I’ve been in Westgrove for six months--really it is more accurate to say that I have been in and out of the town for six months--but I’ve never seen the warehouse as busy as it is tonight. Word that the competition finished spread fast enough through the participants on the mountain that almost everyone had made it back to town before sundown. The building was a mess of celebration, even those that had lost the competition managed to come out ahead with how many rank one monsters there had been on the mountain to cull. Halford, Kapin, and Jellian are already well into their cups, the adventuring community in attendance celebrating not only the successful hunt for the azure rabbit, but also the ranking up of two different entrants. Hitting the second rank is something uncommon to such a low magic environment like Westgrove, and each time it happened the drunks that stew in the barroom of the Warehouse use it as a reason for celebratory drinking.
Every few minutes another man or woman, usually wobbling as they make their way over to the long table, toss a silver coin onto the table and buy a new round of ale or whisky for either my brother or the foreign dwarven woman who hit the second rank during the competition as well. Halford sits a head above everyone in the room now, his infectious laugh and smile keeping the mood light as he spins a glowing stick of crystal around his fingers. It is one of the six attunement stones he received from Arabella Willian when we got back to town. A dozen men surround my brother and two women in their late twenties sit close to him, but he doesn’t seem to notice any of them. He and Kapin yell jokes back and forth over the din of fiddle music when they aren’t trying to start some new game of cards that they abandon in less than ten minutes to return to drinking.
I look down at my own cup of watered wine. It isn’t so bad, and after my third cup, I might even mistake it for being good. I sit away from my brother, I’m still mad at him, but I don’t want to ruin his celebration. I know how hard he has worked to get to where he is now: waking up with Kapin in the early morning to train, making trips to Vale when he can to get mentorship from more seasoned adventurers or to read up as much as he can on magical lore, compiling three journals’ worth of information on local monsters to keep his party safe, and putting others ahead of himself when it comes to outfitting the party with gear. He really is a good man, and a part of me knows it’s not fair for me to be angry with him the one time that he makes the selfish choice. Knowing that doesn’t stop me from being pissed.
Huge arms wrap around me in a bear hug and lift me from my melancholy and my bench. “Charlene!” Kapin roars in my ear, alcohol making his breath toxic. “Halford just told me! You’re coming with us to Vale, huh!”
“Put me down, you oaf!” I yell over my shoulder at him, unable to keep a smile from my face or a laugh out of my voice.
Kapin laughs, spinning me like a doll and setting me back on my feet, facing him. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that you are finally giving up on waiting for Corinth. Take your destiny into your own hands.” He ruffles my hair with an oversized, callused hand.
“I thought you and Halford wanted me to wait on Corinth,” I say, blowing hair out of my face.
“That’s all Halford,” Kapin says, jutting a thumb over to where my brother spills ale down his gullet to the cheering of those around him. “I told him to get you something good when he was first buying essentia, said that it being the three of us out and slaying monsters was the best way to do it. Didn’t follow my advice of course, he never does.”
“You are the one always telling me that I’m useless,” I accuse. I try to stick my finger into Kapin’s chest, but somehow miss the massive target. Thinking on it again, it might have been five cups of wine. I pick my cup back up from the table and start sipping on it.
“You are,” Kapin agrees. “In a fight at least. You only had the idea to find yourself a weapon a few days ago.”
“Crossbows are expensive,” I say.
“Yeah, true. You’re great Charlie, always knew that, and you know that I love you like my own sister--”
“You don’t have a sister.”
“Well, if I did then I would love you like one,” he says. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re finally going to do it. We’ll get you some good essentia in Vale, you’ll see. Don’t have as much money now as we did the first time around, but that won’t be a problem. You won’t have to settle for a Snake Essentia, they got the good stuff in the real cities.”
I frown at Kapin’s mention of the Snake Essentia. “You too, huh.”
“Me too, what?”
“You going to harp on me about wanting that essentia? What’s the big problem with getting a Snake Essentia? Jelilan’s conflux is the Spider Essentia, and I don’t see the two of you calling him out for that.”
“That’s not polite to talk about,” Kapin says. He takes a long sip out of the mug he is holding. “I just don’t want something weird to happen to you. Snakes don’t have arms. What if you get a power that makes your arms disappear, huh? What then?”
“That’s not…a thing…”
“You know all the essentia powers all of a sudden?” he asks.
