Chapter Two - The Warden’s Watch

 

Damp, morning fog hovered over the stone steps that led up to the Gallery, thick with a variety of smells that assaulted the senses. The building had been standing for centuries, much like the pillars of the ancient Roman temples and stadiums Nathaniel Caden had just been living among for the past few years. Nate was a Warden for the Conclave, which basically meant that he was a security guard to make sure that witches and wizards of the supernatural community followed the accords of ancient magic. He was normally one of the wardens in charge of the Bayou, specifically his hometown of Acadia Village. But for the past several years he had been assigned to a very dangerous and intense case in the Italian Division in Rome, where Vampires and Werewolves fought for territorial control. It had ended ugly, with Nate barely making it home alive, and he now had the scars on his face to prove it.

Now, he was back on home turf, practically licking his wounded pride and trying to reclaim his ground. While he’d been away, his older brother Malachai had become the Vice-President of the Conclave, making him second-in-command for the American chapter. While Nate was proud of his brother’s success, it was just another reminder that he lived in the older man’s eternal shadow. Rome should have been his time to shine, but it was never enough for the Conclave.

He was still brooding over this fact when a beautiful girl almost knocked him over in her haste to enter the Gallery. He caught her just in time and held her steady to make sure she didn’t fall over herself. “Woah, easy there… You still have about…” He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes to be fashionably late.”

The girl blushed a deep red and stammered up at him. “I’m sorry… It’s my first day and I… I don’t really know where I’m going,” she admitted. “Do you know where the Basic Laws classroom is?”

Nate studied her closer, grinning at the fact that she had blushed so easily. “I was just about to head that way myself. Why don’t we find it together, hmm?”

“Sure, yeah that’s… Yeah,” she stammered and they headed inside.

Nate recognized the girl at once. He’d been given her file that morning as one of the newest residents in Arcadia, a wild card that he’d need to keep an eye on. Apparently she’d had issues with some Vampires in Chicago and it had led to her running to the protected sanctuary of the Bayou. He couldn’t say that he blamed her… Victor Nance was a particularly evil man who used his powers to manipulate and control. If she was the latest conquest in the man’s mind games… She would likely have a lot of unresolved trauma to work through.

And yet… She was absolutely stunning. She had beautiful brown hair that was tied behind her, with strands of blonde-streaked hair framing her face. She wore dark-rimmed glasses, ripped jeans, and a flannel black-and-red checkered buttoned shirt, with sleeves to her elbows. But it was the look in her eyes that got him. It was a combination of fear mixed with anxiety, but there was the tiniest hint of determination and rebellion in her too. It intrigued him more than it should have.

Nate followed her to the back of the lecture hall where she sat in one of the seats closest to the door. He himself leaned back against the wall by the door, opening his duster slightly to reveal a silver sword - The Meridian - hanging in its sheath, ready for anything. At the front of the class stood an Archivist that Nate was very familiar with. Gideon Sterling was tall and razor-thin, and immaculately put together despite the thick Louisiana humidity. He wore a dark, high-collared tailored suit that looked more like a judge’s robe than an academic outfit. He had sharp, aristocratic features with eyes like cold flint that swept the gallery, studying his students. His hair was silver-streaked and brushed back perfectly, and his fingers were long and skeletal. He wore a heavy, ancient silver signet ring on his left hand which was etched with the Conclave’s judicial seal. He was one of Nate’s former instructors, and Nate respected him deeply.

On the board behind him, Sterling wrote the words “The Three Covenants of Laurel Valley”. Nate listened as the man began talking to his new students, keeping an eye on Tyra Pierce, who was writing copious notes. He’d heard these words so many times before, but he wondered what she thought about it all…

“Magic is not a birthright in the state of Louisiana. It is a strictly managed commodity. Outside the borders of our paradise of Arcadia Village. The mortal world operates on the illusion of chaos. Within these swamps, however, you answer to a higher power - the Conclave.”

Sterling started to pace across the dais. “The Conclave does not exist to nurture your talents, nor does it care about your personal ambitions. We are the architects of the boundary lines. WE are the judge, the jury, and - when necessary - the executioners of all those who carry the current of magic.”

Nate exhaled slowly, watching Tyra as she narrowed her eyebrows. Sterling stopped his pacing right at the edge of the stone platform, his cold, flint-like eyes sweeping upward into the dimly lit gallery.

“Let us review the Absolute Mandates, shall we? Law Number one: The Law of Volatility. Every spell cast, every hex woven, leaves an indelible psychic footprint in the regional ether. If an unaligned practitioner flares their magic without an anchored house to absorb the backlash, the local elemental balance fractures.” Sterling paused, his gaze looking around the Gallery, then continuing. “When that balance fractures, the arcana will look for the nearest grounding wire. As many of our more… reckless predecessors have discovered… That grounding wire is usually the caster’s own beating heart.”

Nate sighed a little at that, and watched Tyra shift in her seat, her fingers clenching around her duffel bag strap. He could see that her knuckles were entirely white, and he leaned his shoulder heavier against the mahogany paneling. He could feel the sudden spike in her pulse, her internal rhythm stuttering as a faint, volatile hum of purple static that threatened to bleed through her skin in pure, defensive defiance.

Easy, darlin’, Nate thought, his own hand resting subtly against the black fabric of his duster where the Meridian sat in its sheath. Don’t let him see you sweat…

“Law number two,” Sterling went on, bringing Nate’s attention back to the dais. “The Covenant of Alignment. Within forty-eight hours of crossing into this valley, any newcomer of age must be vetted. You will either align with an established coven - be it with the Aquarius, the Icarus, or the Taurus - or remain as a rogue, which will only force you to remain under the direct, aggressive surveillance of our Wardens.”

Sterling shot a look towards Nate, as if to make his point, and then looked back out at the group of students. “Ignorance of these treaties is no defense. The Conclave will not issue warnings. If you breach our perimeters or practice unregistered arcane magic… you will be removed from the village. Permanently.”

Sterling picked up a fresh piece of chalk from the tray, his long, ink-stained fingers applying just enough pressure to snap it cleanly in half with a loud, echoey crack. “Now…” he droned on, turning to the large slate board to map out the regional grid lines. “Let us discuss exactly where your freedom ends.”

Nate watched Tyra slowly let out a breath that she had been holding. She kept her head down, clearly trying to just blend into her surroundings, but Nate could see the way her shoulders dropped just an inch, and Nate knew that he would have to keep a close eye on the girl. He wondered if the girl would join a coven, or choose her own path, like he had. He couldn’t help but be curious about which path she would try to run down first…