Chapter 1

Hard Teacher

“Again,” her tutor squawked. Keira leaned up from her chair in the extensive library. She listened to the pings of rain on the stained-glass dome above her, the early fall rains filled the silence between her and her tutor. The books on the shelf behind him as aged as the man himself. How much longer, she thought as she looked up at the clock above the fireplace. The light danced across its eighteen-hour face. 17:45 in the evening! She thought, I should have been in bed four hours ago.

“Don’t look at the clock!” The old tutor chided. He ran a hand down his white goatee that was turned in its usual frown, “Well, what are you waiting for? Light the candle. Remember, left hand.”

She sighed and held out her hand, rubbing her fingers together. The color drained from her face as a small candle on the other side of the table sparked to life. Exhaustion pulled her head to the table. This old goat is going to kill me if we go much further, she thought.

Keira could hear her tutor Leon grumble on the far end of the table. His disappointment with her progress made the mood in the library intolerable. She could smell the stink of the day on her midnight blue hair. The odor wrinkled her nose, and she picked herself up off the table. Tomorrow won’t be any easier with no sleep.

She looked over to see her tutor glaring at her, “Back with us? Now extinguish the candle child. Right hand.” She dared not lock eyes with him. Instead, her eyes gravitated toward his steadily raping fingers. The colored tattoo rings and an insignia on the back of his palm denoted his rank as a warlock. Ten black rings on the top of his index finger with a red line running through them down to a red circle – Grand General of the Army, Retired. One bold white ring with three smaller white rings on his ring finger – Married, three children. Remembering the absence of any rank on her own hands, she fought down the urge to cram the candle down his throat.

She grabbed the candle with her mind and clenched her fist. The small white candle went out. But her feelings had clearly bled through the magic because the spare candles near Leon exploded covering him and the bookshelf behind him in hot wax.

“For the grace of the gods. Insufferable child.” He berated. “Keira you are without a doubt the worst magic user I have ever had the displeasure to teach. Your father’s skills by this time in his training were prodigious, even your brother was at least mediocre. But you! You have an innate gift for the destruction of magical tradition that I have never seen before.”

“It was an accident,” Keira apologized, mimicking sincerity.

“An accident? Child, when the Empire invaded the Rift that was an accident. You are a catastrophe.”

“No,” he said as she opened her mouth to protest, Leon pointed a crooked finger at her, “Clean this up. Don’t you dare try and get one of the servants to help you. This is your mess, you clean it up.” He stated as he marched out of the library muttering to himself the .

An old friend of her father’s and former Master of the Academy, Leon had been given the care of her studies by her father’s request. Therefore, he often doled out punishments like he did during his teaching and military career.

She rolled her eyes and started cleaning up the table and bookshelf. She chuckled at the faint silhouette of empty space where Leon had been standing. She blinked away the fatigue, looking at the clock, 18:15am, damn it.

She sighed again, grabbed a rag, and started cleaning off book spines. She recalled each book she had read and imagined what the others could contain. She read a rather large book’s gold lettering as she cleaned it off, Lestrum ni Fignus, an old book on the rise of the human empire of Gagazan. Gagazan was named for the Gaga mountains that formed its eastern border, and the warlock’s village rested at the foot of those mountains.

Putting it back she wiped off another book bound in black leather. On its cover was eight interconnected circles all connected by a massive ring made of polished metal. Opening the book all the pages appeared to be blank, but she knew it was merely a locking spell to keep people from reading it. A few books later she opened another bound in white linen, Elemental Magic: A History. She scoffed as she lazily put the book back on the shelf. I could write one of those with all the verbal lessons from Leon, she thought.

Her mind wandered as she cleaned off a few more books, recalling what she had learned from Leon about magic. All magic was elemental in some way, the most common were: earth, fire, air, or water; and everyone from pauper to king had the potential for one of them. Although most outside of her village relied on visual magic and incantation.

Another caught her eye, a red leather-bound book with two interconnected four-pointed stars on the cover. She opened it and read the interior cover, Amentius ni Incaarnus. A book written by the Lumintari people on the rarer forms of magic: light, dark, ethereal, and soul. While some out in the world beyond her village practiced light or ethereal magic; dark magic, otherwise known as black magic, and soul magic were forbidden. Placing it back on the shelf she moved on to the books on the table that had been covered in wax. Putting them back on their shelves as she went.

The Hierarchy of Rule and Laws of the Empire. She sneered at the imperial print on the cover tossing it aside. While she had no love for the empire, her village had forbidden many of the same types of black magic as well. Soul magic, on the other hand, was the very being of a warlock, Human or otherwise.

