Chapter 6

“I saw a brief glimmer of light through the cloud cover. Barely noticeable, but discernible amongst the sea of inky blackness. It was as if it was waving me forward. As if a lifeline had been cast. We were only five left of our original crew of 15 members, but with newfound strength, we pushed on. We believed the mountain reached into the darkness for eternity, but suddenly the cover broke, and the first thing I saw was the purple Callanth flower swaying in the evening breeze. But the second thing I saw was a collection of stars directly above me. Our salvation. True to my word, I have named this impossible mountain peak Callanth, but I had sworn fealty and worship to the constellation that guided us out of the storm; Hesperia, the brightest constellation in all of Atoraxis.”

Excerpt from Callanth’s compendium, page 4, signed Italus, the first High Chemist of Atoraxis

______________________________________________________________________________

Sulien raises his arms over his head and stretches, the lose sleeves of his black robe gathering around his elbows.

“Nothing quite makes time pass like being in the presence of shared interest,” he quotes just before a yawn interrupts.

I lean back to stretch my back. I’ve stayed hunched over the desk for far too long. “I honestly didn’t expect to be this enthralled from the get-go,” I sigh and take a step back from our work. If the hours I spent pouring over notes, formulas, and histories of the storm with Sulien could be condensed into a single word, it would be vivifying. Everything contributes to an environment catered to my learning. Like a child discovering snow for the first time, I’m determined to absorb every morsel of information offered.

We didn’t concoct any new solvents or dig up mind-blowing passages on the storm’s origin, but Sulien had laid out his current research project and invited me to share my thoughts, which had initiated several hours-worth of brainstorming.

“Do you really think Stormglass is what fuels the storm?” I quiz, resting my hands on my hips as I look over the annotated papers lined up at the edge of the table.

Sulien runs his fingers through the bottom of his beard that isn’t tied together by metal cuffs. “I don’t see why not. Stormglass fuels our machines and weapons. Why not feed a storm endlessly?” He poses the question humorlessly, deep creases forming in his forehead as he thinks.

I pull at my bottom lips with my fingers, but a growing headache threatens to snap my thoughts in half. “Do you think… If we somehow found a way to prove that Stormglass is the lifeblood of the storm, maybe there’s also a way to cut the source.”

“Starve a centuries old storm?” Sulien mumbles while he still combs through his beard. “It’s a fascinating idea.”

I pick a little too hard at my lip and drop my hand once I taste blood.

Starve a storm, starve a society, I think with heavy consideration. I don’t want to find a way to end the storm that makes it possible for me to use my otherwise dead hand. But I do have another angle.

“Has anyone ever looked into the possibility of making Stormglass indefinite?” I ask with insouciance masking my expectancy.

Sulien removes his monocle and pulls out the shiny fabric to polish it. “Several. It was one of the first hypotheses of the Chemists who discovered the potential for Stormglass.”

I flatten my hands on the table. “What did they discover?” My question is innocent enough, but I can’t mask the intensity in my tone this time.

Sulien’s fingers pause their polishing, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. “They discovered that everything has a season.” He replaces the monocle and tucks the fabric back into his chest pocket. Then he shifts his gaze to me with a curious eye. Or is it… sympathetic? “Just like Stormglass. Despite its capabilities, no one has ever found a way to make its effects permanent.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to relent. I want to learn everything there is about the history of the storm, hoping I can find a hint, a clue, an anomaly, a trigger, anything that will extend or eliminate the deadline of Stormglass.

The scrutinizing eye of the High Chemist shifts and a smile pulls at his lips. “But I have a feeling a certain apprentice won’t let that get in her way.”

The weight of my secret agenda drops from my shoulders like boulders.

He… wants me to research it? He wants me?

Sulien casts a brief glance over his shoulder then sighs. “But alas, rest still remains the neutralizer of impulsivity. What’s important today will still be important tomorrow.”

I look behind me to see the sun has long abandoned its position at the east corner of the horizon and is now descending below the plateau of Helios to the west.

