Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) Read online

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone,” Augum and Leera chorused blandly.

  “And you will practice the Reflect spell until you have it mastered.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  Mrs. Stone shook her head, muttering, “Merciful spirits give me patience.”

  Augum had the impression she would have lambasted them for not working hard enough with the spell—if she hadn’t been so tired.

  “Bridget, Haylee and Jengo have already begun today’s lesson with Mr. Harvus. You are to have your lunch and join them. Inform me when you are ready to return.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.”

  She frowned before teleporting away with a THWOMP.

  Leera slumped down beside the basket and fished out a banana. “You’d think Harvus would be more worried about his city falling to the Legion.”

  Augum scoffed as he sat beside her. The stumpy Tiberran hardly cared about trivial things like family, or being a good citizen. All he cared about was money and looking clean—the man utterly despised dirt.

  “Still can’t believe he had us wash the outside of the cabin,” Augum said, recalling two tendays back when Harvus suddenly declared the entire facade of the Okeke home contaminated because a bird had pooped on it.

  “And he didn’t even lift a finger to help,” Leera added. “Sat on his rump picking at those stupid white cotton gloves of his.” She squeezed her hands together, strangling thin air.

  “Not true, he did point out all the spots you missed. Helped a lot.”

  Leera smirked. “I swear that one day I’m going to steal that awful hairpiece of his and dump it into a washbasin of filthy water. And I know I’m not the only one who thinks it looks like a horse’s—”

  “Then you better make sure you’re leagues away when he finds out.” There were two things Harvus could not stand—dirt, and anyone drawing attention to his hairpiece. But complaining about Harvus to Mrs. Stone did little, for she had apparently taken up the position that he was good for them somehow, though Augum thought it might be the eat-your-vegetables kind of good. In any case, Augum, Leera, Haylee and Jengo certainly made a sport of griping about the man.

  Bridget was Harvus’ favorite, probably because she was the only one never to talk back to him, though she did crack up when Leera told her what she thought of his hairpiece. Nonetheless, Bridget had promptly declared that a truly awful thing to say and made Leera promise never to repeat it within earshot, a promise Leera crept around with winks or sly grins every time she noticed Harvus carefully adjusting his hairpiece. It never ceased to draw a smile from Augum, who occasionally had to suffer a silencing look from Bridget for encouraging Leera’s rebelliousness.

  Leera shoved a banana at him. “Eat it. It’s not like you get to have one often.” She watched him dully peel back the skin. “You have that worried look on your face again.”

  “What look?”

  “This look.” She made an overly serious face.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and Mrs. Stone’ll be fine. She’s always fine.”

  “Not always.” He recalled the time Nana had pushed her arcane boundaries almost to the point of death, falling prey to arcane fever. Now she was obviously struggling with a spell that might be the death of her—one she expected them to learn, and they were only 3rd degree! They couldn’t even nail Reflect, a 6th degree spell. Cron was what … at least 10th, probably higher. For whatever reason, Nana refused to share even that little detail about the spell.

  Leera sighed, finished her banana and tossed the peel into the water. “I know, all of Sithesia is about to burn, and here we are having a banana in the middle of the ocean. I get it, I do. But you know what?”

  “What?” he said, catching a witty look in her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter, because that was a great birthday you had.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “You wearing it?”

  “‘Course I’m wearing it.” He reached down his shirt and pulled out a thin chain on which hung several tiny medallions, each commissioned by a friend.

  “Means a lot to me,” he said, examining each of the medallions while finishing his banana. The one from Mr. Goss and Leland depicted a warlock with a lit palm. Jengo and Mr. Okeke’s showed three stripes, in honor of Augum achieving his 3rd degree. Haylee and Chaska’s showed a flock of harpies and a mountain, commemorating their battle with the creatures in the Muranians. Mrs. Stone’s depicted a book, while Bridget and Leera’s had three interlocking hands symbolizing the strength of their friendship.

  Leera eyed the banana. “Yeah, looks it too.”

  “What, I can be hungry!”

  She playfully stabbed his chest with each word. “It. Never. Comes. Off.”

  “You know it won’t. I’ll be buried with it.”

  Her head bobbed in a satisfied way. “I personally liked the cake the most.”

