The Sinister Master

By Anna Adams and Augusta Scarlett

Long ago, a prophecy revealed that only a mysterious Sinister Artisan who mastered the three magical Arts would bring peace to the land of Arcashala.

Born and raised in Paris, Esraa is a fifteen-year-old Artisan who can't be bothered with the pli

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilac Literary
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9782957353323

Book preview

Prologue

I WISH TO TELL YOU about the hidden land of Arcashala.

It was a world where snowlions prowled, yetis roamed, and dragons soared to the sky and back.

Winged elephants drank in water from the sea and sprayed it into the clouds, where it turned into rain.

Arcashala was a place of magic and mystery.

Its human inhabitants were called Artisans.

Artisans looked every bit like us on the outside, except for one extraordinary feature: the Gems on their foreheads. In their youth, this gleaming precious stone constantly changed colors according to their emotions. Needless to say, it was embarrassingly easy to know when children lied to their parents, though they frequently tried to anyway.

You can understand why young Artisans waited eagerly for the day their Gem settled on one color and revealed their true character.

Arcashala was a world comprised of three kingdoms, two of which had mastered a form of magic called the Art.

The Kingdom of Crea produced an Art that Created. The Kingdom of Destris used its Art to Destroy.

Strangely enough, the Third Kingdom had no apparent Art. 

Well, some chuckled, since no one knew what the kingdom did, it must have been useless, which is why they never gave it a proper name. But others whispered that the Third Kingdom had the most powerful Art of all. In whichever statement the truth lay, everyone agreed that Third Kingdomers were pleasant and prosperous.

These three kingdoms were so intertwined that no one quite knew where one started and the other ended. And they all lived happily.

They acknowledged they were lucky, for Artisans had heard fearful things about their neighboring world. That was why Arcashala was hidden behind an invisible magical veil.

Every Artisan shuddered at the thought of living in our Artless world, filled with continents and countries constantly at war since the beginning of time.

Africa, Asia, the Americas, Antarctica, Europe, Oceania. These lands sounded like a nightmare, and no Artisan ever dared to wander there.

So the Artless world, our world, was unaware that, right beside it, Artisans lived in peace.

It is thus that the two worlds cohabited, one blithely ignorant of the existence of the other, while the other did not envy its neighbor’s destitution and left well enough alone.

Then things changed.

Arcashala as the Artisans knew it died the night Seraphyne de Montesang seized power.

Few Artisans had heard of Montesang before she destroyed their peace.

She had grown up in Destris and, unlike its other inhabitants, used her Art to acquire power and wealth.

With a wand clenched in her hand, Montesang burned the land and tore the magical curtain hiding Arcashala from the rest of the world. The earth quaked and quivered, the skies turned to ash, the dragons crashed to the ground, the elephants stopped drinking, and the smell of charred rose petals filled the air.

Many magical creatures became extinct, never to be seen again.

As for the unfortunate three kingdoms, Montesang decided she would rule all three.

Starting with Crea, the kingdom with the most sparkling treasures.

Some Creans resisted invasion, but Montesang’s power was too strong, and she punished those who opposed her, spreading fear and horror.

The Creans who could fled. They abandoned their homes, taking few possessions save for their loved ones.

But they could not hide in Destris or the Third Kingdom. For wherever magic existed, Montesang’s power could reach them.

So, instead, they crashed into our world.

The continents were surprised to discover the existence of Artisans, dragons, and so many other magical creatures that they had ever imagined.

The desperate Creans promised that they wouldn’t remain here long.

They explained that an ancient prophecy told of an Artisan who would master the three Arts and save the world from destruction at a time when they needed it the most.

The Creans believed the savior to be Master Gesar, the last man to have mastered the three Arts before Montesang ascended to power and forced him into hiding. Everyone knew he was secretly building his army in a magically concealed village, just waiting for the right moment to overtake the evil queen and bring all the scattered Creans home.

So the Artless continents agreed to keep them safe while they waited for their savior.