“I had no idea I had been here this long,” I mumble to myself, but Sulien instantly snorts in amusement and pats my back with gusto.

“Don’t fret. It has been a long while since I’ve exchanged thoughts with a fresh mind. The other High Chemists are too set in their ways. Too stiff,” Sulien mutters grumpily and starts shuffling through another stack of papers while huffing.

I smirk. “Telenor?” I recall innocently, but had detected enough animosity in Sulien’s mention of Telenor earlier to deduce that he is one of the High Chemists he doesn’t like.

Sulien grimaces, his wrinkles deepening around his mouth. “Quite the character that one. He’s quick to shoot down any and all suggestions of adjusting the Stormglass solvents, but slow at everything else,” he grumbles further and swats at the pile of papers he’d just started pilfering through. His hands still. “However, I’ll spare you my complaints. Ryn, I’d like to extend an invitation of an apprenticeship with me. I’m aware of your need for a livelihood, so let me be perfectly clear; a Chemist’s apprentice receives a monthly stipend as long as the hours are put in. But if there’s sentimental value tied to your profession, I wouldn’t be opposed to working out a schedule.”

I blink with my mouth slightly agape. He hadn’t looked at my or even acted like he had just offered a lucrative apprenticeship to a highly unqualified individual. By all the constellations, he might as well have just informed me it was cloudy outside. But that wouldn’t have made my heart skip and my thoughts race.

“I… don’t know what to say,” I stammer.

Is this even real?

“A yes or no will do,” Sulien says, having returned to his random perusal of his papers.

“Yes,” I quickly answer.

“Good,” he simply chirps, but there is a definite smile growing on his face. “Then I will see you tomorrow and we can work out any logistics necessary.”

I don’t trust my voice to say anymore, so I start to stiffly move towards the door, when Sulien makes a hiccup sound.

“Oh, and the auditorium is just down this corridor to the right, if you’re interested in seeing Callanth’s compendium. Just a suggestion.”

***

As the creaky door thuds shut behind me, its echo reverberates down the corridor illuminated by the soft glow of diamond-shaped lanterns suspended from the ceiling. The gentle light of the Stormglass pieces therein invites an intimate ambiance, tempering the darkness, not enough to pollute the night. Across from me, an arched window frames the evening sky's pastel hues, a delicate blend of violet and pink. I pause there at the door, my gaze darting down the corridor, which curves out of sight in both directions. My lip finds its way between my teeth as I stand there, uncertain.

If I turn left, the smooth stone corridor will lead me out of the Citadel and back to life as I know it. Turn right and it will direct me inevitably to the auditorium where Callanth’s compendium sits, and also an unknown future. I may only be standing alone with a pensive stare and my fingers tracing my collected stringed coins, but the implications weigh on me. I have to make a choice. I want to make a choice. I tuck the strand of hair tied to my tassel behind my ear and smile.

I can make a choice. I have options, I realize as I wait for something to convince me, some sort of external validation. Despite my excitement about the prospect of agency in the matter, I still find my feet heavy with indecision. Because life is no longer as I know it. I don’t feel I can just return to my house and The Copper Bowl, serving endless bowls of noodles with Stormglass surging through my veins. Not after what I’ve seen, what I’ve learned.

Capability.

I itch to consult with Hesperia and take the time to consider the repercussions of each decision. But a big part of me — the impulsive part of me — wants to test my theory without delay. My theory that I have what it takes to change the outcome, that I’m capable of more.

I don’t take another breath before stepping away from the threshold, turning right with stubbornness in my every step.

Remind me to add another coin when I get home, Hesperia.

My determination doesn’t wane, not even when the sound of my mismatched shoes’ heels sounds deafening in the empty corridor. Nor when I walk a fair ways and still haven’t encountered even a guard. I do, however, slow my eager pace once a door left ajar carries muffled voices into the corridor. I consider striding past unhindered, but a loud bang makes me jump in surprise, halting me completely.

