The Reach Between Worlds (The Arclight Saga, Book 1) Page 3

  But Taro did understand. Mathan could have him and his entire family killed. He could have them evicted from their house. He could make their lives a living hell.

  “I’m sorry,” Taro said as sincerely as he could. “I just want to keep her safe.”

  “I respect that.” Mathan cleared his throat, lifted his hand, and all at once he was back to his friendly self. “I encourage you to join her if that’s your concern.”

  “We can go together?”

  “You're my original choice for a job,” Mathan said.

  Dr. Halric had been watching the exchange intently. He moved closer and tapped Taro’s wooden prosthetic with his cane. “I couldn’t help but notice your handicap.”

  “What’s your point?” Taro said sharply.

  “So hostile,” Halric said, pulling an inscriber of his own from his white coat. “Hold still, please.”

  Halric wrote several strange words on the outer edge of Taro’s prosthetic. When he pressed his grizzled fingers to the inscription, the letters glowed. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that his prosthetic had disappeared. The weight was completely gone, and the usual pressure where it touched his real flesh had faded.

  “Better?” Halric asked.

  Taro tapped his prosthetic on the floor. “What did you do?”

  “That is a mere sample of the magic you can learn at the Magisterium. There are many other kinds. Perhaps even magic that could cure your parents.”

  Taro was transfixed by the runes for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. “Even if that’s true,” he said, “I can’t just leave them. They need—”

  “You have my word as a gentleman that they will be well-cared for,” Mathan said. “Not to mention the thousand crown payment. Think of what you could do for your family with that kind of money. Good food and comfort for the rest of their lives. Superior medicine. Education for your brothers. All that and more.”

  Taro sat on the edge of an armchair. “How does us learning magistry benefit you?”

  “Your education is incidental,” Halric said. “Deep within the dungeons of the Magisterium is an acquaintance of ours. The dungeons are utterly impenetrable from the outside. However, students who have attained the rank of artificer or higher can move freely throughout the complex.”

  "It's really quite simple." Mathan held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  “If I say no?”

  “Nothing sinister. But your sister will be coming either way.”

  Taro didn’t see any way out of it. He shook Mathan’s hand.

  “Excellent,” Mathan said. “I knew we could work through this messy situation like reasonable men. Report to Boors tomorrow at dawn.”

  “You’re just going to let us go?” Taro asked.

  “I’m not your captor. I want us to have a good working relationship.”

  “What’s to keep us from going to the constable? Or running off?”

  “Come now, Taro. You’re a smart lad.” Mathan grabbed fresh cigar and clipped the end. “Remember to be careful heading home. Decker and Enam are probably asleep, you wouldn’t want to wake them.”

  Mathan lit the cigar and smiled. He never made a threat. He didn’t need to. Taro got the message.

  Chapter Four

  Magister Extraordinaire

  “You’re unbelievable,” Nima shouted as they left the mansion.

  It was still raining and the water was nearly up to Taro’s ankle. He grabbed Nima by the arm and pulled her along. “You don’t understand how dangerous men like him are.”

  “It’s my life.”

  “You want to leave me with nobody, don’t you? Mom, Dad... there’s no guarantee they’re going to live. And you’re just going to throw your life away? For what?”

  They returned to the house in silence. Taro stood outside, staring at the building, watching the water flow off the gutters onto the lawn.

  “I’ll be up soon,” Taro said. Nima went ahead and a moment later, the magister came to stand beside Taro.

  “Waiting’s not going to make it any easier.” The magister held a torn piece of cloth to his face with one hand, and a stack of books with the other. Blood trickled down his cheek.

  “They caught you?” Taro asked.

  He motioned towards his armful of books. “I tried opening one of these. It had a rather nasty enchantment on it.”

  The magister’s calm was bizarre, like having his face burned off was a minor inconvenience.

  “You should find a doctor.”

  “All I need is a dry place to look these over.”

