Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (7 page)

Augum furrowed his brows. “Why’s that? Is it too difficult or something?”

“That and wild warlocks tend to kill themselves off.” Her voice quieted down. “Want me to explain how spells work and stuff?”

He felt his cheeks prickle. “Yes please.”

She ran up beside him and smiled. Just the fact that she did that, like a real friend, was enough to send his heart soaring.

“All right,” she began, still keeping her voice conspiratorially low, “most of the spells you learn are known as ‘Standard Spells’. There are three in every degree plus one from your element.
Once you learn all three Standard Spells
and
your elemental spell, you’re tested on it. If you pass, you’re awarded your degree—or as we like to say, your
ring
, or even
stripe
—because they look like stripes from afar.”

He imagined his arm rippling with a full complement of lightning rings, just like the Black Robe.

“Traditionally, there’s a whole formal ceremony,” Bridget continued, “but the best part is really after, when a big celebration is held in your honor. Usually everyone you know—and even don’t know—comes. Sometimes whole towns attend an advancement ceremony. Also, if you’re part of an entire class that gets advanced, the party can last for days.”

She paused. “Not everybody advances through. The more you study, the greater the chance of dropping out. It becomes harder and harder to attain the next degree, until you hit your ceiling, so to speak. Just by the number of drop-outs, everyone knows the arcane path is challenging.”

Augum mulled over everything she had said. He had never attended school before, but secretly always wanted to. Willowbrook lacked one. Youths were expected to become farmers, millers, tanners, or blacksmiths, just like their parents, and everyone was home-schooled or apprenticed. Only the kids from richer families got to go to school in the city. As it was, Augum was grateful for Sir Westwood’s teachings.

“So you really had no idea warlocks were real?” Bridget asked.

“I lived on a farm for a while, then in a small village. I heard about warlocks, but mostly in children’s stories. Was always told they were demons, or witches and stuff. Didn’t really think much of magic till I met—”

“—oh don’t use the word ‘magic’,” she said. “It’s considered, um … amateur.”

“Oh, okay.” He wondered what he should say instead, but she did not elaborate and he did not want to look even more stupid by asking.

A harsh wind forced her to walk behind him once again. They marched on in silence, plowing through fresh knee-high snow. All the while, Leland hummed to himself. After some time, Bridget pointed east across the plains.

“Looks like it’s going to snow again.”

Augum glanced at the dark clouds brewing on the horizon. He shivered thinking of the storm that nearly killed him. He could almost feel the tired aches return, the nauseous fear, the finger-biting cold. He loved storms, but that journey, after the harrowing events in Willowbrook …

He pulled up his hood and tightened his coat.

“So what element are you hoping to specialize in?” Bridget asked.

“Lightning.”

She stopped with a gasp, sending a drooling Leland bumping into her.

“Lightning—? Are you … do you know how many kids get killed every year thinking they can tame
lightning
?”

“No, I—” but he was cut off by a derisive laugh from the back.

“Lightning? He knows squat about the arcane discipline and he wants to tame
lightning
?” Robin asked some mysterious force across the Tallows. “No. Chance. In fact, I give him a tenday before he blows himself up.”

Augum contemplated going back and punching Robin in the face. After all, Robin was not built like Dap or the Pendersons, and he certainly did not have any cronies with him. But then, what would Bridget think of him? She would probably call him a base gutterborn animal like girls usually did.

He sighed and walked on.

Bridget caught up. “Wait—hey, sorry, don’t run into many lightning students nowadays. Legion goes after them more than the others, and like I said, it’s a more dangerous discipline.”

Had a girl just
apologized
to him? He almost did not know what to say. “So, um … what’s your element?” he managed to blurt.

“Earth. Robin’s is fire. Leland wants to train in ice but he isn’t old enough yet. My best friend, Leera, is training in water.”

“‘My best friend, Leera, is training in water’,” Robin mimicked from the rear.

“Ugh, just ignore him,” Bridget said. “He can’t help himself.”

Leland’s voice was pouty. “I don’t
want
to wait four more years …”

“‘I don’t
want
to wait four more years’,” came the whiny echo.