“Why are you ever persistent in the studies of the storm, when your focus should be on establishing equilibrium between the peaks?!” A hoarse voice nearly shouts from the room on the other side of the door. I know I have no business eavesdropping on any conversation within the Citadel, but if I’m to dedicate half my time in the Chemist’s laboratory, I don’t see why I shouldn’t aquatint myself a little with Citadel dealings.

“I can understand your frustration with the situation, Zenor, but I don’t believe my table did anything to deserve your fist’s wrath,” an all too familiar voice chimes in a natural authoritative tone. I can feel my face lose its color.

“Your Grace, let me be frank,” Zenor says through a long sigh. “The public unrest on Helios is evolving into a full protest with High Lord Arkyn’s paranoia as its fuel. He threatens to boycott all exports of lumber and medical salves drafted from their pines. He claims that if he had sole authority over Helios, he’d be able to reassure his people that they won’t be neglected if the storm grew.”

The king draws in a long breath. “I see High Lord Caelus is still campaigning.”

I haven’t moved since Zenor presumably slammed his fist onto the table, but I notice the sound of steps coming from the cracked door. Simultaneously, I tiptoe closer to the door and press my back up against the cool stone wall, suppressing a shiver from the touch.

“Somewhat,” Zenor continues. “He’s changed his initial demand of ending all scavenging to pushing for more research into the storm’s potential for growth.”

“But how did Helios hear of his plight?” The king asks as if he’s too tired of a repetitive conversation.

“The rumors started in Ocassus with High Lord Caelus as the main rumormonger, but I’ve been receiving reports from my sources in Helios that High Lord Arkyn has met several times with High Lord Caelus over the last few months,” Zenor explains, the crinkly sound of shuffling papers filling in as background noise.

“We should be rallying together, not dividing,” the king mutters, sounding spent. “How can one man cause enough paranoia and uproar over an assumption that the storm will grow to consume what’s left of Atoraxis when the storm in question hasn’t risen or fallen since it was first documented?”

“If I may,” Zenor offers, suddenly hesitant. “People are scared, you Highness. We don’t have any real defenses against the destruction the storm would bring if it crested our peaks. But if we could invest in some sort of security against the storm, it might put some concerns to rest. Imagine that being your crowning piece in your section of the compendium.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

There’s a pause where the king’s reassurance should’ve been. I wait with bated breath, my ears straining with all their might to catch even the faintest words.

“Well, High Lord Caelus certainly is consistent,” the king states in mild disbelief.

“A consistent nuisance, if you ask me. He worries more about the storm than my wife does about the rising cost of hair accessories,” Zenor laughs at his own deprecating joke.

I roll my eyes, but not before peeking in both directions, suddenly too aware that I’m listening in on a conversation between the king and the royal Astrologist, most likely. A sense of utter shame fills me. This is the king’s conversation I’m eavesdropping on, an act that’s more than likely punishable in some way or another. Granted, in all of Maven’s court tales, she’s always spoken highly of the king and of his good-natured demeanor. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse for lingering outside the door.

Maven.

I sigh and regret how late I’ve stayed in Sulien’s lab. I’ve completely forgotten about my mental note to prepare Maven’s favorite dish as a peace offering. Judging by the low light I spotted from the window, Maven would already be home. I prepare to silently move past the door undetected.

“Does he still refuse to travel?” The king asks in exasperation.

“Vehemently,” Zenor replies.

King Aramis makes a sound of irritation. “High Lord Arkyn doesn’t seem to have a problem making the trip. It’s just a few hours by cable,” the king insists just as I move past the door and continue down the corridor, the conversation returning to a muffled murmur till I can’t hear them at all.

I put some distance between the room and myself before I start walking with my heels first again. I recount the many informal reports Maven has given of court gossip and various dealings with the other peaks, but she’s never divulged half the information I just learned. My palms grow damp as unease creeps in with what I’ve heard and that I eavesdropped to obtain it.

The loud clicks of my right heel rebound off the stone surfaces, but are quickly replaced by louder and heavier footsteps.

And they are approaching fast.

Before I can react, two guards clad in dark leather attire with steel plates tied to their chests round the corner.

