Chapter 39

Basil Trompst

The courtyard echoed with the shuffle of bare feet and the soft brush of cloth. Mags darted between the two shadows, her [Void Cloak] weaving around her like a silver vapor as two blindfolded priestesses closed in. She could barely hear their steps over her own pounding heartbeat. The sun cast long shadows across the stone, the two shadows of the priestesses stretching long between themselves and Mags as they attempted to keep their distance. This was the fifth time Malacoda “borrowed” them to assist with sparring practice, and they’d grown extremely wary of Mags’ [Void Cloak] and her [Angel Flare Spike] Spell.

Malacoda lounged on a low wall nearby, the apple in his hand a flash of red against his loose white tunic. He took a leisurely bite, seeming more interested in the apple’s crisp snap than the sparring happening right in front of him. Still, every so often, he’d toss out a comment, his voice drifting lazily across the courtyard like smoke.

“Watch your timing,” he called as Mags slipped around one of the priestesses, but the blindfolded girl sensed her movements and danced out of range. “You’re telegraphing your moves far too much. Let instinct guide you a bit more!”

The other priestess lunged, aiming to grab her, but Mags rolled away, letting the priestess’ hands pass through the extended aura of her [Void Cloak]. She could feel the cloak disintegrate a portion of whatever power the priestess had been channeling.

She sprang to her feet, trying to circle back around, her breaths coming fast but controlled. “Easier said than done,” she muttered under her breath, eyeing the women who remained unnervingly calm despite their sightless, covered eyes.

Malacoda chuckled as though he’d heard her. “It’s not supposed to be easy. If it was easy, it’d be boring!”

A glowing, golden chain constructed of pure aura shot from the sleeve of one of the priestesses. It slowed, as if pausing a hair’s breadth from Mags’ body, the [Void Cloak] doing its job. But it wasn’t strong enough to completely stop the priestess’ attack. The chain latched onto Mags’ chest and yanked her forward, pulling her towards the priestess and off balance. She let the momentum carry her into a roll, dodging the second priestess who lunged, a bare-handed strike passing through where she had just been standing.

Mags didn’t hesitate. She barreled forward towards the priestess with the aura chain, letting aether fuel her body and propel her body with enhanced speed. She was too fast for the priestess to react this time. Mags landed a cross jab right to the young woman’s abdomen and in that very instant mentally triggered [Angel Flare Spike]. Her [Void Cloak] flickered and a piercing spike of her aura erupted from her fist. Through her [Aura Sense] Mags could feel the Spell immediately take root. The priestess froze and then crumpled to the ground.

Mags smiled with triumph.

Just before a sweep kick struck her right in the temple, knocking her to the ground in a dazed heap.

“That’s enough,” Malacoda sighed around a mouthful of apple.

Mags could hear the bare feet of the priestess who had landed the kick to her head slide away. Malacoda grabbed the back of her tunic with a single strong hand and yanked her up to a sitting position. Her head still swam, temple painfully throbbing where the kick had landed. The last remnants of her aura faded, leaving her feeling cold, drained.

“Thank you, again, ladies,” Malacoda said, giving a half-hearted salute with his other hand.

The second priestess had slowly risen to her own two feet and nodded before walking away with the assistance of her fellow. Mags groaned, gingerly touching her head.

“And your mistake that time was?. . .” Malacoda asked.

“I left my flank open.”

“Yes, and I saw that you did that on purpose. But you were too slow to make it work. And it was foolish when you know they have ranged Spell attacks.”

“I got too confident.”

“The word you’re looking for is cocky.”

Mags grunted. She slowly got to her feet with Malacoda’s help.

“But what you did back there with baiting your attacker into your Void Cloak,” Malada purred with approval, “that was the right idea. And these two opponents know what tricks you have up your sleeve. Most won’t.”

“Shouldn’t I avoid having to rely on tricks to get by?”

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“Yes, generally, that’s true. But the void aspect of your aura-based abilities are something that’s so unique, you can almost depend on springing a surprise on most enemies.”

“There really aren’t any other Soulsingers with these abilities?” Mags walked over to where a waterskin lay in the shade. She snatched it off the ground and took a long pull of cool water.

“No, there aren’t. As I’ve mentioned before, that ‘void’ aspect isn’t associated with any of the Roots of Yggdrasil. There are some similar abilities, but the only close thing to it is voidstone and the voidsteel made from it.”

During her studies, Mags had learned a decent amount of information about voidstone. It was a naturally-occurring element that had been around since the time of the Ivaldi. The Ravaelian Empire had a near monopoly on the rare material, controlling its use and limiting it to containment and control of powerful Soulsingers, such as the criminal and aether-mad sent to Tartarus.

“It’s likely something unique, resulting from the Angel’s egg,” Malacoda said. “Let’s continue to explore its limits and see what it can do.”