  “You mean the towering monolith?”

  “It was supposed to look like Evergray Tower!”

  “More like one of the Spikes,” he muttered.

  “Hey, I spent ages on it!” She punched his shoulder.

  He raised a brow at her. “You know I was jesting.”

  “I know. I wanted to punch you anyway. All right, fine, if it wasn’t the food, what did you like most—the games? The singing? Jengo accidentally lighting his robe on fire and screaming that he’d been attacked by a warlock?”

  “You know what I liked most.”

  “I have a sneaking suspicion I do.”

  He glanced furtively at the orb, wishing they were alone so he could repeat that moment. He thought of it often, when they both happened to be outside the Okeke cabin and she suddenly yanked him behind a nearby tree, giving him a tender birthday kiss.

  “But seriously, you’ve got to stop worrying so much. She’s the legendary Anna Atticus Stone. She’ll be fine.”

  That instantly brought his worries crashing back. “Then why does she look so worried?” He stood up and began pacing, tucking the necklace away. “My father has six scions, Leera, six.” He whipped the banana peel into the ocean. “Now that Tiberra is his, guess what he’s going to devote all his time to?”

  She squinted against the sun. “You’re going to say something obvious, aren’t you?”

  “He’s going to hunt for Nana, and that’s all. He wants that seventh scion. He wants the family heirloom, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it.”

  Leera made an impatient noise. “That’s why we’re training so hard.”

  Augum felt his blood rising. “We’re only 3rd degree! What, you think we’re going to defeat my father, the Lord of the Legion—a 20th degree warlock—all by ourselves? Are you crazy? This whole plan is crazy. And learning some stupid Reflect spell isn’t going to make a spit of difference.”

  Leera stood. “What’s gotten into you?”

  The anguished look on her face made him flush with shame. What had gotten into him? He slumped on the edge of the platform and began putting on his turnshoes. “I guess I’m just worried—I’m worried for Nana, I’m worried we’ll get everyone around us killed, I’m worried about you and Bridget, and I’m—” He stopped short of voicing his greatest recent fear—Cron. The aging thing. How will it affect them?

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “And you worry too much, especially recently. You only just turned fifteen, not even a man yet.”

  “Not even a man yet. Exactly. Thanks for reminding me.” He shrugged her hand away, immediately regretting it.

  “Aug, really, you can be so … ugh.” She roughly put on her turnshoes and snatched the basket, leaning into the orb. “Ready, Mrs. Stone.”

  Augum paced over and rested his palm beside hers on the orb. He tried giving her an apologetic look but she would not meet his gaze. A moment later, he felt his body yank.

  Mr. Harvus

  Back at the Okeke home in Milham, Augum took a seat by the fire to dry his clothes an
d calm his stomach. Teleporting felt like being stretched on a torture rack—he always feared he would pop into existence torn limb from limb.

  “How did it go?” Mr. Goss absently asked from the table, pushing round spectacles up his nose.

  Leera shrugged. “Tedious,” and slumped on the floor beside Augum, still refusing to meet his gaze.

  “Has Mrs. Stone told you about Dramask?” Mr. Goss pressed.

  “Yes, it’s awful, isn’t it?” While she and Mr. Goss bantered about the news, Augum glanced through the window. The snow had almost completely melted away. He could hear the trickle of water, the chirp of birds, and the distant singing of rowdy miners having a drink. The sun was only an hour or so from setting, telling him wherever the Trainer platform was had to be very far away indeed.

  His mind kept going over what he had said. Why had he been rude to Leera? What had gotten into him? He’d noticed he’d been running short of patience lately, which was affecting his concentration, and therefore his training. Was it the pressure? Was it his relationship with Leera, his inexperience, his clumsiness? Or was it something else, something he did not understand yet?

  Leera casually punched him on the shoulder when referring to him in a story to Mr. Goss, a gesture Augum translated as, I forgive you but you’re still a jerk. He smiled apologetically at her. She gave a wry smile back and continued conversing with Mr. Goss. She was so understanding, so forgiving. It warmed his heart.

