Page 54 of The Spell Caster

If I thought I would get to see Costi during his time off, I was wrong. He was supposed to be resting, but he’d been scarce. He was looking into… whatever was going on. The Mountain Circle’s many mysteries.

Before noon, I finally gave in and went to the arena. As Calamus had promised, a sign on the door marked the building as reserved and cautioned visitors not to disturb the circle spell.

The heavy doors banged shut after me. The huge space was eerie and empty, liminal. The skylights high above let in the feeble sun from the cloudy sky, but the main electric lights were off. A circle of flickering candles created a wan glow that didn’t quite banish the dark.

Calamus knelt in the center of the space, referencing a paper diagram and tracing. His face was uncharacteristically blank as he concentrated.

Circle tracing was done with a stick of wax, imbued with various metals, ground gemstones, and herbs, leaving shimmering symbols and lines that extended at least twenty feet. I had never heard of a circle this large. This was a major working.

The spell hummed with magical potential. I didn’t know if it was going to do what Calamus thought it would, but it would certainly light up when he poured magic into it.

I didn’t interrupt Calamus as he worked, and he said nothing, though he must have sensed my presence. I watched him for some time before a slice of light appeared as the door opened again.

A group of witches entered, hushing their voices. I moved to meet them away from where Calamus was working.

“Good morning, darling,” said my mother. “I brought your robes.” She handed me a crimson bundle. She was also attired formally, in a sleek modern business set.

My face froze as I schooled my features into a nonreaction, giving nothing away. I should have known she would show up.

“Thank you all for coming,” I addressed the group without feeling.

Cedar Grey, councilor of the Arcaenum and Calamus’s father, stood with another witch wearing the ceremonial black robes.

“It’s so nice to meet you at last,” said Grey, his tone not quite matching the polite words. “This is my fellow councilor, Elan Quince.”

Quince was tall and hawkish, not quite into his elder years. He nodded to me in greeting.

“Go try on your new clothes,” Mother said. Her eyes seemed to miss the bruise on my upper arm.

I excused myself to one of the training rooms. My breath caught on a sob as I looked down at the spill of cloth in my hands. I hadn’t imagined this strange scenario as my first time wearing the red spell caster’s garment.

I blinked rapidly against tears as I changed into the robe. It flattered any shape with a fitted upper section and a sleeveless tunic that flared out over the legs. I smoothed the fabric down.

When I rejoined the group, we waited, watching Calamus prepare the final strokes.

Councilor Grey nodded at his son. “He’s convinced you’ll be the most powerful spell caster we’ve ever seen,” he said. “If only we can unleash you.”

I turned to the councilor. “Is that why the Arcaenum agreed to try this?” I asked.

He regarded me in the flickering candlelight. “Weapons are useful, but information is what wins the war.”

Unease brushed me. I looked back to Calamus. The circle was nearly complete.

The far door opened, held for longer than normal as another figure entered slowly, followed by a companion. When my eyes adjusted, I could see why. An elderly witch in black robes with a cloud of white hair balanced carefully on a walking stick, assisted by the red-haired witch from the library.

“Councilor Rhodes.” Annoyance saturated Grey’s voice. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Rhodes’s dark blue eyes glittered in an ancient face as she made her way to us. I had the distinct impression that she was amused by making Grey wait.

“Dear me,” the elder witch said mildly. “I think the meeting invitation didn’t make it to me. I would have missed it if I hadn’t heard the youngsters discussing it in the library.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a meeting of the Arcaenum.”

“It’s a matter your son brought before the councilors, which means the Arcaenum is involved.” The library witch dragged over a stool, and Rhodes lowered herself with careful dignity, then folded her hands atop her walking stick. “Thank you, Hazel.”

Hazel wasn’t wearing formal robes but had donned a simple dress in a dark green color that flattered her outsider complexion. She was clutching a bundle of printed papers. I gave her a small smile, trying to defuse some of the tension.

“Suit yourself,” Grey said through clenched teeth. “As you always do.”

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