The Familiar of Arc

Chapter 2 – The Summoning

"An Angel!?" Yang shout-whispered while using one arm to steer both Jaune and Ruby to one side of the hall. "Are you insane? There's a reason no one tries to summon things like that anymore! There's a reason there's paintings all over this place with Angels and Elder Dragons and Phoenixes destroying cities. This is Magi War stuff, Jaune."

Trying to hang on to his master plan, Jaune frowned at her. "Then why isn't it forbidden? I found all this stuff in the general library after all. Nothing's stopping anyone from making a spell like this except there's not a lot of people who have the mana to make it happen."

Ruby clasped her hands together pensively. "It might not be forbidden but… I don't know, Jaune; it might still be dangerous."

Jaune shook his head if only to mask the tension his two friends were fostering in him. "It's not dangerous. If it works, then the Angel will be my familiar, and familiars can't purposefully hurt their summoner." Doubt still crept into his voice as he added, "And if it doesn't work, then… well there's not Angel. And no familiar."

He held up the folios and stared deeply at them. No matter what, he had to keep believing that they meant something. That they were the point where his fortunes would turn.

And then those fortunes exploded into a storm of flapping tan sheets as someone slapped the folios out of his hands. Jaune watched in horror as seventy-two hours of hard work splatted to the floor all around him. His eyes snapped up to lock onto the culprit.

If he didn't hunch so much, Jaune was not a slight individual. As a lordling from a rugged country, he'd grown up with hearty meals and plenty of exercise in the forms of riding, hunting, swimming and the energetic dances of rural folks. Which is to illustrate a point about Cardin Winchester when Jaune had to look up to lock eyes with the strapping heir apparent of the much-lauded lineage of warriors.

No one would have connected Cardin to the traditional image of a mage from looking at him. He was built like a siege engine with wide shoulders and a chest made barrels feel scrawny. That he had dressed for the Summoning in a faux military dress uniform completed with gold filigreed shoulder pads and a russet greatcoat that matched his hair, only added to the air of martial mighty.

Seeing Jaune's expression of angst drew a guffaw from the larger man. "An Angel? For a hedgie like you, might as well call on the Old Voices. Even the forces of all Creation couldn't make you anything more than a wasted seat that could have gone to someone with actual talent, Arc." A small group of people Jaune only knew by their association with his self-appointed tormentor had formed behind Cardin to laugh and jeer.

Cardin smirked at Jaune's speechlessness. "You know what I think you're gonna end up summoning? Some serf in a costume your family hired to keep you from throwing yourself off the Tower Argent like you ought to. It'd certainly save time, effort and food expenses."

"Accelerando!" There was a flash of red and Ruby briefly became a blur that streaked in an erratic pattern around and past everyone before once more resolving into herself in roughly the same place she'd been standing. She was holding a wad of pages alongside the folios they belong to. Eyes narrowed at Cardin, she offered them to her friend. "Don't listen to him, Jaune. You're a mage and you belong here."

This drew a snort from Cardin. "Hiding behind a kid now, Arc? Can't say I'm surprised."

"No," now Yang stepped up. She was only a little shorter than Jaune, but managed to loom at Cardin all the same. "He's got friends that are here for him." She looked past his shoulder at the gaggle of onlookers who had gone silent once she approached. "Another thing you don't have."

Before Cardin could say something else and dig himself deeper, she cracked her knuckles and added, "Keep in mind: we can't cast spell on one another on school grounds or in town. But I don't need spells to hurt you bad, Winchester. No weapons either. So either walk away now, or slink away in a minute holding your teeth."

Cardin's jaw worked; part of him refused to let this go. Despite appearances, however, Cardin wasn't a stupid man. He knew that in that direction lay the way of pain. Instead he snorted, leaning to the side to catch Jaune's eye as the smaller man worked to reorder his scattered papers.

"I prefer dealing with someone personally, not fighting with their mommy." He suppressed a flinch as Yang drew back her fist and managed to retain his dignity in striding off surrounded by his tittering retinue. "Good luck at the summoning Jaune-y."

"That guy…" Yang growled through her grinding teeth. Her fist was still clenched.

"Forget him," Jaune sighed, having finally reassembled his two folios into a semblance of order. One up side to his exhaustion was that he was numb to Cardin's insults. What little focus he had was all on the upcoming summoning. "Let's just get out there and get our familiars, okay?"