“Move aside!” One of them shouts, hand on the hilt of his flasklock pistol at his hip, as they barely give me time to leap aside. I tumble haphazardly sideways into the wall and watch as the two guards hurry down the way I came without looking back.

What kicked them into gear so fast? I didn’t hear or notice anything that would’ve caught their attention, I wonder as I slowly continue forward while glancing back over my shoulder every now and then, expecting the guards to return.

As I round the circular corridor, a tall metal archway comes into view, framing a room with no door to conceal its contents. My eyes lock onto a worn metal-bound book resting on a golden pedestal in the center of the room: the Compendium of Callanth. The sacred histories and earned lessons of the kings and High Chemists since the beginning of Callanth.

I slow to a stop, skepticism etched on my face. "Can I just... go in?" I glance over my shoulder for guards, but find none. I look back to the auditorium again, noting how an artificial light shines down from the ceiling. A glowing orb is suspended by a chain, its light emitting a silvery sheen and smoke: Stormglass, uncut Stormglass.

I feel like something this precious should be guarded, I think as it occurred me that the guards that passed me might’ve been the ones posted outside the auditorium.

I shake off my thoughts and hesitancy, and enter the auditorium. Once inside the otherwise darkened room, I realize that the entire room, which is smaller than High Chemist Sulien’s laboratory, is entirely plated in metal. The walls, floors, and ceiling are covered in silver sheets that mold to the contours like a second skin.

I move to step closer to the pedestal when a figure walks out from the shadowed edge of the room to stand directly in front of the pedestal and the compendium. The suddenness of the stranger’s appearance makes me stop in my tracks. The stranger is hidden beneath a dark cloak that reaches their knees, giving me no indication of their identity. I do notice how delicately the stranger traces the metallic page the compendium is already opened up to.

I didn’t realize anyone else was here.

I check to make sure I haven’t missed more guests, but when I can’t see anyone else lurking in the shadows and despite the late hour, I decide to wait for the stranger to be done with the compendium. I want to take my time when I see it for the first time, maybe flip through a few of the pages. When I come to study in the laboratory, I can easily make it a habit to visit the auditorium afterwards. Maybe I can discover a way to convert the use of Stormglass, a way to extend its life.

Lost in thought, I don’t move from my position just inside the archway, and I almost don’t notice when the stranger closes the compendium carefully.

Then lifts it off the pedestal and tucks it into a satchel hidden inside their cloak.

What in the—

The stranger turns, revealing nothing but a shadowed face and stature disguised under the heavy cloak. The stranger freezes, body tilting forward, ready to leave, hand still inside the satchel. The stranger clearly hadn’t noticed me there before. In lieu of better judgment, I raise an accusatory finger at the stranger.

“Thief!” I yell instinctually, unable to recall any cruder name for the crime this stranger deigns commit. Annotating the compendium is borderline illegal. Removing the compendium from its location is near sacrilegious.

At the sound of my voice, the stranger bursts into a run and sprints past me and out of the auditorium. I’m left standing with my mouth agape. Surely the guards will apprehend the thief. Surely someone will heard my outcry. I frown as I realize that the guards that were presumably assigned to the auditorium still haven’t returned. So as the sole witness to the crime and rage at the sheer audacity of this stranger, I spin on my heel and take off.

I fuel the anger that pulses through me as I push myself to run faster and faster. My lungs protest the sudden activity, but my will overrides everything else. I pass the windows and doors on either side of the corridor in a blur, my vision tunneling in on the stranger in front of me. The cloak hasn’t allowed anything to be given away about the stranger, but I can tell they’re faster than me.

I won’t be able to catch up like this, I judge, and glance around briefly for inspiration to provide me some leverage.

Up ahead the stranger’s running fast enough for them to nearly round the soft bend in the corridor.

I have to act fast.

