magnified with each heartbeat. Absurdly, he wondered if the lightning immunity inherited from his ancestor counted for anything when facing a lightning dragon.

  The moment the last hand connected, Mrs. Stone incanted, “Impetus peragro grapa lestato exa exaei.” They appeared moments later back at the cave, where everyone took a deep breath of relief. They looked back at the pillar and caught a glimpse of a giant lightning-infused wing slice at the brush like a cleaver, before disappearing behind the pillar. The only evidence that a dragon was still there was the occasional flash of lightning, like a distant pulsing firefly.

  “She knows our scent,” Mrs. Stone said. “She will search for us nearby.” She strode to the front of the cave and cast a quick enchantment. “There we are. Though she might find it a curiosity, she won’t be able to smell through the arcane curtain I put in place. But she could, of course, dispel it with a flick of her claw. What I count on is that it would be like going out of one’s way to destroy a spider’s web.”

  “How do you know it’s a she, Mrs. Stone?” Bridget asked.

  “Her scent. It is the gentlest of reptilian perfumes.”

  The girls’ faces revealed that they did not find that idea appealing at all—though neither did Augum, truth be told. As for Olaf, he looked like he wanted to utter a jest on the matter, only to think better of it.

  “Night time is dangerous here,” Mrs. Stone said. “It is not even safe for us to stand in this cave. Come, let us depart. We have a memorial ceremony to perform and I do believe a feast to partake in celebrating a certain someone’s birthday.”

  * * *

  The Memorial Ceremony spell was performed in a round funnel-like pit complete with bleachers all made of the same ash-gray stone. Blue flames burned in the center over an iron vessel, though no wood lay within. Behind the pit, looming in the dark like a gigantic barrel, was a small arena, perhaps for training, that did not appear to have been used in centuries.

  Mrs. Stone’s singing voice, which had grown sweeter as her age had reversed, still reverberated in Augum’s ears as he stared at the flames. He had seen a brave Naoki and a stern-faced and equally brave Maxine in the sacred fires and had said goodbye to both in the old way. And he had seen an enemy too—a young Canterran whose hand he’d clasped as he gave him the Final Valediction before the life slipped from his eyes.

  Leera, Bridget, Haylee, Olaf, Jengo and Mrs. Stone, faces lit with blue light, hands clasped before them, were spread evenly around the flame, eyes closed as they meditated, bathing in the sort of silence that only came in places deep underground. The air was still and smelled of musty old stone and dry dust, the darkness beyond their circle of light dense with ancient secrets.

  Augum’s thoughts drifted to his pilgrimage, which seemed as daunting as ever. But perhaps because of the introspection he had experienced within the sacred flames, he found himself dwelling on one point in particular—the wound he was to confess to a friend or intimate other. He instinctively knew which wound that would be—the nearly uncontrollable rage he occasionally felt. But he first needed to figure out where it came from—his father, or something else. And so he dwelled on it until the blue flames ebbed and extinguished, plunging the pit into pitch-darkness.

  For a time they sat in silence, remembering those who had fallen. At long last, someone stood and the floating lightning lamp popped into existence, highlighting Mrs. Stone’s grave face.

  “Come,” she whispered, and led them with bowed heads out of the pit and down an alley of empty houses made from the same ash-gray stone as the floor. The houses were windowless and lacked roofs—for Leyans of old did not feel the need for roofs underground, preferring the mind to focus on meditation and study. Each had a plain wooden door flanked with two identical stone planters filled with desiccated soil.

  “We are constrained and misled by the range of our lights,” Mrs. Stone said as she strolled, hands behind her back, “and although the city may appear small, in point of fact it sprawls leagues in every direction. Think of how many Leyans were here at one time, and yet there are only sixty-five of us now.”

  The point made Augum recall how the majority of the academy’s theater seats remained empty during assemblies, harking back to a time when there had been many more warlocks.

  “Where are we going, Mrs. Stone?” Jengo asked as they turned left down a street as narrow as a quaint alley.

  “To your quarters. Ah, here we are.”

  They stopped before a windowless two-story building that looked as plain as the others, with two notable exceptions—it had a slanted shingled roof, and the pair of plant pots held chromatic flowers Augum had never seen before, with spiraling patterns on the petals.

  “Yes, there are plants in Ley,” Mrs. Stone said, answering their unvoiced question. “As there are rivers and valleys and mountains and forests and swamps. Unfortunately, they are quite distant. And there are roofs here because it is thought they would aid mortals in the transition to becoming a Leyan. Eventually, a Leyan will not need a house at all, or much of anything for that matter.”

  “Why is the city underground, Mrs. Stone?” Jengo asked.

  “Absalon was settled specifically underground in the desert for arcaneological and strategic reasons. After all, Leyans do not eat, and one could teleport to those distant forests to find food for mortals or even grow one’s own in a small farm for just such an occasion. There is great wisdom to be gained from growing simple things. Watering them. Caring for them. And speaking of fare, I better make sure your feast will be in order.”

  She nodded down the way they had
come. “Back there and to the left you shall find the communal supper hall for mortals. This entire district is called the Mortal District, for there are appropriate amenities. Should you wander—and mind that if you do it is easy to get lost here—you would find a mill, a bakery, a storehouse, a dairy, and so on—an ale house even. All empty and barren, of course. But they are a reminder of the days of old. Now please choose rooms, deposit your things, and wait to be called upon.”

  She turned her back on them and strolled off.

  “Mrs. Stone!” Haylee called after her.

  She turned. “Mmm?”

  “It is good to see you again.”

  Mrs. Stone smiled. “Be sure to smell the flowers prior to entry,” and continued on with her floating lamp leading the way.

  They watched her disappear around a corner and then lit their palms. Leera bent down and smelled the flowers first. “Oh wow, these smell so good—and strange, like honey mixed with almonds and lavender or something.” Then she placed a hand on the plain brass doorknob and opened the door. The others each took a turn smelling the flowers before following.

  Augum was the last to enter and stepped onto a polished obsidian slab floor with his bare feet, immediately feeling its icy coldness. The walls were the same gray, but decorated with rod-shaped ebony-and-bronze sconces serving as arcane lamps. To the left was a plain dining area furnished with a polished stone table and square block chairs. A small sculpture sat atop the table. Behind it, the kitchen contained two stone wash basins and shelves lined with earthen tableware. The common area to the right was furnished with a colorful Tiberran-style wool carpet depicting exotic fauna. On top sat cerulean cushions—and by the vivid looks of them and the carpet, they had been woven recently by a studious Leyan with nothing but time on their hands. Straight ahead of the entrance, a black marble staircase that Augum recognized from his last visit to Ley led to the bedrooms.