Bound In Blood (Bound In Blood - Book One)

Chapter Twenty-Four

I found myself standing in the centre of a grand room with beautifully crafted stained windows, light streaming through in colourful hues. The ceiling was domelike, a large chandelier hanging with sixteen candles burning away, lighting the entire chamber. Though the room was spacious, it seemed empty and devoid of decoration, appearing formal and fragile. I knew immediately that I did not belong here.

Alfred still held my arm and I pulled it away roughly. "What the heck was that?!" I asked him angrily, recalling the white light he had created, bringing us here.

"Surely you must know of the archaic arts," he told me.

"I know they don't exist!" I was absolutely hysterical.

"Only to the common folk. Here at the college, we study in the ways of our ancestors, practicing the art," he explained.

"Then why've ya brought me 'ere, eh?"

"You undervalue yourself so much, Alex. You are so much more than you originally believed."

"Stop with the cryptic sayin's!" I burst out. "Just gimme a straight answer, else ya'll have ta deal with the wrong end of my blade," I threatened, pulling Krestian from his sheath.

"Please be calm. There is no need for this sort of behaviour."

"No need?! Ya took me from my bleddy home! And for what? Oh that's right, I have no idea!" I ranted, waving Krestian about.

"Staryle will tell you more," he told me.

"Who the heck is that?" I was outraged that he would just dump me off with someone else rather than answering my question. It was infuriating.

"He's our leader," he answered. "Now, come with me."

I wanted to fight him, refuse his request. However, with but a wave of his hand, I was at his command, walking with him down some corridor and up a winding staircase, my dagger firmly in its sheath. On the inside, I was tearing at the seams, needing to get away from this man who had me under his control but on the outside, I was obedient and calm. My face was straight and my posture relaxed.

None of this could possibly be real. I must have been dreaming. Everyone knew the art of magick not to be true. It was but an old wive's tale told to children to instil wonder and creativity in their hearts, nothing more. Yet this all seemed so inexplicably real. It was hard to deny what was in front of my eyes but I refused to believe it, still. This must have all been some terrible trick, surely.

However, marching behind him, my thoughts were swirling uncontrollably. I had been transported to a strange place without even moving. He had moved a desk without even touching it. Now, he claimed the use of the archaic arts. The archaic arts. It was completely surreal and made me feel queasy at the mere thought of it. I felt like my entire world was crumbling down around me and what I had once thought to be true was a lie and the truth was finally revealed in the most brutal way possible. These selfish scholars knew of magick's existence and they had been abusing it for decades if not centuries. It must have been for some sort of gain, I was certain.

When Alfred and I finally reached the top of the winding staircase, we came into a large room lined with bookshelves and large windows, light spilling through. At the far side of the room was a strange contraption pointed toward one of the windows, standing on four legs with a long, narrow shaft pointed toward the sky, a small glass lens facing inside. I didn't know its purpose but it seemed important and like it would take a lot of coin to replace.

To the right of the room was a desk lined with books, ink pots, quills and piles of parchment and behind this desk sat an aged man in robes similar to Alfred's, only his had a much darker hue. He was writing something on one of his many sheets of parchment when he looked up, setting his quill aside.