7. Schoolin'

 Leaving chaos behind them, the party fled the Colosseum in far more of a rush than they had arrived.

Stumbling out of the lab, Johannes came to a sudden stop. He turned, eyes narrowing as he scanned the slope behind them with a calculating look. Caela paused next to him as the others hurried on, bow still ready in her hands.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” She followed his gaze, staring down the tunnel. Was the abomination wolf rising again, ready to follow at their heels?

Johannes shook his head. “No. But we should ensure that this place is sealed. These experiments should not be repeated.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving the crystal orb once more. “Now, if you’ll allow me-”

Muttering under his breath, he swept his hand in an arc, as if drawing a curtain. Caela watched in awe as the very stone of the tunnel walls shifted, flowing like molten wax to form an impassive barrier of solid rock.

She turned to look at Johannes in wonder, but found the wizard heaving a weary sigh, looking older than only moments before. Still, a satisfied gleam lit his eyes. “That was the last of my magic. But, I think you’ll find, a seal most unimpregnable.”

Caela could only shake her head, impressed. Johannes gratefully took her offered arm as they hurried after the others - who were only a few yards ahead, locked in a heated debate at the intersection.

“A successful retreat does not go in stops and starts,” Valerios was rumbling. “We have no time for distractions.”

Lux, feet firmly planted, was having none of it. “It ain’t right, leavin’ them folks here. We should give them a fighting chance.”

“A chance not to fight, I mean,” Hellebore muttered, lurking at his elbow.

He ignored them, beseeching eyes focused on Valerios. “C’mon, sir. Ain’t it the right thing to do? Rose, help me out here.”

Rose, trying to staunch his bleeding shoulder, seemed torn. “We really do need to get out while we can, kid. The Pit Master’s a big name in San Aria. If he figures out it was us that did this…”

Lux looked crestfallen. “But…”

Caela opened her mouth to back him up. They’d defeated the monster and the alchemists, but there was still evil here.

“I think we should do it.”

She closed her mouth abruptly, turning to Hellebore with surprise. They were the last person she’d have expected to take Lux’s side. The other prisoners hadn’t exactly been friendly to them, after all.

“It’ll be a good distraction,” they added coolly, shattering Caela’s hope that it might be out of the kindness of their heart. “And they’ll think we were here for that, rather than the lab.”

She couldn’t disagree. The pit master and his assistant would be quick to raise suspicion if they thought the group they’d let in had already known about the secret laboratory.

Rose nodded. “If we’re doing it, let’s be quick.”

So, with Hellebore making quick work of the shackles and a blood-splattered Valerios providing gentle encouragement to the weary escapees, they had fled the arena in a scene of absolute chaos.

It was a battered but victorious group who finally made their way back to the Feisty Fish. Ren didn’t bat an eye at the skulking black-clad newcomer or the large wolf at Caela’s heels - instead going into a flurry of fussing over Rose. Appalled at the state of his injuries, she sat him firmly down to bathe his wounds with a stinging, bitter-smelling astringent.

Caela was alive with excitement, barely noticing Lux wince as she grasped his hands.

“Uncle was right!” she said breathlessly. “There’s something very strange going on in this city, and there’s no way nobody knows about it. Did you see that weird box? It must have come from somewhere - not the market, I bet. And who were those creepy robed people working for? There’s no doubt, the Mages’ Guild will know something. And if they don’t, imagine how surprised they’ll be! We need to go - now!”

Lux extricated himself from her grip and massaged his wrists. “Now? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all fired up myself, but how were you planning on getting in? From what Mr Johannes said, these brainiacs don’t sound like the open-doors, secret-sharing types.”

The wizard puffed on his pipe from his seat nearby.

“Indeed, Master Lux,” he mused. “When mages get together, they are a den of snakes. Very closed-off to people they consider…”

He harrumphed irritably.

“Outsiders.”

Caela dug in her heels. “We have to try,” she insisted. “The worst they can do is say no.”

“Or they could turn you into a newt- ow!” Rose’s interjection turned into a yelp of pain as Ren pressed a cloth against his wounds.

Johannes dismissed it with a shrug. “If you are committed, I will be going there myself to take their… ‘licence exam’.” He said the words with great contempt. “Imagine that - needing permission, to cast magic? Pah! But if I must, I will deign to comply. Perhaps you can accompany me and see what you can achieve?”

Caela smiled gratefully. “Great! Thank you, Johannes. Then let’s-”

“Hold on,” boomed Valerios, looming behind Lux. “I’ve no interest in peddlers of tricks. Besides, I’ve already been in this city a day without introducing myself to the leader.”

“Leaders,” Ren corrected. “The Council of Twenty is made up of the guild bosses. You’ve probably seen their flags. But they’re usually-”

Valerios acknowledged the correction and ignored the rest. “Very good. I have never feared being outnumbered. Since these are not a warlike people, I will cleanse myself and don my ceremonial armour.”

