The Trials of Ildarwood: Spectres of the Fall Read online

  “Well, it . . . it is,” the man stammered. “He was destroying private property.”

  “That filthy old place is made of Ildarwood. How much damage could he have possibly done?”

  “Well, that’s not really the point, ma’am. He was breakin’ the law.”

  “I swear to the Heavens, if you call me ‘ma’am’ one more time, they’re gonna have to arrest me for what I do to you!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There is no excuse for you! Now, take me to my son!”

  So quickly did she rush into the holding area that Willen only had a moment to conceal his amusement.

  “And who are these three little Devients?” Harriena asked, pointing at the boys beside Willen. “And why aren’t they locked up out there where they belong?”

  “They’re Windrunners who got expelled from the Trials, ma– miss. The new Ildarguards had us arrest ’em after they were caught attackin’ a minor outside of the Ildarwood.”

  “So you decided to put them in the same cell as my son?”

  “Well, yeah, look at ’em,” the Asterguard said. “We thought they might scare him straight.”

  “Yeah, that really didn’t work!” Willen replied with a laugh.

  “Oh, yeah, very funny,” Harriena scoffed. “Just wait till we get home. Then we’ll see if you’re still laughin’.” That was all Willen needed to hear for his smirk to immediately dissolve into a cold, resentful scowl. “So how much is it gonna cost me to get him out this time?”

  “A hundred Starlings.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Captain Roddie told me to remind you that the fines will just keep goin’ up if . . .” But before the man dared finish, he stopped and glanced into the cell.

  “If what?” Harriena asked.

  “If you can’t . . . ‘figure out how to get the little bastard under control.’”

  “How dare he? Who does he think he is?”

  “Um, he’s the captain of the Asterguards, so—”

  “Well, that still doesn’t give him any right to insult a grieving mother before extorting an entire Crown’s worth of Silver out of her!”

  “Now tell her how you caught me!” Willen called out from his cell.

  At this suggestion, the Asterguard’s mouth fell open, while Harriena’s head turned slowly back in the man’s direction.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “Well, we told him to stop runnin’ . . .”

  “And?”

  “And he didn’t.”

  “And?”

  “And we couldn’t chase him through the woods on Ildarhorses, so . . .”

  “So?”

  “So we had to use an Ildarglass arrow.”

  “YOU WHAT?” Harriena shrieked. “He’s twelve years old! What is wrong with you people? Don’t you have any idea what kind of damage that could’ve done?”

  “What in the Heavens’ name is going on in there?” a deep voice shouted from around the corner. Seconds later, a plump man with bushy eyebrows and cold, exhausted eyes appeared and stared down both the Asterguard and Harriena.

  “Captain Roddie, I—” the Asterguard began, but the captain had no interest.

  “Ms. Osombra, we have tried to be polite. We have tried to be considerate of your situation, and we have tried to be accommodating, but my patience is spent. Whether you want to hear it or not, your son is well on his way to becoming as much of a Devient as those three little miscreants beside him, and I’d even go so far as to guess that he’s at least three times as likely to get expelled as they were.”

  It was a statement so damning that Harriena could not possibly respond quickly enough, but before the slightest breath could even escape her mouth, the captain held up his hand and froze her where she stood.

  “He has no respect for authority,” the captain continued. “He has no regard for personal property, and he seems to care nothing about the consequences of his actions. He is on a road that few can ever veer from, and you already know precisely where that road leads. So you can blame us all you want for doin’ what little we can to try and stop him, but make no mistake about it: when he finally gets what’s comin’ to him, it’ll be your fault, not ours.”

  “How . . . dare . . . you?” Harriena managed, struggling to fight through the momentary control that the captain had over her. It was the first time in years that Willen had seen his mother so completely overwhelmed by emotions that her chin began to tremble and her eyes welled up with tears.

  In that moment, so much hatred boiled up inside Willen that he leaped up and said, “Hey!” But then the captain glared in his direction with a stare so frigid that Willen gasped and struggled to breathe himself.

