Magnus Hugh's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Magnus Hugh had a name for his academy, a building for it, and not one student who believed it could exist. He stood in the loft he had built from an old stable, staring at the sign he had carved: a school where blood-sorcerers would be trained, not thrown out. He had been thrown out himself. The Wizards College decided his magic was wrong because it lived in his veins, not in their books. So he would teach the ones like him. Except he knew no one like him. A school of one was just a lonely man talking to a raven. The raven watched him from a beam above. It was a sleek bird, black feathers catching the lamplight, head tilted like it found the whole plan funny. "Don't," Magnus warned. The bird dropped a splinter of wood onto his head and croaked. "Right. You believe in me. Just you." Magnus pulled the divining rod from his belt. It was a slim thing, marked with lines like veins, warm from his grip. He had made it to find people whose magic ran in the blood, same as his. For weeks it had stayed dead in his hand. He had walked the market. He had walked the roads. Nothing. He decided to try the forest at the edge of his land, the one the villagers refused to enter. He pushed through wet ferns until the trees grew huge and close. The rod stayed cold. Magnus almost turned back. Then the tip flared red, and the vein-lines glowed like coals. He followed the pull to a clearing. There stood an oak taller than any tree he had ever seen. Its bark had folded into a face: heavy eyes, a wide slow mouth. The face moved. The eyes found him. Magnus froze. His raven landed on his shoulder and went silent for once. "You carry blood-magic," the oak said. Its voice came slow, like wind through the branches. "So few do. Fewer come this far to look for others." "You have it too," Magnus said. He held up the glowing rod. "This doesn't lie." "I have watched this forest for four hundred years," the oak said. "I have watched children born with the same fire in their veins driven out of villages. I know where their families sent them. I remember every name." Magnus lowered the rod. His mouth went dry. "You know where they are. The ones like me." "I know where many hide," the oak said. "Scattered. Frightened. Alone, as you are." The wooden eyes narrowed. "But knowing a name is not trust. These are hunted people. Why should I send them to you?" Magnus looked at the rod, then back at the ancient face. His empty academy was empty no longer. It had a first lead, and a first test. "Then let me earn it," he said. "Give me one name. I'll bring that student back here myself." The oak was quiet a long moment. Then its mouth curled into a slow smile. "One name," it said. "There is a girl to the north who sets fires she cannot stop."