The Patch sisters exchanged concerned glances, but there wasn't a lot they could do to deter him. Mulling over their options on what to do if things went wrong, they followed behind as Jaune struck off purposefully toward the courtyard.

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What the first year students called the 'courtyard' was one of several that was part of the sprawling former fortress complex that was Beacon Academy. On official maps of the grounds, it was called the South Garden. Beds of spring flowers adorned the well manicured green lawn, accented by three ponds and perfectly-groomed shade trees. Stone tables and benches were placed in places to grant the most pristine view of the various vistas.

Songbirds filled the air with their music and a virtual rainbow of butterflies were in evidence. A trio of ducks had discovered and claimed one of the ponds, having beat others this far north.

Near the base of Beacon's Tower Ferrous stood a particularly large cheery tree. Magic kept it in bloom year-round, allowing it to spread a constant canopy of white over a polished granite slab at its base. Arrayed there to await the students, were the all of the professors who taught classes to first years alongside the venerable headmaster; a wizard known by a single name: Ozpin.

Rumors abounded about the man and it wasn't hard to see why: He looked to be perhaps in his fifties and prematurely gray and yet he'd been the headmaster of Beacon for over seventy years and had been known as a combatant in the War some years before that. And then there were the tales of how he'd taken his position; how the old headmaster simply disappeared from the eyes of both man and history and been replaced on the same night.

There were other stories besides—Ozpin was a living legend—and yet he looked so… normal. Standing maybe six feet tall with a mildly weary slump to his shoulders and faint worry lines around the eyes and mouth alongside a full head of snowy hair being the only evidence of his age. Instead of wizardly robes, he wore a more contemporary suit in dark hunter green with a lighter undershirt and round spectacles of gold wire.

He stood at the center of the line of professors, between Goodwitch, the Elements of Magic professor and Professor Watts, the Magic Technology instructor. Joining them were Professor Peach, instructor of Eldritch Flora and Fauna, Professor Port, Keeper of Mythic Lore, and Doctor Oobleck, the resident Historian, each representing the top of their field tapped to pass on their talent and knowledge to the next generation.

Slowly, the students began to filter in, taking their places standing before their educators.

"This is so exciting!" Ruby squealed, trying to keep her voice down to a respectable level.

Yang ruffled her hair, smiling jovially. "Yeah, it's a big step. After our familiars, we'll be getting our wands, then our rings and then we'll be full fledged mages… magi… whatever."

Jaune couldn't even find anything to say. He'd been working so hard for this. Even now, every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to rest, but he mustered all this will to focus on the accomplished magi before him and on the summoning he would have to complete.

At length, the first year students settled down and Ozpin stepped forward. He gave no preamble, merely launching directly into addressing the point at hand. "In a mage's life, a familiar can be many things. A companion. A loyal defender. A spy. A research assistant. Even in some cases, nothing at all. Statistics say that even though we traditionally speak of familiars as boon companions who share a special bond, a handful of you will ultimately abandon the servant you summon here today. I cannot help to find that disappointing… but unsurprising."

That set off a murmur among the students at the bluntness of his statement. Yes, everyone could and did observe that, for example, Professor Watts and Doctor Oobleck didn't have familiars, and many knew other magi besides who didn't. No one ever really brought such things up in polite society though. It was akin to observing out loud that they hadn't seen someone's wife around lately when one didn't know if that was due to illness, divorce or foul play.

Whether he didn't notice or didn't care about the reaction, Ozpin just plowed on.

"Nevertheless, this rite you take on today will solidify your place in the world. It will mark you forever as a keeper of ancient knowledge and the bearer of myriad responsibilities. Responsibilities not only to your respective houses and nations, but to the world at large. You are stewards of the ancient power handed down to us by the Voice from afar. Do not take this lightly. And do not take the creatures you call here today for granted. They will come from every corner of reality and regardless of awareness, with shoulder a burden akin to your own."

He let silence reign before stepping aside and nodding to Goodwitch. "We shall now proceed with the summoning in order of your marks in the first semester; top marks first."

Unfurling a scroll as she stepped forward, Goodwitch looked out over the crowd of students, not needing to read the first name as there was no doubt who it was. "The first summoner of this year shall be Weiss Schnee."

There was a scattering of polite applause as the Heiress strode confidently to stand before the class and her instructors.

