Origins of a Guild Master: A Thaumorian Legends Novella, page 1
Origins of a Guild Master
A THAUMORIAN LEGENDS NOVELLA
A. M. ENO
Copyright © 2023 by A.M. Eno
Cover design by JV Arts
Edited by Sydney Rain
All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First edition, 2023
ISBN
979-8-9893390-0-6 (paperback)
979-8-9893390-1-3 (ebook)
Dear Readers and Reviewers
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Recently, especially in the Indie Author community, there has been a lot of discourse surrounding negative reviews and how authors have responded to them.
This is a quick note to let you know that my books are, and always will be, a safe space to leave honest reviews - positive or negative. As the author, I promise never to respond to, share, or vilify any reviewer for leaving negative thoughts regarding my work.
That being said, thank you to everyone who has given my work a chance, and I hope you enjoy the adventure you are about to embark on!
Sincerely,
To anyone who has ever felt hopeless in a world they didn’t understand.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
In every speck of magic flowing through Malachi’s veins and fueling his continued existence, he felt how furiously slow the clock on his father’s desk ticked. Each minute movement of the hands, every cog grinding against one another, occurred ever so slowly. It grated on his nerves as if the mechanisms scraped at his brain. The temptation to reach out with his magic and turn those gears faster grew each second. Perhaps it may even speed up time itself.
Unfortunately, that was not how time worked, so instead, Malachi drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair in time with the passing seconds. The open hardback book in his lap went unread, the horrible clock ticking away, monopolizing his attention.
Tick, tick, tick…
It would be so easy. He would not have to lift a finger. He could reach out with his magic and throw the thing at the wall, shattering it into a hundred unmoving, silent pieces.
Of all the Kinetic inventions, clocks were by far the worst. For people with less sensitive magic, they were perfectly bearable. But for Malachi, the continuous, non-stop, minuscule movements plucked his every nerve.
Tick, tick, tick…
At the exact moment the hands hit the hour mark, and the device chimed, the door behind him opened, making him jump and his magic brushing against the timepiece lurch. The clock flew across the desk and broke into a dozen mechanical pieces as it smashed against the wall.
A familiar sigh came from behind him, and Malachi shifted in his chair guiltily.
“I apologize,” Malachi mumbled. Snapping his book shut, he sat up straighter.
Approaching the desk, Malachi’s father took care to step over the broken clock pieces and deliberately settle in his chair, his mother following in after and perching on the arm. Unconsciously, his father’s fingers brushed across his mother’s back, grazing up and down her spine.
“Thank you for meeting with us today. We have something to discuss with you,” his mother started, her voice somewhere between motherly and formal. Her business-like tone was something she rarely wielded, making beads of sweat form around the collar of Malachi’s shirt.
“As you know, we were supposed to meet with several business owners in the City of Elementals.”
Malachi’s father appraised him, leaning back without ever taking his hand off his wife. Despite the formality of the discussion, and the Kinetic society as a whole, they seemed unable to keep from showing affection.
“However, something came up in the Beck’s sector of the mines, and they have requested my assistance.”
Malachi nodded, eager to hear what would come next, expecting that they had requested his presence as well.
Exploring the mines, the backbone of the City of Kinetics’ economy, was his favorite pastime. The way the darkness enveloped him, the narrow halls hugging him close. There was an inherent danger to the mines and being so far underground, but it did not lessen the sense of safety and security he got when enclosed in blackness. For Malachi, being underground brought about the same feeling as that of a child hiding under blankets or locking themselves in a closet during a fit. Something about the small space sheltered him from the pressures of the outside world.
“I see. Would you like me to contact the City of Elementals and let them know there has been a change of plans?”
The offer came out rushed, excitement propelling Malachi’s words. The urge to get underground made him antsy.
“Actually, dear,” his mother shifted. “We decided you should go in our stead.”
Malachi blinked once… twice. A deafening silence blanketed the office, roaring in his ears. Clearing his throat, he uncrossed and recrossed his legs until he entirely repositioned himself in his chair.
“I-I am not so sure…” Malachi stuttered, trying to find the words.
The social part of running the business was never his forte. He was atrocious at it, in fact. Enclosed spaces, paperwork, and brief conversations were more his specialty.
Malachi’s mother’s eyes softened at his unease. “Your father and I understand this will be outside of your regular duties. However, we agree that meeting with prospective partners and buyers is an important skill to develop. You must run the business independently one day, and these duties will be yours.”