  “Get ’em both out of my sight,” the captain demanded, shaking his head before vanishing around the corner.

  “But what about the fine?” the Asterguard called after him.

  “Consider it paid. It was worth at least two Crowns for me to finally tell her off.”

  Only once he was long gone did Willen and his mother both finally recover.

  “Can you believe the way he talked to me?” Harriena demanded as she stormed out of the Astercourt and flung Willen up into their rickety carriage. It was all she could talk about the entire ride home that evening. In a way, Willen found that to be far worse a punishment than anything the Asterguards could have subjected him to–although the sharp, radiating pain where he had been struck by an Ildarglass arrow served as a wildly unpleasant reminder of what “justice” really felt like in Ranewood.

  Of course, even that was nothing compared to what Willen knew would be waiting for him at home. That was the other part of the routine, after all. Once the first act was over, and the second act resolved inside the carriage, the third act was always the same. Each time, he would walk up the front steps and continue into the house, and there, sitting in the most comfortable seat they owned, would be Maysen Esters, the burly man from Silvermarsh who was intent on marrying Willen’s mother. Willen always cringed at the sight of him, with his bright red nose, rosy cheeks, and thinning hair. His mustache–large enough to hide his mouth–was a mix of white and gold, and his expression made it appear as though he were perpetually catching the aroma of some sickening scent.

  “He get locked up again?” Maysen asked the second they walked through the door that evening, and so genuinely unsurprised was he by the notion that he didn’t even lower his newspaper to see if Willen had actually returned with her.

  “I don’t even wanna talk about it,” Harriena replied.

  “Well, that’s a first. How much is this one gonna cost me?”

  “Surprisingly, nothing. I just had to sit there and get berated by Captain Roddie for bein’ a terrible mother. Can you believe that?”

  “Oddly enough, I can,” Maysen answered, flipping to the next page.

  “Are you seriously just gonna let them talk to me like that?”

  “After how much I’ve had to fork over in fines over the past two years? I might have to go buy the old bastard a drink for givin’ me a break.”

  “Wow, some gallant protector you are,” Harriena scoffed before turning to face Willen. “Go to your room. You’re grounded till First Day.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll teach him,” Maysen mumbled to himself as Willen walked past their meager Ildarwood tree and began climbing the stairs.

  “They shot him with an Ildarglass arrow, you know. All he did was throw some rocks at an old house, so I’m pretty sure he’s already learned his lesson.”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Harriena demanded.

  “It means we’ll see, Riena!” Maysen finally shouted, crumpling the newspaper onto his lap. “For the Heavens’ sake, can’t I just read in peace for one night without you shrieking at me about one
problem or another?”

  Willen hated the way Maysen treated his mother, but not as much as he hated knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. Still, as Willen crawled into bed that night, he tried to find some comfort in knowing that the man he so despised, for once, actually appeared to have no interest in further punishment. A visit from Maysen was the only thing in the world Willen had truly grown to fear.

  “Hey, loser!” Willen heard the next morning, not long after his mother and Maysen had left. Glimpsing out through his bedroom window, Willen found three boys outside, waiting for him. As he attempted to open the window, though, he felt an instant sting–no doubt the work of Maysen, who was intent on keeping him inside.

  “Damn it! They locked me in!” Willen shouted through the window.

  “So what?” asked Ceiryn Candinos, a tall, thin boy with greasy black hair. “It’s Ildarglass. Just break it and it’ll grow back.”

  “Yeah!” added Mirrick McMackie, a short, red-headed boy with far more freckles than good ideas. “Or I can do it, if you’re afraid of gettin’ in more trouble.”

  “Won’t he still get in trouble even if you do it?” asked Jarryn Gricker, a rugged yet kind-faced boy who towered over all the others. With short dark hair and a long, thin braid behind his head, his sun-kissed complexion betrayed all the hours he had spent working outside with his brothers and their parents.

