Chapter 4 #3
“I’m here,” I said, still stroking her hair. “I’ll always be here.” When she was resting once more, I slipped the small-bore needle into the back of her arm, giving her the remaining dose. The sedative helped her mind rest. Lately, it was the only way she’d sleep through the night.
She settled quickly as the medication worked.
When she was at total peace, I could easily see a version of my mother that had once been.
She’d been sick all my life, from the time I could form memories, at least. Bernard said she must have had a stroke when I was born, a clot from the birthing process in her brain.
Every year that followed, she got worse.
Thinner, frailer, more forgetful. She was fading, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Even Bernard, in all his years as a surgeon and his training at the Academy, had never seen anyone deteriorate in this way. Something was draining her, and we couldn’t figure out what.
“I’ll always be here.” I whispered the vow over her sleeping form and stood from the bedside. It had always been the two of us. She had given her life for me, and I refused to leave her here to waste away when there was any hope of a cure.
Bria was waiting by the door when I left her room.
“I’m going to come with you tomorrow,” she announced. “When are you leaving in the morning?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I insist.” She reached for me, grabbing the arm she’d slapped earlier. “You’ve got a lot going on here, and there’s still a madman running around looking for you. It would make me feel better if I came to keep a lookout. Just in case.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “I’d do anything for you.”
I reached for her hand on my arm, giving her a grateful pat before slipping away. “She wakes up at the crack of dawn. You might as well just stay the night.”
“Like old times.” Bria grinned. “Hope you don’t still snore.”
When I returned to my room, I undressed and washed off the grime of the streets. My coat had already been wearing thin without a bullet graze to the shoulder, but I supposed a quick stitch could fix it until next winter.
Bria borrowed clothes and was sound asleep on one side of my bed by the time I slipped in beside her. The mattress was never meant to be shared, too narrow and the support was undistributed, but we would make it work for the night.
When I was sure she was in a deep sleep, I reached for the dice beneath my pillow.
Feeling more daring now that I was in my own place and the artifacts were still quiet, I placed each one on the windowsill beside my bed to study them for the first time all day.
There were three in total, each with six faces.
The only difference was the runes carved into each one.
Not for a game at all, but for a more useful purpose.
Each face on each die had a different rune. I had no knowledge of essence or the codes by which it was controlled—but I knew someone who did.
Bernard was resting his eyes again, stretched out on the couch, where he usually slept at night. A half-eaten dinner plate rested on the table in the center of our small seating area, and I took a spot on the cushion beside him.
“What is it, Nina?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“I found some relics today on one of the beggars. They look like they’re from the Academy. I was wondering if you could take a look.”
His eyes flew open.
“Nina, what have I told you about relics? Do you know how illegal it is to have an artifact without Academy approval?” His words were hushed, like the enforcers were just outside our walls.
“We smuggle dead bodies, Bernard. I hardly consider this any more dangerous. They’re dice.” I held them up to his face, but he flinched, fumbling for his glasses. When he could see, he squinted down at the relics.
“These are not just dice.”
My stomach sank. So they were weapons, as I assumed.
“They are the Archetypes.”
I blinked, confused. “What are you talking about? The Archetypes are found in the bloodlines, not in relics.”
He took one in his hand and held it higher, closer to the light so he could inspect it.
“Yes, but each Archetype has six bloodlines, the same number as faces on a die. Whoever made these was very clever. For example, each of these runes is a code for a specific bloodline in an Archetype. This one is Vitalis.” He flipped it around.
“Healing, strength, speed, pain, pulse, and senses.” He pointed to each as he named them.
“Each of these bloodlines is tied to flesh and life in some way. They were given to the best healers at the Academy, though you could only receive one at a time. Each must be earned through years of dedication. Let me see another.”
I handed him the second die.
He bit his lip, taking in each face before replying, “This is Forge. All the elements are here: air, time, gravity, water, metal, and fire. I’m going to assume the last one is Glamour. Which would be illusion, charm, threading, impression, manipulation, and aura.”
“How do you know? There are four Archetypes, after all.” I gave him the last die to inspect.
“There are four Archetypes, but only three were passed down. Do you remember what I told you about the Architect?”
I nodded. The Architect, Cael, had discovered the essence, a well of energy deep below the Academy, nearly two hundred years ago. Using science and patterns he found in the stars, in biology, in the stamp of life itself, he discovered the codes of creation and used them to improve society.
Each code had a certain Archetype, a type of categorization for each branch of magic.
Forge was elemental, and each code for an element had a line in their rune consistent with each power.
Glamour, the Archetype of manipulation and illusion, and Vitalis, the Archetype of healing, were similar in their constructs.