That body was lying on the floor of the arena in anguish. A thunderous racket rang out all around him. It took Jokon a while to realize he was hearing applause from the platform. He pulled his battered, still bleeding body up and hobbled over to the soul mirror. It had grown and changed shape. It was no longer round, it was oval. Somehow, Jokon knew the mirror’s new name was Kruson. For a moment, he regretted having crammed such a disgusting spirit as Krudion in with that lovely, unfamiliar girl. He quickly put it out of his mind. He had survived. He had won. Jokon raised the mirror into the air. His creation! His mirror! Deeply satisfied, he looked for Kai. She was nowhere to be seen.
Right after Marada finished tending to his wounds, Jokon made his way to the tower with his new mirror. Master Go appeared to be waiting for him. His door was wide open. His pulse pounding, but determined, Jokon gripped the mirror in both hands, went in and planted himself three steps in front of Master Go.
“I defeated Krudion in the arena and created a new soul mirror out of him. Does this qualify me to become an adept candidate?”
Master Go looked up from his book and studied him with a blank look. “According to the statutes of the Crystal Chamber, those who create or take possession of a soul mirror, regardless of the conditions and circumstances, unless assisted by a third person, shall become an adept,” he recited coldly. “Adept Jok, you meet the criteria.” Then, he returned his attention to his book.
Jokon stood there without moving; he didn’t understand. Adept? Just like that? “But....” He started again. “I thought there could only be three adepts at a time.”
“Adept Nao will leave us at the storm moon to take his master’s examination,” Master Go replied.
Jokon tried to collect his scattered thoughts. “Master’s examination?”
Go looked up again. In a voice that made it very clear he thought Jokon was a bumbling idiot, he said, “There are three ways to become a master. One: A master duel before the Crystal Chamber. Two: An adept defeats two other adepts in a single duel. Three: An adept defeats a master in a duel. Any other questions?”
Jokon’s thoughts raced. One small question pushed its way to the forefront. “Where will I live? There are only three rooms in the Reds’ corridor.”
“You will find there is a fourth room,” Master Go coldly informed him. Without even looking up, he added, “And now, begone, I have things to do.”
Jokon left the room. As he crossed the threshold, he felt a spell reaching out to him like rustling leaves. As quickly as he had noticed it, it passed. What was that? He didn’t realize what had happened until he was on the stairs. His robe had turned crimson. He took a deep breath. He was no longer Jokon. He was Adept Jok.
As though in a trance, Jok went to the Reds’ corridor. Just as Master Go had said, there was a fourth room. It had definitely not been there before. The door stood wide open, inviting him in. Jok went in and looked around. First, he walked to the window. Yes, there was the little mirror the tower could use to spy on him. Fine, he was used to that. The room was significantly larger than the Blues’ rooms. There were two more doors. One led to the bathroom, just like in his old rooms. The other opened up into a small office which had yet another door. The room was furnished with a table, a chair and shelves with an impressively well-organized selection of books lining two walls. A huge window behind the desk offered an unobstructed view of the barren landscape. Part of the window went all the way to the floor. Jok discovered that it could be opened like a door that led out onto a small balcony. All of the surfaces and furnishings were in dark, warm, earthy red tones. The desk was the only exception. It was made of shiny, black wood with red inlays. Jok ran his fingers admiringly across the desktop. He had never seen such beautiful work. Not even Master Go had such a beautiful table, but that may be because his desk could hardly be seen beneath the myriad mirrors and papers.
Jok went to the last door. For a moment, he waited, uncertain, then his curiosity won out. He carefully opened the door. The passage led straight into the adepts’ tower room. Nao, Tur and Kai were sitting around the table and looking over at him, Nao with a friendly smile, Tur with a pinched expression and Kai with a deep, angry crease between her eyes.
Jok felt dizzy. His room was at the beginning of the corridor, how could it let out into the tower? An answer came to him from memories that weren’t his own. Krudion! Apparently, Jok had absorbed Krudion’s knowledge and memories when he had pulled him into his mirror. Krudion had used these passages once as the adepts’ messenger. The mirror could create a direct path between two places. Evidently, every room in the Reds’ corridor had its own entrance to the tower. Astonished, Jok realized that the Reds’ corridor was separated from the tower by a smooth wall and he had never seen any of the Reds going to the tower from the lower corridor. It seemed there were many details about the house he had failed to notice. He swore he would pay more attention in the future. That couldn’t happen to him again. Such carelessness may cost him his life one day.
“Come,” Nao said, “you are one of us now, whether we like it or not.”
He threw an ironic look at Tur and Kai. “I said from the beginning you had potential!” He pointed toward the wall. Several spots were empty, decorated only by robust hooks. “Hang your mirror up there. Don’t worry, no one will use your mirror without your permission. Soul mirrors only work for others if their owner has removed his or her signature and released them or, if a mirror has no owner, the signature of the deceased has to have aged and grown so weak that a new owner can overwrite it with their own. And cover your mirror; there are several curtains back there behind the fireplace.”