A few feet ahead of me, I spot one of the plump vases holding purple flowers perched on the windowsill. With no time to overthink, I grab the vase, which proves to be heavier than expected. I use all my strength to fling it. I keep up my pace, knowing that if my plan works, I’ll only have a few extra moments to spare to retrieve the compendium. The large vase flies through the air, purple flowers starting to spill out, and hits the back of the stranger’s legs. The vase explodes, sending porcelain shards and purple flowers in every direction. But my plan has worked. The vase trips up the stranger and they stumble till they fall onto the ground amidst the mess.

I see my chance. In one final burst of energy, I jump onto the stranger’s back, plowing them into the ground now wet and slick from the water in the vase. I wrap one arm around the stranger’s neck while my other hand reaches down to feel for the satchel. But they don’t remain stunned for long. My fingertips only manage to brush something cold and metallic and familiar before they roll over and pin me under their back. I lose my breath at the weight, but refuse to let go, even when the stranger pulls and yanks at my arm pressing on their throat. Before the stranger can get a good grip on me, I use my other hand to feel around for a porcelain shard. The stranger’s hands are larger and unfortunately stronger. But once I get hold of a shard, I plunge it towards the stranger’s hand now wrapped around my other arm. They grab my wrist with deft speed, the shard’s sharp point hovering shakily above us both. But it is enough of a distraction to allow me a momentum. I plant my left foot onto the ground and push the stranger off of me in a quick movement, while my hand fishes into the cloak again and grabs the metal item I’d felt briefly earlier. The stranger pushes off the ground, sending me stumbling backwards. They get to their feet in an instant, cloak flailing about. But while they stand — likely considering whether to run or fight back — I charge forward. I shove them with my entire body and a cry of determination.

The stranger staggers backwards and lands on their back on the stone floor. They shuffle backwards till they can pull themselves up to sit and lean against the wall. My hair is damp from the tussle on the wet ground and strands cling to my face, but it bothers me none when I notice that the hood has slipped off the stranger’s head. It reveals a dark-haired man not much older than me, his sharp features betraying his shock. His grey eyes watch my every movement like a trapped animal. An animal with small scars peppering his entire face.

I aim the flasklock pistol at him without hesitation. Through panted breaths, I suppress my surprise at ending up standing over the cornered stranger with his flasklock pistol in my hand. I step forward with the pistol raised.

“Give it back,” I hiss, ignoring the slight shake my hand transfers to the pistol.

The stranger raises his gloved hands in surrender, his breath equally as labored as mine, which boosts my confidence.

“Give what back?” He asks, his deep voice feigning ignorance.

I grit my teeth and place my index finger on the smooth trigger. His eyes widen.

“Okay, okay, here!” He keeps one hand raised as he lowers the other to pilfer through his satchel, quickly procuring Callanth’s compendium. He places it on the floor and pushes it towards my feet. It slides into my right foot with some weight. The tension in my shoulders lessen slightly at the sight of the compendium. With the pistol still aimed at him, I bend down and quickly collect the compendium and hold it tightly against my side.

“Now, before the guards get here, who are you?” I command with a tone not dissimilar to my mother’s when she’d barked orders at me while cooking. The man shrugs, a vexing twinkle entering his eyes.

“Ladies first,” he coos.

My grimace emphasizes my resolve by taking a step closer with the pistol pointed at his head.

“Okay, my name is Nex!” He exclaims frantically. He takes a breath, his hands still raised. “My name is Nex. I’m from Ocassus,” he explains in a much calmer voice, the twinkle effectively gone.

My eyes narrow. “Do you have papers?” I ask.

With one hand still raised, his other hand returns to his satchel. Before I can feel too suspicious, he pulls out a yellowed pamphlet and holds it out to me. As I take it, I note the three concentric circles embossed into the paper. When I flip the paper open, I do indeed see that his name is Nex Avenell from Ocassus. I tuck the pamphlet into my pant’s pocket.

“Why would a man from the third peak come to Callanth to steal the compendium?”

“To be precise, I didn’t try to steal your compendium. I was trying to read it, but you interrupted me, so I had no other choice but to bring it with me,” he says with a crooked smirk. A smirk I want to shoot right off his face. I don’t say anything, which makes his annoying smirk falter slightly.