Holding her wand at the ready, she took a deep breath before launching into a chant that sounded less like language and more like the song of a rare bird. The wand wove through the air, trailing blue-white sparks that slowly drew a sigil. Soon, Weiss had threw herself into full-body movement, dancing in a tight circle and drawing reinforcing symbols with her wand.

Color began to drain from the world. The already cool air became frigid.

Then with a sound like shattering glass, the air above her broke apart, leaving a jagged hole in the sky through which alien stars glimmered. Weiss stopped moving, wand and eyes alike upraised as one of those stars descended.

Distance shrank and clarity increased. What once appeared to be a point of light grew to been something roughly humanoid but made of crystalline ice borne aloft by wings that resembled the snowflake crest of Weiss's house: a Frost Sprite.

Surrounded by a thing fog of cold and condensation that swiftly turned to snow around it, the sprint came to land on the tip of Weiss's wand. There was a brief flash and, if anyone but Weiss had been close enough to notice, they might have seen the actual snowflake crest of House Schnee become emblazoned on the tiny creature's chest.

A more spirited round of applause followed. The best among them in terms of grades had shown them it could be done. Now more than ever, the students were eager to meet their own boon companions.

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The ceremony entered its second hour and most of the students had moved off to various corners of the courtyard to get to know their newly summoned familiars.

The common theory that familiars reflected aspects of their summoners was borne out in many of the pairings: Cardin was not the master of a Arma Hawk; a large, cruel-looking raptor with metallic feathers and talons, while Blake Belladonna, daughter of the retired spymaster Ghira of the Menagerie Islands, had called upon an umbral mote, which immediately vanished into her shadow and appeared to have animated it.

Then again, Ruby had ended up with something resembling a chubby penguin with silvery scaled where the black feathers should be. It stood on stubby legs with flat, webbed feet, and its weirdly supple beak emitted sounds similar to a kitten.

Professor Port declared it to be a legendary Penguilin; a mighty warbeast, capable of great speed and agility, but no one was ever certain what stories were true when it came to him. He was confirmed to have slain many dangerous beasts, but on the other hand, he claimed to have slain Hell's Iron General as well.

The might of scaley kitten-birds aside, the big winner most would agree was Yang. Her summons had been answered by a young Golden Serpent Dragon, a regal and sinuous beast twice as long as a horse and capable of flight, fire breath, and great strength.

Everyone had called and been answered by their familiars.

All except Jaune.

He'd been on the very edge of nodding off standing up when Goodwitch's voice calling his name cut through the air. His head snapped up and his hands gripped the folios even more tightly. What had been a tight throng of students had thinned out dramatically since he'd last looked around.

Though he immediately regretted it, he briefly locked gazes with Goodwitch. Her expression was unreadable at least to him, but that offered no comfort. Disbelief or disappointment might have sparked a drive in him, or some form of encouragement could have been bolstering. But such a carefully marshaled expression was just a mystery he didn't need his easily distracted mind trying to solve just then.

"Hey!" He glanced off to the side where Yang and her dragon were lazing in a sunny patch of grass; Yang barely visible due to be lounging within her familiar's coiled body. The moment he acknowledged her, she raised a fist in solidarity. "Make us proud, Jaune!"

"You can do it!" Ruby appeared from the other size of the dragon, holding her penguilin like a child holding a teddy bear.

"Muyah!" added her familiar, waving a flipper and making Jaune wonder how smart the creature actually was. While never capable of actual speech barring mimicry or telepathy, some familiars were known to be exceptionally intelligent. Even ones that didn't look it.

With his friends supporting him, Jaune stiffened his back and marched up to the gathering of professors. This time, he didn't make the mistake of looking at any of them and instead focused on opening the folio containing his summoning ritual.

It took a second of blinking to keep the letters from blurring together in his weary sight. He took the opportunity to take a deep, cleansing breath.

This was it: the defining moment of everything he'd dreamed off since the moment he was offered the possibility of studying to become a mage. One chance to turn the ill fortune he'd found at Beacon around.

Failure would mean returning to his family's estate in shame. The sixth child of eight, there was no place for him there but to be some menial functionary whose only real worth lay in the possibility of a political marriage.

So failure wasn't an option.

An attempt to untangle the sleeve of his blazer from his wand must have looked like a dramatic flourish to those watching even though it was just another symptom of his nerves and strain.