  “Who cares? What are they gonna do? Double-ground him?” Ceiryn replied before taking matters into his own hands and throwing his fist right through the glass. An instant later, the Ildarstar above the house released a burst of invisible force that launched Ceiryn alone over two dozen yards into the woods. With a low, distinctive drone, it hummed in warning that he should not return again. “Yeah, that was worth it,” Ceiryn added, disoriented but undeterred.

  “What’s your excuse now, Will?” Mirrick asked, eager as ever to break some rules.

  “Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” Willen replied before wiping the Ildarglass shards away and lowering himself outside. “I still can’t believe you dipwads left me behind yesterday!” he said before shoving Mirrick and glaring at the others.

  “Yeah, well, you should’ve seen your face when they shot you with that arrow,” Mirrick said with a laugh before attempting to reenact the fateful moment.

  Shaking his head with annoyance, Willen hurried into the woods with the three boys, and they only slowed down once they neared four heavy satchels that awaited them beside a tree.

  “What’s all this?” Willen asked with surprise. “You guys rob a house on the way here or somethin’?”

  “Nah. This is all our stuff,” Ceiryn replied, pulling a small black stick with golden veins out of one of them. As he twirled it between his fingers, tiny flickers of Goldenfire sizzled out of both ends. “Candlewood,” he added with a grin, “and a bunch of other stuff we’re gonna need for the Trials.”

  “I thought you guys decided to stay in Silvermarsh for your Trials,” Willen noted as he walked with them deeper into the woods.

  “We changed our minds,” said Ceiryn. “My old buddy Morgan just got out of the Silverward, and he said the pack of Cynders that’s runnin’ the Ildarcourt in Silvermarsh is completely frickin’ ruthless. From the sound of it, most of the Preceptors have just given up, and now they’re talkin’ about sendin’ the Asterguards in to try and fix stuff again.”

  “Like that ever works,” Mirrick added with a snort.

  “So once we get our bracers back home, we’re gonna figure out a way to sneak out of the Ildarwood there and make our way out here.”

  “Aren’t you guys afraid of gettin’ caught?” Jarryn asked, always skeptical of their plans but rarely brave enough to dare speak up.

  “Nah. We heard the Preceptors in Ranewood don’t make a big deal about runaways, so long as they don’t cause too much trouble,” Ceiryn replied.

  “Yeah, so we just gotta figure out how much is too much and cause a little bit less than that,” Mirrick chuckled.

  “So how exactly are you guys plannin’ on gettin’ in?” Willen asked once they reached the winding dirt road that separated one of the town’s vast greenwood forests from the expansive northern edge of the Ildarwood. “Those fences are made of Wardingwood. There’s no way to get past ’em.”

  “There is now,” Ceiryn said, retrieving a handful of Ildarglass stones from his pocket.

  “Whoa! Are those real throwin’ stones?” Willen asked with amazement, his eyes fixed upon the shimmering golden substance within.

  “Yep! And they’re all full of Goldenfire,” Mirrick gleefully replied. “I stole ’em from my dad.”

  “Um, isn’t he gonna be mad when he finds out?” Jarryn asked nervously.

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Mirrick replied. “Never goin’ back.”

  Then Ceiryn took three of the stones and launched them toward the Ildarwood fence with unnatural speed. In an instant, a burst of spectral fire engulfed a small portion of the fence, and within thirty seconds, an entire section had crumbled into a long pile of ash.

  It was a strange and dizzying sensation that greeted the boys upon stepping into the Ildarwood for the first time–one that took them each a moment to adjust to.

  “Whoa . . . anyone else feel that?” Willen asked, holding out both arms to steady himself as Ceiryn and Mirrick did the same.

  “My daddy said Ildarwood forests like this one all have a spirit of their own,” Jarryn explained, unbothered by the effect. “He said the deeper you go, the stronger it gets.”