“Not only that,” his father interjected, “but it will be important for you to see how the other cities operate. Each culture is unique, and you cannot sell to those you do not understand.”
“I have read every book on the cultural differences between the magic classes and the governmental structures of each city. I understand plenty,” Malachi pleaded.
Drinks with business owners, small talk with a governor’s son and daughters, and casual lunches with the Lady of the city defined Malachi’s worst nightmares. What was wrong with staying in the mines and reading contracts?
A soft smile amplified the pity in his father’s eyes. “Son, you cannot understand people through books.”
Malachi disagreed, but he realized he was not being given a choice. Despite being an adult, he was also an employee, which meant when his parents gave him a task, they expected it to be done without question.
Sucking on his teeth, Malachi lowered his head in defeat. “Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent,” his mother smiled. “Now go prepare. You will leave first thing in the morning.”
Malachi opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. That would get him nowhere. Standing on shaky legs, book in hand, he started for the door.
His father cleared his throat. “Son.” His father raised an eyebrow. “The clock.”
Oh… right.
Malachi waved a hand, focusing on each piece that previously worked in unison to form the clock. Putting the device back together took far more concentration than smashing it against the wall, but he had broken it and put it back together so many times it took little effort overall. Each piece fit like a puzzle; metal gears scraped against one another until everything was back in place.
When correctly reassembled, the clock ticked once again, instantly making his jaw clench.
“One day, you will break things so bad they will not be fixable,” his mother warned.
Malachi suppressed a scowl. The horrid contraption would never be unfixable. Even so, he smiled at his mother. Noting the gray-green eyes they shared and how his father doted on her without a second thought, he wondered how he could have turned out so differently. He had inherited none of their charm. None of their warmth.
Back at his apartment, Malachi navigated around stacks of books and paperwork, organized in a somewhat chaotic pattern that only made sense to him. The towering tomes were the only decoration in his otherwise bland apartment for the last five years.
Acquiring unnecessary clutter was not a common habit among most Kinetics. While every person collected something different, their collections were very focused.
Malachi was, as it just so happened, focused on paperwork and books. He enjoyed the structure of them. He could break down every story and contract and analyze them. Malachi could break a page down into sections or paragraphs, and paragraphs down into sentences comprising words he could scrutinize individually.
He liked to organize his life the same way he managed everything else, with systems and routines. Everything in his life fit into a labeled box, able to be filed and categorized.
That was why, when he returned to his room and packed, he simply stared at the empty suitcase he had bought on his way home. The new responsibility did not fit into Malachi’s mental filing cabinets. Just starting the packing process seemed like a momentous undertaking.
What did one take when visiting a new place and integrating into an unfamiliar culture? Should he pack to fit in with them or to conform to his Kinetic norms for some level of familiarity and identity?
How did the new adventure fit into his heavily structured life of documents and solitude?
It could not, he decided.
Instead, if it became a regular part of his place in the business, he would have to create a whole new box in his mind. Another slot in his filing cabinet. Something to hold general conversation starters and phrases to practice and pull out at any time to make him seem personable.
Pacing around his apartment, Malachi pointed and waved at various items he thought he might need on the trip, sending them to lie neatly in the suitcase.
His packing only took him half an hour or so, most of which he used to debate which books he would need. He owned few things and even less clothing, so it took most of his closet to fill his new suitcase.
Malachi dreaded the train ride from the beautiful northern mountainous City of Kinetics to the seaside port City of the Elementals in the east the following day.
On his last sweep of the apartment, he picked up a book about the history of rail systems in Thaumoria and the mechanisms created by an extensive team of Kinetics, Fire Wielders, and Water Wielders, then another on the history and beliefs of the Elementals. For the rest of the night, he studied until finally falling asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by a particularly dull chapter discussing the pros and cons of using a rail system versus seaports to transport agricultural goods grown by Elementals.
Chapter 2
Malachi sipped the drink in his hand, though he did not care for alcohol. It made him feel unbalanced and impaired his reasoning ability, but he wanted to be polite to his host. That, and he would need it if he was going to endure any more of this night.
After four nights of such dreadful events, milling around crowded rooms, brushing elbows with the city’s elite, and entertaining conversations completely devoid of substance, he gained a newfound respect for his parents and what they tolerated for their business.
“Absolutely not!” His host waved an excited hand through the air, accentuating the point he was arguing with an animated Earth Wielder. “You cannot convince me that the Serpents would benefit from trading Ari for Oshay! He hasn’t made a single target break all season.”
