Chapter 1: Beginnings
“Hurley, you don’t have to get here earlier than me to keep your job.”
I turned, startled at the sound of another voice. I’d gotten to the stable early enough that beams of sunlight were just starting to peak over the horizon, softly illuminating the worn wooden stall I was working in. Seeing the barrel chested and grizzled form of Mr.Tucker I relaxed.
“I know Mr.Tucker, but I figured if I was awake I might as well get started. And plus, I enjoy the company of these sweet fellows.” I replied with a smile, gesturing to one of the horses we were taking care of.
“You might be the single most productive stable boy I ever had. Heck, most productive working person in this whole town.” He muttered shuffling over to his office.
I grinned, enjoying one of the few compliments Mr. Tucker would probably ever give me. He was a good man, the sort to accidentally pay me extra after a chaotic week. Occasionally he would call me a troublesome boy but either way I was glad he acknowledged the extra work I’d been putting in. He had hired me on as just a cleaner in the beginning. But, after his other stable hand moved out, he promoted me to what he called a “coveted position.” Although I still believed that to be a stretch, his stable was one of the few places that provided simple and easy work.
The stable itself was situated on the northern side of the town, welcoming any visitors that came through the single road situated between the mountains. Its stalls faced the main street, neatly lined up in a row of four. A roof, supported by weathered wooden beams, provided a small amount of shade in front of the stalls, ensuring the horses remained comfortable. Large blocks of stone were used for the bottoms of each stall, showing scratches and marks from years of use.
Turning back to the stall, I grabbed my shovel to continue mucking out the crap and hay filled floor. The whole of the stable was small, considering that the entirety of the town was small and not often received visitors.
The morning continued as the sun rose over the steep mountains that cut off our little part of the world. The light flared out across the floor adding an amber hue to the four stalls I tended to. The morning light caused one of the two current guests to whinny, slowly getting its feet underneath itself.
The horse was a beautiful thing. Its dark glossy coat shone under the morning rays, giving it an angelic look. Definitely not one of the locals… Walking over I patted the horse and looked around its stall. In the corner hung its saddle, ornately adorned and colored with what I could only assume were expensive dyes. Horse nobility or not I still had a job to finish. Grabbing one of the finer brushes I ran it through the horse’s coat. One thing I had learned as a stable hand was that any horse enjoyed a good brush down as long as it was done correctly. As expected, the horse gave another soft whinny and proceeded to nuzzle my hand, causing me to laugh.
“Hungry, are we?”
Reaching over I grabbed a bowl of home-made feed and poured some into a bucket connected to the bottom of stall door. The horse gave an appreciative snicker before it began chomping down.
Setting the bowl back I pulled a stool outside of the first stall and sat down facing the main street. The morning was still quiet, only filled with the sound of a few birds chirping their morning greetings to one another.
To my left sat the Black Burn mountains, nicknamed for their black peaks. They isolated the town by curving around like a semicircle, sandwiching us between the ocean and their imposing heights. A small trail ran through the center of them, still allowing for travelers and traders. Infront of the mountains lay a copse of trees, too small to be a forest, but still sizeable enough to be a destination that my friends and I would visit. Between that and the town was a couple miles of windblown grassland in either direction, many cottages spread out across the distance.
Slowly signs of life began to show around me. The few people who could afford homes within the town opened the shutters on their shanty-ish red and yellow buildings. Most of them had family run shops below them, providing much convenience to themselves. The town baker across the street pulled his curtains back and set up his baskets of bread. Seeing me he smiled and waved me over, opening his door.
“Hurley! I’ve got something to show you.”
Following him back my nose was assaulted with the fresh aroma of all different kinds of bread, pastries, cakes, and the like. The front part of the bakery was used to hold the assortments of baked goods in different baskets and clay plates. Baker Tom however continued on to the back, where the real magic happened. He waved me over to the first of two large tables placed within the room. On the back wall I could see his multilayer oven, allowing him efficiently bake while preparing other batches. On both walls windows remained open allowing the hot steam from pies to escape. I had first met Tom when he had come out of his bakery to enjoy the serene town before everything started moving. Like me, Tom was up early to get ready for the day ahead, baking from the early hours till just before opening time.