This was apparently a farewell - or a military dismissal. He turned on his heel and marched away before anyone could object.

“Hm.” Hellebore watched him leave, then slid quietly down from their barstool. “If this is an optional mission, I think I’ll take his cue. If you need me for a real job, I’ll need gear.” They proffered their empty hands. “Which the Colosseo saw fit to relieve me of.

“Ah.” Caela saw the problem. As far as she could see, their resident burglar had nothing but the clothes on their back and the mask on their face. Even during the fight in the laboratory, they’d had to borrow from Valerios’ armoury. “You need… equipment? Weapons?”

Hellebore shrugged. “I’ll pick up some supplies.” They slunk towards the door, but paused to look back when Caela called out to them.

“Wait! Don’t you need money?” She was already reaching for her coin purse. It was rapidly lightening with every day she spent in San Aria, but a few gold was the least she could offer.

The thief looked at her for a second, head cocked to one side. Despite the expressionless set of the mask, she could read the sarcasm written into the gesture.

“I’ll manage.”

They turned, and vanished through the door.

Well. Caela looked at her other new companion, who was fast asleep with a fresh belly of tavern leftovers, and decided against waking the wolf. “Lux, Rose, what about you?”

Rose raised one arm while Ren bandaged the other. “Ow. Sorry. I think I’m sitting this one out, too. And… I’d like to borrow the young gun for a bit longer,” he said, pointing at Lux. “One-to-one training, you feel me?”

“Now?” Lux asked, nervously. “You look like pulled pork.”

Rose beamed gamely. “My old teacher used to say: “You think you deserve to skip training just because you won a match?” Those were the hardest sessions, because he didn’t want me getting an ego. Not sure it worked.” Caela stifled a small smile. “Anyway, I need to show you how not to get killed.”

Lux turned apologetically to Caela. “Looks like I’m in more demand than a cold drink in the desert. But y’all will be fine without me,” he said, reassuringly.

Johannes stood with the aid of a lacquered wooden cane. “I’m certain we will, Master Lux.” He proffered his arm to Caela, who looped hers through his.

“Shall we go?”

—

The San Aria Mages’ Guild was not what Caela had been expecting. Nestled in a terraced row of adobe buildings was a pair of great copper doors atop a marble portico. The surrounding stonework was barely large enough to hold the doorframe and no wider. Caela walked back to check the depth of the buildings. Her eyes weren’t tricking her - there couldn’t be more than twenty feet before the next street began. When she questioned Johannes, however, he merely gave her an avuncular twinkle before tugging on one shiny knocker.

The tarnished door swung open with the barest effort from the aged wizard, blasting them with a puff of cool, dry air. Caela hastened to keep up as Johannes strode inside without hesitation. As she stepped inside, she marvelled at the impossibly large foyer, with chequered tiles on the floor and gleaming nut-brown wooden panelling. Light streamed in from a seamless glass dome that had to be wider than the building’s exterior.

Catching her eye, Johannes jumped on the chance to deliver his punchline.

“Mages, you see, tend to make economical use of space.”

He laughed at his terrible joke, arriving to lean on the round reception desk in the centre of the foyer. A greasy young man with lank red hair met the dregs of Johannes’ chuckle as the old man helped himself to a sweet from a large glass bowl.

“Welcome to the Guild of Arcane Arts, San Aria, we make the world a more magical place,” he recited stiffly. He looked up and down, appraising the sweater-clad old man. Caela took in the receptionist’s robes, their metallic sheen catching the light, and saw that most of the people traversing the lobby adhered to the same dress code. Now that she had the opportunity to expand her perceptions of how a wizard dressed, she realised just how shabby Johannes looked in his woollen sweater and slacks. For his part, her companion was undaunted by the guild’s fashions.

“Greetings,” he announced, leaning over the counter slightly. “I am Johannes Tyrol.” He paused to let this startling information sink in. “I would like to obtain a practitioner’s license from your esteemed organisation.”

The receptionist regarded him blankly, then picked up a piece of parchment. He applied an inked quill to its surface and released it; the pen began to fly across the paper by itself. When the parchment had been populated with a dozen lines and boxes, it was slid across to Johannes.

“We can probably squeeze you in. Fill this in, please, and hand it to the proctor. North wing, take five lefts, third door.”

Johannes scribbled some chicken-scratch into the empty boxes and flapped it triumphantly.

“One step closer!” he crowed to Caela. “Good luck on your quest! I will meet you here after I pass this entrance test.”

With that, he ambled away, cane clacking on the tiles as he went.

The acne-stricken receptionist turned his attention to Caela, who suddenly felt completely at sea.