But as more and more Creans arrived over the years, the Artless’ patience turned into resentment, for they loved magic in books, stories, and fairytales, but they quickly tired of it as their next-door neighbor.

This is why our story begins here, one hundred years later.

In modern-day Paris.

Part I: Paris

Chapter 1: A Magical Market in Paris

PARIS BY NIGHT IS A dream.

The twinkling Eiffel Tower stands as a lighthouse, beckoning every lover to its port.

The swaying Seine river sparkles under bridges that couples cross with a slothful stroll.

But the real magic isn’t there.

Deep inside the eighteenth district, past the African hair salons and Turkish kebab restaurants, while most of Paris fell asleep, a peculiar market awoke.

This open-air market, unlike any other in Paris, displayed extraordinary objects from the land of Arcashala.

It was there that two ordinary Crean siblings, whose summer holiday had just begun, were about to disrupt the natural order.

Why did I let you drag me to this lame Night Market? grumbled Esraa.

Esraa Gauchet was a pretty girl with flawless dark brown skin, long African braids, and straight white teeth, despite a voracious love for candy.

She presently hurried her little brother through the market. If they weren’t back home by nine P.M., she’d miss the season premiere of The Time-Traveling Twins. The previous season of her all-time favorite TV show had ended with the twins being chased by a deranged mummy in Ancient Egypt. And Esraa had to know how they would make it out of that pyramid alive. She just had to.

I don’t need a baby-sitter just to buy a dragon flute, Alex replied, his eyes shining with the cunning mischief of a cheeky thirteen-year-old, as he hastened alongside her, his pale white face dripping with perspiration.

Her adopted brother had a pinch of freckles sprinkled on his nose and disheveled shoulder-length brown hair, much to their mother’s despair. He refused to have his hair cut an inch. 

Despite his own infatuation for The Time-Traveling Twins, there was something Alex desired more. And it could only be found in a special shop inside the Little Arcashala Night Market.

I had to come, Esraa whined. If I didn’t, and something went wrong, you know Mom would blame me. Even if she can’t seem to make you obey, either.

She checked her watch. Eight o’clock already!

Go back home if you’re scared, Alex said, with a taunting grin, displaying teeth covered with a thick layer of plaque. He loved candy almost as much as his sister, but never brushed his teeth for longer than two seconds.

I just don’t want to miss my show! Also— Esraa looked around the market warily—I don’t trust Creans.

"We’re Creans."

I mean the Creans who come here.

"We’re here."

This is, like, my second time ever. Esraa’s voice dropped to a whisper. It’s annoying that they don’t bother hiding the Gem on their foreheads like we do. And don’t get me started on the traditional clothing.

Maybe they’ll hide their Gem once they’re here longer, Alex argued. Or maybe they won’t. But you can’t expect them to fit in straight away when they arrived only a couple of years ago.

They make us look bad, Esraa said, irritated. Even those of us who’ve had family living in France for decades!

Esraa discreetly pointed to a father and child walking toward them. Wearing a silk blouse with buttons lined to the right of his high white collar and wool pants, the boy looked like an elegant Tibetan prince.  On his forehead, almost hidden by long wavy bangs, shone a round, bright gray diamond, the size of a pebble and encircled by a golden ring. The boy bumped into Esraa.

Sorry, he apologized.

See, the father scolded, nudging his son forward. You can’t even see where you’re going. A good trim will fix that.

But Dad, I don’t want to cut my hair, the boy wailed. Everyone at school will see my Gem, and it already attracts way too much attention.

It’s normal for your Gem to change colors according to your emotions for now, his father said with a chuckle as they walked away. But once you’re a teenager, it’ll settle on the color that best represents your character and your true Artisan calling. I hope you’ll enter the Humbles caste just like me and your mom, so you can find happiness in the simpler tasks, like we do.

I don’t want to be a Humble, the boy grumbled. My Gem would stay pink forever. I want to be a firefighter, or someone in the Force caste. Just as long as my Gem remains serpentine green.

Only the Gem can decide what your true calling is, the father replied patiently.

As father and son sauntered away, Esraa wondered what her Gem would say about her feelings at the moment.