“Don’t be dumb,” I say, finishing the last of my wine. Putting the tankard back on the table, upside down, I steal another cup from a woman snoring face down on the wood near us. I taste some foul mixture of whiskey and pear juice splash over my tongue as I toss it back. I scowl at the drink but keep sipping. “If I want to do it then that is what I want, yeah?”
“Do what you want, Charlie. Tits and honey, you know I’m never going to tell you different. Just, you know, stop wanting stupid things.” He laughs at my expression.
I take another sip from the cup and try to shoulder past the man. Of course, he is as unmovable as stone, and I spin on my foot from the impact, continuing past him in a half-stumble.
“Where you going?” Kapin asks behind me.
“I’m going to go see how Bali is doing,” I yell back to him. It isn’t strictly a lie, but as I run my fingers through my pocket and feel the note that I have tucked away inside, I know it won’t be the only thing that I do tonight.
“Give her my love,” Kapin says, turning away before I can reply and going back to his celebration with his friends.
I spare my brother a last look as I leave the Warehouse, and to my surprise, he meets my eyes. The man offers me a nod as I leave, but in the bleariness of my tipsiness, I can’t puzzle out why.
I stumble out of the rundown hostel we had been staying in for several weeks after remembering that we don’t have rooms there anymore. I leave my empty mug of pear whisky swill on the doorstep as I meander my way to the good side of town toward the inn where all my stuff is. I find Bali lying on her bed when I creep into the room. She lies on the woolen covers, facing the wall, the candle on the nightstand behind her casting a vicious shadow onto the wall in front of her. I can tell that she isn’t asleep as I come in, but she ignores me coming in, and I choose not to disturb her.
The water splashing down my throat is bliss, and I drink two full cups before setting the pitcher back beneath the table. I sit on my own bed, fiddling with the scrap of paper the silent woman handed me earlier in the day, watching Bali as she lays staring at the wall. After a while I need to light a new candle to keep the light going.
My pack is light in the trunk at the foot of my bed, the heaviest thing inside the steel breastplate. I heft the pack onto my back as I look to the door. Instead of leaving, I cross the room and rest my hand on Bali’s shoulder; she stiffens at my touch.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I tell her as I walk to the door. She doesn’t say anything back to me, and I pretend that I don’t notice her sniffling as I ease the door closed.
The note brings me to a street comprised of houses that should be too large to exist inside of the bounds of Westgrove. A carriage driven by a team of four horses passes me by beneath the ember glow of a streetlamp. The coachman spares me a moment’s disdain as he passes but makes no remark. It takes me more than ten minutes to puzzle out the addresses of the manor homes on the street, and another ten beyond that to find the right house. The manor I stand in front of is made of purple wood turned black by the moonless night. The light of two candles pulse softly out of the front windows on either side of the front door, throwing shadows into the street like fishing wire, reeling me in with the dark beauty of the manor. I pause at the door, trying and failing to read the note again by the wan light the manor gives off. Before I can knock, I hear a faint click from the door, and see the knob turn.
A man opens the doorway. He isn’t human, though were it not for his skin like molten iron I would be unable to tell. The raven curls of hair that spill over his shoulders looks like it should burn at the touch of his skin, but the only thing burning within him are the smolders of red that are his eyes.
“You are?” he asks, voice smooth like strawberry jam.
“Charlene Devardem,” I say, surprising myself with the evenness of my voice. I hold up the note. “I was given this.”
The man of fire studies the paper in my hand but makes no move to take it from me. “I see.” He opens the door fully and beckons me inside. “Ms. Willian is expecting you, Ms. Devardem. Please, follow me inside.”
I bow to the man, not sure if it is proper to do so or not, and step inside the manor. The man closes the door behind me. Looking around the manor, I find it remarkably barren of furniture. Walls of oak paneling close us into an undecorated entryway, and as the man leads me further into the building, I find naked pedestals standing in the hallways where vases are missed. Hooks and nails hang at eye level, the hint of dark wood beneath them giving away the fact that there used to be paintings hung throughout the halls; no more.
“I am bid to ask if you know why you have been invited,” the man says as he leads me through the labyrinth of hallways. We have taken three right turns through the manor house before he has dared to speak with me.
“I have a guess,” I say to him. “I’m sorry, would you mind giving me the honor of your name?”
“Not much honor left in the name I am afraid,” he says, trying and failing to sound lighthearted. “My name is Yorick Mason, I am Ms. Willian’s butler. I will ask that you forgive any rudeness I might unintentionally extend to you, I am still new to my position.”