Jok did as he was told, then reluctantly joined them at the table. Tur and Kai’s hatred was palpable. His gaze wandered to Nao. At least he could count on him for support for the next two moons. First, he needed information and Nao could provide him with that. With an almost defiant look at Kai and Tur, Jok silently swore to himself, “I will survive both of you!”
*
The Temple of Ganae Elisam was bustling with activity. Grand Master Urgutan was watching the exam candidates. Ganet, Marco, Saitado, Igarand and Tirtoko would compete with Ioro and Crown Price Tolioro. He wasn’t worried about them. The question wasn’t whether they would pass or not, but how well they would do. Prince Ioro was clearly the best in the practical subjects. In the general theoretical classes, he was well within the average and he was excellent in tactics and strategy. He therefore fulfilled all of the criteria for a future commander. Saitado was even better with a sword than Ioro but was a bit behind the others in the other combat styles. Tolioro, however, was an average fighter at best. Urgutan didn’t think he was much better in the theoretical subjects, either, but the top notch instructors who had taught Tolioro at the palace had laid a good foundation, which concealed the lack of effort well, and the crown prince’s late-blooming ambition had made him study quite diligently for the past few moons. Urgutan’s special tutoring in history and law would do the rest. Both were purely theoretical subjects, learned only from books. Tolioro should be able to perform well; if his fellow students played along. Hopefully, the others had understood that they had to at least leave some room for the crown prince to be at the top of his class.
Urgutan thought back on his first years at the temple. Back then, he had been one of Prince Kanata’s instructors. Kanata had never needed such fostering. He was excellent in the theoretical subjects and good enough in the practical ones. It was unfortunate he had later married his dumb, superficial third cousin, Iragana; that could only result in average offspring. Kings weren’t always able to choose whom they wed.
Urgutan sighed. It was time to start the exams. He straightened his robe and walked toward his students.
The practical exams began with a stately ceremony in the temple hall of the war god, Mu Tao. Ioro impatiently rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was looking forward to proving his skills with the sword. If only this tedious singing and praying wer
e over. One look to the side made him suddenly stand at attention.
Sword Master Askander threw him a grim, disapproving look.
Perhaps he should pay attention. A warrior must always remain focused in any situation.
Askander had brought seven experienced warriors into the temple. The sword-fighting students were to fight under real conditions against opponents who fought with unfamiliar combat styles. Ioro watched the performance closely. The fighters all seemed to come from the same sword-fighting school. After only the first two fights, he was able to recognize a few of the strokes. Igarand appeared to be a poor observer. He fell for the same feints as Ganet and Marco before him. Tirtoko didn’t fare any better. Still, all four of them were good enough for Askander to declare they had passed the test. Saitado was another caliber altogether. Within a few strokes, he had his opponent cornered. It was a true pleasure to watch Saitado fight with a sword. Askander was practically beaming as he declared Saitado the winner of the duel. Then it was Tolioro’s turn. Oh dear, his brother still hadn’t understood the strange warriors’ combat style, even after watching all five of the previous fights. It was clear as day to Ioro that the fighter was going easy on his brother. He was clever. An untrained observer wouldn’t notice, but the temple priests were anything but untrained. Ioro exchanged a look with Saitado. He clearly knew what was going on, too. Tolioro just barely made it through his fight. Askander declared the test passed but looked as though he had a toothache. Then, it was Ioro’s turn. As the future high commander, he had the honor of fighting in the final battle for each combat style. That should be easy for him. He swung his sword, full of confidence. But... His opponent didn’t react to his feint with a defensive stroke and, instead, attacked him from below! The next strokes were completely unexpected. The fighter drove Ioro all the way across the courtyard. Ioro was sweating. Attack! He was just able to raise his sword in time. The next moment, his opponent’s sword swished past his other side. He had to drop to the ground to evade the stroke. Ioro rolled and jumped back up. As he came out of that move, he twisted his upper body in the other direction. His opponent’s sword sliced the air where his head should have been. The sweat was burning in Ioro’s eyes. To make matters worse, the sun was in his eyes. He could barely make out the flashes of his opponent’s steel. There was no more time to think. Ioro reacted purely out of instinct. His blade interwove with his opponent’s in a sparkling dance. He had no idea how he survived the next few minutes. The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. His opponent took two steps back and saluted him with a respectful grin. The courtyard was silent for a moment; then, everyone started to cheer. Ioro understood. He had been given an opponent from a completely different school of combat as a special test. Apparently, he had passed the test with flying colors.
The other practical exercises were the same. Marco was better with a dagger and Saitado beat him in archery, but Ioro was by far the best in most of the combat disciplines. Exhausted, but happy, he ended the first day of exams with the final prayer in the temple and a ritual bath.
There were no exams the day before the theoretical portion. Ioro decided to go back into the mountains alone. It may be the last chance he had in his life to really be alone; unwatched and unattended. King Kanata’s orders were explicit. Once the exams were over, they were expected to return to the capital immediately.
