Arcane (The Arinthian Line Book 1) (18 page)

They made their way downstairs, the sunlight that ricocheted from up high dimming as they descended.

Augum slid his hand along the cool marble banister. “Hope we find treasure.”

“I’d love to find an arcane staff,” Bridget said, gripping the air as if she already had one.

Leera made a slashing motion with her hand. “Or a blade. Dad bought me a short sword for my birthday. I named her Careena, because she kind of careened into things.”

Bridget made a funny face. “What father buys his daughter a short sword?”

Leera stopped and her face fell. “One who loves his daughter very much …”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lee, I’m such a mean—”

“It’s all right,” Leera said, sniffing hard. She took a deep breath. “We have a quest to attend to, and Dad wouldn’t approve of me being a baby.” She turned to Augum. “Don’t you have a sword?”

“Yes, we should get it—” He shrugged. “You know, just in case …”

Leera and Bridget nodded immediately.

“Quickly then—!” Augum raced back up, the girls giving chase. He plowed into the room first, Leera just behind. Victorious, he strutted over to claim his prize, which sparked reassuringly by the mantel.

Leera gave him a blasting look. “Look at you preening; did Robin Scarson crawl into your skin?”

“Ouch!” Nonetheless, he smiled.

After securing the blade to his waist, they scampered back down to the foyer.

“All right, which way?” He glanced between the two pairs of doors opposite each other.

“Let’s try this way.” Bridget walked to the two doors on the west side, Leera and Augum following. She placed her hand on the ornate bronze handle and bit her lip. “Ready?”

They nodded. There was a click and she pushed the creaking doors open into pitch-darkness.

“Shyneo.” Bridget’s hand illuminated with green ivy that wound around her palm like a snake.

“Shyneo.” Leera’s palm trickled to life with glowing water, lapping quietly against her wrist.

Augum stared at Leera’s in fascination. “Amazing.”

Bridget placed her hand next to Leera’s. “Hers is neat, isn’t it? Brighter too.”

Not to be outdone, he raised his own palm. “SHYNEO!” Weak lightning crackled to life, flitting between his fingers and around his palm. He grimaced. “Mine’s weakest.” He took mental note to practice controlling the volume of his incantations.

Bridget scoffed. “Yeah but you only started practicing what, a couple of days ago?”

“We’ve been practicing for two months now,” Leera said, “besides, I like yours.”

He felt his cheeks prickle. “Thanks.”

They entered with outstretched palms, Augum’s other hand on the pommel of his sword. Individually, their lights might have been too weak to get a good look through the darkness, but together they shone reasonably bright.

A chaotic room greeted them, its walls gouged and ruined, ceiling partly collapsed. On the right, a door stood slightly ajar.

“Whatever happened here happened a long time ago,” Bridget whispered, examining a dusty rubble pile.

Augum peered through a gaping hole in the left wall, large enough to crawl through. Beyond he could make out two sets of narrow spiral staircases, one going up and the other down. “Take a look at this—”

Bridget and Leera peeked over his shoulder. He pointed at the one on the right. “That one there must go up the battlement.”

Leera stuck her lit palm through the hole. “Wonder where the other one goes …”

They peered at the gloomy-looking staircase on the left. Augum knew everyone had a good idea of where it went, just nobody wanted to say it.

“Other way?” he asked.

Bridget quickly nodded. “Definitely …”

They headed to the door. Leera pulled at the handle and just managed to jump out of the way as the door detached from its frame, landing with a crash. They froze, listening to the sound bounce down the staircase behind them.

No one dared speak.

Augum expected a tremendous roar and fast thudding footsteps. He thought of the deep gouges in the foyer doors.

Leera made eye contact with both of them. “All right, nothing came to eat us. Let’s keep going.” She tiptoed to the next room, signaling for them to follow.

It appeared to be an ancient storeroom, filled to the ceiling with wrecked crates. The place had evidently been searched top to bottom. Hay lay strewn about along with the decayed remnants of grains. A thick layer of dust coated everything. At the far end was an open door, darkness beyond.

They crept forward, palms outstretched, eyes straining.

Leera suddenly whipped around. “What was that—?”