To become a warlock, you had to ascend beyond mortal abilities; she knew it was dangerous to have your soul removed and then become its master. If you could not then you would die during the ritual. Some believed that mastering the soul was the path to immortality. Although warlocks were more powerful in magic than ordinary people, her people live and grow old like everyone else. It didn’t stop some from exploiting their art to gain immortality, sacrificing other people’s souls to prolong their lives.

She snapped back to reality when the doors to the balcony on the other side of the room blew open. The opening flooded the library with a frigid wind, debris, and rain. She rushed over and slammed the doors shut, but not before the wind blew in loose leaves and drenched her in rainwater. She closed her eyes and shook the water from her hands, her white blouse was sticking to her skin revealing the small clan tattoo on her right breast.

While she wasn’t a talented elemental magic caster, much to Leon’s chagrin. Keira had quite the talent for ethereal magic, with an emphasis on telekinetic magic and intangibility.

Taking in the chaos of the room she opened her hand, felt the burn in her eyes as purple four pointed stars appeared on the edge of her vision, and recited the spell in her mind. Instantly the papers on the floor and loose leaves all moved backward in time. The rain and leaves passed through the door as if it wasn’t even there. Letting go of the spell they resumed their normal path; this time she was ready and braced against the doors. After the sudden burst of wind subsided she butted a chair against the doors.

Her arms fell, and the blood drained from her face, the cost of the magic fatiguing her even more. While the water had left her clothes, the cold had remained. She felt her eyes burn, begin to droop and she blinked away the purple light. The large armchair nearby had a small blanket near the fire, and its warm embrace was inviting. She plopped down in the chair and draped the blanket over her legs. The warmth seeping into her cold body.

I’ll just rest for a bit and clean the rest up later, She thought.

***

What seemed like moments later, she felt small hands on her shoulder. “Mistress Silverlight, you’re gonna be late.” Said a little boy, one of the servant’s children, standing beside her chair.

She looked at the clock, 9:15am. Shit if I don’t hoof it, I’ll be late. She launched herself out of the library, down the hall, and flew down the stairs. At the bottom, one of the house servants had a platter of used dishes.

“Out of the way.” She said quickly ducking under the platter, and out the stained-glass door. She crossed the well-groomed manor grounds quickly, and shouted at the old gatekeeper,

“Open the gate, Stanley.” Stanley looked over at her as she ran and he shook his head as he leaned to get up from his comfy chair in the guardhouse. He smiled crookedly swinging the gate wide, “Late again?”

“Shut up, Stanley.” She snapped as she passed. She heard the gate of Silverlight Manor crash shut behind her as she made her way down the street toward the middle of town.

Zigzagging through the marketplace, Keira edged toward the outside of town. Her boots clacked off the worn cobbles of the street, she could smell the warm scent of cinnamon in the air. The Lumintari bakery down the street had begun its morning, the smell reminded her of her mother’s cooking, and her stomach turned from lack of breakfast. She caught a glimpse of the Lumintari in the bakery, their greying blue hair tied up, working the dough into lumps for baking.

She bumped into a Üna-vek pulling a large cart full of Magicite swords and armor. She looked up and saw a mean bearded face staring her down from four feet above her. It’s large regular arms were pushing the cart while the two smaller inner arms were flailing in her direction. It roared something in its native language she didn’t recognize and continued to push the cart down the street.

Keira heard the bell sound twice behind her, and she looked back to the middle of the street at the tall clock tower. It was nearly mid-morning, and her training class would be starting soon. She moved out of the way of the Üna-vek and slid past the last of the crowds down the narrow alley behind them.

Keira doubled her pace from a brisk walk to a run down the narrow corridor between buildings. A man grabbed her as she rounded the corner. She pushed away from the man’s chest. The armor of his guardsmen uniform was rough to the touch. She looked up to find the face of her boyfriend, Solomon Forge looking down at her.

He grinned, “You're gonna be late if you go through the gatehouse,” He was just a few years older than her, but his black hair had already started to turn grey at the temples. The outline of two stars on his neck. Accompanied by the three lines on his index finger, denoted his rank in the village – Interior Guardsmen, second class.

“I know, but if we use the tunnel too much, people will find out,” She hissed leaning back into his chest. She had always enjoyed the feeling of his muscular arms around her.

He relaxed, and they made their way quickly down the alley. “When are we going to tell your dad about us?” He asked.

“I told you already, after my Ascension.” She said turning right, behind the houses that ran along the village walls.

