Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1) Read online

  A shirtless man hacked away at a corpse on the far side, but with a scalpel instead of a cleaver. The man paused and glanced over a shoulder as they arrived. In the dim élanic light, Roun saw he had a shaved face and dark hair that was swept back and tied out of the way with a bit of cloth, while his bare chest was a tapestry of scars and muscle. Roun eyed the crusted streaks of gold and black ichor across the man’s flesh before shifting his gaze to the large seashell necklace hanging from his neck.

  “No murders or attempts at detours,” the man said, a touch of humor in his voice. “Not a terrible start, Roun.”

  The woman bowed and left, leaving Roun alone with him.

  “Murders or detours?” Roun asked. The man resumed cutting at what Roun now realized was chimera flesh, though he couldn’t tell what it had been before.

  “My name is Zareus,” he said, ignoring the question. “I’m one of your scribes, which is like a mentor, though we’re mortals ourselves, unlike you. Despite that, we’ll try and support you as best we can.”

  He didn’t dare hope. “Meaning…?”

  “Yes, it’s just as you suspect, Roun. The Eldest Throne has awakened you, which means you’re now a Grimoire.”

  Roun closed his eyes. So it is true.

  “Take all the time you need,” Zareus said gently.

  He shook his head and let out a breath. “Sorry. It’s just still hard for me to believe this is actually happening, ridiculous as that sounds.”

  “I don’t think it’s ridiculous. In fact, respectful awe is the healthiest way to view your situation. Folk from the noble clans like to think their ascension is a birthright.”

  Roun winced at the mention of clans. “I should mention that I’m clanless.”

  “So we’ve discovered.” Zareus at last stopped his butchering and turned to face him. “There doesn’t seem to be much to you outside of what your friend from the Rozarian Guard told us.”

  Roun shrugged. “My father was a rural mercenary, so we traveled between the demesnes chasing work. If we had a clan once, he never told me what it was.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know,” Roun said uncomfortably. “He didn’t take me on every contract. One day, he just never came back. That was over four years ago.”

  Zareus frowned.

  “What were you doing with the chimera flesh?” Roun asked as the awkward silence stretched on. Now that he had a better look, the workshop appeared more like an alchemist’s den than anything else. The air stank of antiseptic, and there were urns, vials, and corked bottles everywhere.

  “Learning,” Zareus replied. “Besides being a scribe, I’m also Avyleir’s most overworked healer.” He brushed past Roun and gestured without looking back. “Come.”

  Roun hurried to keep up with the man’s long strides and followed him back up the stairs. “You’re a healer?” What kind of healer chops up chimeras?

  “Yes, that’s what I said. Scribe and healer.”

  They continued going upward, moving past a dizzying number of doors and alcoves leading into passageways. They reached what seemed to be one of the higher floors—he glanced out the tower’s small outer windows and found a breathtaking view of the city and library.

  Zareus shoved open a set of double doors that swung out into a chamber kept bright by large élanic lamps. Tables and bookshelves lined every wall except the furthest where a dark-blue chalkboard instead spanned. There was a podium in front of the chalkboard, along with a simple lectern, while a few tables and a neat semicircle of armchairs at the room’s center filled the rest of the space.

  The people seated in them turned around at their entrance and Roun froze as eyes settled curiously on him.

  “Roun, meet the rest of the Blue Moon Tower,” Zareus said as he made his way to the podium. “Rest of Blue Moon, meet Roun. Have a seat.”

  Roun glanced across the faces staring at him. There were five other young men and women in the room, all of them Grimoires judging by their own raiments. He gave them a deep bow. “An honor to meet you all.” None of them said anything, but someone did wave energetically.

  He went and took the only open seat while Zareus thudded his scalpel against the lectern to get their attention.

  “I suppose this marks the moment you begin your lives as Grimoires,” Zareus began. “As we’ve previously discussed, you’ll be living within the tower’s dormitories from now on and will need permission to leave the library.”

  Everyone stared up at the scribe, who still had his scalpel, was still shirtless, and still had chimera ichor smeared all over his chest.