“I was, uh, going to return it when I was done with it,” he offers as if it would bring me to a greater understanding of his intentions. I roll my eyes at him and decide to just let the guards deal with him.

“GUAR—”

“Wait wait wait!” Nex urges as he sits up more.

“Don’t interrupt me,” I scold, then draw in a breath to repeat my call.

“I know why you failed the Trial!” He suddenly sputters, hands still raised. I scoff, a pang of embarrassment fortifying my proverbial armor.

“Everyone knows why I failed the Trial, thief,” I spit. “I helped that girl. That’s an immediate disqualification.”

“That’s not why you failed,” Nex insists. “At least, not why you would’ve failed.” This catches my attention, but not enough to drop my guard or lower the pistol. The silvery liquid sloshes inside the round flask, just waiting to be triggered.

“I’ve done five Stormglass Trials over the last three years. I’m pretty sure—” I cock my head to the side in realization. “You were at the Trial yesterday. You watched?”

Nex gives a sheepish smile. For some reason, that makes me dislike Nex more. Not only did he try to steal Atoraxis’s most sacred item, but he underestimated me. And that infuriates me. The pistol clutched in my hand doesn’t waver, and neither does my determination to turn this man in.

“GUARDS!” I yell again, my voice traveling down the stone corridor.

Panic flashes across Nex’s face. “I can help you! I can teach you how to pass the Trial,” he speaks fast as his body grows stiff from anxiety. He keeps glancing down the corridor.

“I don’t need your help,” I grumble. But as I take a step back, preparing for the guards to arrive and relieve me of my unassigned duty, my green tassel moves from behind my ear and swings into my field of vision. I grimace.

What am I doing here, Hesperia? I’m not a Chemist or a Chemist’s apprentice. I’m not even a Scavenger.

My right hand twitches, my newly infused Carving tingles with energy. My confidence and my newly hatched hunger for creation wanes.

Distant footsteps respond to my call. I look between the still empty corridor and Nex, his dark eyebrows knitted together in anticipation.

I lower the pistol slightly. I have a choice to make, and I have to be sure about it. I don’t have time to weigh my options with Hesperia. I’ll just have to seek forgiveness later if it’s the wrong choice.

“Tell me how,” I bark, the pistol still raised, but aiming loosely at his torso now. Nex blinks while processing what I’m asking. Then he clears his throat.

“You’re descending too slow. Like you said, you’ve done this before, so you know that if you go too slow, you’ll get whipped around by the wind. And if you go too fast, you won’t be able to stop. But that’s the point. Once through the cloud cover, the dense air thins, and you’ll be able to stop.” He waits expectantly for me to grasp his meaning, but I truly have no idea what he’s rambling about. He waves his hands.

“Let me explain. The humidity in the crest of the storm essentially soaks everything. If you first shoot your harpoon in the middle of the storm while going too fast, the rope will just slide through the mechanism. However, to get through the storm fast and efficiently, speed is what you need.”

“How do I do that then?”

“By not shooting your harpoon while in the cloud cover. Shoot it after. I can teach you. Visibility isn’t 100%, but I know what to look for,” Nex assures, still stealing glances in the direction of the guards’ footsteps that are growing louder. I absentmindedly lower the pistol even more, the barrel now pointed at his thigh.

“Are you a Scavenger or something?” I ask. I know I don’t have the time to interrogate him for much longer, but part of my isn’t ready to pull the trigger, on him or on my decision.

“I… I was once,” he mutters sullenly.

I take a mental note of the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly, and his lips press together.

“Scavengers don’t just quit,” I sneer.

“Yeah, well, they do if they become apprentices,” he replies in a low voice and looks away from me for a moment.

Despite his disreputable and annoying antics and mannerisms, I can’t help but be intrigued by his suggestion. None of it will matter, however, if I keep resorting to helping the other candidates. Or if I apply to the Chemist’s apprenticeship. With an ample amount of reluctance, I admit that I’m not quite ready to quit trying yet.

I sigh in frustration as I lower the pistol completely and stuff it into my belts next to my dagger. I offer my hand to Nex without a word.