Ignis House

Trigger Warning: Character death

“I remember when the road stretched over the horizon and into the mountains,” Uasal said looking longingly towards the east. She was only 39 years old, but she seemed much older to the young girls under her care. They knew she had seen much before and after the wall was raised.

Rós Ignites, the oldest of the girls of Ignis House at 18 and Uasal’s niece, glanced at the gated wall of granite. It shimmered as a slanted ray of light drove through the clouds and hit the protective glyphs etched into its surface. The magic was still as strong as the day it was cast.

Five dozen magi had given their blood and their life to raise the wall to protect Corax Port from attack. It rose 55 meters high and blocked out all but tip of the tallest mountain to the east of the city. Two each of the magi now laid buried under the wall towers with their leader buried under the gate Rós was looking at. Archmage Cathán’s bone protected the main entrance to the city. Those of her high council laid to rest under the other entrances to the city.

One of the magi had been Rós’ father. She had barely been a quiver in her mother’s belly when he had sacrificed himself. Her mother hadn’t lived long either, dying on a battlefield a long way from Corax Port when she was a toddler. Many had been made an orphan due to the war over the island of Phthalo.

Eventually, the Empire of Empusion with their flame haired empress had come out the victor. It was the best outcome Phthalo could ask for. Empress Arndís ruled with a steady hand and didn’t tax the island too heavily. She had also funded orphanages and helped with the rebuilding of towns and cities that hadn’t been as lucky as Corax Port.

That didn’t mean it was particularly safe on the island. There were still wargs, harpies, keres and other creatures that would do one harm. Not to mention bandits and other groups of humans looking to make quick gains. The Empire of Empusion was large, stretching over vast lands. It was the responsibility of the thayn, who ruled in the empress’s name, to protect the people from internal threat. Corax Port was lucky that the wall kept the town safe from those who would do its citizens harm.

“Maybe we can beg admittance to the top of the wall and take a look,” Rós said. The orphans of Ignis House did receive special privileges being the children of dead magi and those who would train to become a mage themselves.

Uasal smiled sadly. “We don’t have the time to indulge in our flights of fantasy. There is too much to do to prepare you for the Conservatoire of Vidaus. Phthalo has need of your skills sooner rather than later.”

Rós gave one last lingering look to the gate and the towers on either side of it before letting herself be led away back to Ignis House with the other girls.

#

Six months later Rós sat in the solar of Ignis House. It was her birthday. The last she would spend with Uasal and the other girls. She was given many gifts, but one stood out among the rest. When she had been given the spool of gold thread, Rós had to school her expression to be passive, almost unimpressed. It would not do for a daughter of Ignis House to be discomposed.

Gold was one of the most magically conductive metals in existence, prized for not oxidising like silver or copper and its ability to harness the energy of vida. It was also one of the rarest ones. Gold was created in the heart of a dying star. It existed before their world and would exist long after they were dust floating amongst the cosmos.

“This is a gift from your father,” Uasal said with a small, sad smile. “It is tradition in your family, our family, that a child receives gold thread to ward their apprentice cloak against danger before going into the Conservatoire of Vidaus. You will be the protector of the Ignites family and Ignis House as your father before you.”

Caressing the flesh warmed metal in her hands, Rós looked down. “It is my honour to receive such a gift. I will not fail you,” she said quietly.

“I know you won’t,” Uasal said smiling brightly and clapped her hands. “Now it’s time for cake!”

The party lasted until well into the night. It was the first they’d had in some years as most of the girls had been infants during the war. The last girl to go to the Conservatoire had left six years before, and her party had been much more subdued due to the age of her foster sisters. Now many of the girls were closer to adulthood, and they acted like it.

They danced and drank and sang, cheeks rosy with delight.

Rós sat by the window sill, sipping her glass of cherry-red wine. It tasted of summer berries and sunshine.

“You’ll need to start thinking about what wards you’ll sew into your apprentice cloak,” Uasal said from her side before sitting down on the padded bench beside her. “I was but a child when your father went into the Conservatoire, but I remember what he used. He let me sit with him as he sewed as long as I promised to be quiet as a dormouse.”

Taking another sip, Rós replied, “I’d very much appreciate to hear your thoughts. I did think to go to my father’s tower to see the wards and glyphs he used there. I know they’re far too advanced for an apprentice cloak, but…”

Uasal wrapped an arm around her, pulling Rós close and stroking her hair. “Yes, I can see why you would want to. We’ll make a trip of it.

“There’s another gift I want to give you, from your mother. Her family had different traditions,” she said slipping a package from the pocket of her skirt.