  Taro led the magister through the mountains of toys on the steps. Nima was in the living room sitting in near total darkness with Enam on her lap. The magister sat on the couch beside them while Taro fetched a washcloth.

  “Who’re you?” Nima said.

  The magister opened one of the books and ran his finger down a line of text. “A friend.”

  Enam scrunched his nose. “You smell.”

  Taro went to the washroom, wet a rag, and gave it to the magister. As he wiped the blood off his face, his cuts sealed themselves and the burns disappeared.

  “Enam, go to your room,” Taro said, dumbfounded.

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  The magister continued to scan through the books and spoke conversationally. “Last spring I was rummaging through some bins on Dock Street. Along comes a man with a knife to a woman’s neck. To make a long story short, my attempt at gallantry left me with a punctured lung. I bled out, but death never came.”

  Taro sat across from the magister. “Are you saying you can’t die?”

  “I haven’t been stupid enough to find out. At the very least, my body is resistant to damage. I think it’s the reason that Mathan and Dr. Halric held me captive.”

  “And why they didn’t kill you. Maybe they just couldn’t. But—”

  “But why not keep me locked up forever? I’ve asked myself the same thing.” The magister turned to another page. “These journals are centered around the study of some kind of illness. Maybe seeing if I could resist it... or...” The magister shut the book. “You two should start packing, you’ve got quite a journey ahead.”

  Nima pulled Taro aside and whispered. “Am I missing something here? Who is this guy?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Taro said. “Get your things together. I want to be out of here before Mom and Dad wake up.”

  Taro packed in total silence. A few times he’d pause, walk to the door of his parent’s room, but stopped just short of entering. Leaving without talking to them seemed wrong. Leaving a letter was almost as bad. Finally, he gathered his courage and entered. His parents wheezed as they slept.

  Taro kissed his mother on the forehead and her eyes cracked opened.

  “Taro?” she said drowsily. “What are you doing up?”

  He grabbed her hand. “I had a bad dream. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She sat up on her feather pillow. “You can tell the truth, love. You’re thinking about what your father said.” She glanced at her sleeping husband. “Don’t let him get to you. It’s not easy for him to be like this. Lying in bed while you keep the family afloat goes against everything he is.” His mom put her hand on Taro’s heart. “We love you. Don’t ever forget that.” She pulled the blankets over her head and went back to sleep.

  For Taro, sleep didn’t come that night. Three o’clock came and went as he stared up at the ceiling, then four o’clock. By five, he’d given up. Just as the sun peaked over the pointed rooftops outside, he flung his pack over his shoulder and slipped out in complete silence.

  Aris was long gone, but Nima waited on the stoop, tossing rocks into puddles.

  “Ready?” Taro asked.

  Nima looked back at the house. “Ready.”

  When Taro and Nima reached the shop, they found Miss Craiven standing beside a rickety carriage tapping her foot impatiently. “In you go, children.” She beat the du
st off her skirt. “I thought you said you cleaned this out, Herald.”

  Mr. Boors was in the coach seat with a rain cloak on. “It’s plenty clean.”

  Sikes was on the opposite side of the compartment. He looked Taro over like he was something he’d scraped off his boot, then went back to arranging a deck of playing cards in some sort of game.

  Taro decided to speak first. “We’re going to have to talk eventually.”

  Sikes didn’t look up. “When I have something to say, you won’t have any trouble hearing it.”

  Nima had been quietly observing. “Didn’t you two use to be a team?”

  “Before your brother decided he was too good for me.”

  “I never—”

  Sikes set his cards down. “You just left. Up and disappeared without so much as a word. Then you come back out of nowhere, not to apologize, but to get my ass kicked. How’d you think I was going to react?

  “You know those jobs we use to run? Hard to find a partner on short notice, so I tried runnin’ them myself. Got me locked up for two months. I consider that lucky; the constable isn’t usually so lenient with Helians.”