“I’ll forgive you preemptively,” I say. The chill of the night air and the strangeness of the manor I wind through does wonders to sober me up. “I hope that it is not too late to call upon Ms. Willian. The note said to come tonight, but still…”
“Ms. Willian prefers to conduct her business at first opportunity,” Mr. Mason says. “As I said earlier, she is expecting you.” The man stops in front of a nondescript door and studies me a moment. “Have you spoken with a high ranker before?”
“Only my brother. He is rank two.”
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Mr. Mason nods at me. “You need to be above third rank to be considered a high ranker,” he informs. “Be polite, you will be forgiven for most breaches of proper manner, but impoliteness is never tolerated. Ms. Willian is not nobility, be cordial.”
“I understand,” I reply with all due seriousness.
“Superb. Remember, you are a guest.” Mr. Mason inclines his head to me, and opens the door, stepping away.
I keep my spine straight as I walk inside. The room is a contrast to the rest of the manor. A brilliant starscape of blue wall paper lines the room, the silver of the night sky twinkling with the light of six orbs of soft gray light that revolve near the ceiling. The walls are covered in murals of beautiful people with long silver hair, generations worth of near perfect beings staring stoically into the room as if through a window. Two sofas made of burgundy river-skink leather sit opposite each other, a long table of dappled limestone resting between them. On the table rests a porcelain tray of cookies and biscuits along with a kettle of steaming tea. To the right of the tea tray, resting beneath the perfect hand of Arabella Willian, a purple velvet cloth covers an object the height of the tea kettle; there is something ominous that emanates from that hidden object.
Arabella Willian, as serene a beauty as I first experienced in the Warehouse just a few days before, sits on the sofa opposite the door I entered from, her full lips quirked in a smirk that makes me believe she can read the story of my soul at a glance. Tonight, she wears a tight dress of lavender silk that emphasizes the danger in her eyes. She drums flawless red-painted nails on the velvet beneath her hand, earning a metallic echo from whatever lay beneath. Behind her, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of another door which leads out of the room, three silent women in blue habits watch on.
“Please,” she says to me, “have a seat.”
I jump, hearing the door behind me click shut. I offer Arabella Willian the best bow that I can muster. “I am Charlene Devardem,” I say.
“Oh, I know.” She motions to the sofa opposite her. “Please, child, have a seat. You look a little unsteady on your feet.”
“Yes. I mean, no ma’am. I am steady on my feet.” I set my pack down next to the sofa as I come around it and take the seat she motioned toward. I reach into my pocket once more and pull out the piece of scrap paper. Arabella Willian smiles at me. “You gave this to me.”
“Yes, Pricinna delivered that to you as per my instruction,” she says.
I shake my head. “No, you gave it to me.”
Arabella’s smile widens at my words. With a gesture, the three women behind Arabella begin to transform, becoming as transparent as glass as their structures rearrange. It takes me a moment to realize that they are made of ice, a shifting crystalline structure of ice that changes to match the form of the woman in front of me, before growing opaque once more and becoming true mirrors of Arabella Willian.
“How did you know?” she asks.
“It took me a while,” I say, “but the one you sent with us, her eyes were the same as yours.”
Arabella laughs an unexpectedly deep and rich flavor. “You are perceptive, child. I thought that was the case. Not many without an understanding of soul perception can see through my ice clones. Although, that is but one of the reasons I extended the offer. Humor me, tell me another reason.”
Unfolding the piece of paper again, I scan the words. ‘Arabella Willian finds you interesting. She extends to you an offer to attempt entrance to the Willian guild, should you be so inclined. Come alone, tonight, so that she may make the offer in person.’ The rest of the note details the address of the manor.
“I assume that it has something to do with my brother,” I say, tossing the piece of paper onto the table between us.
“Ah, quite the impressive young man. When I was delivering to him the spoils of the competition, he made it known to me that he intends to take his team away from here. That will be a wise move, he is already reaching the edges of what this place can offer to him. I expect his career to go quite well, if he can survive it that is.” She taps her lips in contemplation. “Incorrect though, your brother did not factor into my decision.”
“I meant my other brother, Corinth Devardem,” I explain.
“Another brother.” Arabella’s eyebrow quirks. “I have no knowledge of this man. What about him makes you believe that he might sway my evaluation of you.”