“Here I wanted to show you this.” Tom reached over to one of his tables and passed me a hand sized loaf of warm bread wrapped in a waxy paper.
Carefully opening it I found out immediately, by the smell alone, that it was sourdough.
“You’re going to make me tear up.” I said with a heartfelt laugh.
“Well I had some extra dough and a miniature mold so I thought I wouldn’t let it go to waste.”
I wrapped my arms around him, barely going halfway across his massive frame. He just patted my head and chuckled. After I had thanked him for what felt like and probably was the hundredth time, he shooed me out the door to continue his work.
I took my bread and sat down on the stool again, nibbling on it bit by bit. Now the town truly was in action. Next to Tom’s the candlemaker had opened his doors as well, a little further the tavern, skip a few houses and then there was the town hall, past that a shoemaker, and not much. That was until I looked further into the distance. After the road ended a trail began, slowly winding up to the coast where a lone building sat.
“The Arcane Repository…” I murmured aloud.
“Hurley! What are you sittin’ around for?” I jumped and realized that for the second time this morning Mr.Tucker had managed to sneak up on me.
“Uh don’t worry sir all the stalls are mucked and one of the horses is already fed and brushed.” I said stammering.
“Hmph. And what bout’ the other one? Already put a bowl of feed in there?”
He raised a lone eyebrow at me, both hands behind his back like he was some sort of captain.
“No sir. When I fed the other one it still hadn’t woken up, sir.”
“Well, looks like our guest here is awake and ready so get on that.”
He turned to go back to his office but I had a question to ask.
“Sir? After I finish the feeding and give him a brush down, may I be excused?”
“I really don’t care Hurley. Jus’ finish up before you go.”
Grinning at my success I ran to the feed and repeated the same process from earlier. Finishing quickly, I stepped down onto main street, taking a moment to enjoy the full exposure of the sun. Facing the southern side of the town I locked my sights onto the Repository.
*********
The wall stretched high into the air, blocks of discolored stone rising from the ground as if nature itself had sculpted the building. It reached a little way into the cloudy sky before curving over to create a dome with three other identical arches. I ran my fingers across the smoothly-hewn surface, tracing the small marks etched into each stone. Between the ancient rocks ran streams of gold and copper, seamlessly binding the entirety of the structure together. Although many thieves had attempted to carve out chunks of the precious materials, the whole of the building was protected by powerful barrier magic, preserving it through hundreds of years. I came here often to admire the beauty and power it exuded, studying the almost invisible aura surrounding the structure. The lightly glowing surface reflected some of my face, showing a head of black straight hair and large blue eyes looking back. Growing up girls had always called me cute but after I had turned fifteen, the comments had turned to whispers of handsome. The reflection warbled like a pond rippling, which brought a smile to my face. Around me, the air was filled with the distant cries of seabirds and the salty tang of the ocean breeze, mingling with the earthy scent of the ancient stones.
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Shaking myself from my admirative trance, I tromped through the muddy and dew-hewn grass around to the front of the building, where double oak doors spanned most of the entrance. The doors were complemented on either side by metal torch holders. Above the doors were the imprinted words, “Arcane Repository." Although the name would lead most to assume this was a mysterious and busy location, the Arcane Repository was only used once per year. It was raised along the tip of the peninsula, capturing the eye of any passing ship or visitor to the local town. But at the same time, it was also put away from any of the town life, far enough to reserve its own spot.
