Chapter 3: The Serpent Sorceress

When Ronan was finished polishing the swords and he had finally earned his measly half-bowl of soup, night had long since crept over the temple. The entire time he struck soot and ash off the weapons, cutting his arms and hands on the sharp blades, he had heard Trainee Robyn’s celebration echoing up from many flights of stairs below him. As he coughed from the clouds of dirt and grime he pulled off the swords with the polish, he fantasized about his own celebration, and of performing a feat so stunning the other Trainees would shower him in love and approval.

But Ronan didn’t really care all that much about fame or glory. He didn’t need to be idealized or have songs created about his heroic actions. He knew what it was like to live in a world of weakness and fear, and he wanted to protect others like himself.

Ronan shifted on his stiff and uncomfortable straw cot, imagining a hot dinner of roasted pork ribs, steamed potatoes, and vegetables cooked over a blazing fire. He thought about the Trainees gathering around him, pouring him glass after glass of wine, marveling over his strength. Then his stomach growled, and his tiny dark room the size of a cupboard felt all the lonelier.

A part of him thought he was being childish.

The truth was, he was a long way from being in a position to help anybody. He could hardly help himself earn a proper meal. Ronan wondered why he was so weak compared to his peers. He closed his eyes and thought about how everybody else had been born inside the temple, but he had been rescued off the cold and abandoned streets. It was hard for him to think back to such times, and it made his heart grow heavy.

He’d been young, maybe four or five, when traveling Serpent Nightblades saved his life. He remembered how amazing they had all seemed as they fought off the monster that nearly killed him. It was a Slaug, a vicious creature that looked like a mutated toad as tall and wide as a horse. It had swept through the tiny village of Dampstone with long and razor-sharp claws, tearing down buildings and huts alike. Ronan shuddered as he recalled the Slaug’s menacing and beady yellow eyes, and the smell of its noxious breath as it hissed at him.

That’s when the two Nightblades attacked, cutting the arm of the Slaug clean off in a single slash, and then burning the body to ash with fire magic. They yanked the little Ronan out from underneath a burning wooden house beam and swept the village for survivors. They’d found none, and when the Nightblades asked Ronan if he had any family, Ronan shook his head. Even in Dampstone he wandered from home to home, sleeping on strangers’ floors or by dying fires in hearths. He’d never known his parents, or what happened to them.

His mind raced to the thought of the Nightblades discussing what to do with him. What orphanage he could be brought to. It was the beautiful Serpent Sorceress Yvette, draped in an elegant scarlet battledress, who said Ronan would be coming with her back to the temple. He remembered the woman’s sharp-toothed smile under crimson lips, but not much else. It had been so long ago, and he had only seen the sorceress the single time.

Ronan shivered at the thought that maybe he was simply not capable of magic like those born in the temple were. Here he had this opportunity to train to be an honorable hunter of monsters, yet he couldn’t so much as swing a sword without hurting himself.

He gripped his uncomfortable straw pillow in anger.

Although the people of his life had never treated him well, the last thing he ever wished upon even the cruelest of his adversaries was a life of pain and suffering, or of squalor and hunger like his. If there were still creatures out there robbing others of their freedom and joy, then Ronan was determined to be the one to bring peace.

But if he was going to discover monsters to destroy, he needed to discover why his magic was not surfacing like the other Trainees. In only his itchy wool sleeping shirt and pants, Ronan rose from his bed and snuck outside his room with a small oil lantern.

The stone floor of the temple was cold on his bare feet, but he’d gotten used to the feeling. For months, he’d been sneaking into the Nightblade library, reading through ancient manuscripts about spells and magic, and of the various monsters that Nightblades have recorded encountering, along with those monsters' weaknesses.

All of the rich aromas of the Trainee feast still lingered in the Temple, and it made Ronan all the more hungry as he silently walked through long and empty halls towards the library. The big wooden door to the library was kept locked at all times and sealed by magic. Each time Ronan had tried to open the door by its iron ring handle, his hand had been magically electrocuted. It wasn’t until one night Ronan had noticed a trail of dust and debris the size of pebbles leading to a large stone several feet from the door.

Just like countless nights before, Ronan shoved the stone forward. It slid into a section of the library with a rough granite floor and empty bookshelves. Thanks to Ronan’s thin and scrappy size, he was able to crawl through the hole without any problem. Carefully, he replaced the rock behind him, then blew the dust off his aching and sore hands.

His whole body ached. He was the first to wake and last to sleep, all so he could do more chores than anybody else, and he barely ate a morsel compared to the well-fed Trainees.

He knew none of it was fair, though he also knew fairness didn’t breed strength.

Ronan shook these thoughts and pains out of his head, and focused on wandering past the abandoned section of the library and through the old, rickety wooden floors of the library’s densely packed study areas.

Tables were stacked with texts as old as the temple, and stuffed bookshelves lined each wall. Colorfully bound books on all sorts of magic and monsters of the world had been left opened on the tables, and Ronan knew that Master Nightblades must’ve been researching during the day. The unlit lanterns in the room were made of sturdy and long pieces of iron and glass to help reduce the chance of a fire spreading.

Ronan closed his eyes and led a hand along the spines of books upon the shelves. He tried to enter a state of meditation where he could let his magic guide him to the book he’d need, and for the first time all day, he felt his tattoo start to get warm, as if magic was finally flowing through it.

“Darling, you’ll burn yourself like that,” said an enchanting voice.

Ronan snapped to and noticed that his snake tattoo was beside the glass of his tiny lantern, and he realized that the warmth he was feeling was from the lantern’s heat, not from any magic moving through him.

“Sorceress Yvette,” Ronan stuttered, startled at the sight of the Serpent Sorceress. “Please forgive my intrusion. I know I’m not meant to be here. I’ll leave at once.”

Yvette stepped out from the shadow of a large bookshelf and walked slowly towards Ronan. She was a beautiful middle-aged woman dressed in a long, queenly scarlet dress with a spotted fur collar. Her long braided hair was black as the darkest nights and her skin as pale as the snow Ronan had been training in earlier. Yvette’s eyes sparkled a bright, fiery red, and her scarlet lips curled into a smile on her smooth face free of any wrinkles.

“Trainee Ronan,” Yvette said, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side, “this is my library and I determine who stays and goes.”

Ronan stood straight and said, “Yes ma’am.”

Yvette curled a silky sleeve outwards and placed an elegant hand with long, sharp fingernails like talons on the shelf near Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan winced as she drew her face closer to his and whispered, “And I’ve decided that you’ll remain here and explain to me what you’re doing.”