“Are you also here for the licence exams?”

Caela put up her hands as if the innocuous question were a formal accusation.

“No! No. Sorry, I’m here to speak to someone.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. Sorry. Again.” She wrung her hands.

“Who would you like to speak to?” he asked, slightly more patronising now.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, feeling increasingly embarrassed. “Is there anyone who knows about animals? Magical animals?”

The man pursed his lips and gave her a pitiful look. His expression said that if you didn’t know your way around this place, you clearly didn’t belong.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Besides, this is a members-only institution,” he said slowly - only to be cut off by an almighty groan.

Caela turned to the source of the sound - a little teak booth to one side of the reception counter. A cloud of teal hair floated into view, followed by the elf it belonged to - tanned, radiant, and draped in a toga the colour of a sunrise.

Caela had seen dresses like it on the more fashionable residents of San Aria, though none had made it look quite so effortless. What she hadn’t seen before was such an explosion of flowers on someone who wasn’t a dryad. Blooms were woven into the elf’s hair, garlanded around her neck, and even dangling from her belt. A heady floral scent followed her, and an occasional petal drifted into the air to accentuate the effect. She couldn’t have been many decades older than Caela, but she flounced towards the receptionist with the confidence of a veteran in the social combat arena. Caela instinctively stepped aside as the new arrival slammed a piece of parchment onto the counter.

“Here! I did your silly form,” she chirped. “Now will you please-”

She finally noticed Caela, despite the latter’s best efforts, and drew herself up to look down her nose at the receptionist.

“You gave up my spot in the queue. Well! That is just rude.” She turned to Caela, her tone softening immediately. “Not you, honey. I bet you’re just dying of boredom, right? I love your hair, by the way.”

Perhaps this is her first time seeing dull colours? Caela wondered, and managed a faint “Thanks?”

In her haze of confusion, the woman’s oddly familiar scent came back to her.

“Oh! I think we’re roommates.”

The woman tilted a shoulder, coyly. “We’re what?” she asked, with a flirty giggle.

“I recognised your smell- and, um, your hair-” Caela rushed to explain.

The woman burst into peals of laughter. “Stooop! I’m so silly today,” she said, batting at Caela’s hand with playful flair. Caela flushed, unsure of how to respond to any of this.

“No way, though,” the stranger continued in amazement. “Don’t tell me you’re the mysterious person on the bottom bunk. I never saw or heard you! I thought you were a ghost!”

She thrust out a hand for a gleeful handshake, and a flurry of petals swirled around her like confetti. “I’m so glad we got to finally meet! I’m Freija. With a ‘j’”.

“Caela. With a ‘C’. And an ‘ae’”.

“That’s such a lovely name!” Freija gushed.

The receptionist, still within blast radius, coughed politely. Freija wheeled on him, suddenly a cerulean thundercloud.

“I’m sorry, are we taking up your time?” she snapped. “When you’ve kept us here for a million years already! Maybe you’re fine getting all old and crusty, but this poor girl needs to live out her prime years!”

She turned expectantly to Caela, who was beginning to feel like she’d wandered into a surreal dream, where asking a simple question required trial by fire. She quickly explained the impasse.

Freija threw her head back and groaned at the receptionist. “Ugh! Everything in this place is so topsy-turvy. Let me guess - they changed your job description to be as unhelpful as possible.”

The greasy man opened his mouth, but Freija clapped her hands together in front of his face.

“Stop! No more talking. Be more helpful.” She gestured to Caela. “This girlie wants to know about magical creatures - maybe plants, too - and you’re telling me no one here knows anything? This place is massive. Hasn’t anyone here ever cast a spell near a cow?”

He balked. “Well, Master Vozloc ran a thaumozoology course, but I still can’t let you-”

“Good enough,” Freija declared. “Now to my problem. I’m waiting for the Master of Archaic Runicology and he will positively defecate if you delay our meeting. Go. Fetch!”

A tidal wave would’ve propelled the receptionist less violently than Freija’s flicking hand. He hurried down one corridor, robes swishing at his ankles, presumably to locate the Master before any trouser accidents could occur.

Caela turned a faint grin toward her unexpected saviour. “Thank you. That was… amazing.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Freija dismissed the compliment with a wave, entirely focused on pouring the contents of the candy jar into her bag.

“How do you know the Master of Archaic Runicology?” Caela asked politely, wondering if she should curtail this minor confectionery heist, and then deciding she didn’t care.

Freija gave her a blank stare as she hoisted her now-laden bag onto her shoulder.

“I don’t. I’m not even sure that’s a real thing. But we’ve not got long until Mr Sweaty realises that, so come on!”