Ioro enjoyed the emptiness of the landscape. The mountains seemed barren and hostile, but for those who knew them well, they always offered a safe haven. Determined, he hiked up to the Double Horn. He knew of a hidden hollow directly under the divided peak where a spring trickled out of the rock face and irrigated a flower meadow that was only the size of only a few saddle blankets. Ioro sat down and looked pensively at the sky. Bees buzzed around him amidst the little pink carnations. A rock lizard came out of a crack in the stone right next to his hand and sat down in the sun. Its pointy tongue twitched back and forth, probing the sun-drenched rock. Far above, Ioro saw a circling dot. The dot slowly soared closer. He could just make out the silhouette of a royal falcon. Was that the falcon that had saved him and was, in reality, a sorcerer? Curious, Ioro watched it fly. In fact, the falcon flew directly toward him and landed. The bird’s golden-yellow eyes stared at him.
“Are you Jokon, the sorcerer?” Ioro asked carefully.
The falcon nodded. It was strange to see a bird mimic a human gesture.
“I have so many questions I want to ask,” Ioro continued, “but it appears we will have to have a fairly one-sided conversation. I must tell you how grateful I am to you. You have saved my life twice now!”
The falcon tilted its head. A staccato caw came from its beak.
Ioro regretfully shook his head. “I am sorry, but I don’t know what you are trying to tell me.”
The falcon stared at him again. It appeared to think for a moment.
Jok was strangely amused. Apparently, the young man had no idea. He seemed incapable of using his modest magical powers. He didn’t even consider any other option but speaking. He seemed preoccupied by the fact that Jok had saved his life twice, as though it were the most important thing in the whole world. The young nobleman fascinated him somehow. He appeared to be around the same age as he was. Could he risk making direct contact? He would try.
The falcon came closer with stiff, stilt-like steps. Ioro didn’t move. The falcon climbed onto his left leg. Ioro could feel the bird’s sharp talons through the thin fabric of his pants. The falcon stopped in the middle of his thigh, spread its wings a bit and then suddenly dug its talons into Ioro’s flesh.
Ioro didn’t finish his defensive motion. At the same moment the blood flowed out beneath the talons, he felt the familiar presence of the other boy in his mind. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The palace hall, where he had already met the young sorcerer once before, took shape in his mind’s eye. He was right; he was there again. “Jokon, right?” he asked.
“Jok,” the other boy responded.
Ioro was confused for a moment. Jok or Jokon? Which was it?
“I just created a soul mirror, which makes me an adept. That gave me the right to shorten my name.”
Ioro raised his eyebrows. How irritating. In his world, a name meant less the shorter it was. Apparently, the sorcerers followed a very different custom. He studied his counterpart. He saw a beardless young man in a blood-red robe, tied with a red sash. The sorcerer was much smaller than he and lacked muscles. His feet were bare and there was a large ink stain on one of his hands. The face beneath the shoulder-length, slightly curly, black hair seemed friendly, but his mouth was tense, and he had a steep crease in the center of his forehead between his eyes. The young man interested him.
“I have heard of soul mirrors before,” he said. “It’s where you imprison the dead.”
A shadow crossed Jok’s face. “The living, actually,” he murmured.
“Pardon my ignorance!” Ioro responded stiffly.
Jok shook his head briefly as though he wanted to confess something, then he said, “It’s okay. I don’t think the inner workings of sorcery are general knowledge.” He thought for a moment. “Does my visiting you like this bother you?”
Ioro burst out laughing. “No, why should it? I’ll admit, your method is somewhat, well, unusual. But bother me? I find it a refreshing change. You know you are the first person outside my closest family to dare speak to me so informally?”
Jok shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing of kings and their sons. You can speak to everyone in my village informally. Even at Master Go’s house. Except the master himself; no one speaks to him informally.”
“Think of the king as your master, only a thousand times more dangerous,” Ioro declared. “Then you’ll understand why no one speaks informally to him and his relatives.”
“Does that mean I should address you differently?”
“As long as we are alone, or meet in this strange place, you can speak informally to me if you want. But if we ever meet in person and o
thers are present, you must speak to me politely and address me formally and call me ‘My Prince’. Anything else might cost you your head.”
“Alright,” Jok responded, blithely. “So, your world isn’t any less dangerous than mine. I would still like to learn more about it. If we are careful and let a lot of time pass between visits, we might be able to keep meeting via the falcon.”
“In principle, yes. There is just one little problem. In four days, after the graduation ceremony, my brother and I will depart for the capital. Of course, we could meet there, too, but to be honest, I have never seen a falcon dare come closer than a bowshot away from the palace walls.
Jok laughed. “If you think that will stop me... I will find another way. Just don’t be surprised if some animal suddenly begins acting strangely around you.” He took a step back. “I have to go. The midday break is nearly over, and I have to teach a class.”
As Jok was disappearing, the image of the palace room dissolved around Ioro. He could feel his body again and opened his eyes. The falcon took off before him.
Ioro watched him go. He trusted the sorcerer’s word. Jok would find a way to visit him in Sawateenatari, too. Perhaps this would turn into a friendship, after all. A king’s son had few friends. Far too few.
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