Augum struggled to ignore Robin’s taunting mimics. “How young can, uh, warlock talents appear?”

“‘… talents appear.’”

“Rarely before thirteen,” Bridget replied.

“‘… thirteen.’”

She turned. “Ugh,
grow up
, Robin.”

“
You
grow up. This is such a waste of time and all of you are insufferably boring.”

“You don’t even know what that word means.” Bridget turned back, ignoring Robin’s retort. She gestured for Augum to continue.

“So how many elements are there?” he asked.

“Loads. Let’s see, the major seven are water, air, earth, fire, ice, lightning and healing. There’s also summoning, illusion and alchemy—oh, and I forgot necromancy, which is mostly just evil stuff.”

The wind increased significantly, making it hard to hear. They trudged on without speaking further. Every time Augum glanced east, the dark clouds drew closer. Definitely a storm. He took up a faster pace.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Leland spotted Hangman’s Rock and wildly pointed with his tiny hand. “I think I see it, I think I see it! Laaaaand hooo!”

Augum and Bridget enjoyed a chuckle together. Night was almost upon them though and a distressed chirping began from Augum’s rucksack.

“Almost there, little friend,” he said through chattering teeth, but the storm descended quite suddenly, overtaking them three hundred paces from the rock. Leaning heavily into the wind, they had to claw through an icy gust that threatened to push them into the forest.

Augum shouted to have his voice heard above the din. “Let’s make camp on the other side!”

They wordlessly followed him to the leeward side, which afforded a little shelter from the gale, but not much. The rock was tilted, the overhang just above, a plume of snow ceaselessly streaming off.

He unstrapped the tent from his rucksack while Bridget covered the little bird with her hands so it would not blow away.

Robin stood with his back against the rock. “It’s getting worse, hurry up already!”

But every time they tried erecting the tent, despite having both sides staked down, a powerful gust would knock it over. They often had to jump on it to prevent it from blowing away.

“Maybe this will help!” Bridget dug out a coil of rope from her rucksack. “We can stop it from flying off by tying it to the rock!”

Augum quickly tied one end to the top of the tent and the other to a small outcrop from Hangman’s Rock. It worked—they were able to concentrate on erecting the tent while the rope prevented it from flying away. Assembling it at last, they piled inside, collapsing from the effort.

Leland broke out with a wide grin. “Whee … real adventure!”

Nobody replied, still panting from the exertion.

Augum was just grateful to have shelter. After a period of well-earned rest, he opened his rucksack and removed the weakly chirping bird. He then dug out the flint, steel and lantern. After lighting the lamp, they arranged themselves in a circle around its flickering light. Augum bundled the bird close to the flame to warm it up, feeding sunflower seeds into its tiny beak. It warbled appreciatively.

The wind kept increasing in strength, blowing with such ferocity that they exchanged worried looks. The tent shook, threatening to blow away at any moment. Augum only hoped the two supporting poles would hold.

Bridget nervously swept aside a lock of hair. “Wow, this is something …”

Robin snorted. “This is nothing—father and I were blown off our feet in a gale on the plains last year. Now
that
was a storm.”

Bridget rolled her eyes at Augum.

Augum thought of his own recent adventure when a storm carried him off and struck him with lightning. “Will your folks worry about you?” he asked, taking out his bedroll. He wondered what it was like to have parents worry over you.

Bridget shrugged while rummaging through her rucksack. “Yeah, but they also know we can take care of ourselves … for one night at least … I hope.” She pulled out a large piece of chocolate.

Robin helped himself to a generous portion. “Oh, I think they’ll be angry, Bridget. But you’re such a goody-good I’m sure you’ll explain everything, won’t you?”

She did not reply, passing the chocolate to Leland and Augum. Augum wanted to say something to Robin but did not know if it was his place, and so the four sat munching, watching their shadows dance on the flapping canvas walls.

Suddenly there was a loud snapping sound and the tent flattened, blowing out the lantern. Amongst the chaos came Bridget’s muffled voice. “The rope—!”