Bridget swiveled about, eyes darting. “What—what was what? I didn’t hear anything—”

Now Augum was sure something was going to have them for lunch; he thought his heart would explode.

Leera grabbed Bridget’s waist suddenly. “This!” and laughed while Bridget shrieked in terror.

“Leera Jones—!” Bridget said after calming down. “Ugh, I could just … that wasn’t funny.” She turned to Augum to appeal for his support.

Augum quickly nodded. “Wasn’t funny.”

“Then you better stop smiling.” Leera turned back towards the open maw of the door ahead.

Bridget frowned. “No more pranks, Lee.”

Leera smirked. “Augum, you think Mrs. Stone can teach her a sense of humor?”

He could just see Mrs. Stone’s stern face and tried not to laugh. He chose not to say anything though and shouldered past them into the other room.

On the left side was a tall row of cupboards, every door of which was open or hanging crookedly. Opposite stood a door with the top portion missing; on the right, a pair of large simple doors flanked by two more pantry cupboards. Broken glass, large cork stoppers and the remains of an ancient ladder littered the ground. Dust covered everything.

He picked up a stoppered glass jar with something green and slimy inside. “Anyone in the mood for two hundred-year-old pickled eggs?”

The girls both made the same face.

“You sure now—?” He tried giving the jar to Leera.

She squealed and jumped back. “Augum, if you want to live …”

Bridget pressed her lips together, forcing off a smile.

He flashed a pretend hurt look. “Fine then, no one appreciates my cooking,” and casually tossed it over his shoulder. It exploded on the floor with a nasty gurgle.

“Ugh. Boys …” Bridget muttered.

Augum walked to the half-door, glass cracking underfoot, and extended his glowing hand into the room. “I think this is the kitchen—”

“—and I think we found the servants’ quarters here,” Bridget said. The girls had managed to push open one of the two doors on the right side.

He gave up on the half-door and quickly joined them—it was one thing to explore the castle together, quite another to do it alone.

The servants’ quarter was a long room that had row after row of rotting beds, empty torch sconces, moldy strips of fabric, and other miscellaneous debris. There was a gaping hole in the far wall, as if something large had crashed through.

“There should be a room beside this one; one for women, one for men,” Augum said.

“How do you know that?” Leera asked, picking up a torn sheet of cloth from the ground and inspecting it with a sour look. It fell apart in her hands.

“Just something Sir Westwood once said, that servants are segregated in most castles.” He was happy to tell
them
something for a change.

Leera wiped her hands on her cloak. “Did he happen to mention where to find runewords?”

“Nope, never spoke about sorcery or warlocks—”

“Hey, come look at this—” Bridget interrupted. They joined her at the hole. “What do you think caused this?” She looked around the room as if expecting to spot the beast responsible.

“No idea,” he said, “but whatever it was, I hope it’s long gone …”

Bridget peered in. “Judging by the dust, I suspect this happened many years ago. Here, lend me your palms.”

He and Leera stuck their lit hands through the hole.

“I think you’re right, Augum,” Leera said. “Room’s a mirror image of the other. Must be segregated.”

Bridget gathered her green cloak. “This just gives me the creeps, let’s get out of here.”

They walked back, examining the floors and walls for anything unusual.

Augum spotted a small bronze plaque with two symbols, one of which was a torch. “Check this out. Looks like a runeword, doesn’t it?”

Bridget wiped away the dust. “Yes, it does actually …”

Leera pressed the torch insignia with her finger. Nothing happened. They tried to trigger it in various other ways, all to no avail.

“Bah, forget it, let’s just continue on to the kitchen,” he said. “I’m sure this isn’t going to heat the whole castle anyway.”

They returned to the pantry area and helped each other over the half-door, which seemed to be stuck.

Beyond was a massive rectangular room stretching across the back of the castle. The two back corners opened into opposite battlements, sheltering spiral staircases. In the center was a long trestle table, an echo of the royal one they had dined on earlier. Some ancient pots, pans and cookware still hung from iron hooks. Various counters and butcher’s blocks stood covered with dust and debris.

“Smells gross,” Leera said, inspecting a stone sink covered with black goo.