  “Your clans have already been informed and we can make arrangements for anything you still need.”

  “We’re starting now?” someone asked hesitantly. “I thought we still had a few more weeks…”

  “We should have started at the turn of the year, but our exarch wanted another Grimoire to even us out,” Zareus said with utter apathy. “Now that Roun is here, our exarch has ordered me to have you all begin training immediately.”

  The brown-haired youth who had asked the question twisted to glare at him as if Roun had somehow awakened just to spite him, then huffed and turned back to Zareus.

  Zareus scratched his chin and yawned. “Let’s begin by ensuring everyone understands the absolute basics; upon the Eldest Throne sits Sothis, who is also known as the Grimoire of Creation. Your purpose within Sothis’s empire is to cultivate your spirit until it shines as brightly as her Throne. In exchange, the Eternal Empress offers immortality and a place at her side as a champion of humanity. Your ascension will also birth a star that will forever cast light down into the night and through it, you’ll grant mortals access to your sacred powers. Who sees the problem with this?”

  Roun glanced around for a moment. When no one answered, he whispered, “There aren’t any stars. At least, nothing like what the legends say they’re supposed to look like.”

  “That’s correct. To this date, even the most venerated Grimoires are effectively failures. That is why the Imperial Libraries exist; to observe, study, and support Grimoires with the goal of aiding them towards their destiny.” Zareus frowned. “Never doubt that you remain our heroes regardless of where you peak, however. Serve and love Rozaria to the best of your ability, and Rozaria will serve and love you a hundredfold in return. Questions?”

  No one spoke, so Zareus nodded and continued.

  “Now then, you may all be Grimoires, but operating as a sanctioned one is a different matter.” Zareus lifted a small circular medallion from the lectern. “This signifies your rank within Avyleir and should be worn at all times unless otherwise instructed. You’re currently Wood, which is just a placeholder and not a real rank.” The scribe tapped a small wooden circle at the center. Surrounding it was a larger circle split into four quarters. “You’ll earn your initial rank, which is Copper, once you’ve graduated from your probation. Each rank is further divided into sub-tiers, with one or two tokens being ‘low’ and three or four being ‘high’ positions within that rank. The ranks themselves are Copper, Silver, Gold, Obsidian, and Orihalcon. There’s an unofficial sixth rank the Imperial Libraries call ‘Luminary,’ but few Grimoires have held the rank, so I wouldn’t concern yourselves with it. Most never make it past Low Gold.”

  Another Grimoire frowned. “And how do we earn tokens?”

  “By advancing your overall effectiveness as a Grimoire, something which we evaluate in a variety of ways, such as mission performance.” Zareus hesitated for a moment, then added, “The unfortunate truth is that every Grimoire plateaus. There’s no shame in that, but I advise against letting where you are now become your peak.” He looked across the room, his eyes narrowing as he paused on each of them. “Your other scribe is already waiting for you at the tower’s summit. Don’t take too long getting up there.”

  Zareus tapped his scalpel against the lectern a few times, head cocked as if trying to remember something, then shrugged and walked away. Before he left
the room, however, he froze and waggled the small blade in the air.

  “Oh,” Zareus said. “Grimoires almost always operate in coteries of at least two members, so we’re splitting you into pairs as part of your training. Choose carefully, because we won’t allow any whining or shifting around afterwards.”

  With that, he left, leaving Roun alone and confused in a room full of strangers.

  4

  Roun rose from his armchair with a frown and watched everyone else do the same.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. When he turned, he found a tall Grimoire whose muscles were bulging out against his outer robes. The young man had light-brown skin that matched his eyes and pitch-black hair kept in a ponytail that fell to the small of his back in the traditional hairstyle of men and women from the noble clans.

  “I believe your name was Roun?” the Grimoire asked with a smile. “I’m Laeshiro Rhalgr.”

  “Just Roun, unfortunately.” His frown deepened. The Rhalgr clan? Is he serious?

  Laeshiro seemed unfazed by Roun’s admission despite belonging to one of the most storied warrior clans in the world and instead responded with a cheerful laugh.