As he began the preliminary gestures with the wand, a gentle wind began to swirl around him. Sparks of sky blue crackled along the path of the wand and high above, the wispy clouds began to circle.

Practically vibrating with power, Jaune began to read his incantation. "Let the winds of destiny carry my call across the Outer Realms. Let my will extend to the planes above. Into the chaos, I extend my hand of friendship. Heed my call, O thou mighty Angel who shall stand beside me in the face of all Evil."

One handed, he flipped pages and dove into the meat of the incantation, which was written in the ancient language of the Voices. Due to the power inherent to that tongue, he hadn't practiced them before, but a few syllables in and forming them began to feel natural.

Too natural.

In fact, they seemed to be spilling from his lips as if on their own. As if he wouldn't be able to stop if he wanted to.

Alarmed, he realized he wasn't even reading from the page anymore, and when he looked, another revelation awaited him: the page wasn't one from his summoning ritual, but his treatise on the Old Voices which Ruby must had accidentally mixed in with his ritual. Specifically, he was reading several lines of translations and the mimeographed image of a woodcut featuring famously untranslated texts. Texts whose flowing, scrawled words he somehow knew he was speaking.

Confusion and horror warred in his mind and all the while he continued to recite some frightful amalgam of his constructed ritual and whatever was depicted on the woodcut.

It might have been his imagination, but he felt a warmth come over his wand hand. It felt as if another hand had gently come over his and was subtly guiding his gestures.

The pattern he and his unseen benefactor wove began to draw upon his mana, swiftly flaring into visibility and becoming a blaze in the air above him larger than the span of three carriages abreast. Arcs of electricity began to crackle and dance between the curves and angles. The wind had built into a strong gale.

Everyone in the courtyard was taking notice now. Those who had classes with Jaune were taking cover.

Finally, the built up energy in the pattern reached a critical mass. Red and yellow and purple, dozens of small sparks converged and became a singular mighty bolt that jagged skyward with a deafening clap of thunder. Branching fingers of power tore the sky and rent it asunder.

What was once blue with swirling clouds gave way as if a gigantic painting was being burned away. In its place was a night sky filled with sanguine stars arranged into alien constellations.

It was at this point that Goodwitch had seen enough. Whatever this was, it was a miscast on an order she'd never even heard of. And miscasts always had a way of delivering a backlash upon the caster.

Jaune Arc was not her best student. There was potential there if he ever learned to properly apportion his mana, but even if there wasn't; even if he were equally gifted in magic as a prize pig, he was her student. It was a sacred duty handed down by no one other than her own moral code to protect him.

A swift motion had the familiar length of rolled leather in her hand and a pattern for her most definitive counterspell set in her mind. She would have cast too, if only a strong if calloused hand hadn't closed over her wrist. The death glare she turned on Ozpin would have rocked a giant back on his hills, but the venerable mage met her gaze unflappably.

"This is no miscast," he said plainly, looking up at the unfamiliar sky that had the students in equal amounts panic and awe. "This… is something else. Let us give the young man his opportunity."

Goodwitch gave him another glare, but acquiesced to his experience. Her gaze returned to the sky. She was just in time to see one of those crimson stars falling straight toward the courtyard.

It struck like the meteor it was; trailing a pillar of fire as it impacted near the base of Tower Auric. The shockwave uprooted decorative trees out to ten feet all around. And at the heart of it, there stood a figure.

Iron and bronze glowed a dull red; thick, intricate armor plates that slid over each other as a lone figure straightened from the kneeling position it had been in on arrival. Silk the color of dark blood around their waist drifted in the heat-driven wind, seemingly untouched by the flame. A ribbon of identical coloring wafted from just below the head of a formidable longspear clutched in the figure's right hand while the left held a burnished bronze shield that glowed with the same heat as the armor.

Even at a such a distance, it was possible to see the glow of two fierce, green eyes behind the heavy visor of its helmet, the back of which sprouted a crimson plume so long that it almost went down to the back of the armored warrior's knees.

But all of that was undercut when a pair of wings unfurled to a span of nearly twelve feet of ebon feathers that stirred up the sparks from the burning grass and foliage and swept them into a constellation of embers around them while banishing the hellfire of its arrival.

Even a novice of the mystic arts such as Jaune knew what kind of creature he beheld. The scourge of mankind, the gods' lament: a demon.