I grinned as I imagined the ornate festival soon to take place. Every year, the biggest holiday is celebrated, known as The Acceptance. For one brief twenty-four hours, the day-to-day town life paused, and everyone, whether butcher, candlemaker, baker, or the sort, would attend. On this momentous occasion, every eligible youth of the village would enter the Arcane Repository, hoping to receive one of their very own grimoires. Although the number of commoners receiving grimoires continued to fall, I figured I might as well attend the ceremony. The worst-case scenario was failure to be picked and a continued life in the village, performing my stable hand tasks and enjoying the company of friends. However, I thought. If by some slim chance I am picked, then everything would change.
I smiled as I recalled memories of past Acceptances. Just last year, one of my friends had received a fire grimoire. Although it was only a common book of magic, the town had been jubilant over his success. Most people born in Aurelia stayed there, taking up their chosen crafts and living quiet lives. However, when something as incredible as someone from Aurelia receiving a grimoire happened, the celebration would last for days. This had only occurred twice in my life, but I remembered the festivities vividly. Considering the town had only about ten youth eligible to participate each year, anyone who became a mage instantly became a hometown celebrity. A painting of them would be made and hung next to the handful of others in the town hall. I hoped I would add to that collection this year. Recognizing my wistful thinking, I cleared my head and decided I had spent long enough admiring the Repository. I continued around the building to the dirt path that led away from the coast and back to the town.
Barely had I started on my way back when a thunderous clap sounded overhead. That was, of course, the only warning I received before a torrential downpour began. I broke out into a sprint, my long legs propelling me farther down the rolling hill and over small scraggly bushes. The ground was already beginning to turn into the sorry muddy state it was in almost year-round, one of the many coastal benefits. Although the town was not too far from the Arcane Repository, my mother’s home sat along the distant edge, creating quite the journey for me.
I leaped over the last bush on the path before I found myself running on a well-loved cobblestone street. The street was the only one running through the town of Aurelia, the northernmost settlement on the continent of Eldoria. It was coincidentally also the town’s only paved street, hosting all main activity.
I flew by the shoemaker and butcher’s shop as the heavy rain continued to pelt me. Both shops had already lit lanterns and closed their shutters. Smarter than me, I semi-mused and chided. The dark clouds extended their reach over the coastal town, casting ominous shadows never seen at midday.
Another roar of thunder convinced me to duck into a tavern's entrance, eager to get out of the pouring rain and ominous atmosphere.
Immediately, the smells of piss-poor ale and wet clothes assaulted my nose. The tavern was a raggedy structure with low-hanging beams of oak darkened by years of pipes smoking. The walls were lit by the orange glow of torches with a low-hanging metal candle holder in the center. The floors were pockmarked with scrapes and knicks from years of service. There were only two windows which faced outward to the street, occasionally illuminated by the flashes of lightning. The tavern had no waiting area, and instead, four tables were placed around the middle of the room with a bar barely squeezed on the right side. At the back were a few booths, as much as could be managed by the small establishment. One spot of the back wall was left empty, allowing for worn stairs that led to the second floor with several bedroooms. It created a cozy, almost intimate environment.
I shook as much water as I could get off myself before a serving woman smiled warmly and waved me over to a table.
“Thanks, Ella, how’s the business today?” I asked sliding into my seat.
“Eh, same people as always,” Ella said with a shrug. “Now, can I start you off with anything or are you just waiting out the rain?” she asked with a knowing smile.
My cheeks colored, and I gave her the usual response. “Maybe tomorrow, Ella. A little short on coin today.”
Ella gave a sad smile and walked away to the other several patrons crammed in the small serving space. I recognized the usual bunch of men: those who drank to drink, those who drank to escape their wives, and those who drank to escape reality.
Another clap of thunder sounded just as the door burst open and a new guest entered. Looking around the same age as me, the young man was clad in a soft green robe accented by gold swirls. Huh, I didn’t think anyone from Dravenfall would come the week before the Acceptance… I thought to myself. Usually they would wait as long as possible to avoid our “stingy rooms” as those attending from years past had commented. Behind the young man appeared a rough looking soldier, most likely a bodyguard.
