Wake up before the crack of dawn. Breakfast. Soul-crushing training. Lunch. More soul-crushing training. Dinner. Collapse exhausted on the bed. Wonder who cooks the meals. Unwittingly fall asleep. Rinse and repeat.
Such had been the general rhythm of Ben’s life for the past three months now, and it was beginning to show on him. He was no longer as scrawny and pale as before. Now, the subtle promise of muscles clung to his bones, and the natural glow of effort flushed his cheeks.
Thankful as he was for his improvement as a sorcerer, it was still welcome news when Orangier had to excuse himself for the day to attend to Society business, which essentially meant a day off for Ben. Lacking options as he was, he decided to attend Sybil’s training as a spectator.
He struggled for nearly an hour to finally find teacher and pupil. They’d been conducting their sessions away from the manor in the case Sybil misfired a spell—such was the destructive potential of her sorcery.
Up to that day, he hadn’t known exactly where they had been going, but Orangier gave him directions before leaving the premises. It was an abandoned park not far from the estate, looking as gaunt as everything else in the old residential area.
Ben entered the overgrown abandoned park, where unkempt trees muffled their activities from the outside world. Half of them were still a leafless sea of dead branches, still untouched by the early spring. The sky was clouded overhead.
Wilhelm sat upright against the trunk of a tree while eating an apple. Sybil stood in the middle of the lawn, staring crossly at a scarecrow dummy. It possessed an uncanny resemblance to Sweeney.
“What did the strawman do to you?” Ben hollered sarcastically as he made his way across the park.
“It won’t burst into flames for me, the lousy lout.” Sybil replied by way of greeting.
Ben found a vacant spot on the tree next to Wilhelm and settled in comfortably. “What’s with her?”
“Hm, she can’t cast a fire highspell to save her life,” Wilhelm replied, his mouth full of half-chewed apple. “You should see her with the other elements, though. A veritable prodigy. You’ll see her now, as a matter of fact. Hey, Sybil! Why don’t we give this rookie a demonstration? Start with an air highspell.”
Her face beamed with a grin. She was glad to focus on another task. “My pleasure.” Sybil muttered as she got into position, one hand extended forward and the other backward, mimicking a taut bow.
She inhaled, and Ben felt the familiar pull of magic—if you could call it that in this instance. When she did it, it felt more as if she was outright devouring it. Her vast capacity impressed him as she continued to draw in more and more. It was a few silent seconds before she stopped, satisfied. Ben gulped, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Shear, Tempest Arrow.” She let fly an imaginary bolt at the dummy, and as she did, the air in front of her compressed into a wind missile. It glided unimpeded by friction straight at its target, which was instantly ripped to shreds by a rain of countless minor cuts as the wind missile enveloped it. As if that wasn’t enough, it was blown away into the trees by the accompanying backdraft.
Ben whistled. “That’s the end of that scarecrow.”
“You’d be surprised.” Wilhelm said, a twinkle in his eye.
He turned his attention back to Sybil. Sure enough, the dummy was crawling its way back to the stake on its own, as it slowly repaired itself back to its original state. Ben raised an eyebrow, confused.
Wilhelm chuckled, tossing the core of his apple behind him with a flourish. “That dummy’s some prototype contraption of Sweeney’s. He’s not called the Mad Alchemist for nothing.”
The scarecrow got back in place, awaiting Sybil as she prepared for the next spell. She breathed in the currents of magic around her, puffed her chest out, and stomped her foot on the ground with all her might. “Quake, Titanic Stomp.”
A wide crack parted the ground before her, and fractured its way across the lawn in the space of a few jerks. A jagged stalagmite finally speared out of the ground and thrust its way upward, battering the dummy stake and all. It landed even further into the trees than last time.
“Next’s my favorite element,” Sybil said as she waited for the target to be ready. She extended one arm horizontally to her side and simultaneously started to harness magic.
Three in a row, Ben thought, impressed. And different elements, too. Not many can fire so many highspells in a row without breaking a sweat. And from the looks of it, Sybil was unperturbed and ready to go.