—

Caela allowed herself to be whisked into the labyrinthine corridors of the Guild. Freija dragged her through an endless series of teak-panelled corridors, flinging sugary apologies at each bookworm they flew by. The green-carpeted halls would have been drab, had it not been for their bizarre geometry. Several times they would make a full loop only to end up in a different place than they’d started. Staircases went up and down in the same flight. Caela caught a glimpse of one corridor seemingly arranged upside-down, and another completely enclosed in a shimmering water bubble. She had no chance to investigate, though, as her companion kept up the relentless pace.

Freija called out each sign as they blurred by.

“Department of Life Magicks, seven miles away… two thousand feet away… seven inches away…”

They stopped running. Below this last sign was a doorway labelled “Department of Life Magicks”. The women exchanged a look.

“S’ got to be in here,” Freija panted. Running was apparently one of her few weak suits.

“Who’s ‘got to be in here’?”

The matronly voice came from behind them. It was accompanied by an equally-formidable hand on each of their shoulders. Caela jumped to see their captor: a tall, middle-aged woman with skin like cooled magma and a flamelike orange ponytail. Her glossy robe had its sleeves rolled up, and Caela saw a pair of walking boots sticking out from underneath its hem.

Freija balked. “Um, you?” she offered.

The woman folded her toned forearms, and cocked an eyebrow. “In that case, you’d better come in. Let’s have a cup of tea, and maybe an explanation or two.”

—

“Here’s good.”

Lux stopped behind Rose as he surveyed their surroundings with satisfaction. Rose had insisted on dragging Lux out the door as soon as Ren had finished mummifying his chest with bandages, though the mermaid had tried to put him on bed rest. Lux had scrambled to keep up as Rose cut through the marketgoers like a ship through waves.

The heaving, pungent street markets finally expelled them out into the docks. Here, an army of stevedores swarmed like termites, constantly building and dismantling a fortress of wooden crates in their purgatory between the city and merchant ships.

Rose had discovered a quiet pier with a curtain of boxes offering some privacy. Lux’s hair was tousled by a brisk sea breeze, carrying a familiar salty smell. The former fisherman breathed in deeply, like a man who had just returned home.

“Yes. It’s perfect,” he sighed, finally opening his eyes. Rose plonked himself down on a bollard at the end of the pier and patted the one beside him.

“What’s up, Rose?” Lux asked expectantly, taking a seat.

Rose leaned back, massaging his wounds. “Coach. From now you’ll call me coach.”

Lux blinked, nonplussed, as Rose continued in a voice whose sternness was belied by the broad grin on his face.

“You wanted me to train you? Well, then, I’ll train you to be the best version of yourself. Like my master did to me.”

He rolled one massive, bare shoulder, causing the tattooed vines to ripple.

“I wasn’t always Rose, you know. Once I was just ‘Velen’. A shitty street kid with no family, no past, and no future. I would’ve stayed that way, if the original Rose hadn’t seen something in me.”

Lux cocked his head, confused. “The original Rose?”

Rose nodded. “My master. He was a monk, a prize fighter, who needed someone to take over his mantle once the injuries started piling up. He never wanted his fans to see his body failing. He wanted the legend, the ideals of the Rose to live forever. So he chose me.”

Rose - the current one - fell into an introspective silence. Then, emerging from his reverie, he smiled at Lux and stood up.

“Alright, lesson one. Give me your shield. Come on.”

His new student complied uncertainly, unstrapping the circular steel plate and handing it over. Rose inspected it for a moment, flipping it over in his hands, then turned like a discus thrower and skimmed it as far as he could into the ocean. The silvery disc spun like a frisbee, sun catching its battered surface until it sank into the glittering waves with a little splash.

“Hey!” Lux cried, stepping to the edge. “I’m not a soldier, you know! I have to buy those with my own money.”

Rose was unapologetic. “It’s slowing you down, stopping you from swinging your sword properly. Maybe our man Valerios can juggle claymores in one hand, but you need to be using two.”

He unwrapped a bundle by his feet, revealing a longsword in a hide-and-leather sheath.

“Speaking of the walking armoury, I took the liberty of borrowing this. Try it.”

He tossed the bundle to Lux, who apprehensively drew the long blade. Rose came forward and adjusted his hands on the long grip.

“There, see? It’s heavier than your old one, but now you’ve got both arms to use. It’s longer, too, which should help with your short reach.”

“Sorry,” he added, as Lux shot him a glare. “Try it.”

Lux took a couple of exploratory swings at the air. Rose was right, of course. He fell into a stance, feeling the line of reinforcement from the ground up through his feet, into his arms, then focusing into the point of his blade.

Rose folded his arms approvingly. “That’s what I’m talking about! You look more like a dashing hero already.”

“Now.” He grinned like a tiger, and Lux had a premonition that he was about to really be put through his paces. “We’re going to work on your footwork. Let’s start with the basics.”

 8.  Entering and Breaking >>