I look at her, puzzled. I was certain that the only reason she might be interested in me would have been because of my relation to Corinth. “He is a rank five magician,” I say.
“Rank five. Impressive. Especially if he is human, like you, like me. Not very many of our kind can make it that high; politics.” She scrutinizes me once more, and I watch as her eyes flick back and forth, her mind racing faster than I can hope to match. “Ah, now I recall the name. Your brother is the Red Mage of Evengale. He came from this part of Gale. Yes, now that sets a few things nicely into place.”
“If not for my brother, then why would you extend such a generous invitation to me? Surely there were better adventurers in the competition that deserve such an honor more. Halford, he won the competition after all.”
“But that is not what I am after. You, Ms. Devardem, are what I am after. You are a zero rank magician with a single and rare essentia to your being, perceptive, and most importantly of all, you lust for power.” Arabella’s smirk blossoms into a dangerous smile. “I can offer you that power.” She taps the velvet cloth again, causing another metallic ping. “Agree to my terms and I can offer you a grander start into the magic world than even most nobles can claim to get. The resources of the Willian guild are vast, and I have been allotted considerable dispensation to make certain that my mission is successful.”
I stare at the woman across the table from me for a while, considering. My father always warned me about deals that seemed too evergreen. There is always something hidden behind the pleasant smiles of the powerful he would say. My mother, on the other hand, would tell me that I should snatch any opportunity that came my way, I’d burn my hands sometimes, but a little burn is nothing when there is something truly good on the table.
“What terms are these?” I ask. “You said you want me, what do you want me for?”
“A prudent question.” Arabella leans back in her seat, spreading her arms across the back of the sofa. She gestures to one of her ice clones with a finger, and the clone comes around the table to pour the two of us a cup of tea from the kettle. “There is…a tournament set to begin three years from now. The Willian guild will participate in this event, as will guilds from nations and continents the world over. This tournament is aimed at showcasing the best and brightest of the third rankers that each guild can put up. Prizes, honors, fabulous wealth is all in store for those that prove themselves in this tournament, and the prestige of the guilds are at stake. I am but one of a handful of individuals that have been dispatched to discover dirt-covered gems, such as yourself, who just need a little bit of polishing.
“It is the hope of the guild head that we might be able to inject some new blood into our guild, and that maybe one of those unpolished gems might be able to challenge the already impressive roster of third rankers in the guild. I have chosen you for this. It is a considerable honor.”
I sip at the tea poured for me, finding it perfect in temperature and as sweet as an apple. “I am sure that it is,” I say. “Still, you haven’t told me about the terms that I would be agreeing to.”
“Quite right,” Arabella says, taking a sip from her own teacup. “See, you are perceptive. The terms are extremely attractive, if I do say so myself. I will supply you with essentia, truly, you will boggle at the collection that I have brought along with me. I will supply you with a team of first rankers that will be in the same position as you, and I will make certain that you each receive the best training that I can deliver. After all, you will need to make it to the third rank in as many years. Additionally, because you are still a zero ranker,” she taps the covered object again, “you are in an incredibly enviable position. Beneath this cloth I have something that can only be bestowed upon an individual before they fully achieve the first rank. I offer this to you as well.”
“What is it?” I ask.
She smirks, as if she has been waiting for that exact question this whole time. Arabella pinches the velvet, pulling the cloth away to reveal a jar. A sickly yellow-green liquid fills the jar to the brim, and floating inside the jar, is a black orb that I slowly come to realize is an eyeball. The eye slowly spins inside the jar until a red iris comes to stare directly into my own eyes before turning away.
“An eye.” I abandon my tea on the table. “You want to give me an eye?”
“Precisely,” Arabella agrees. “I knew the man who possessed this eye before. The higher an essentia magician’s rank climbs, the more physical their soul becomes, and when they pass the third threshold, their body fully integrates their magical gifts. Sometimes, when they die, parts of their bodies can be harvested and invested into the non-magical to pass along those gifts. The process doesn’t work on those rank one or higher.”
“You want to put that eye in me?” I ask. I try to look away from the eyeball in the jar, but I can’t pull my eyes away.
“I do. This eye possesses a powerful analytical tool. With it, and with the potential that I sense inside of you, I believe that you have the capability of being the gem that I was sent to this backwater to uncover. You will be a ruby, I think.”
“I don’t know, Ms. Willian.” Arabella puts the cover back over the jar and I finally find myself able to look back at her. “Having someone put someone else’s eye in me seems a little…wrong.”
