Chapter 2
Fifteen days by way of carriage had turned my already poor attitude into one of presumptive bitchiness. I have spent a decent amount of time with Sarto since he became my teacher at sixteen years old. But this was different. On day three, he began to read aloud whatever book he fancied in the carriage. On day seven, he had chosen The Scrolls of Archmage Hedalithan three times in a row. The now dead wizard was seemingly very fond of keeping track of his stool cycles. On day eight, I hid the tome beneath my cushion. I have since been riding with a stiff glute for over a week, but I would endure far longer if it meant I never needed to hear the phrase runny bowels ever again.
“Look Fitalia! You can see the crenellations just over the ridge!” Sarto was practically leaning out of his window entirely now. I shuffled over to mine, releasing the hatch to peer out. Atop the long, winding, and cobbled path, held an astonishingly large stone castle. The peaks of the massive expanse capped the clouds hanging within the mountain. Green vines wove around each crevice of stone, allowing blooms of purple clematis flowers to be speckled throughout. As we moved closer, I could just make out the imposing gate, large enough to swallow a dozen men at least. Beyond the castle, lay a forest of Oak trees, as green as the summer grass laying beneath their shade. I filled my lungs, the scent of rich earth and a slight salt careening.
“Is there an ocean nearby?” The excitement in my tone was not as hidden as I had attempted, because Sarto gave me a warm smile before responding.
“Did I forget to mention that? Yes, the Neodalic sea sits at the base of the mountain on the far side. Second guessing your resentment yet?”
I rolled my eyes, leaning back out the window. “Nope. Just wondering how quickly we can get this initial meeting done with so I can swim.” Sarto gave an emphatic harrumph.
“You won’t be able to make it to the sea by yourself. Not unless you plan to climb down the mountain side.” My head rested on the sill as the pain of longing returned. Without my magic, phasing from one spot to the next was out of the question. It was the same reason we had to endure this carriage ride instead of travelling here within a matter of minutes. Sarto technically could have taken us, but with how far we travelled, it would have cost him more than the need for a deep sleep.
The carriage slowly rolled to a stop, indicating we had arrived. Without any anticipation in my bones, I reached for my satchel, opening the flap. Inside the holed jar within the bag, lay my sweet little Gordo. Not wanting to wake him, I closed the flap once more. The coachman walked up to the door, opening it wide for Sarto to step out first.
“Let me go first. To check if its muddy,” I intercepted. Sarto nodded, though we both knew it was so I could give him a hand down the stairs. Ducking, I lifted the hem of my emerald gown and matching cloak as I moved. I didn’t bother to take a moment for the view. Instead, I simply held out my hand for Sarto. Of which he took, nodding gratefully again. Once fully upright, he let go of my hand, but not before tapping it once in a sweet gesture. Sarto moved forward as I followed closely behind him, allowing my eyes to scan the grounds again. It looked the same as from the window, except the size created a far more looming feeling than before. Trapped. I was to be trapped here for twelve insufferable months with a likely old and cranky mage with no time for a twenty-six-year-old woman with missing arcana.
The hood of my cloak barely concealed my golden hair, which I purposely braided beforehand. It was customary for arcana apprentices to braid their hair, while mages and archmages could leave theirs down, to easily denote who was in charge.
“Ah! Mycel! Oh, how I have missed your rapturous presence.” Sarto opened his arms wide, and a woman about my size, but with dark brown hair and dark blue eyes, embraced him.
“Sarto Sarcollius, as I live and breathe. You don’t look a day over five-hundred.” My teacher chuckled, a faint pink rising to his cheeks. I couldn’t stop the smile that formed on my face whenever someone made Sarto blush. It was almost reflexive at this point.
“Many thanks Mycel. An old man must take all the flattery he can get.” Sarto then turned his attention beyond the woman to a figure I couldn’t see beyond my hood and Sarto’s large robe. “Muntel, my gods. Look at how you’ve turned into a man! You were just a sprig when I last saw you.” A deep voice gave a short laugh beyond him. A sprig? How long had it been since Sarto last saw the archmage of Yantree Hills?
“It is good to see you archmage Sarcollius. I hope the journey wasn’t too rough on those old bones of yours.” My eyes widened in shock. I had never heard archmages speak to one another like that before. Sure, I was quippy with Sarto, but he was practically like a father to me, or, grandfather. I was allowed to prod at him. Archmages were supposed to be formal and cordial in front of others. Decorum was beaten into us from young.