During the Great Culling, her village had been the only point of refuge. Now it was just them, the empire had burned all the other communities. The survivors had fled here, to the birthplace of her people, Arlinstead. But that had been before her time, nearly thirty years of isolation from the outside world had cut them off from a steady supply of goods. Yet, some of the walls held secrets: tunnels, bunkers, and storerooms.

The two of them had discovered many of the rooms by accident as children, they had had many days of fun and adventure playing in them. Keira ran ahead, feeling the wall till she found the black stone. She waited for Solomon to catch up, his broad frame taking up most of the narrow alley, and they pulled on it together. A section of stone gave way, opening into a passage under the wall and out into the fields beyond.

“You better hurry,” he said, “I’ll close it, go.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Keira said and gave a quick kiss. She crawled through the tunnel and brushed her black pants clean of dirt. Behind her, the passage closed with a soft thud. She looked around for anyone that could have spotted her emerging from the passageway. Seeing no one, she bolted toward the Warlock Academy.

She passed the first of many fields where the non-warlocks worked as manual labor, though she was sure they had names; many people in the village merely referred to the workers as Nons. Each was marked by a large tattoo on their face, one that designated the reason for their servitude. Some were Nons from birth, and some were Nons because they failed to complete their training. But a few, the ones with the palm-sized red “X” on their cheeks, were Nons for crimes they had committed.

She worked her way toward the ascension area, where the remains of the first ascension pedestal still stood upended. A giant juniper stump stood its roots exposed, its surface covered in ancient runes. It was twice as thick as a man and standing as tall as a Üna-vek at nine feet.

The pedestal was marred by a large burned area where an evil warlock from long ago had hit it during a great battle in the village. Arlinstead began its isolationist campaign a few years later, and the warlock culture’s little corner of the world started to shrink. The evil warlock’s story was now told as a fable, in tavern songs and children’s stories. A cautionary tale of what power run amok can do. They now only called him by the moniker that the people had given him, the Nightmare.

Keira’s legs burned as they carried her onward down a soft hill, till she could see the few buildings that resided just inside the outer wall that denoted the magic barrier that protected the village from outsiders. She noticed her fellow students already assembled for the morning exercises on the training field.

Damn it, she thought, I guess there isn’t anything I can do. She slowed and stopped at five paces from the line.

Master Torok, stood his hands on his hips a menacing scowl across his face. While the Lumintari were known as the people of the moon because of their olive skin and blue hair. The Dumintari from the dunescapes across the sea, with their dark features and tall statures, were the people of the sun. He turned to address the line of students.

She started to take another step toward the training master when he shot her a glare over his shoulder that could have cut her in half. I’ll stay here then, she thought. She heard a few stifled snickers come from the line of students and saw not a few faint smiles.

“Quiet,” Master Torok snapped, his voice whipping them to absolute silence.

Looking back at the others he began to pace back and forth along the line. “Keira, what makes a warlock?”

“Discipline and training, Master.”

“Discipline and training. These are the principles I have repeatedly tried to instill in you sad, pathetic excuses for potential warlocks.” Torok smacked the boy that had snickered on the back of the head, without skipping a beat in his speech. Torok’s sleek wiry frame was tightly muscled, and his arms scarred from countless battles and training sessions. “None of you stray dogs, would last a fleeting moment against the warriors of a hundred years ago. Discipline is the only thing that keeps us from digressing to our darker selves. Like the Nightmare, who fell into temptation giving in to his baser urges and plunged our people into isolation. Training gives us the strength to resist the temptation to use your Warlock powers for selfish gain.”

He stopped at the far end of the line and addressed her, “Even you Keira with your family’s heritage on the line, lack the simple discipline to show up at the appointed hour. So,” he grabbed and pulled off the whip lashed to his belt, “If you lack the discipline, you must require further training,” He signaled over to a tent behind the line of students.

She closed her eyes and felt the tremble of her bottom lip, she could already feel the pain coming. Torok had always been harsh on her, especially now with her Ascension coming up. It seemed he wanted any reason to punish her as severely as he could.

Two of Torok’s junior training instructors ran over and peeled off her shirt, exposing her scarred and toned body to the chilly morning air. They led her over to one side of the training grounds and bound her hands and feet to the two pillars of the whipping post.

She heard the spool of the whip hit the ground and his voice sank low, “So, my students. Attend your eyes, on yet another lesson,” Her breathing hitched as she prepared herself for the inevitable crack of the whip on her back. This was the part she hated the most, it wasn’t the pain itself, but the anticipation. The sheer aloneness of being stripped and lashed felt like the emptiest feeling in the world. It was at times like these, she felt the heat of anger boil up, anger at her culture, at her father, at the cruel master peeling her back.