  Taro felt like he’d been kicked in the gut, and hesitated before he found his next words. “My dad told me that if I didn’t stop, he’d kick me out. I didn’t have a choice.” He glanced briefly at Nima. “And... I didn’t want her to end up like me.”

  “Then why come back?” Sikes said.

  “He and my mom are sick. They can’t work, and the medicine’s expensive. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had no choice. Can we put this behind us?”

  Sikes gathered up the cards and shuffled the deck. “I ain’t putting my faith in you again. You screwed me once, you’ll screw me again. See, I learned something rotting away in that cell: trust no one but yourself.”

  “It’s water under the bridge now, boys.” Miss Craiven produced three bundles of papers from her bag. She handed one to each of them, and when Taro turned his upside down a thick gold medallion fell into his lap. “I may have missed the theater, but it gave me ample time to work on these. Perfect forgeries.”

  “What kind of forgeries?” Sikes said as he looked over his.

  “The Magisterium is the most prestigious magical organization in the world. One does not simply waltz in. These are letters of mark and your auroms.”

  Their medallions were similar, but Nima’s was iron and Sikes’ was wood. Taro’s was plated with gold.

  “Why does he get the gold one?” Sikes asked.

  “It hardly matters,” Miss Craiven said. “All you need to worry about is getting situated for your trials. Stick together and you’ll have a better chance of living.”

  “Living?” Taro said.

  Miss Craiven ignored the comment and squealed with glee. “Look at the three of you. Future magisters. How exciting.” She took out a pen and notepad. “Now, in the case of your death, who should I contact?”

  Taro’s heart thumped in his chest. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He and Nima climbed out sat against the carriage. The familiar sound of clanking approach from the road. When Boors saw the magister coming, he hopped down and shooed him.

  “Off with you!” Boors shouted.

  The magister touched his fingertips to Boors’ forehead and the old man staggered back in a daze.

  “W-what’s going on?” Boors said.

  The magister’s voice became momentarily peppy and he shook Boors’ hand. “All right, all right, calm down. I’ll do it, if you insist.” He sounded like a salesman loading off bad merchandise.

  Boors fumbled. “Yes... I... what?”

  The magister pointed towards the carriage. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll take two of them myself. Now off you go, you’ve got a long trip.”

  “Yes, I’d... better go...” Boors walked like a zombie back towards the carriage.

  “We should leave before that wears off,” the magister said.

  “What makes you think we’re going with you?” Taro asked.

  “Let’s see, you could ride with a powerful magister, or screeching pumpkin lady, her loudmouthed husband, and a boy that you had the ever-living shit beaten out of just a few hours ago. Decisions, decisions. Bring those papers with you.”

  Taro couldn’t argue. He and Nima grabbed forged papers and followed the magister back into town.

  The west side of Dock Street were mostly slums; mice scurried across the cobble and glass from broken windows littered the alleys. Helian children, their faces covered in dirt and wearing little more than rags, played dragon-slayer with garbage can lids and willow branches.

  “What did you do to Boors?” Nima asked as they walked.

  “A mind hex. I try to avoid them, some more feeble minds can be damaged by just one use.”

  “Is that something we’ll learn at the Magisterium?” Nima asked.

  “I should think not. Using templary in such a way is quite illegal.”

  “So you remember enough to use magic, but not enough to tell me your name?” Taro said. “That’s oddly-specific amnesia.”

  “Isn’t it? My name is Aris, by the way.”

  “Aris. You remembered that?”

  “It was in their notes, actually.”

  They moved deeper into the Helian district. The buildings were owned by Mathan (as most buildings were) but were utterly unkempt. This was only the second time Taro had been this far into Dock Street. It was his worst fear that he and his family would one day end up living here.

  “I don’t think amnesia is the right word,” Aris said, as if he’d been thinking about Taro’s word choice their entire walk. “This wasn’t some bump on the head. It was targeted, specific memories. Doing it would require someone with vast magical and alchemical knowledge.”

  “You think it was Halric?”