“I’ll get it!” Augum felt around for the entrance and scrambled outside, where his heart caught in his throat. He could barely breathe, let alone see anything; snow seemed to come from every direction, stinging his eyes. He felt the panic of drowning, like when Dap would hold him under water until Augum pretended to go still, then Dap would panic and raise him, playing it off as a joke.

His hands immediately froze in the cold; he cursed himself for forgetting his mitts. He wrapped his hood tightly around his head and stumbled blind, groping about for the rope, not daring to take one hand off the tent. He had heard enough stories of people taking a wrong step in a blizzard, getting lost and freezing to death.

As if the wind had been reading his thoughts, a strong gust bowled him over; and just like that, Augum lost touch with the tent. He lumbered in the direction he thought it was, but found nothing. His chest hammered as he eased off his hood in an effort to see. It was hopeless—the blizzard was just too thick, the wind too strong.

He was dead if he did not find the tent soon …

Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He took time clearing his mind, ignoring that the wind sounded like Death breathing. He ignored the burning tingling of frostbite. He visualized finding the rope, extended his arm, and made a beckoning
gesture.

The rope smacked into his hand.

“Yes!” he shouted, the word lost to the roar.

Smiling broadly, he followed the rope on hands and knees, holding on with numb fingers. The wind punished him for his victory, clawing at him like a rabid beast. It took all of his remaining strength to find the rock and tie the tent back up, the task lengthened by painfully frozen hands. Finally, he tumbled back inside and collapsed on his bedroll, panting.

Bridget hurriedly tied up the door flap and relit the lantern. “Thank all that is good, we were starting to worry you got lost.” When she spotted his hands, her eyes went wide. She immediately grabbed them between her own.

Robin opened his mouth to say something but Bridget scowled. “Don’t you even dare—” She turned back to Augum. “Once they’re warmed enough you can place them by the lantern.”

He nodded. Her touch felt strange; he never had a girl
care
about him before.

Leland did not seem to think this was much fun anymore and stifled a sob.

“There now, Little Lee.” Bridget gave him a hug, “It’s just a storm, it’ll pass …”

Robin’s eyes wandered over the madly vibrating canvas. “Hope you’re better at rope tying than you are at covering your tracks.”

Augum placed his hands over the lantern, hoping the same.

Robin gave Leland a dark look. “You know why they call it Hangman’s Rock, don’t you?”

Leland sat up. “No … why?”

Robin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Well, legend has it that a long time ago, peasants would hang people they thought were witches from the top; and you know what? I think we’re right under the spot they hung from.”

Leland’s lower lip trembled.

Bridget drew Leland in tighter. “Stop it, Robin, you’re scaring him. That’s just a silly old wives’ tale, Little Lee, don’t you pay any attention,” but at that very moment the wind roared with increased fury. Leland began crying while Augum and Bridget exchanged nervous glances. The tent wall shook so violently and the wind screeched so loudly that Augum thought for sure it would rip the seams and scatter them like seeds.

Robin’s face hovered above the lantern, the shadows playing on his features. “They say that everyone gets one wish at Hangman’s Rock—in exchange for their soul.”

Bridget sighed. “Oh, shut up already—”

Robin ignored her, making a show of closing his eyes for a time.

“Robbie, what did you wish for?” Leland asked quietly when Robin opened his eyes.

Robin’s features twisted into a smile. He was about to respond when something behind Augum caught his attention and all the color drained from his face.

Augum whipped his head around to see the outline of five clawed fingers pawing the tent. As the vile hand reached the bottom, the lantern flickered and went out.

Everybody screamed.

Someone said an unfamiliar word and the tent flooded with green light. For a moment, Augum thought it was the monster’s doing, until spotting what looked like glowing green ivy wrapped around Bridget’s hand. Leland clung to her, shaking and whimpering.

She gestured them over. “To the middle, backs against each other!”

Robin scampered with his own arm outstretched, repeating the same strange word, except cursing in frustration because nothing was happening.

Augum placed his back against the group, wishing he had Mrs. Stone’s sword with him. The claw soon reappeared, pressing directly before him, testing the canvas. He could barely hear above the blood rushing through his brain.

He needed to do something.