Fitting into French society required certain sacrifices, such as swallowing orange pills from Doliprune Pharmaceuticals every morning to make sure her Gem remained hidden under her skin. Her mom was all for it, unlike that poor boy’s father, who so desperately wanted his son to stay true to the Kingdom of Crea.

Esraa didn’t need a Gem to determine her place in Crean society. She knew exactly which of the eight Artisan castes she wished to enter. 

Not the Creative caste, that was for sure. They were mostly artists and all those who cared for beauty who, from her point of view, couldn’t make a decent living.

Caregivers only worried about healing and usually became doctors, veterinarians, midwives or nurses. One afternoon taking care of her brother when he had had the flu and had subsequently puked all over her favorite jeans had convinced Esraa she’d never possess the patience to care for the sick.

She’d rather die than be in the Humbles, comprised mostly of those who loved being of service to others: nannies, housekeepers, cleaners, cooks. What was the use of being a grown-up if it meant she had to take orders?

The Merchant caste was tiresome and she couldn’t sell a thing if her life depended on it. No way she’d become a vendor or a businesswoman.

And being in the Force caste like firefighters or sportsmen and soldiers required extensive physical exertion. Not that Esraa minded, but she still liked to use her brains from time to time.

Just not enough to spend her entire lifetime in libraries, museums, labs, or teaching in schools, like the Knowledge caste.

Now, she wouldn’t hate being in the Law caste like her mom. Lawyers, judges, police officers, and prosecutors were some of the most interesting jobs Esraa could think of. Just listening to her mother talk about her job as a prosecutor for Artisan Criminal Activities made Esraa want to be one, chasing down magical offenders. Especially the most recent, headline-grabbing public enemy number one: Lord Falcon.

But being a prosecutor was not enough for Esraa. It did not make one all-powerful.

No, her ambition was sky-high.

The only Caste for her was the Masters caste. Those who could harness magic so well it was a second nature. There were the simple Masters who excelled at one Art: for Creans, that meant mastering the Art of Creation.

Gifted Masters could wield two Arts: usually Creation and Destruction, the terrible Art that the Kingdom of Destris had used to invade its Crean neighbor one hundred years ago.

And then there was the Enlightened Master, who’d not only mastered the previous two Arts, but also discovered the mysterious, elusive Third Art from the quiet Third Kingdom.

Becoming a powerful Enlightened Master was Esraa’s dream. Just mastering the Art of Creation at this point would be great.

Too bad her attempts at using magic always circled back to her like a vengeful boomerang.

Get your Gems polished! cried a round-bellied woman waving her hands. Only ten euros. Come to the Seventh Gem barbershop and get two polishes for the price of one.

Esraa ignored the emphatic calls as she swerved past a cluster of female Merchants in purple robes behind overstocked stalls. The urns on display were overfilled with yellow and red powder. Some had a dead fly or two in them, but nevertheless it was with much gusto that they chanted:

Want to create a strong love potion? Buy our fresh Love Dust blessed by the great Master Tsering herself.

Esraa rolled her eyes as she and Alex hurried along. Who would buy these?

Every Artisan born in France knew these products had side effects. At best, they lost half their power having been made outside of Crea.

Yet the number of customers looking for magical products in the eclectic market did not diminish.

Still searching for that one particular shop, Esraa realized most of the people in the market were freshly arrived Artisans. Or those who missed Crea so much that they would suspend belief for a short time, buy Crystalline Crean Candy, and pretend it tasted the same as in Crea, despite none of the original ingredients being included in the recipe.

As Esraa rounded a corner, she eyed a mother and daughter purchasing colorful traditional Crean gowns for the daughter’s wedding. Among the bittersweet scent of beauty products, the Merchant’s deceiving yet melodious chants, and Dream Creators weaving dream catchers, everything in the atmosphere smelled of magic.

Dragon Treasures! That’s the shop I was looking for! Alex cried, darting off toward a dusty little shop no bigger than a horse stall. Dragon claws, eyeballs, books, and leaflets hung from the walls and shelves of the cluttered shop. Chairs made of dragon scales butted up against a cage in the right-hand corner of the room.

