Abyssal Arcanist [Chapter 12] + Kickstarter Video!

Hey peeps!

Above is the Kickstarter video for the Frith Chronicles Special Bestiary Edition. (I'm very awkward, and I do get rained on).

Also, here is the official "pre-launch" Kickstarter page: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/authorshamistovall/special-bestiary-edition-of-the-frith-chronicles-books-1-2 

Please consider clicking the "notify me when this launches" button. Apparently, I want at least 300 peeps registered before it launches on June 27th (at least, that was what I was told). We're already halfway there, so just a few peeps more...

Without further ado, here is the next chapter!

Shami

CHAPTER TWELVE

FUNDING

“You can’t leave without me,” Twain said.

My mimic ran across the grass, practically bounding, until he reached my feet. I scooped him into my arms and held him close. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind.”

Twain purred. “Good. We’re partners. Now and for forever.”

With a grin, I carried him toward the Academy, and the professor came alone.

I knew nothing about Professor Jijo except what I saw of him today. He was a stranger, and I remained suspicious, but the man walked alongside me as though we were chums.

He kept his hands behind his back as he walked, a slight smile as admired the landscaping. Once we entered Astra Academy, Jijo turned his attention to the decorations on the walls, the scenes beyond the windows, and plush rugs that he walked barefoot across.

I thought he had forgotten he wanted to speak, but then Jijo voiced a question.

“Where do you hail from, Arcanist Lexly?”

“The Isle of Haylin,” I muttered.

“How is your family? Are they well?”

I mulled over the question as we traversed the empty hallway. Finally, I replied, “They’re fine, I guess.”

Professor Jijo waited for a long period of time, as though he wanted me to elaborate. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, though. I had only written them a few times, and I didn’t know much about the happenings of the island.

“Did your father or mother teach you a family trade before you became an arcanist?” Jijo asked.

That was a strange question.

“My father is a candlemaker,” I said, trying to hold back a sigh. “He makes wax candles, scented candles, and all that sort of boring stuff. He never innovates or goes anywhere, and he does the same routine day in and day out.” I pointed to the window. “In this kind of weather, he will dip wicks in hot wax till the night.”

“Uh-huh. And your mother?”

“She died,” I said, curt. After a quick breath, I added, “She died giving birth to me and my brother.”

Professor Jijo’s smile faded. “My condolences.”

I said nothing in response. I wasn’t sure what to say about it. After silence descended upon us again, and before we started up the stairs to the next story, I asked, “Why did you want to know?”

“I was just curious as to your background. It might explain why you picked up archery in your dreams—without ever having practiced physically.”

I darkly chuckled. “No. I’m just some no-name kid with a pathetic apprenticeship in a skill no one wants.” After a long, I muttered, “My father could have become a lantern designer, or something interesting, but he never does anything worthwhile.”

Professor Jijo rubbed the point of his chin. “I suppose.”

“Right?” I held Twain close and shook my head. “I wished he would’ve taken us places. We never left our island! He just kept us there to rot. And he never would’ve taught me something like archery. That would’ve been to bold and innovative. My father makes cowardly decisions.”

“Oh? Cowardly decisions?” Jijo stopped at the top of the staircase. Then he turned to face me, so I stopped too. “That’s not what I heard.”

Not what he heard?

I narrowed my eyes at him. What did he mean by that?

Jijo frowned. “You just told me a sad tale about a man who had a pregnant wife—the mother of his children—the love of his life. Then she died. Tragically, and suddenly, in a moment that should’ve been filled with happiness.”

I held my breath, caught off guard by the professor’s low tone and distant gaze.

“And then you said that same man decided to never change a thing in his life. He became a man who chose safety and familiarity over risk and danger.” Jijo met my gaze, his dark eyes softer, almost filled with sadness. “Your father probably wanted to protect his family from anymore unnecessary tragedy.”

“I…” My throat tightened.

Jijo said, “So, no. I wouldn’t say your father was cowardly.” Jijo turned on his heel. “But I would say that one of his sons has yet to mature.” He continued down the second story hall, heading for the headmaster’s office.

His speech had left me reeling.

I had never thought of my father in those terms. But when Jijo made those observations, I knew he was right.

My father had been so afraid of losing us, that he picked safety over everything else.

“Gray?” Twain whispered.

I swallowed back my irritation with myself. In that moment, I felt like such a child.

“Yeah?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Aren’t you going to follow the professor?”

“R-Right.”

I headed down the hall, walking faster and silently chiding myself. When I got back to the dorm, I would pen a letter to my father.

I would apologize.

Then I cursed at myself as I returned to Jijo’s side. I had only known this professor for less than an hour, and I already made a fool of myself. My father didn’t deserve the hate I had thrown at him.

What was wrong with me?

We walked until we came to the portion of the hall with several offices. The headmaster’s door was ajar, and Jijo slowed his pace as we neared.

“You might want to clear away your gloomy expression before we speak to Headmaster Venrover,” Jijo said. “And kicking yourself over a few comments isn’t the way to make amends. Corrective actions are the only cure for mistakes.”

Twain twitched his whiskers and glared at the professor, like anyone who dared to make me unhappy was clearly a villain of the highest order. I patted his head, soothing him a bit. “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I never should’ve spoken poorly about my father.”

