Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (53 page)

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bridget met his gaze. “ ‘So shall ye giveth tooth or bone of ancient wings and death reborn’…”

Suddenly it dawned on him what she was talking about. He reached down his robe and pulled out the black tooth amulet One Eye had given him, fingering its course edge. “But … this is a bear’s tooth. It has to be.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

For a moment, they just stared at it.

“Well, if it really is a dragon’s tooth, this is our chance to find Mrs. Stone,” Leera said, voicing aloud what Augum was thinking. “Now all we have to do is find the stone to smash it against.”

“Wait, I know what we can try—” he said. “Let’s cast Centarro and concentrate on the verses. Maybe something will come to mind.”

Bridget glanced about. “This isn’t exactly an ideal place to suffer the side effects of that spell.”

Leera shrugged. “Maybe just one of us should cast it.”

The girls looked at him.

“All right, I’ll be the dummy.”

“Just be sure to think of what you’re going to do when it wears off,” Bridget said, smoothing the ancient parchment at his feet. The girls took up sentry at the exit of the little cave-like room, keeping their palms lit so he could read.

He made himself comfortable. “All right, here goes.” He drew in a series of long breaths and stilled his mind. Then, as per his great-grandfather’s instructions, he took a few moments to note the details of his surroundings—the fine penmanship on the ancient parchment, the creases marring its surface, the darker soot lines in the palm of his hands …

“Centeratoraye xao xen.”

The world sharpened and magnified. Everything became a poem, every concept simple. Time seemed to slow. The parchment shone with clarity, sunshine awaiting shadow, but he was in no rush to begin. He locked eyes with Leera. She was a visual song, the freckles on her cheeks dancing with joy. The soot that covered her. She was night in the form of a girl. He smiled confidently and she smiled back—a strangely sensitive, embarrassed smile. Her cheeks brightened ever so subtly. He knew he was the only one to see that.

Bridget’s face expressed concern, which he resolved with a smile. Her hazel eyes communicated compassion and hope for a better future.

He felt a wave of gratitude sweep over him, for their friendship, their companionship, and their belief in him. He let the energies settle and dissipate in the great forever of the moment, before visualizing himself lying down as soon as the effects of the spell wore off, watching the ceiling calmly. The trick was for him not to be disturbed, so he said, “I’m going to lie down after, don’t let me see you.” Bridget and Leera exchanged perplexed looks, but he knew it was the right thing to say. He smiled harmoniously and turned to the scroll, feeling every beat of his heart and hearing every subtle sound, from the scraping of his boots on the charred ground to their rhythmic breathing.

He read the poem again, first focusing on the three-pointed star. Memories of anything to do with the number three flooded his mind—three shovels propped against the Penderson farmhouse; a three door ironwood wardrobe in Castle Arinthian; three dark ovens, mouths forever gaping; three knights mingling before a bloody room, silhouetted by torchlight and talking in low voices; his great-grandfather speaking of the three kinds of undead; a withered Leyan woman with milky eyes and a faded emblem on her cloak—a triangle with a black dot at the end of each point,
a three pointed star
…

“I know what it is,” he whispered as his mind began to fog. Now to complete the plan. He lay back on the ground, watching the ceiling with its greenish-blue light, lit from a nearby source, a source he knew to be friendly, though he could not remember exactly who or what was casting that light.

He did remember garbled thoughts of burnt wood and black soot faces; a gigantic gaping hole in the floor and someone falling … The thoughts twisted into a vile face, staring at him from the abyss. The face loomed larger and larger, until he was but a speck in comparison, terrified of being swallowed, a miniscule fly in an eternal cave.

He heard himself whimper and the light upon the ceiling wavered, like flames coming to life. Suddenly a great raven appeared, ready to peck out his eyes. He called out, covering his face with his hands, pleading for it not to take his sight. He could feel the soot walls creep in on him, making it difficult to breathe. He felt himself expelling air quickly and inhaling more, quicker and quicker and quicker …

***

Augum suddenly sat up in a cold sweat, head pounding as if being kicked. His stomach felt inside out and his hands vibrated with weakness.

“You all right?” Bridget asked, worried eyes reflecting the greenish light of her palm.