  “I know it was Halric. What I don’t know is why, but I think the reason is somewhere in Endra Edûn.” Aris stopped. Tucked between two buildings was a faded-blue covered wagon, the sort that a traveling circus might use. It had a chimney on top of its wooden frame, and beveled letters across the side that read:

  ___

  MAGISTER EXTRORDINAIRE

  Choice oddities and artifices from the west.

  No fortune-telling. No cephalonomancy. No refunds.

  ___

  While Taro tried to figure out the proper pronunciation of ‘cephalonomancy,’ Aris stepped over a pile of bodies lying face down in front of the wagon door.

  “Are they dead?” Nima asked.

  “It’s just a simple enchant for thieves. One touch and they get a nice long nap.” Aris pressed his fingers to their necks and they snapped into consciousness. “Next time it’ll be lethal.”

  They ran off and Aris opened the wagon door. It was uncomfortably small, with only a tiny cot in the back. The rest of the floor space was covered in crates, tools, and ratty clothes picked bare by moths. Aris pushed some screws off a chair, sat, and sorted through his bundle of junk.

  It was unlike any wagon Taro have ever seen. Interlaced with the wood frame were fairly recent mechanical changes. A shaft connected to a bundle of gears jetted from the wheels, each of which converged at and a series of levers rising from the floor.

  “Did you build this?” Taro asked.

  “The important parts.”

  “It’s not going anywhere without a horse,” Nima said.

  “Is that a fact?” Aris yanked down two of the levers. The entire wagon rattled, but stayed put.

  “Yup,” Nima said smugly.

  “Hold on.” Aris opened a panel on the floor and knocked around until a puff of black smoke erupted from the floorboards. Taro and Nima hacked and coughed as the wagon lurched forward.

  Aris opened a tiny window to air out the smoke. “See, what did I tell you? Next stop, Endra Edûn.”

  _____

  The air grew colder with each passing day. Taro used the time to study the notes Miss Craiven gave him, but his mind was back home: warm food waiting for him at
the table, Enam and Decker wrestling on the living room floor, and his father telling stories about his glory days as a warder.

  Taro cupped his hands and tried to warm them with his breath. The wind cut through the wagon’s wooden canopy like tissue paper, and even huddled in two layers of blankets, his limbs were numb and his breath was a visible puff.

  Nima was even worse off, and kept brushing away ice crystals building up in her hair. Taro offered her one of his blankets, but she insisted she was fine.

  Taro was glad they’d brought food and water with them, as there was not an ounce of either in the wagon, and he never saw Aris eat or drink once during the four day trip.

  On the last morning, Taro woke up so early that he was convinced that Aris simply didn’t sleep. When his eyes cracked open he saw the magister in the corner fiddling with his prosthetic.

  “That’s mine!” Taro said. He felt like he’d just had a piece of himself stolen. He pulled towards Aris, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care how upset he was.

  Aris casually tossed it back to him. “That’s an interesting use of magistry.”

  “Please don’t touch it,” Taro pleaded.

  “Sorry,” Aris said dismissively. He certainly didn’t sound sorry.

  Taro breathed hot air into his fingers. “It just keeps getting colder.”

  “Get used to it.”

  “I thought Endra Edûn was the City of the Sun,” Taro said. “Y’know, where it’s always daytime every hour of every day.”

  “That hasn’t been the case for over a year now.”

  “How could it change so much so fast? That’s not natural.”

  “Ah,” Aris said, holding up one finger. “It’s the opposite, actually. The cold is natural. The eternal-summer was artificial. The Arclight on top of the Magisterium tower acted like a second sun and kept the countryside lush and temperate for centuries. It also had great healing powers. Quite a remarkable piece of old magic.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “Humans happened. Give people paradise and they’ll find a way to muck it up. Big surprise. Now, Endra Edûn is miserable city of icy squalor.” Aris pointed at a tiny blip on the foggy horizon. “See that?”