The lightning strike of pain shook through her before the crack of the whip had reached her ears.

“A warlock does not fear death,” Master Torok continued to shout at the students, “A warlock does not fear loss.” The whip’s razor-sharp metal tip slashed into flesh and cut deep.

“Only thing a warlock feels is pain,” The second strike came, and she remained silent, her breathing quick and shallow.

“The flavor of suffering is bitter and harsh, and you will learn to savor it,” The third strike. A small cry escaped her lips as her knees trembled.

“The price paid for becoming more than mere mortals tempers us, or crumbles us to nothing, like so many others before you,” The fourth broke her resolve completely, causing her back to arch and her knees buckle.

“We serve the light,” Torok paused, winding his arm back for the fifth strike. Making sure that his last swing was memorable, by switching from vertical lashes to a horizontal strike, “The light continues to guide us,” Master Torok concluded.

“The light…continues to guide us,” Keira breathed out. The junior instructors to either side of her released their hold on the ropes and allowed her to slide to the ground. Keira’s head bobbed in pain. Her face flushed from the screaming. They hoisted her up by her armpits, and she heard the soft footfalls of an elderly Lumintari coming her way.

“Torok,” the woman said, “Why must you cut so deeply into the young ones?”

“Amea, I merely wield the whip. It is they that butcher themselves by not heeding my words,” Torok replied.

Amea Fae was perhaps the oldest, and most cunning warlock still in active service to the village, though her advanced years had relegated her to the role of healer for the Academy.

He looked down at the whip as he slowly spooled it back up, “See young Silverlight to the healing barracks.”

The two instructors dragged her into the small building and placed her face down on the large wooden table in the middle. As she lay there she felt the pain on her back swallowing her down its inky red abyss.

“Great, now out. Out!” Amea spat.

“Let’s see if we can’t piece you back together. Again!” She said under her breath as she snatched a few herbs and poultices from the shelf under the table. Amea set to work binding the wounds with a few small healing spells that would bond the flesh back together just well enough that they wouldn’t open again.

The horizontal mark on her back she left to scar over, marking the punishment. Keira wished that just this once that the old healer would completely heal the marks, leaving no trace. But that was not the way of her culture. No, we earn our brands, and wear our shame, she remembered.

“Keira, you are just like your brother always getting in trouble, but at least he was smart enough to not be late.” The old Lumintari chided her.

“I know,” She mumbled back, the pain of her wounds causing her voice to tremble.

“Drink this,” Commanded Amea, placing the odorous concoction on the table. Steadying herself on the table, she picked up the bowl with one hand, the other braced on the edge of the table. Tipping the dish back and took a large gulp of the foul concoction. As chunks of the potion conquered what was left of her strength, her head shook involuntarily. Her hand dropped a little allowing her to breathe, half of the medicine still in the bowl.

“No, the whole thing child,” Amea said pushing the bowl back to Keira’s lips.

Reluctantly she downed the rest of the milky liquid. As it settled, warmth returned to her body, and the throbbing of the stripes on her back subsided, “Thanks Mistress Fae.”

Amea took Keira’s neck in hand and felt around, looking into her eyes and ears. Her spiny fingers still had the strength of a younger woman and flicked Keira’s chin to one side, “You're dangerously close to not making it to the end of your training. You need to be careful. Until you go through your rite, and gain your rank, becoming a Non is always a possibility.”

Amea grabbed her by the shoulders, concern welling off the old woman, “I remember when your mother came to the Academy, your father vouched for her after her fifth set of stripes. Your mother is dear to me, as all my fellow Lumintari are in this village. I feel for them as if they were my own children.”

Keira looked up into the eyes of the healer, her words as keen as Torok’s whip.

Amea let go of her and stood up straight, “It would break my heart to see her hurt by your follies. I would hate for one of the handful Lumintari in this village, even half a one, to become a Non. You sit at twenty-five marks. A few more and you’ll be serving in your father’s household rather than living in it. And I will not stand for it.”

“I understand.” She resigned, hanging her head low.

“Oh, young one.” Amea said, raising Keira’s chin, “You don’t, but I have a feeling you will soon.”

A long shadow fell over the pair and sent chills down Keira’s spine. She looked up to find Master Torok’s menacing frame blocking the doorway.

“Clean yourself and dress. Today you pair with me.”