  “Yeah, well, your daddy’s full of all sorts of crazy ideas,” Ceiryn noted, resuming his march into the forest. “I’m startin’ to think he’s been sniffin’ his own roses.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jarryn replied. “How else is he supposed to know when they’re ready?” It was a question that caused laughter all around him, though Jarryn did not know why.

  From the Ildarwood’s edge, the boys pushed through the thick, untamed brush of the outer forest, all the while speculating about what incredible things they might discover inside. Yet only once they reached the top of a wooded hill did they finally stop to survey the obscured terrain ahead.

  “Well, that’s kinda weird,” Mirrick noted, his first time observing spectral fog.

  “You think it’s safe?” Willen asked Jarryn.

  “It’s just fog,” Ceiryn scoffed, resuming his march. “How dangerous could it be?”

  Deep into the fog they traveled, none of them certain where they were going. All the while, Willen stared upward as shadows in the treetops watched over them, hopping from branch to branch.

  “What’s wrong?” Willen asked Jarryn, right after he began to fall behind.

  “I’m not sure. It’s just . . . I don’t know . . . I think maybe we should just go back,” said Jarryn. His eyes remained fixed on something far off in the mist.

  “No way! We need a good place to hide our stuff!” Ceiryn insisted.

  Then Willen watched with disbelief as Jarryn pointed through the fog, somehow clearing it just enough for the other boys to see an old wooden sign that had long ago been nailed to a nearby tree. condemned ahead! it read in dark crimson letters.

  “Well, that can’t be good,” Willen noted, though neither Ceiryn nor Mirrick seemed deterred.

  “Finally!” Ceiryn shouted. “I’ll bet it’s an old house or somethin’!”

  “Hey, you guys ever see an Ildarwood house catch fire?” Mirrick asked before reaching into his satchel and pulling out more sticks made of Candlewood.

  “What are you? Stupid?” Ceiryn barked. “We don’t want anyone to know we’re out here, remember? We’ll burn it after First Day.”

  After pressing ahead through the fog for just a few minutes more, however, the boys all came to a stop upon discovering what the sign truly meant. Though the mist was thick and
haunting, it could not conceal the tragic gravity of an enormous field full of graves. Marked by tall, thin sheets of Ildarstone, they were spread out in all directions, as far and wide as the mists would allow the boys to see. On each stone was a name long forgotten and a date that revealed a terrible truth.

  “They were all so young,” Willen noted, moving from grave to grave.

  “You think they actually died durin’ their Trials?” Mirrick asked.

  “Must’ve,” Ceiryn replied, far more somber than Willen was accustomed to seeing him. “So much for Ranewood bein’ safer than Silvermarsh.”

  “This kid was only eight,” Willen observed before examining more stones. “Seven, ten, five . . . three? They were all under twelve. They couldn’t have died durin’ their Trials.”

  “So now can we go back?” Jarryn implored, his face growing increasingly pale as his eyes darted nervously in every direction.

  “Hold your horses,” Willen said, his eyes fixed on a subtle violet shimmer somewhere up ahead. Moving closer, he found himself staring at a bird that had perched itself upon a crumbling tombstone. The bird’s feathers, though black, had a metallic purple sheen, and the longer Willen watched the bird dance upon the stone, the more certain he became that the creature was intent on drawing him over.

  After taking a few steps closer, Willen was surprised to discover an open grave on the other side–though whether it had never been filled before or had somehow lost its tenant, he most certainly did not know. Kneeling beside the grave, Willen cleared away wet moss and thick, rough lichen in an attempt to read the name. And when he found neither name nor date nor picture upon it, he simply assumed it had always been empty.

  He barely had a moment to heave a sigh of relief before a message began to appear upon the stone, letter by letter.

  It’s not your time, it read, yet.

  An instant later, Jarryn shrieked with frantic alarm.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Willen cried out, but his questions were in vain. All three friends had vanished into the mists, yet all around him he saw momentary flickers of faces unknown.