The Ascendant Path (Complete)

The Ascendant Path By: Joshua C. Cook The Complete Series SCHOLAR Solider Anchor Captive Unbound Other books by Joshua C. Cook The Forgemaster Cycle Blood of a Fallen God The Anvil of Souls A City in Blue Bridgefinders Bridgefinders Bridgebreaker CANITUS PROJECT: Perception The Ascendant Path SCHOLAR Chapter One Layten watched the road leading to the house, his house, with a focus and glare that made his jaw ache. Where were they? What was taking so long? Wiping his hands for the twentieth time this morning, he glared at the road again, as if to force the appearance of his traveling companions. Which was, of course, impossible. One of the riders was an Anchor. Magic wouldn’t work on an Anchor. Not that he’d ever touch magic. It was evil. Wrong. “Layten, if you clench your jaw any tighter you will break it.” His mother, Reina shook her head, but her voice was cheerful enough, now at least. It hadn’t been last night. He’d heard her crying softly outside. It had been that way ever since he’d decided to leave. He’d dreamed of being a scholar. Of learning things. Books and ink. Marking rods, and hidden history and knowledge. It had been all he’d ever wanted. His father hadn’t been much better. He’d always wanted Layten to stay here. To be a paper maker. Not just ANY paper maker, but a Grayread. The finest paper and scroll maker in all northern Alos. It was the only reason the Anchor was even coming here. It was time to replace the warding circle. That Layten would NOT look at. He’d hated the thing all his life. The jet-black circle clung to the pole it was strung up on, its black surface shifting and swirling if you stared at it enough. That was odd, and unsettling for sure. But it wasn’t the worst part. The fact that the closer you got to the circle the cooler it got wasn’t the worst thing either. He’d almost been tempted to stand under it some days, here on the edge of the great saltmarsh in the heights of summer. That was odd, but it wasn’t what made him hate the thing. What made him hate the thing was the sound. It wasn’t supposed to make a sound. No one else ever mentioned it. But to Layten, it made a sound. The sound of a person screaming in agony and fear. Repeatedly. It was faint, so faint that he sometimes couldn’t make it out. But it always returned. He hated it. Over the years the only way he’d found to get around it was to keep his distance, and never mention the sound. The last time he had his mother had turned as grey as the marsh mud they used to grow the reed beds. But the warding circle did its job. Keeping the grounds of his parents’ workshop, his house, and the reed beds all safe. Safe from magic. Safe from the creatures that spawn from that dark force. But every few years, it had to be replaced. An Anchor would come. Layten clearly remembered the last time an Anchor had come. A slight figure had ridden up, flanked by two hard eyed guards clad in the livery of the Church of Sartum. Blood red and silver, and not a speck of dirt or mud on either of them. But it had been the Anchor that had drawn his attention more. Robed and with a large hood covering it’s face he’d not even been sure if it was a man or a woman. Not that it mattered. An Anchor was an Anchor. They carried the staff. Black and oily, like the warding circle only longer and straight. Anchors sought out magic and destroyed it. Layten wasn’t sure how. No one ever spoke of it. He’d asked of course, all children did. Sometimes the parent would shush them, other times they’d say something fantastical and silly, but others, others would hunker down and speak in whispered tones. About how Anchors slowly always go crazy. How the magic they take in, eats at them, driving them mad. How finally at the end, they were taken to the High Temple of Sartum in far off Ture and vanished forever. Layten had watched the Anchor with a hefty dose of fear and loathing. Magic was EVIL. To be willing to even interact with it was suspicious. But the Anchors kept them safe. The last time the Anchor had come, he’d been sent away as soon as the Anchor had dismounted. His father had gruffly told him to go inside and stay there until he’d been called back out. And to not look out any window or door. The Anchor had laughed at that... a low wheezing thing, but right at the end, a giggle had escaped, a giggle that sent a shiver up Layten’s back at the sound. And now, here he was waiting for them to arrive again, desperate for them to arrive again. And as far as he was concerned, it was a waste of time. “I still don’t understand why I must go with them. I can go to town by myself. And from there talk to a trader or two and get to the House of Knowledge in Timik.” Layten knew what the answer would be. It had been the same answer he’d gotten every time he’d complained. “It’s not safe.” His father Unil, grumbled. “Too many sightings lately. With the warding needing to be refreshed. Old Tark saw something in the swap the other day, I don’t need you being dragged off.” “Tark sees things because he chews sweetgrass.” Layten snorted. “You live as long as Tark and had the life he’s had, you’d chew sweetgrass as well.” His father shook his finger at Layten. “Tark’s been here since I started this place. He’s been here your whole life Layten. Show some respect.” Layten nodded but didn’t look his father in the eye. Tark wasn’t bad,