  “I see,” Laeshiro said. “Well, Roun, I’d be happy to partner with you.”

  Roun hesitated as someone off to the side let out a far more derisive laugh; the brown-haired boy who had glared at him.

  “Talons still out for the lead, I see,” the boy muttered.

  Laeshiro offered a humble bow against the accusation. “You’re not wrong. I do think I’d make a passable leader between my arte and experience, though I also know it’s not as glorious a role as some might believe.”

  The other boy shook his head. “Said without a shred of shame.”

  Roun glanced between them before eying Laeshiro. “Well, if what everyone says about the Rhalgr clan is true, then he probably does have more combat experience than any of us.”

  Laeshiro grinned. “It’s all true, even the bits about us coming out the womb with raised fists and a grudge against the world.”

  “Whatever,” the other boy said. “Someone pair up me with already. Preferably someone who isn’t too motivated.”

  Roun glanced around at the remaining Grimoires. Other than the brown-haired boy and Laeshiro, there was a girl observing their conversation with disinterest and another girl—the one who had waved to him earlier, Roun realized—chatting with a boy with spectacles and a severe-looking face.

  “I suppose you can partner with me,” the bored-looking girl said. “I’m not allowed to take part in anything, so you’re free to do what you want.”

  “You’re the Grimoire who controls time, aren’t you?” the brown-haired boy replied thoughtfully. “Wait, what? Why do you get special treatment?”

  “Her name is Oyrivia, and no, she doesn’t control time.” Laeshiro waved his arm. “She’s a terrible match, because you do need someone who’ll motivate you.”

  The boy laughed and crossed his arms. “Why?”

  Roun spoke, drawing everyone’s attention. “Because we’re being tested.” He glanced around as even the other two stopped talking and turned towards him with confused expressions. “What? Wasn’t that obvious? The scribe clearly pointed out that we’re not sanctioned Grimoires and practically threatened us when he said not to let this become our peak.”

  “I agree,” Laeshiro said.

  The lazy brown-haired boy snorted. “What are they going to do? Complain?”

  Roun shook his head. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good. I didn’t even know a Grimoire had to be sanctioned until now, but I’ve also never heard of any clans with failed Grimoires lounging around either.” He glanced at Laeshiro, who shook his head.

  “That’s been on my mind as well.” Laeshiro rubbed his chin. “The most likely answer is that they won’t tolerate failure at all, so unless you want to stay in a gilded cage forever—likely losing privileges and access to your clan in the process—I’d wait until at least Copper before you decide to live a life of dishonor.”

  The brown-haired boy stomped towards Laeshiro, who didn’t look too concerned. Oyrivia clutched the boy’s arm before he got far.

  “Just partner with me,” Oyrivia said. “I won’t bother you.”

  The brown-haired boy snorted again and went with her to the box, leaving Roun and Laeshiro together.

  “He needs to think more carefully about the importance of our duty,” Laeshiro said as he and Roun watched them leave, “and realize it doesn’t matter if he dislikes it. Tantrums are for children.”

  Roun let out a long sigh. “You’re not wrong. Everyone is going to expect us to behave like—”

  “—glorious heroes!” the girl who had waved at him finished as she and her companion approached. “And that’s exactly how we should behave!”

  Laeshiro tossed his head in the girl's direction. “This is Sethra Velle.” Laeshiro gestured at the other boy. “And he’s Kamil Hisha.”

  Another noble clan, Roun thought as he regarded Kamil. Sethra’s clan, however, was one he had never heard of before. She wore her hair short and maybe even more messily than Roun did. There was an agile precision to her movements, and though she was lithe, her body still carried a good amount of muscle, even if it wasn’t nearly as much as Laeshiro had.

  “Small, unimportant clan,” Sethra said with a huge grin, guessing at his thoughts as she placed her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “There are only a few families in it.”

  “Better than none.” Roun grinned back. “I guess you two are partnering, then? We should head up before we’re missed, though I’m a bit surprised they’re throwing us into training so soon.”