  Augum was trying to absorb the peace of the fire when the door swung open and in zoomed Jengo Okeke, a very tall ebony-skinned Sierran boy with short, curly black hair, wearing a burgundy apprentice robe under a coat too warm for the weather. He began speaking in a rapid and nervous manner while flinging off his muddy boots.

  “Have you heard? Dramask has fallen, we’re done for—”

  “Yes, we heard, Jengo,” Leera said patiently.

  “Harvus told us in the forest.” Jengo floated over to the table and slumped down beside Mr. Goss. “How long do you think we have? A month? A day?” His eyes zipped about as his voice dropped to a whisper. “Or do you think we’re down to hours?”

  “Maybe you should take your coat off,” Leera said.

  “Coat … right.” He scrambled to take it off at the table, then seemed to realize he should do it standing up.

  “How’s Haylee doing?” Augum asked. She had been training with them, but her leg was inhibiting her concentration. She had broken it during a life-and-death struggle facing harpies on a high mountain ridge. Unfortunately for her, even with the help of a healer, it hadn’t healed correctly, and so she walked around with a pronounced limp.

  Jengo finally managed to fight the coat off and hung it up by the door. “Frustrated as always. She hates that cane.”

  “Pretty sure that’s not all she hates,” Leera muttered, referring to the fact Haylee was not getting along with Harvus at all, not to mention Ms. Singh. Harvus constantly made comments about Chaska, somehow taking Haylee’s courtship with him personally. Luckily, after moving in to the Singh household, Haylee had found a bosom buddy in Priya. Priya, engaged to be married to Jengo, enjoyed snickering with Haylee about boys and their daft ways, which only gave more ammo to the wretchedly particular Ms. Singh, who already resented having a “pasty and crippled Solian” living under her roof, although perhaps not as much as she hated seeing her precious daughter frolicking about with “that gangly Sierran demon”, Jengo.

  The door opened and in strode Bridget Burns wearing a royal blue robe tied at the waist with a golden rope, her long cinnamon hair swinging in a tight ponytail. Leland Goss clung to her hand, his face one giant scar from being melted by Sparkstone’s lightning. The boy was blind and mute but managed to crack a grin which dimpled his one good cheek.

  “Hello everyone,” Bridget said with a tired smile as she led Leland to his father.

  Just as Jengo closed the door, a stubby gloved hand snuck through, jamming itself between the frame and door. “If you please,” said a stout man with the perfunctory and bland expression of a teacher long tired of his profession. His potbelly was so large he appeared to be with child. He wore an immaculate cream-colored robe fringed with silver. A ridiculous blonde hairpiece sat perched on his head like a sad bird of prey. Augum once made the mistake of asking Mr. Harvus about it, only to suffer “detention”, which out in the woods apparently meant digging a latrine hole.

  “Sorry, Mr. Harvus, didn’t see you there,” Jengo said. He turned to Bridget. “Where’s Haylee?”

  Bridget rubbed the tiredness from her hazel eyes. “Snuck off to Priya’s, I presume.” She hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, and it showed. Her face was tighter than usual, eyes puffy. Her pert nose was still red from a cold she had recently gotten over, and there were stray hairs poking out from her ponytail.

  “Wonder why,” Leera muttered sarcastically to Augum. Haylee avoided being in the same room with Harvus at all costs. If he hadn’t been the only mentor around, she would have long ago stopped taking his stupid lessons, lessons paid for by Mrs. Stone.

  “But none of that matters anymore because we’ll all be dead soon,” Jengo said in mock cheer. “Have you heard what the Legion are doing to Sierrans? They cook us alive.”

  “That’s the Occi,” Leera said, referring to the undead cannibals the trio encountered back at Bahbell, “and they do that to everyone.”

  Augum refrained from saying what he, Bridget and Leera surely had to be thinking—the Legion might not eat people, but they do burn them alive.

  “Hello, Leopold, how did the lessons go?” Mr. Goss asked with a dimpled smile, placing his son on his knee.

  Mr. Harvus’ lips pressed into a parchment-thin line. “Splendidly, Mr. Goss,” he replied without a trace of sincerity. Augum knew the man hated being addressed by his first name, always preferring to keep things “proper” and “civilized”.