“Wrong?” Arabella barks a laugh. “No, Ms. Devardem. The man whose eye this was bequeathed it to the guild before his passing so that it might be used. You would be honoring him by accepting it.”
“Still--”
“What was it that you said to your brother?” she asks. “That you wanted to become a powerful magician, I remember it well because you did not say that you wanted to become a great adventurer. Why do you think that is?”
“I will be an adventurer,” I say. “Of course I will.”
“But that isn’t what you want, is it. You want to be powerful. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“But you do want it…”
My mouth works but no words come out. I look around the room, trying not to meet the woman’s violet eyes, but that leaves my own gaze to fall back on the covered jar. “I do want it,” I say. I reach a tentative hand toward the jar and pull away. “I don’t know why I want it. I don’t have some grand dream that I need that kind of power for. I see them, the adventurers, I have watched them for so long now, I want what they have.”
“Do you honestly think that your brother would allow you that? Do you think that Halford would allow you to blossom into something strong and beautiful inside of his shadow?”
“He would help me,” I say. “Halford loves me, and he would help me become strong like him.”
“But he would never let you become stronger than him,” Arabella says.
“No.” I realize the truth of the word as I say it. I know that my brother loves me, but it would break him if I ever started to catch up to him. Not that I really believe that I could, it is hard to imagine anyone surpassing him, especially myself. I look across the table at the woman before me. She is of the fourth rank, miles ahead of my brother, and I feel something inside me stir that I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember. If someone out there would be capable of helping me grow strong, who else could be better than this woman?
Arabella’s eyes grow predatory. I don’t know how, but she can read my thoughts. Her hand reaches back behind the sofa, and one of her ice clones delivers into it a rolled parchment. “Read this if you need, it is the contract that I will have you sign. It is standard, though I do not necessarily expect or want to you take my word for it. In gist, it states that in exchange for my considerable resources and time investment, you will offer the Willian guild exclusive first rights to deliver to you an offer for entrance into the guild upon reaching the third rank and undertaking an entrance examination. You will be held to a high standard, and I will be able to break the contract at any time, for any reason, if I believe that you are holding back any effort.”
I read through the contract. What she says is true, but the contract also offers a monthly dispensation of two ounces of gold. It also states that all of that money will be forfeited and need to be repaid if I do not make it to the third rank in exactly three years from this night. Arabella’s flowing signature marks the bottom of the page, next to a blank spot for my own name.
“Do you really believe that I can make it to the third rank in three years?” I ask her, setting the contract on the table between us.
“I do. If you do precisely as I instruct. Finding out that you are the sister of the Red Mage of Evergale is a boon to my confidence. It is said that the man came from nothing, and that he reached the third rank in only two years. Is it not also true that your brother Halford has been a magician for less than a year? He is rank two now.”
“That is true,” I confirm.
“You have good blood in you then. A drive, or perhaps a thirst. Yes, I do believe that you can reach the third rank, Charlene. I think that you know that you can as well.”
I don’t feel the confidence that she does. Something like reaching the third rank is something so foreign to me that I can’t put it properly into perspective in my mind. I want to though. I want that grit that I saw in Bali. I want the power that my brother showed us, tearing apart a rank two monster as if it were nothing. More than that, I want the flawless beauty that I see in the woman sitting across the table from me. If I can get all of that, I will gladly spend the next three years of my life working for it.
“I need a pen,” I tell Arabella.
The woman snaps, and one of the clones brings me an inkwell and pen. At this moment I am glad that my mother forced me to sit through her reading and writing lessons. Not even half of the people out in this quiet stretch of the world are literate. I take up the pen and dip it in the ink.
“I’ll remind you,” Arabella says as I touch the pen to the parchment. “By signing, you are also agreeing to take my little gift here.” She motions to the covered jar.
“I understand,” I say. Trying to match the flourish of her signature, I sign my name, dating the paper. I replace the pen in the inkwell with a shaking hand, staring down at the contract that now bears my name.
Arabella leans forward, blowing a puff of bone-chilling mist over the paper. The ink dries in an instant as frost rims the edges of the contract. One of the clones rolls up the paper and tucks it away.
“Now,” Arabella says, “let us begin.”
“How do we start?” I ask.
“Don’t worry.” Arabella lifts a hand and purple light begins to surround her fingers. “You will not need to do anything for this part.”