“Now, now,” Jijo muttered. “Like I said. Actions are—”

“We’re tired of your excuses,” someone billowed from inside the headmaster’s office.

Both Professor Jijo and I went quiet. We glanced over at the door, though it wasn’t open enough to see inside. Should I close it? Jijo didn’t move.

“You can’t keep doing this, Venrover,” the same person said, forceful and gruff. A man, one with an obvious anger problem. “Astra Academy is on the mountain range claimed by the Argo Empire. It makes sense for all the arcanists schooled here to be hired by the Empire. We’ll give you all the funding you need to make this place safe—you just need to stop sending arcanists off to all these other countries.”

“First off,” Headmaster Venrover said, his voice loud, but not as much as the other man’s, “Arcanists from several countries attend this prestigious Academy. Secondly, I send them nowhere—the arcanists who graduate chose their own careers from the countries, guilds, and mercenary groups who offer them positions.”

“You could make it a requirement of attending that arcanists serve the Empire. Not forever. Just for a short while after graduating. The queen is being very fair with this offer.”

“I disagree,” Venrover stated, his tone heated. “I won’t make indentured servitude a requirement for attendance.”

“Then you won’t get any more funding from the crown.”

The chilly silence after that statement bothered me. I glanced over at Jijo. He stared at the partially opened door, his expression neutral. Did he want to hear this?

“Oh, that got you quiet, didn’t it?” the angry man asked. “Then you finally understand. The Empire won’t stand for our coin to go to the instruction of arcanists who will never benefit us.”

“That is a narrow-minded way of perceiving things,” Venrover stated.

“Either change your policy and attendance requirements, or find your funding elsewhere.” After another short period of silence, the man added, “But I doubt all your wealthy friends can pay for your improved defenses and the crown’s share of annual upkeep. I wouldn’t be surprised if this Academy closes its door forever under your poor leadership.”

“If you have nothing else to say, I suggest you leave. You’re not one of the Academy’s benefactors, and you’re not a student, so I daresay your presence here is tantamount to trespassing.”

A second later, the headmaster’s door was thrown open. A portly man with puffy shirt, black knickers, and a gold vest, stomped from the room. His black hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and his arcanist mark—a seven-pointed star with a unicorn woven between the points—was positioned in the middle of his long forehead.

The unicorn arcanist stomped his way between me and Professor Jijo. The man grunted out something I didn’t understand before hurrying down the hallway and finally to the stairs. Jijo glanced over his shoulder and watched for a long moment before he returned his attention to the headmaster’s office.

“Well, here we are,” Jijo said as he motioned me forward. “Think not of any other vexations. Let’s just focus on the task at hand.”

I nodded once and then knocked on the headmaster’s open door.

“Enter,” Headmaster Venrover called.

Professor Jijo and I stepped into the modest office space.

Headmaster Venrover had an impressive desk that dominated most of the room. He also owned several bookshelves, a large couch I could sleep on, a low table covered in parchment, and a rog in the shape of a sphinx.

The ticking of a clock built into the far wall drew my attention, but only for a short moment. It was so quiet in the headmaster’s office, the ticking was the only thing I heard.

When I returned my attention forward, I squinted back the barrage of light streaming in through the far window. Venrover stood behind his massive desk, his long inky hair shinnying in the beautiful light.

I always forgot how lithe the headmaster was. He was a ghost of man up close. So thin.

When Headmaster Venrover turned to face us, he forced an awkward smile. “Ah. Professor Jijo. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Then the man glanced over to me. “I hope this isn’t a reprimand moment.”

Jijo stepped forward and slightly bowed his head. “Pardon the intrusion, Headmaster. I overheard the matter of funding. I had no idea the Empire would be so aggressive.”

“I don’t think you need to worry,” Headmaster Venrover said. “I have a few more meetings with prominent arcanists, and I think we can make due without assistance from the crown.”

“Of course.”

I said nothing. This type of dilemma—where the Academy got its funding—was completely foreign to me. Professor Helmith had said that, during Astra Academy’s construction, the world serpent arcanist had created a mountain range on the north-western border of the Argo empire. He had also expanded the Sellix Islands to connect with the mainland—so they could grow more food—and as a result, the country expanded more than anyone had anticipated.

The mountain range was between those two countries. The Argo Empire never liked that, for whatever reason, so it didn’t surprise me that they wanted more control over the area.

“Was there another reason for your visit?” the headmaster asked.

Professor Jijo motioned to me. “Arcanist Lexly wishes to speak to you about the potential of dreamweaving and learning while one sleeps.”

The headmaster returned his attention to me. He rubbed at the arcanist star on his forehead—the one intertwined with a sphinx. It seemed cracked. Or… not right… whenever I stared for a long period of time. Like there was a second image underneath that I couldn’t quite make out.

“Well,” Venrover muttered, “I do consider myself quite learned on the subject of dreams.”

“Can we speak in private?” I asked.

Jijo cleared his throat and then stepped toward the door. “By all means. I shall return to class. I think they need me.” With a quick turn, he walked out of the office and shut the door with a click.

Leaving me, Twain, and Headmaster Venrover alone in the room.