Inside the cage, a squawking long-nosed flightfeather, a dragon the size of a parrot with a bright plumage, let a dropping fall noisily. An abominable smell that was a cross between old cheese and Alex’s sweaty socks immediately filled the small room.

I’ve never seen a flightfeather before! Alex excitedly peered inside the cage to analyze the liquidity of the dragon’s excrement.

Esraa’s hands fumbled around, looking for a cloth to cover her nostrils.

The shop had all that was needed to care for a dragon: blankets for the winter, toothbrushes, and special soap to make dragon scales shine. As she pulled up a blanket and pressed her nose against it, her eyes fell on an encyclopedia with fierce-looking dragons jumping off the cover and an enigmatic title in gilded letters: Day of the Dragon.

At that moment, the round little shopkeeper with sparse dyed-black hair bent down behind some boxes, his large bottom still sticking out.

I’ll be with you in a minute, he yelled over to them, though he obviously was in no rush to attend to the children’s needs.

As he tidied the merchandise from his latest shipment at a leisurely pace, an intrigued Esraa opened the silver clasp and perused the contents of Day of the Dragon. When she turned its yellowed pages, dust filled the air, and a green dragon scale, the size of a thumbnail, stuck to the page. She brushed it aside and immediately the excerpt on which it had previously lain caught her attention.

"Dragons in the land of Crea are fierce, particularly the rexxon from southern Crea.

They are said to be the noble mount of many Masters, especially Sinister Masters who have across centuries favored them over any other means of transportation.

According to the prophecy, the savior who will master all three Arts and save the world from destruction will be also be a Sinister Master. This has left the greatest dragon trainers wondering if this Sinister Master will also ride a rexxon dragon and if they should train rexxons as they wait for the savior’s advent."

Esraa was instantly titillated by the mention of the savior and the prophecy. She’d never read any book about it. And, well, her mom said it was nonsense, constantly claiming that it was best for Creans to make a home outside Crea, rather than wait for a legendary savior to bring peace to Arcashala.

A Sinister Master? Esraa queried aloud. What’s that? she asked the shopkeeper.

He stretched up with a painful shortness of breath and wiped his dust-stippled spectacles and forehead.  The particles could not dim the gold Merchant caste Gem on his forehead.

Are you one? he asked warily.

Sinister? Esraa asked. I don’t think so. I don’t even know what it means in this context!

Don’t say it again! Just in case! He waved his arms frantically and accidentally knocked over pots of dragons’ ashes.

Just tell me what it means, Esraa insisted. Why does the book say that the savior is sini—that word? How can he be that bad thing if he’s supposed to be good? She corrected immediately to avoid another tsunami in the cramped shop.

That word...it’s nothing you want to be, believe me. The clerk looked at Esraa with a deepening frown and, as if wanting to get rid of them as quickly as possible, he asked, What do you guys want anyway?

I heard you got a shipment of dragon flutes straight from Crea, Alex said, playing with the flightfeather. I really need one for my pet dragon, Reglisse. I’m ready to take his training to the next level. Your flutes are three hundred euros, right? he added, pulling out his wallet.

Where’d you hear that? the clerk asked, with an inquiring eyebrow.

Word on the street, Alex replied simply.

Street talk is cheap. My flutes aren’t.

Three hundred is a lot of money. How much are they now? Esraa asked, tucking a braid behind her ear.

There’s only one left. Price has gone up.

How much? Alex asked, worried.

How much do you have?

Four hundred, Alex replied at the same time Esraa warned, Alex, don’t tell him.

That’s the price, said the shopkeeper, folding his arms behind his back.

Of course it is, Esraa muttered, thinking the Merchant caste should be renamed the Crooks caste.

Four hundred! Alex exclaimed. But it took me months to save that. And I have to keep the extra hundred to pay a huge fine. My dragon pooped on a police officer’s car. Mom was furious and threatened to get rid of Reglisse if I didn’t pay the fine myself.