  “Jengo, place your boots together, young man,” Harvus said, gloved hands folded together. “It dishonors your father’s home.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harvus, sorry Mr. Harvus.” Jengo haphazardly rearranged his boots and scampered out of the stubby man’s way.

  Mr. Harvus made a tut-tut sound with his teeth and opened his palm. The boots arcanely arranged themselves into neatness. He then proceeded to do the same to everyone else’s boots. After finishing, he gave the lightest adjustment to his hairpiece. Leera immediately winked at Augum, who had to look away to avoid cracking up.

  “I am sorry to hear about your hometown, Leopold,” Mr. Goss continued. “Most tragic news.”

  Harvus smoothed his robe underneath his legs as he took a seat in one of the rustic armchairs. “If you will forgive me, Mr. Goss, I have always found that city to be a rotten, stinking hovel infested by rats. I can only thank the Unnameables that it is not, nor ever was, my hometown.”

  “Oh, I see. But surely you have family—”

  Harvus got up, dusted off the chair, and sat down again. “I have no one, Mr. Goss. My family perished in the necrotic plague. I grew up desperately poor and had to work very hard for everything.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, Leopold.”

  “Life is struggle and hard work.”

  After a thoughtful silence, Augum’s curiosity got the best of him. “So if you’re not from Dramask, Mr. Harvus, then where are you from?”

  Harvus’ eyes took in Augum’s wet attire in one practiced movement of displeasure. “My dear boy, why are you soaked? Get changed immediately.”

  “But I’m fine by the fire, Mr. Harvus, it was just the ocean Trainer again—”

  “You will get changed, Augum Stone.” His voice was deadly soft.

  If Harvus had not been an accomplished warlock, Augum would have told him to stuff it. Instead, he yanked his new robe off the chair and strode into Jengo’s room, closing the door. He could not believe Mrs. Stone put so much stock in the man.

  “He lacks a proper father figure, it is plain as day,” Augum heard Harvus say through the door. “
Now, to answer the uncouth young man’s question, I am from Canterra, the cleanest and most civilized kingdom in Sithesia. In Canterra, savages are slaves, women know their place, and men are genteel bastions of honor.”

  “ ‘Women know their place’?” Leera said. “What does that mean?”

  “That means, young lady, that women know the Unnameables put them on Sithesia for three reasons—to keep a clean house, to entertain, and to serve their men.”

  “The Canterrans have different beliefs than us Solians, Leera,” Bridget said, coming to Mr. Harvus’ defense as usual.

  Leera made a disgusted noise. “Does Mrs. Stone know you’re Canterran?”

  “You shall refer to me as Mr. Harvus. And the venerable Mrs. Stone had not inquired on the matter of my birth before my employment. Prudently, she did not see it as relevant, and nor do I.”

  “Why did you get kicked out of that kingdom then, Mr. Harvus?”

  “Leera—” Bridget said in scandalized tones.

  Augum suppressed a laugh while getting dressed, wishing he could see the look on Harvus’ face.

  “Mind your tongue, young Leera Jones. And I was not ‘kicked out’ as you say, I was forced to leave, a marked difference. You see, Canterrans unfortunately perceive warlocks as … heretical witches. It is one of a thankfully small handful of failings in Canterran class and culture.”

  Augum finished changing into his new royal blue robe, signifying he had attained his 3rd degree, and returned to the living room. Mr. Harvus inspected him from head to toe and gave the slightest nod of approval.

  “Now hang them up properly, young man,” Harvus said.

  Out of spite, Augum took his time fiddling with his wet clothes by the fire.

  “Dear me, Leopold,” Mr. Goss said, returning to the topic at hand. “How did you become a warlock in a kingdom so unforgiving with arcanery?”

  “Well, they do have an ancient academy, but it is in disrepair and underfunded. Nor is attendance encouraged.” Harvus crossed one leg over the other and placed his hands on his knee. “But that is aside the point. I survived Canterra with great risk, sacrifice and secrecy. I scraped and scavenged and begged for every copper I could to pay for a mentor, a mentor who proved harsh and bitter and angry.” He stared distantly as if seeing painful memories come alive, before blinking rapidly and continuing. “Regardless, I managed to finish my training, vowing to never be poor again.”