Mags dropped the waterskin and jogged back towards her instructor. She was pleased with her progress, but the end of her training period was quickly coming to an end. I need to be stronger. I’m running out of time, but I need to be stronger!

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags reached the final step on the winding stone stairs that zig-zagged up the mountain to the temple ground, heaving under the bar balanced across her shoulders. Each step had seemed to stretch forever, her legs burning with the weight of two sloshing buckets. But now, as she finally dropped the bar, letting the water spill across the dusty stone, she could only smile. Her breath came in steady gulps, her muscles humming with satisfaction. She was drenched in sweat, but there was a thrill to it—a feeling of mastery that had become almost addicting. One hundred trips up the stairs, complete, she thought. When she had first arrived at Bijel Garden she would have been fully depleted after two trips down and back up the mountainside.

“Need a break?” a familiar voice called.

Mags looked up, grinning as Calcabrina stepped toward her, a small basket and a large canteen in hand. “Absolutely,” she replied, reaching for the canteen as soon as Calcabrina held it out to her. The water was blessedly cool, and she drank deeply, savoring every drop.

They settled into the courtyard, where she took another long drink and pulled a bundle from Calcabrina’s basket: flatbread, wrapped around a hearty mix of cheese, vegetables, and drizzled with oil and a finish of finely ground salt. She bit into it, savoring the burst of salt and richness after a long morning of training.

“You feeling ready for tomorrow?” Calcabrina asked, watching her with a soft, steady gaze.

Mags chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. “I think so. I’ve trained hard, and I’m confident when it comes to the tests Coco and Rubicante will give me.” Her voice faltered, and she took another bite to stall. “It’s just . . . the sparring match with Malacoda. I’ve never fought someone that strong. Not even close. And he hasn’t used his Soulsinging once during our time training together.”

Calcabrina chuckled. “You’ll do fine.”

But if I don’t?. . .

The weight of that unspoken question and its answer settled between them. They both knew Sarto wouldn’t hesitate to remove her if she failed the final trial. It was the one reminder, sharp and constant, of the world’s ruthlessness. She was a tool to be used. Sarto had no need for a broken tool.

“Malacoda has seemed pleased with my progress so far, and it’s not like I’ve turned into a giant Angel and wiped Bijel Garden off of the face of Rusalka,” she said. “So, I’ve got that going for me.”

“Exactly! So, why are you training so hard?” Calcabrina asked after a beat, glancing at Mags’ flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. “You’ve been at it all day. It’s the day before those three test you. They gave you the day to rest for a reason!”

Mags looked at her, thoughtful. “Because I think I’m close to a breakthrough, and working hard—well, it’s all I’ve ever known. It would feel strange to slow down when the finish line’s this close.” She let out a soft laugh, a laugh mixed with the pain of old memories. She thought of the pale heels of another young girl, kissing the grass outside Soulgrave House. Of the young girl breaking away from the other child struggling to keep up, sprinting hard towards the finish line. And memories of being trapped, either in bed or in the confines of a wheeled chair.

Only after realizing that the silence between them was growing awkward did Mags open her mouth again. “I didn’t always have control over my body, you know. When I was younger, I was very sick. My body just . . . stopped working right. A lot of times, I had to be bound to a wheeled chair because my muscles wouldn’t listen to me. It was like I knew—I knew—what I wanted them to do, but they just wouldn’t listen. To be betrayed by my own body. . .”

She paused, memories flickering across her mind. She tried to push them back, to bury them again into the dark recesses of her mind. This time, they fought back. “I always dreamed of having powers, of being a Soulsinger, thinking maybe that would fix everything. I thought if I could have magic, it would cure me. I was told that it would fix what had been broken. But. . .” She shrugged, swallowing the last bite of her meal. “Turns out, I had a dull soul. And there was no magical solution. So, I doubled down on strengthening myself. Little by little, I got stronger, and eventually, I didn’t need that chair. I was able to walk—with a lot of help, and slowly—but still mostly on my own. I struggled, and struggled. Walking became jogging, which eventually became running.”

She didn’t say her next thought. That despite fighting to regain control of her body, no amount of training fixed what was fundamentally wrong with her soul. The years of her father not even acknowledging her. No one has use for a broken tool…

Calcabrina watched her, an almost reverent expression crossing her face. “I can see it,” she murmured. “That fire in you.”

“Sometimes I still have nightmares,” Mags admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Nightmares of waking up and not being able to move, of having to be carried around because I’m too weak to even stand. That’s part of why I keep training. Not just for the test, but for myself.” She wiped her hands on her knees, glancing up at Calcabrina with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the food, though. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” Calcabrina replied warmly, a twinkle of respect in her eyes. “Go study and train, then rest up. You’ve got this, Mags.”

With a final, resolute nod, Mags stood and stretched. She gave Calcabrina a small wave, her heart steady and determined.