“Swirl, Wave Whip.” Sybil said. Ben squinted. Unless his eyes deceived him, he could see the very moisture of the air gathering around her outstretched arm as it shaped into a lash made out of water. She flexed her knees, charged her water-arm backward, and unleashed a thrashing upon the dummy. The water extended and protracted in a deadly dance.
“That’s enough,” Wilhelm instructed after a few moments had passed. “If you want to keep at it, you’ll do so by casting a fire highspell.”
Her whip dissolved an inch away from delivering the coup de grâce. The dummy sighed in relief and immediately began with its self-repairs. Sybil turned around and made her way toward them at a brisk pace, fuming.
“It’s not fair,” she said exasperatedly, stopping in front of them. “You know why I can’t stand fire.”
Wilhelm was struck by one of those mood changes of his, suddenly turning serious. “I understand very well. The fire that took your family. Why, that is also a shameful burden for us in the Society to bear, for it meant that we failed to keep our oath. Many colleagues died that day fighting the Solomonari. Yet we both remain, and it is the future that we must gaze upon, not the past.”
“Let’s call it a day,” Sybil said, changing the subject abruptly. “I suddenly feel the fatigue onset of all that spellcasting earlier.”
Wilhelm stared intently at her for a few seconds, but ultimately conceded. Sybil then practically forced Ben to accompany her back to the manor. As Wilhelm walked toward the dummy in order to retrieve it, the two of them were already on their way out of the park.
Soon they were out of earshot, and Sybil made a point of checking out if they were truly alone. Satisfied, she gave Ben a piece of her mind. “Ugh! We’ve been training non-stop for almost a hundred days. A hundred days! I’ve been keeping count, y’know.”
Ben sighed. “I feel you; Orangier can also be a severe teacher. This beats life at the orphanage by a mile, though. And in a couple of months, we’ll be on our way to Mag Mell Academy. We just need to endure a little longer.”
“When did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?” Sybil asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Ben shrugged in response. “Anyhow, you’re wrong, my friend. What we need is an actual break, and I have just the thing in mind: unsupervised city exploration.”
Ben’s dormant curiosity awakened as memories of the rooftops of Dunport-Salem flashed through his mind. He leaned closer to Sybil in a conspirative gesture. “I’m listening.”
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⦶⦶⦶
The earlier clouds had dissipated as the night fell, revealing a full, yellow moon. Not ideal to skulk in the dark, in lieu of the tenuous light that refused to obscure any skullduggery. Even so, Ben and Sybil had made it all the way to the front gate unnoticed and were currently eyeing it with suspicion. They considered how to proceed.
“Yeah, Orangier also mentioned the defensive wards to me. Think we’ll trigger any?” Ben responded to an earlier question of Sybil’s as he looked for any signs of rune carvings. He maintained his voice in a hushed tone so as not to arouse anyone from their sleep.
Sybil shook her head confidently. “We don’t have to go through the gate. We’ll just go over it.” She took a step forward and sized up their obstacle. Then she gripped Ben’s wrist tightly and pulled him to his feet. He sensed the surrounding currents of magic swirling around her as she made ready to cast a spell. “Flit, Wind Walk.”
Ben felt a bump in the soles of his shoes and noticed small whirlwind orbs beneath them, which hoisted him midair. It was the same case for Sybil. He observed the eerie façade of Ochrefriars from above, a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the Hanging Gardens.
In seconds, they landed on the other side of the gate. There was no sign of any ward having been activated. Ben complimented Sybil on their success; and not without a hint of jealousy.
“Look at you! We haven’t even attended the academy, and you’re already turning into a full-fledged sorcerer.”
Sybil blushed, but annoyance flashed across her face for a mere instant. “Must be this stupid blood of mine. It’s taken more than it has given, believe me. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
Ben nodded in grim solidarity. It wasn’t long since he had crossed into the World That Is Not himself. In the space of that time, he’d witnessed the deaths of his orphan friend Nut, the Lupari Humbert and Ruffa, and even a pair of nameless Solomonari, forever faceless behind their masks. Foes, yes, but also breathing, living human beings. “I understand. Me neither.”
Her brooding mood suddenly disappeared, replaced by an exaggerated cheeriness. “Come on, let’s forget about all that for one night! Where should we go?”