The Earth Wielder huffed, rolling her eyes. “You can’t be serious. You Fire Wielders always think target breaks are all that matter. Oshay’s had way more saves than any other player this season, which the Serpents seriously need. Ari can barely block a boulder.”
The night’s host, Modac, was an enthusiastic young Fire Wielder who had recently taken over his father’s businesses across the Elemental lands. Their business teamed Fire Wielders and Shifters to create the most amazing blown glass creations. Malachi expected Modac to be a man of art and distinction.
Instead, Malachi had spent the last three hours listening to the ludicrous debate.
Malachi winced as he took another sip of his horribly strong drink. The inane sports teams the Elementals obsessed over were the only thing people seemed to talk about at dinners.
To prepare for his visit, Malachi had brushed up on Elemental religion, historically significant lords and ladies, and the state of the economic status given the Lady’s latest tax adjustments. All in preparation to discuss why the business owners and government officials should invest in, and partner with, his family’s business of exporting precious metals used in specialized mechanisms.
Instead, Elementals only wanted to discuss which teams scored points, “broke the most targets” (whatever that meant), and which players should rise from junior to professional leagues. Malachi could not comprehend the enthusiasm over competent citizens wasting their talents on nothing but a game.
Kinetics took part in games and sporting events. Of course, they did. They were the best way for children to hone their magic. But when the time came, they invested those skills into something useful, like building, creating, or mining.
Modac clapped Malachi on the shoulder, leaning in close to sputter slurred words in Malachi’s face.
“My man, please side with me on this one. We need an outsider’s perspective.”
Malachi tried not to flinch from the Fire Wielder’s acrid breath. Removing Modac’s hand from his shoulder as politely as he could, Malachi subtly stepped away from the conversation. “Unfortunately, I believe it is time for me to return to my room for the night. I have breakfast with Mr. Sten from the western farmlands in the morning and must get to sleep.”
It was only half a lie. He did have a meeting with Mr. Sten the next day; however, it was not until mid-morning, and he had plenty of time to sleep in. It was simply the best plausible excuse to leave without insulting anyone.
“Of course!” Modac gushed. “I’m so sorry for keeping you.” All the words flowed into each other, alcohol muddling the syllables.
The Earth Wielder smiled, nodding politely in Malachi’s direction. “It was so nice to meet you.”
“You as well.” Malachi nodded in return, but she had already returned to the original conversation, forgetting his presence altogether.
Night settled over the city on his walk home and a salty breeze wafted off the sea to the east as Malachi weaved down the streets of the City of Elementals. Supposedly, many people found it an intriguing scent. Used to the crisp, cold mountain air flowing throughout the City of Kinetics streets, or the stagnant dirt-infused smell of the mines, though, the sea air suffocated him. The salt stuck to his sinuses, giving each breath the sensation of swallowing brine.
When Malachi finally returned to his room, he took his first deep breath of the night. He had insisted the windows in his room stay sealed, helping block out some of the sea breeze and making it feel a little more enclosed, despite being on the third floor.
Gazing at his likeness reflected by the solid black windows, Malachi pretended he was back underground, this trip finally over.
Shrugging off his jacket, he went to the desk he insisted he needed in his room. Malachi flipped open a book that he had bought on his first day in the city discussing the history of the sport the Elementals were so focused on. Upon his arrival, it immediately became clear how important the sport was to the people there, and he thought some educational reading would help enlighten him as to why.
It had not.
He was still unable to hold a conversation on the subject. Malachi had yet to make it through the history section to learn the modern-day rules, intricacies, and politics.
Unbuttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, preparing to change into something more comfortable for bed, Malachi read over the back of his desk chair.
Behind him, something clicked and slid, catching his attention.
A young boy straddled his windowsill, halfway into his room, staring wide-eyed at him.
Neither of them moved for an extraordinary amount of time. Malachi probably should have called for someone or demanded the boy climb back out his window, but he could not stop staring.
He was by far the dirtiest child Malachi had ever seen.
Hair matted and the color indiscernible beneath the filth. It might have been anywhere from a dark blonde to a deep black. Various shades of dirt, dust, and salt caked the boy’s hollow cheeks. Ratty clothes hung off his skeletal frame, making him look unfathomably young.
The more Malachi thought about the situation, the more stunned he was. He had made sure the window was locked. His room was on the third floor. How was a child hanging halfway through his window? Why was a child hanging halfway through his window?
The boy looked equally shocked to find Malachi, despite it being his room.
“What… What are you doing?” Malachi stuttered, unsure how to react.