You know, Alex, there are plenty of dragons flying over Paris who don’t poop on people, Esraa joked. Why couldn’t you get one of those instead of a glorified pigeon?

See why I need him trained? Alex said to the shopkeeper, ignoring his sister’s jab.

Alex opened his wallet wide, as if wishing for more euro bills to materialize.

How much do you have? he asked his sister.

Esraa hated disappointing her brother, but it couldn’t be helped.

I only brought fifty euros, she answered, fishing a crumpled bill out of her jeans pocket. We’ve got three hundred and fifty altogether. Please, sir, my brother’s been talking about this flute every day for months. You only said the price was four hundred once you knew my brother had that sum. Can’t you cut us a deal?

Are ‘deals’ going to feed my family? the shopkeeper snarled. That flute is made from the best bamboo in Crea and was crafted by very talented Creatives. It even comes with a music scroll.

Alex turned away. Forget it, sis. Let’s go.

No, wait.

Esraa folded her arms and refused to budge.

Don’t get mad, sis, Alex nudged her. Let’s go quietly. Move.

Move she did. But not toward the exit. In a single stride, she had reached the grimy little shopkeeper. Leaning inches away from him, she hissed, Listen, you may be a merchant, but right now you’re acting like a thief. My brother worked hard to round up that money. Why don’t you give us that flute?

The light in the shop flickered. The ground shook ever so slightly.

What’s going on? the shopkeeper asked with a tremor in his voice. You know we’re not allowed to use Art in France.

Didn’t you hear? Esraa said with relish. The government allowed Art to be taught in a single school as a pilot program. La Fontaine Middle School. Guess which school we go to?

Esraa, I’ll just give him the four hundred. Calm down, her brother pleaded, tugging her arm.

But Esraa could not. She loved the power surging inside her. It tingled in her left hand. Her pulse quickened and the uncertainty in the shopkeeper’s eyes gave her pleasure.

Nobody messed with her little brother under her watch.

The shelves shook.

Are you Destrian? From the Kingdom of Destris? the shopkeeper asked frantically. Don’t destroy my shop!

His fear, as well as being mistaken for a ruthless Destrian, caused Esraa to snap back to reality.

What was she doing?

He could be her grandfather. He had a wife and kids. Sure, he was overcharging, but that didn’t mean she had to lose her temper.

Why couldn’t she just be good?

Please...sir, Esraa added as an afterthought. Won’t you let us buy the flute at its original price?

Alright, alright, he said, pacified by Esraa’s contrition. I’ll let you have an old one. I’ve had it for years, but never managed to sell it. That’s all you can get for three hundred and fifty euros.

He scurried out the back, emerging moments later with a small wooden case and a booklet on which the title Dragon Tunes was embossed in bold letters.

Alex shakily opened the lid off the long-sought treasure.

The shopkeeper nevertheless kept a circumspect eye on Esraa.

You should be ashamed. Threatening an old Feeble like me.

If I were you, she said in a somewhat appeased tone, I wouldn’t let other Creans know I’m incapable of using the Art. And if you’re Feeble, you probably shouldn’t scam your way through life.

Her brother pulled out a handful of bills and handed them to the shopkeeper.

That’s three hundred, the man said, shaking the fistful of bills like they were leaves.

That’s all you’re getting, Esraa snapped. Let’s go.

Being good didn’t mean she had to be taken advantage of.

She glared at the shopkeeper and marched out of the shop, dragging an apologetic Alex behind her. She checked her watch: eight thirty P.M. They’d miss the Time-Traveling Twins theme song for sure. But if they were quick, they might arrive in time for the first commercial break.

You shouldn’t have done that, Alex grumbled with reproof.

Relax. Esraa’s stride was now closer to a small jog. You know I’m Feeble, too. I can barely wield the Art. I couldn’t harm him if I tried.

Yeah, you’re Feeble, Alex said. But most Feebles can’t even use magic at all. How come every time you even try to use magic, it backfires and you end up getting hurt?