He decided to play along with her. Gods knew it was a welcome distraction to have a brief taste of freedom, and Ben didn’t need to think long before coming up with an answer. “Nebuchadnezzar Avenue. Let’s see what the posh do for fun.”
Sybil flashed a big smile. “Better hitch a snail-coach then.”
Ben knew exactly where they could get one from their recent hovering experience. They walked south along the sidewalk, which stretched downward along a sloped road all the way to the main entrance of the residential area. A few minutes passed, and they were boarding a cab outside the premises of Ochrefriars.
Good thing I brought my money, Ben thought. He still had almost all the groats he had earned from his hunt with the Lupari in Machen. He paid the sagecap in advance, and their ride began in earnest.
The Hanging Gardens were even more beautiful at night. Afar, the firmament sparkled incessantly all the way to the horizon, carpeted by a sea of stars and crowned by the full moon. Above, the gemstones in the cavernous ceiling seemed to have absorbed the radiance of daytime and shone a lucid rainbow of colors. Leftward, the light of countless lanterns dotted the spires that hung from the cliff like distant fireflies. The impossible landscape captivated both of them.
It didn’t take long before the snail-coach slid to a halt in a familiar spot. They got out of the wagon and thanked the sagecap, which promptly slithered away. It was the exact area where the beanstalk had spewed them out into the street, leading to their secret arrival in this vibrant part of the city. Which meant…
Nebuchadnezzar Avenue. Its exuberant allure immediately greeted them. The street was even livelier than Ben remembered—a galore of illuminated signs and well-dressed sorcerers.
“Let’s do some window-shopping,” Sybil proposed, and he darted off into the crowd.
“Hey, wait for me!” Ben called after her, breaking into a quick jog to catch up. He hadn’t considered it before, but technically speaking, he was already her bodyguard. If they were to be attacked by Solomonari now, would he be able to fend them off? He chuckled at the irony. As things stood, it would probably be Sybil doing the saving.
Ben slowed down beside her, and they settled for an unhurried pace. The surrounding establishments quickly enthralled him. Sophisticated restaurants that guaranteed the taste of rare monsters, an extravagant casino whose floors constantly shifted like a deck of cards being shuffled, high-end boutiques promoting the latest fashion trends, which in this case were some ridiculous talking scarves; premium apothecaries, antique galleries and exclusive gentlemen’s clubs.
They didn’t enter any of them. Mostly keeping to window displays and storefronts, Ben lost track of the dizzying number of things that they saw. There were potions, salves, and poultices. Wands, staves, and brooms. Hats, cloaks, and pendants. Cucurbits, alembics, and lutes; treasures one and all were regarded as mere trinkets by these patrons. About an hour passed before they’d exhausted the place’s outward offerings. They found themselves mesmerized and even a little disoriented.
“Should we go back now?” Ben asked, almost pleadingly.
Sybil didn’t seem ready to turn in. Her purple eyes still gleamed with adventure. She scanned the area eagerly, searching for something new to captivate her. “We should stay a little while longer. I mean, look around!” She pointed toward an intriguing alleyway that branched off the main street. A sign in the corner read Charon Pass. “We haven’t been that way.”
Ben sighed in defeat as they ventured into Charon Pass. The change in atmosphere was so drastic that he was taken aback. The narrow street was illuminated by eerie faefire torches, which cast a ghostly purple glow over the lined storefronts. He couldn’t help but regard the place with suspicion, as it reminded him of the Undercity.
The nature of the shops was markedly different from the upscale businesses on Nebuchadnezzar Avenue. The store signs here were not illuminated, and they advertised different merchandise and services. Poisons and toxins, voodoo and puppets, tomes esoteric and occult; rare spirit purveyors, cursed relic appraisers, and alleged fortune-tellers.
Sybil wandered off into one of the more peculiar shops. Above the door, a sign read Madame Beauvoir’s Interesting Insights. Ben clicked his tongue in annoyance, but ended up intrigued despite himself. He walked toward it, pushed open the creaky door, and stepped inside.