“These old bones survive quite well, thank you very much. I have seen much harder travels than that boy.” My mouth dropped open at the remarks. Sarto may have lost his mind. Though, I did enjoy this side of him, seeing as I loathed the useless formalities. Finally, Sarto seemed to remember why we came, and popped his shoulders up a bit.
“Oh, excuse my terrible manners. Muntel and Mycel, I would like to introduce you to my protégé, Fitalia Galantus, disciple of arcana and wizardry.” Sarto moved to the side, sweeping his robes with him. I finally lifted my chin fully, choosing to meet the mages with directness rather than the more formal approach of bowing. It was then I finally took in the archmage in front of me. The mage I would be spending every day with for twelve months. He was…young. Possibly a few years older than myself. He was also incredibly, unfortunately, handsome. The mage, Muntel, stood taller than the rest of us at about six feet and three inches to my guess. He had hair the same color as the woman, but it sat at shoulder length with soft waves formed. He had a strong jawline and pronounced nose which suited his face, and tanned skin from being in the sun. His eyes were a sapphire blue; brighter than the woman he shared characteristics with. They must be related in some way. I know my face must have resembled a recently caught fish from how agape my mouth was. But at least I was in common company for it. Because his too was open in bewilderment. We just stood there, silence and awkwardness becoming us all while neither of us moved to say anything. Think, think, think, Fitalia. Anything, say anything.
“How are you so young?” I should have thought harder. My abrupt and rude comment must have shaken him out of whatever trance he had been stuck in because he blinked curtly before clearing his throat.
“Well, I guess I should be grateful you didn’t call me old.” I could almost feel Sarto’s mustache twitch from here. I finally closed my mouth and managed to somewhat school my expression.
“I’m sorry, I just…have never known an archmage to be so young before.” The woman, Mycel I believe, looked completely amused by the awkward exchange I had shoveled my way into. Muntel bit the inside of his cheek, and it almost seemed as though he were hiding a smile.
“No apologies necessary. I am thirty and two years of age.” Thirty-two? The archmage was only six years older than I? This must be a joke. How can he possibly know enough to be an archmage?
“You’re not going to ask how old I am?” Stupid question, Sarto likely already told him. I winced from the idiocy, seeing Sarto rub his beard’s length to my left. Muntel smiled though, a coy one as if he was enjoying this.
“I would never suspect to ask a woman her age. My sister here would likely attack me if I did.” Mycel was his sister then. I only squinted my eyes at him, trying to figure this mysterious young mage out. Sarto placed a hand at my elbow, giving me a small pinch. I jolted slightly, causing me to stop the glare of death.
“I did warn you she would be trouble. Fitalia has always been quite the firecracker in both speech and spirit.” I withheld the scoff, but it was apparently futile as the mage before me kept his gaze focused on me. My eyes widened as I jutted my chin out to him slightly, silently daring him to keep staring. Muntel cleared his throat once, finally looking away.
“I am sure we both have a lot to learn from one another.”
***
I was shown to the room I would be staying in by the archmage’s sister, Mycel. She chatted about the grounds, the history with their family, how she practices some other type of magic and various other topics. I didn’t pay close attention to anything she said, only providing a cordial nod and affirmation when she paused. My last chance to secure the arcana I had dedicated my life to, relied in a thirty-two-year-old man. That was all I could focus on. I had twelve months, to undo whatever had occurred. Twelve months left to fix myself before everything came crashing down.
I was now bathed after using the opulent chamber attached to my room, smelling like the musky bar of soap I had chosen. The bath water was tepid, seeing as I was unable to heat it myself, and too stubborn to remind one of the other weavers in the castle to aid me. I decided on tan leather pants and a white satin tunic to wear for dinner. I was going to choose one of the extravagant gowns Sarto had bought me, but the sight of them just made me feel like a doll. Dressed and prepped to represent something she wasn’t anymore.
Sitting on the bed now, I watched as Gordo played with a strand of my hair as he laid on my chest. “Do you think they would notice if I didn’t come downstairs?” Gordo’s leaved arms dropped my hair as his trifoliate head peered at me. He moved his tiny body to my face, placing a single leaf upon my cheek before giving a small yip. I sighed in agreement. I cradled Gordo in my palm before walking over to his house that I had packed with us. Placing him down, a soft smile grew on my face as he nestled into the soil-packed bed. “Sleep tight friend. I’ll be back soon.” He let out a tired yip once more in parting. I looked myself over in the mirror one more time, noting the dull yellow of my irises, absent of the gold that once swirled in them. Even with the arcana, I doubt my eyes would show life like they once did.