“I … I think it was my fault,” Leera said, giving him a sudden hug. He coughed involuntarily and she let go. “I stepped forward when you called out. I didn’t mean to, but it was too late, you already saw me … I’m so sorry.”

“You were the raven,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, it just … it turned into a nightmare.” He shook out his arms, dispelling that lingering feeling of dread. They gave him a few moments to recuperate.

Bridget brushed the soot off his back. “At the end you said, ‘I know what it is’.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” He had to work to concentrate through the fog in his mind. Suddenly the memory came flooding back, vivid as a bright cloudless morning—the triangle, each point accented with a sharp black dot.

“Remember Magua from Ley? The one with milky eyes?”

Leera smirked. “How could we forget?”

Bridget’s eyes narrowed as her memory jogged. Her face lit up. “The triangle-thingy, with the three dots—it was on her cloak!”

“Yes, I see it now,” Leera said, “but what does
she
have to do with all this?”

They took a bit of time, thinking things over, but no answers came forth.

“We still need to find out what stone it refers to, and where it is,” he said at last, choosing to change the subject. Perhaps the significance of the triangle will come to them later.

“The verse could refer to a leaning pillar, or maybe a tower,” Bridget said.

Leera cracked her knuckles as if preparing for a fight. “That’s it, I’m trying Centarro.” Upon seeing the look on Bridget’s face, she added, “Don’t worry so much, Bridge, I promise I won’t run off to play in the snow like last time. Anyway, I need the practice.” She flashed a cheeky smile.

Augum and Bridget stood back. He lit up his palm, dimming the light just enough so it wouldn’t distract Leera. She sat down on her knees before the scroll and read silently, lips moving. She then closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths.

“Centeratoraye xao xen.”

Time passed as she only sat there. “Shine the light in my face when I slide,” she finally said, before opening her eyes and focusing on the scroll.

Augum thought he understood what she wanted—to be distracted by their shining palms when the side effects kicked in.

She stared straight ahead. “ ‘Thus leans this wickedest stone, so shall grant the oldest crone, one wish speaketh without fear, be warned it shall becometh real … Thus leans this wickedest stone … thus leans …” Recognition dawned on her face. “Hangman’s Rock.”

He looked to Bridget—of course, the answer should have been obvious. The Rock
leaned
.

When Leera’s eyes began glazing over, they shone their palm-light in her face. Leera gazed into the light with a dreamy look.

Eventually she winced, touching her temple. “That was … intense. Head hurts.”

Bridget helped her stand. “We should have seen it right away—‘leans the wickedest stone’—Aug, remember the claw against the tent?”

He nodded, the memory as fresh as if it had happened the day before. He pictured that black tilted rock, remembering the stories about it. “So now that we know what symbol to look for, where to find it, and what to use—” He held up One Eye’s amulet. “All that’s left is coming up with a wish.”

“And wording it right,” Bridget said.

“
And
getting past the Legion,” Leera threw in.

They stood silent a moment pondering the enormity of the challenge.

Leera snorted. “Anyone else think it’s suicide?”

“Me—” he said.

“Definitely suicide—” Bridget said at the same time, nodding.

They looked at each other.

“So we’re going to do it?” Bridget asked.

“Definitely,” he and Leera chorused.

Bridget sighed. “I think I’d like to see my parents now.”

“Want us to come with you?” Leera asked.

She only shook her head.

Revelations

“Goodness, goodness me—” Mr. Goss said upon laying eyes on Augum and Leera. “You two look as if you have been mining coal—”

“Mr. Goss, we think we found a way to get to Mrs. Stone,” Leera said.

“That is all fine and well but we simply must have you wash up. And where is Bridget?”

“Visiting her parent’s graves.”

Mr. Goss gave a pained smile. “Such things are always best experienced alone.” He sighed. “I will fetch the washbasin and warm you up some water.” He handed them a cloth for the meantime.

Leera and Augum sat down with tired groans, using the cloth to wipe their hands.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Augum said, watching Mr. Goss pump some water and place it over the fire.

“I know.” Leera retrieved Mrs. Stone’s blue book, plopping it on the table.