Both took a step into the establishment before flipping their hoods back and attempting to dry their hair. The young man, likely as close as you could get to nobility in Dravenfall, a town marginally larger than Aurelia, ran his fingers through tough locks of chestnut brown hair. After a few moments, the possible noble and assumed bodyguard followed Ella to one of the couple booths round the back of the tavern, passing right by me. I caught her flashing them her best hostess smile. Finished jotting down their order, Ella bustled herself back behind the counter and into the kitchen.
After Ella disappeared, one of the men drinking, Elijah, set his cup down and stood suddenly. He stumbled towards the new arrivals. Letting out a belch, Elijah tripped on a loose floorboard and barely managed to catch himself on the chair of the table in front of him. One of the men enjoying their drink at said table pushed him away with an angry mutter. Elijah straightened himself as much as possible, ran a hand through his greasy hair, and then continued his adventure. Before he got two steps closer, the soldier type of man stood suddenly.
“Woah, woah, woah, no need for aggression, guys. All I’m trying to do is let you two know that your coin bag is lookin’ a little heavy. I would love to take it off your hands, no problem.” Elijah slurred, putting his hand to his chest.
“No need,” the man in black stated.
“If I’m being honest, it wasn’t optional…”
Elijah slipped his hand to the back of his trousers and pulled out a curved sickle-like dagger.
“Elijah, stop this. You know how uncomfortable the jail cell is! Don’t start something you’re not reckoning to finish. You know just as soon as the sheriff comes, you’re going straight back to that cement block of a bed.” This comment came from one of Elijah’s drinking buddies.
“Stop, stop, stop. You know I need this money, Ron. Else I’ll be forced to become one of those wandering beggars, going from here to any town with generous people.” Elijah’s voice wavered as his eyes flicked from Ron to the man in front of him.
Elijah took another step, but before he could use any more words of “encouragement,” everything froze, literally. I gasped as the room’s temperature plummeted by what felt like twenty degrees. Frost crept across the wooden floorboards, and the torches all hissed as cold crossed the room in ripples. Elijah was locked in place as he finally studied the man in front of him. What he found was not a stoic soldier, but instead a mage with a floating grimoire, its pages turning of their own accord.
Although the tavern had quieted from the moment Elijah had pulled his knife, the silence became deafening when a grimoire appeared. A blue ethereal light emanated from the open book, casting a glow upon mugs of ale and their shocked buyers. Looking to the man’s waist, I realized the mage had cleverly hidden his grimoire in a nondescript satchel wrapped around his midsection.
“L-look I didn’t mean nothin’ okay? I wasn’t actually going to cause any harm. You know that right?” Elijah stammered as his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.
“Cause no harm? Is that what the knife's for? Hm? Do you know what the punishments are for threatening a mage?” He prompted, stepping closer. The floorboards crackled under his boots, coated by a thin layer of ice.
“Ruel, calm down, you can see the man’s about to soil himself.” The young man finally spoke up with a shake of his head.
How can he be so disinterested when a man just tried to rob him? I thought incredulously. Then I reasoned that having a bodyguard could indicate a pattern of e.
“Listen Acklin, your daddy’s paying me to stop things like this from happening, so give me room to work, alright?” Ruel replied as if he was babysitting a toddler. Acklin dealt with, Ruel began flipping through his grimoire, the blue light casting shadows on the wall behind him. Another bang of thunder and flash of lightning only furthered the fear striking the room. The fear was apparently too much for Elijah, who turned to make a run for it.
“Icicle entrapment,” Ruel stated, having landed on a page within the grimoire.
Blue symbols flared on the grimoire, and another blast of cold blue energy flashed through the room unfurling from Ruel’s feet in a semicircle. Elijah was immediately stopped as spears of ice raced up from the floorboards to halt his movement. The ice glittered under the grimoire's light, cold and unyielding, just like it’s owner.