I smoothed my palm over one of the braids, before turning and leaving the room. The dining room, I was told, was located down the winding stairwell, and through the double oak doors. Even without the description, I likely would have found my way from the volume of Sarto’s voice echoing through the halls. Stepping up to the doors, I took one deeper inhale, before pushing them open.
“Well, I was enjoying it for much of the journey, but somewhere along our travels I lost it.” I could feel at least two sets of eyes turn to me as I entered, but I didn’t meet their gaze. Instead, I took the only seat available at the mid-mark, between Sarto and Muntel. “Ah there you are. Did you ever find my copy of The Scrolls of Archmage Hedalithan?” Sarto directed his question to me, but it took a few moments for me to realize.
“Oh, uh, no. I did not.” I lifted the napkin placed atop my plate, unfolding it to lay across my lap.
“Weaver’s might! I loaned that book. Now I’ll have to come up with a story to tell mage Freega.” I needed to be polite, to thank Mycel and Muntel for their graciousness in letting me stay and trying to help. But I just couldn’t get the emotion to care.
“Is your room alright Fitalia? If it isn’t up to standards, you are free to choose another one.” The deep voice of Muntel cut in through my thoughts from my left. Contemptuously, I raised my head in his direction, still avoiding his eyes.
“The room is perfect. Thank you.” I forced a close-lipped smile, then turned my attention to the rows of food in front of us. I wish they hadn’t waited to start for me.
As if seeing my focus, Muntel announced, “Please, everyone, eat. No need for formality here.” Absentmindedly, I flicked my eyes to the archmage out of surprise. No formality for the table, or no formality at all? I quickly refocused on the others, watching as the food began to lift from various plates. The three of them were serving themselves with arcana, having the food brought to their plates. Biting the inside of my cheek, I reach forward for a serving spoon to scoop up some spiced potatoes. As I did, however, a pile of them lifted and moved towards me. My hand was frozen by the spoon as I stared at the food levitate, then quietly lay on my plate.
I looked to Sarto, but he was drawing in a fillet from across the table. Mycel was using her magic to pour wine into her goblet, which means it could only be one other. I pulled my hand back slowly, then reached for another dish of lamb cuts. As a piece started to move, my irritation bubbled over.
“Please, stop.” The room quieted into a hush with my words. Food and wine were frozen midair, Sarto’s face contorted into confusion. Finally, I turned my head to Muntel. He was sitting there, hands clasped on the table, his thumbs bouncing slowly off one another. His sapphire eyes watched me for a moment, before he picked up his fork, and began eating. The sounds of movement from the others continued again. I reached once more, feeling grateful when the lamb didn’t move this time without my doing.
We continued eating, Sarto and Mycel sharing stories about their travels since they last spoke. Muntel chimed in a few times, and I noticed he would stumble on his words a few times. He would take pauses, almost imperceptible, between random occurrences of words or phrases. I found myself searching for them, waiting to see if there was a pattern to it, on purpose.
Pulled from my thoughts, I heard my name called. “Fitalia, darling. When did you first lose your ability to weave arcana?” I flinched, unable to hide the surprise from my features as Mycel spoke.
“What?” Glancing quickly, I noticed they were all watching me. Mycel’s warm and friendly smile faltered slightly, but she masked it with the perfect repositioning that proved she was used to keeping the pace in conversation.
“So sorry for blurting that at you. I asked when you lost your arcana? Was it some time ago?” I turned to Sarto, who looked like he didn’t know what to say or do to help. He clearly didn’t tell them, and I wasn’t about to discuss something like that over dinner. With that thought, the food soured in my stomach, the sight of it making me nauseous and losing my appetite. I pushed my chair back, standing abruptly and startling the others.
“Forgive me, but I am not feeling well. I think it is best if I lay down.” Keeping my stare glued to the table, I waited for a response.
“Fitalia, I am so sorry I—,” Mycel’s words were cut off by her brother.
“You are free to go wherever you want Fitalia. I hope you feel better.” Letting out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I nodded curtly, making my way to the door.
On my way past the exit, I heard Sarto whisper to Muntel, “She has survived too much in her life. More than someone her age should. And…” I didn’t hear the rest as I started running up and up and up.