Augum read the title of the ornate tome.
On Arcaneology: A Pupil’s Encyclopedia of the Arcane Arts
, and fondly thought of Mrs. Stone and Castle Arinthian. Then he recalled one of the last things his great-grandmother said to them before leaving Ley: “Train and work hard. Practice every day. You must learn to protect yourselves. I will leave you the blue book on arcaneology—use it well. I expect that upon my return you will have a thorough understanding of the 2nd degree. Above all, look out for each other.”

He sighed. They’d hardly studied from the book.

Leland felt his way into the room.

“Want to help us, Little Lee?” Leera asked.

He nodded.

“Why don’t you flip the pages for us—we don’t want to get them dirty or wet.”

Leland moaned and groped his way to the book, running a scarred finger over its ornate cover.

“Neat, eh?” Augum said, clearing his throat before changing his voice to mimic an old arcaneologist. “Son, what you are feeling there is hundreds of years of hand-written arcane knowledge.”

Leera giggled and Mr. Goss gave an appreciative nod.

“It has been passed down from generation to generation,” Augum continued. “The ornate foil is made of gold, the tome itself bound in dragon hide. They say, ‘All who toucheth this book will find happiness in life …’.”

Leland made a sort of giggle moan as he thumbed through the pages, feeling the coarseness of each one.

“Now you have to help us find …” Augum raised an eyebrow at Leera. “Wait, what is it we’re looking for?”

“Mrs. Stone wanted us to learn the 2nd degree, remember?” Leera replied. “So I want to find out what we’re missing.”

“Funny, I was just thinking we needed to play catch-up,” he said.

“There! Stop there, Leland.” Leera scanned down the page. “Here we are, 2nd degree spells. There’s Shield—we sort of know that one, though we could use some more practice with it; Push—we don’t know that one yet; and Disarm—definitely don’t know that one.”

“We also need to practice the Slam spell,” he said.

“Water’s ready,” Mr. Goss announced, retrieving the ceramic washbasin and placing it near the fire. “So, what did you lot find over at old Tennyson’s house?”

While Mr. Goss prepared the towels, Augum and Leera recounted the whole adventure, including Bridget’s accident with the stairs.

Mr. Goss looked horrified. “But she could have very well been killed—”

“No, but, it was really funny, Mr. Goss,” Augum said with fervent nods from Leera. Nonetheless, he quickly proceeded to the part about the Slow Time scroll and the ancient verse.

“… So we think that we can make one wish at Hangman’s Rock,” he concluded.

Mr. Goss carefully removed the steaming iron pot of water from the fire. “I must say I am more than a little concerned. This arcanery you speak of sounds dangerous.” He poured the water into the washbasin.

“But we have to try, Mr. Goss, we have to.”

Leland mimic-moaned in agreement, planting his feet and crossing his arms indignantly.

Mr. Goss gave Augum a searching look and slowly nodded. “I know you do.” He dropped a couple towels into the steaming water, stirring them with iron pincers. “You know, all this talk of Hangman’s Rock reminds me of an old legend about witches being hung from there by superstitious peasants.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard that one,” Augum said, exchanging a knowing look with Leera. Robin told that tale to scare Leland the night they encountered the claw at Hangman’s Rock.

“Very well then, but did you hear the one about the three candle sacrifice?”

They shook their heads.

“Ah, then allow me to pass on the legend, a favorite for us chandlers.” Mr. Goss removed his spectacles, placing them on the table beside the open tome. “Legend has it that a long time ago, before arcanery was even understood, a coven of witches began exploring arcane sacrifice. They tried all manner of animal and creature, but nothing yielded eternal life. Then one day, they placed an innocent girl amongst three tall candles. After uttering their usual curses, one of the witches killed the girl with a sacrificial dagger. It worked and they became immortal.

“However, there was a steep price to pay for this immortality—they were banished to a separate plane of existence, where they could roam eternally. From this plane, they used their newfound powers to snatch all manner of innocent creatures from the mortal world, enslaving and corrupting them for their purposes. Over many eons, they populated that plane full of demons and monsters. Can you guess what name we give that plane now?”

Leera gulped. “Are you speaking of hell, Mr. Goss?”

“Indeed. Hell is one of the oldest words. Superstition was rampant as people disappeared. Arcanery was branded as evil, setting back arcane learning for thousands of years. Women of all kinds were declared witches and hung, hence Hangman’s Rock. That tale is called ‘The Legend of Three Candles’.”