Augum picked up an old earthen mug. “The servants must have eaten here. Wonder how they got the food up to the third floor without it going cold though …”

“
Magic
,” Leera said, using a term he now knew was reserved for parlor tricks and children’s fairy tales. He chuckled, happier to get the joke than anything else. She flashed a cheeky smile before examining one of three large ovens. “These are scary big, and hey—more of those plaques, except the symbols are different.”

He placed the mug back onto its dust shadow and stepped over the ruins of an old bench. The ovens looked like massive stone jaws with iron teeth, starved for their next meal.

“Guess they’re also used arcanely,” he said. Leera gave him an
obviously
look.

Bridget finished her examination of the area near the door and expelled a long breath, cheeks puffing. “Check the walls next.”

“Stairs here!” he called from the other end of the room, voice echoing. Bridget and Leera appeared by his side, the trio staring at wide descending steps that disappeared in darkness.

“Cellar …” Bridget whispered.

Leera’s palm wavered. “If it was fiery and hot down there, I’d call it Hell.”

Augum thought differently, feeling an ancient cemetery chill.

“The heating runeword might be down there though,” Leera added with a shrug.

“Maybe we could take a quick peek,” Augum said.

Bridget turned to him, searching his eyes. “Mrs. Stone wouldn’t let us explore here if she didn’t really think it was safe, would she—?”

“Of course not,” he replied, before remembering his trek to Hangman’s Rock and the dangers he faced along the way.

She gave a stiff nod. “Good. Well then … palms forward?”

He breathed deep and nodded, sliding his other hand over the pommel of his sword, gaining courage from the cold steel.

The Cellar

It was a long way down to the cellar. At the bottom, the trio encountered roughly hewn rock walls and dirt ground, the ceiling four times the height of a man. The air was cold and damp, smelling of earth and ancient stone. The chamber sounded vast, even the tiniest noise echoing distantly. Broken crates were stacked immediately to their left, in the northeast corner, partitioned by a rotten wall adjoining a massive pillar.

“Must be one of the castle supports,” Augum whispered while approaching the pillar, palm outstretched with blue light. “Just look at the size of it.”

Leera pointed her shiny watery hand at a low structure in the center of the chamber. “Look.”

They approached, eyeing the darkness while listening for any sounds other than their own. Augum thought there was a very particular stillness down here, a kind of primordial silence long undisturbed. His entire body tingled knowing he was exploring something so ancient and mysterious.

Bridget tapped the rough stone lip. “It’s a giant well …”

The well had two wooden overhangs once used to lower buckets into its depths. The rope had rotted away but the marks of use were still there.

She peeked over the edge, leaning forward just a little, before recoiling with a shriek as Leera pulled her hand away.

Bridget smacked her on the arm. “Now you’re just begging to be thrown in—”

Leera put a finger to her lips. “Shh, there could be something down here.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“Wonder how deep it goes …” Augum peered over the edge while keeping Leera in sight. He picked up a small rock and dropped it in before Bridget could stop him. The trio listened and waited … and waited … yet no sound came from that inky depth.

“Okay, so it’s a little deep. I’m sure it has a bottom though.” He picked up a second rock, but this time Bridget grabbed his wrist.

“Better not …” she said, suddenly teary-eyed. “We’ll have to get our water elsewhere.”

His cheeks flared with guilt. “I’m sorry, Bridget, I didn’t mean—”

“—no it’s not that.” She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “It’s just that my father used to tend to the village well.”

“Aww, Bridge …” Leera hugged her gently and smoothed her hair. She gave her a moment. “So what do you think—where would the runeword be found in a place like this?”

Bridget straightened her cloak. “We should check the columns first; might be a servants’ marker or something like that.”

There were four gargantuan support columns spread evenly around the great room. The trio went back to the first and examined it carefully, finding nothing; but something else caught Augum’s eye at the edge of their light.

“Is that a dungeon—?”

Bridget and Leera whipped around.

He stepped before two massive wrought-iron gates inset into the north wall. Iron-worked ivy leaves spiraled up the bars, their dull-green paint long faded and cracked. Flanked by two sentry booths, the arched gates towered to the ceiling, as if designed to hold some enormous beast. The black stonework around them was the same as the outside of the castle.