Rós took and carefully opened the package. It contained a small gold disk carved with wards on a thick chain.

“It’s a warding charm against injury and sickness. Your mother left it with me before she went to battle. You might find it a bit more useful for your cloak.”

Clasping the chain around her neck, Rós smiled and traced the wards with her finger tip. “Thank you, Aunt Uasal.”

#

      The trip never happened. A great illness swept through Corax Port bore on the sails of a trader’s ship. Some said it was brought on purpose to punish Empress Arndís by bringing down her most important port on Phthalo. Others said that was just how the world was, sickness and death around every corner. However it was brought, the illness stopped life for both the ill and healthy alike.

Ignis House was put under lockdown as were other orphanages that housed those who would enter the Conservatoire of Vidaus. The high council of magi had decided it was imperative that those who could wield vida be spared at all costs. There were still lacking from the war.

That didn’t stop the illness. Little Leta was the first to fall ill. She was only twelve and had been the last orphan of the war to come to Ignis House. She didn’t survive more than a sennight. Rós and Uasal, with mouths and noses wrapped with tight-woven cloth, had cared for her in the solar where they stayed as well. It wouldn’t do for them to bring the illness out to the other girls.

Five others came to the solar with fevers, scratchy throats, and coughs that wouldn’t go away. Only two survived. They were weak afterwards, bodies slow and unsteady and breath hard to catch. They were allowed to leave the solar after a warm vinegar hipbath. A robe would await them outside. Their clothes having been burnt upon entry.

Uasal fell ill last.

It was only to be expected. The only surprise was how long it took. They couldn’t wear their cloth masks all the time, but they also couldn’t chance leaving the room for fresh air. A curtained off corner where they slept in shifts and took their delivered meals was the furthest away they could get from their charges.

“It will be okay,” Uasal said from her feather-stuffed pallet before the fire. Sweat dripped down her face, soaking her hair and pillow, but she still shivered, teeth chattering. “I've survived worse and so will you.”

Mopping the sweat from her aunt’s brow, Rós hummed a barely remembered lullaby under her breath. “I’ll do my best.”

The illness had so far been indiscriminate in who caught it. Rós didn’t like her odds, but tried to keep her thoughts to herself. Her aunt needed to concentrate on fighting the illness, not worrying about her grown niece.

As she pulled away, Uasal reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her touch was hot and slick, blue veins crisscrossed her hand under flesh paler than it had ever been.

“You will survive, keep your charm on you. Finish your apprentice cloak. They will keep you safe,” Uasal rasped before curling up in a coughing fit.

“I will,” Rós said touching the charm under her shawl. She hadn’t worked her cloak in weeks, too busy caring for the sick and dying. It laid half forgotten under her pallet.

Uasal closed her eyes. “Finish it tonight. I will be fine.”

“Yes, Aunt Uasal,” Rós said getting up. She washed her hands in vinegar and soap before unwrapping her cloth mask and taking a deep breath behind her curtain.

She spent the rest of the night sewing gold glyphs into her cloak. Her fingers bled giving the sickroom a copper tang to mingle with the scent of sickness. She sewed until her eyes watered and hands trembled as she fed vida into the metal and cloth to power the wards. Still she went on until the last glyph was placed.

Her body sagged on the pallet as the first sliver of sun reach the window. Rós didn’t have the energy to close the curtain. Instead, she further sagged on her pallet until she was laying down. Sleep took her almost at once.

#

Wrapped in the warm wool of her apprentice cloak, Rós stared blankly out the window after the cart that took her aunt away. Its wheels sounded like a continues death rattle. Fitting for the continuous death piled upon it.

Uasal had lived for a few days after the cloak was finished. How conscious she was of the fact her niece was unsure. Like with the others, the end had come with fits of coughing that drained the strength from bodies. She had spent most of her time sleeping.

At the end, Rós had laid down beside her aunt. Wrapping her arms gently around the older woman. She couldn’t bare the thought of not being able to touch her last living family member again.

Uasal had relaxed into her embrace and dozed fitfully. Her body shaked from chills as Rós told her of what they would do once she was well. They would finally find the time to see the mountain from atop the wall and visit her father’s grave at the Nightway Gate with the Ignis House girls trailing behind them. Rós would invite her to her apprentice ceremony at the Conservatoire of Vidaus after she passed her first year of tests.

None of it would come to pass now. Uasal was dead and Rós had to care for the orphans of Ignis House until a new head mistress was appointed by the high council. When that would be she wouldn’t know for weeks, maybe months if the illness didn’t pass. Like the others in the city and those who came before her during the war, her life was at a holding point. She would endure and survive.