The interior resembled a gypsy’s caravan. It was filled with foreign artifacts, and a thick cloud of incense lingered in the air. At the back of the room sat the eponymous Madame Beauvoir—a plump, elderly woman caked in make-up—who greeted them with excessive theatricality.
“Ah, visitors at this hour!” Madame Beauvoir exclaimed. “Not that it surprises me, oh no. The stars had already warned me of your arrival. I had already made arrangements for you.”
She waved her hand at the two empty chairs in front of her. “You would be here to peer into your futures, I would assume? The stars did not go as far as to tell me of your motives.”
Ben raised an eyebrow at this so-called fortune-teller. He was immediately suspicious of her ludicrous claims. Even sorcery couldn’t do such a thing, could it? Sybil, on the other hand, clapped her hands and nodded.
“You’ll go first, though.” Sybil declared with a mischievous grin.
Ben scoffed. “Why should I go first? This was your idea.”
“Be a gentleman, would you?” Sybil retorted teasingly.
With a resigned sigh, Ben approached Madame Beauvoir and took the empty seat nearest to her. He reluctantly offered his hand, as she requested.
“It’s all in the palms.” Madame Beauvoir stated matter-of-factly, yanking Ben’s arm toward her with unexpected strength.
She traced a finger over Ben’s palm, hunching over and squinting at it with profound scrutiny. He felt an undercurrent of magic, and she inhaled. Was she about to cast a spell?
“Augur, Third Eye.” Madame Beauvoir muttered. The edges of the room became darker as the light seemed to cling to them in the middle. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, as if she were actually reading something with her palmistry.
Ben felt cold. Colder than he had ever felt in his entire life. A familiar sensation hit him like a wave as vision upon vision assaulted his mind’s eye. There was an ominous forest, an unusual city, and a man in a red mask. A pilfered graveyard, an island surrounded by a stormy sea, a knife to the back.
The spell ended almost as soon as it had begun. Madame Beauvoir swayed on her chair and shot them a frightened expression. A tear rolled down Ben’s cheek. He was utterly shocked by the sudden hallucinations.
He remembered them, though. He’d had the exact same visions in a dream after fighting the Solomonari back in Dunport-Salem. And he realized something along with it: the first vision referred to the Blackwoods, and the second one to Dool. An ominous forest. An unusual city. Events that had already happened. That meant that the third vision would also come to pass. A man in a red mask.
“What? What happened?” Sybil demanded, glancing from one to the other.
The fortune-teller composed herself and let out a light chuckle. “My sorcery must be getting iffy in my old age. I apologize. It seems like I won’t be able to tell your fortune tonight, after all.”
“Oh, bummer. Don’t worry, Gran.” Sybil said.
Ben gave the fortune-teller a suspicious glare. She acted as if the spell hadn’t worked, yet he still reeled from the vivid hallucinations that had assailed him. He glanced at Sybil worriedly. It would be best not to burden her with unsettling dreams and visions, though. In the end, he decided it was nothing but smoke and mirrors. He played along and thanked her anyway, ready to leave.
After saying their goodbyes, they left the shop. Madame Beauvoir called after them one last time before they crossed the door on their way out, her voice regaining its theatricality. “One last thing, children. A fickle word of advice. Beware the red masque of death. It won’t be long before it finds you, and there won’t be a place where you can hide from it.”
Sybil paused, a puzzled expression on her face. “Um, sure thing, Gran. Thank you.”
Ben let out a nervous laugh and gestured for Sybil to continue toward the exit. He knew better than to delve further into the cryptic warning, especially in front of Sybil. They had ventured into the night for a break from the relentless training and the weight of their responsibilities, and he didn’t want to spoil that with dark premonitions.
Once outside, the cool night air felt refreshing after the strange encounter. Sybil glanced at him with a questioning look in her eyes, but Ben only offered a reassuring smile. “Time to head back?”
“Lead the way, captain.” Sybil said.
Leaving Charon Pass, they searched for a snail-coach to return to Sweeney Manor. Sybil yawned audibly, tired because of the late hour. All the while, Ben could not shake off the unease derived from Madame Beauvoir’s predictions. That’s what skullduggery gets you, Umber. They stealthily made their way back home without any further incident.