No need to remind me I got two left feet, Esraa grumbled.

He thought we were Destrians! Please, we’re nothing like those savages.

Yeah, don’t know what gave him that idea. We don’t even have wands, Esraa mumbled, wishing the Art of Creation had necessitated a wand.

No Crean would ever go around invading other Kingdoms and forcing its people to flee to lands with no magic.

I wish I had the power of Destruction! And a Destrian wand. I wish I could master all three Arts, like the savior from the prophecy, but without having to save the world. That was way too much responsibility and, well, Esraa wanted to look out for herself.

With a stumble, she bumped into a stall and scraped her right hand open. Blood gushed everywhere, staining her jeans as she tried to stem the flow in vain.

See, you’re clumsy all of a sudden. Her brother pulled out a used tissue from his jean pocket and pressed it against her bleeding hand. That’s what you get for using magic.

Eeeww. You should show more respect to your savior!

My savior, maybe, her brother conceded. The savior from the prophecy? There’s not a chance that’s you.

How would you know? Esraa giggled, flexing her arm and showing a tiny bump of a muscle. You heard what I read. The savior is S-I-N-I-S-T-E-R, she spelled out. I’m always that. I’m not exactly kind and perfect.

You’re scary in the morning before you eat breakfast, her brother joked. "But I’d never heard about this sinister business before. All Dad’s ever said about the savior is that he shows great compassion for the plight of the Artisans. You don’t care a bit about Artisans. You’re not even proud of who you are. The only thing that you like about being Artisan is the power running through your veins. Master Gesar is the real savior out there. Just wait till he comes out of hiding with his army. All the Hellish Beings are going to run for cover."

A Feeble Artisan from Crea. That meant the Art resided in her, but it was lifeless.

She was nothing. Her teacher had even said the residual magic she possessed would disappear with age. Why couldn’t she be like every other Crean? Even though the use of magic was prohibited in France, every Artisan around her used a bit of Art here and there to make their lives easier.

The time she’d save cleaning her room if she could Create a cleaning robot!

Her uncle Robert was Feeble and she didn’t want to be anything like him. He was a cook from the Humbles caste and couldn’t even Create the smallest cookie crumb. He had to bake everything by hand!

The horror.

What life awaited her if she couldn’t rely on magic to lend a helping hand from time to time?

The Art of Creation had enticed her since she was little: the power to Create with one’s mind, the delectable knowledge that the images in one’s head could become real things.

That no one would ever hurt her again was not something she could ever scorn. Not since that dreadful day when she’d realized how helpless she was against an attacker.

All she’d done was to give a sleeping homeless Crean girl a few coins. But the teenage girl had awoken like an angry tiger, punched her, and stolen all her allowance before running off and leaving a frightened Esraa with a bloody broken nose.

She shook the emerging memory away and clutched the Protection necklace her Mom had insisted she wear since the attack three years ago. That day had changed her.

Though she’d never been a particularly good girl, after that incident she’d struggled even more. What was the use of showing kindness if it landed her in a hospital?

Yet, deep down, she wished she could be good, because it stopped that little voice in her head that whispered words of reproach and regret when she was bad.

So she struggled continually.

The only way she’d have the leisure to be an admirable human being was if she became so powerful nobody could ever hurt her or her family.

She’d rather die than let anyone harm her little brother. Even if she was Feeble.

Oh! To catch a glimpse of a million magical possibilities, only to find the door shut in her face. What a boring life lay ahead of her! Especially if she missed the season premiere of The Time-Traveling Twins.

Esraa silently lamented the prospective dullness of her life as she and her brother passed a dark alley. That’s when she heard them.

Panting. The shuffling of heavy cloaks. A struggle. Whimpering.

Then, a loud scream.

Chapter 2: The Cyclops

ESRAA DUCKED BEHIND rows of garbage containers in the alley and pulled her brother down with her.

Leave me alone.

The cracking, tired voice of a woman who had walked the Earth for many years echoed in an  alley that grew darker as the sun began to set.

"What you sayin’, Grandma? I don’t understand filthy