  “Only you,” Sethra said. “The rest of us have been waiting since the Springbloom Festival, though it wasn’t too bad for me; I liked my chaperone and learned a lot from her.”

  “How long ago was your awakening, by the way?” Kamil asked.

  “Uh… yesterday, I think?”

  The three other Grimoires stared at him.

  “They should have given you a few days to sort yourself out,” Kamil said. “At minimum. Have they at least given you a tour of the library?”

  “No...” Roun laughed. “I woke up, took a bath, and now I’m here.”

  “That’s… unbelievable.” Laeshiro looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, that means our pairings are for the best, I think.”

  Sethra frowned. “No they aren’t. I want to partner with Roun.”

  Laeshiro regarded her. “Both Kamil and I are from noble clans, so we’ve spent most of our lives preparing for this possibility, and that means we’ve little to offer each other. I’m not sure it makes sense for us to be partners.”

  “True, and I’m already ahead of you all, so I’ve time to spare,” Kamil added.

  Roun frowned. “Ahead of us?”

  Kamil nodded. “I inherited my father’s path.” He gestured and swirls of gold and red burst into existence, then hardened into shimmering orbs filled with what appeared to be liquid. They orbited around him while he continued speaking. “They ordained me the Grimoire of Dawnfire like my father.”

  Roun frowned at the boy in confusion, which drew warm laughter from Laeshiro.

  “We’ll spare you the more complicated details for now,” Laeshiro begun, “but, basically, whenever you cast an arte it becomes a little easier to use the next time. Under normal circumstances, no two Grimoires are ever identical, so this process usually ends up being part of an individual Grimoire’s growth. If you inherit your spiritual powers, however...”

  Roun’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see; his father has already been using those artes for a long time, so Kamil will have an easier time using them himself.”

  Kamil nodded. “And my usage will benefit him in return.”

  “Makes me a little envious,” Sethra said while the other Grimoire added more and more orbs to his rotation.

  “You shouldn’t feel that way,” Kamil said. “At least you get to forge your
own path.”

  “Well, I still want to partner with Roun,” Sethra said. “If he’s fine with it, anyway.”

  “I don’t mind, but why me?”

  “Because I overheard you admit you’re clanless. My clan’s so small and lowly placed that I’m not far beyond that, and literally everyone else in our tower is someone I’d have been bowing to a dozen times less than a year ago. I can’t take that kind of pressure.”

  Laeshiro let out a booming laugh. “Oh, come on. We’re not that intimidating, are we? Besides, we’re all equals here—”

  “So you say.” Sethra fixed a flat stare on him and crossed her arms.

  “It’s fine, we can be partners,” Roun said while raising his hands to prevent this from escalating further. “She still knows more than I do, and we can come to either of you for help if we need it, can’t we?”

  “True…” Laeshiro still sounded unsure, but he gave them a shrug. “Do come to us if you need anything. I’m sure there will be some competition in all this, but we share the burden of serving Rozaria. It would be foolish to let our old lives get in the way of camaraderie.”

  Kamil nodded in agreement. “Now that we’ve settled that, let’s head up before we get into trouble.”

  Laeshiro and Kamil retrieved their medallions from the box and walked out, leaving him alone with Sethra, who let out a sigh of relief.

  “Thanks for choosing me,” she said.

  Roun nodded and waited while she sprinted off to grab their medallions. When she returned, they slipped them over their necks and climbed towards the summit together. To Roun’s dismay, it turned out that they had only been at the tower’s midway point, so he was sweating and gasping by the time they emerged back into daylight. Sethra thumped him on the back while he caught his breath.

  “You need more exercise,” she said cheerfully.

  Roun focused on gulping air instead of replying. I’ve done worse while training alone or with Noban… Maybe it was because he had awakened so recently. He glanced off towards the north, over the breathtaking view of the city, out towards where the Eldest Throne burned. It was a deep gold tinged with red, but most of the light came from the élan infused into the air, so the Throne itself wasn’t blinding. In fact, its light had always appeared gentle and left him soothed. But I still don’t feel better. Isn’t the Throne’s light supposed to invigorate us?