Yes. That was the last word he said to me, Fist said. I left him bleeding and never thought I would see him again. Then I thought he was dead. But now he’s not and when he looks at me . . . it is like he sees me completely different than he did back then.
Justan understood the feeling. He had gone through much the same thing during the war. Many of the academy students that had once ridiculed him had started to treat him like a hero. Do you think they really need you? Is this ‘evil’ as great as he claims?
I wish it wasn’t. The choice would be easier then. But Crag wouldn’t have left the Thunder People territory and come all this way if he didn’t think I was needed. Those worms . . . Justan felt the ogre shudder. When they turned and looked at me it reminded me of the day we fought the Mother of the Moonrats. She was much stronger than these worms were, but they gave me the same kind of feeling.
Justan swallowed. Then it really was important. What if this had something to do with the Dark Prophet? He thought about what John had told him during the war. He and Artemis would eventually be needed. It had been prophesied.
Maybe I should come with you, he said.
You? Fist said in surprise. But how?
If we rode Gwyrtha, Deathclaw and I could be back at the Mage School in less than a week, Justan offered.
But what about Jhonate’s father? Fist asked. What about Jhonate? What about the nightbeast?
Justan chuckled. Oh I have no problem making Vahn follow me all the way to the Trafalgan Mountains. As for Jhonate and her father, well we came a long way to bring her back home. Jhonate wouldn’t like me leaving, but she would understand. I’m not sure about Xedrion though.
What if you left and Xedrion decided not to let you marry Jhonate? Fist asked, his thoughts filled with trepidation. I don’t want you to risk that.
I would be willing to risk it. For you, Justan replied. Jhonate and I would find a way to make things work.
No, Fist said. The ogre was touched deeply by Justan’s offer, but he wasn’t willing to put the man in that situation. At least, not yet. I may not be able to go after all. I will speak with Mistress Sherl in the morning and see what she has decided. I will let you know tomorrow night.
Alright, Fist, Justan said. Just know that whatever you decide, I will support you. I will leave here and rush to your side if you need me.
Thank you, Fist said and there was deep feeling of relief in his thoughts. I will let you sleep, then.
Good night, Justan replied.
He withdrew his thoughts from his connection with Fist, but he did not check in with Deathclaw and Gwyrtha. Nor did he go to sleep. He was too troubled by all of the things the ogre had told him. Instead, he floated in the soft whiteness of the bond and pondered the situation.
If Fist went with his father and traveled up to the mountains to face this evil alone, there was no telling how much danger he would be in. What if he died? Justan didn’t know how he would be able to handle such a loss.
Don’t borrow trouble, he reminded himself. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He had to trust in his mother. Surely Darlan wouldn’t let Fist go into such a perilous situation unprepared. Besides, if need be, he was prepared to do exactly as he had promised and accompany the ogre himself.
Eventually, he pushed his worries aside and focused his attention on something he could impact right away. He moved towards his bond with his great grandfather.
Justan approached the thick web of elemental and spirit magic that blocked his connection to the Scralag. As usual, he probed the web looking for the small crack near the center of the blockage. It was a tiny place where Justan could feel a chill breeze blowing into the bond. Justan wasn’t sure whether or not he was imagining it, but the crack seemed larger than before.
He pressed his mind’s eye up to the opening and called out, Great grandfather! Artemis! This is Justan. It is urgent. I must speak with you!
He waited. There was silence for a few long moments, but just before he yelled out again, there was a stirring behind the blockage. The chill breeze turned into a stiff wind blowing uncomfortably into Justan’s thoughts.
GO AWAY! I AM NOT NEEDED! came the Scralag’s dreadful voice.
No. You’re not! Justan snapped, tired of the Scralag’s incessant rudeness. You go away. I need to speak with Artemis.
GO! WE ARE RESTING!
It was the same response the Scralag gave him every time he tried to communicate, which was every night since the war had ended. Justan might have given up if not for the times, few and far between, when Artemis broke free from the power of the Scralag long enough to speak to him.
You rest then, elemental, Justan replied, his voice firm. I’m here for Artemis! I want to speak with him about Sarine.
The stiff breeze that rushed through the crack sputtered and Justan saw a pair of beady red eyes staring back at him. Sarine? the Scralag said, only it’s voice wasn’t as terrible as before.
Yes! Mistress Sarine, Justan said.
Sarine . . . then its voice grew stronger. STOP THIS.
Evidently her name alone wasn’t going to be enough. A thought occurred to him. Sarine was the name the Bowl of Souls had given her. You might have known her better as Begazzi.
BEGazziiiiiiiii . . . The loud voice faded to a whisper. The Scralag’s red eyes slowly lost their color until a pair of clear gray eyes looked back at Justan.
Yes, Artemis, I’m here to speak with you about your wife, Begazzi, Justan said, frustrated with himself for not thinking to speak of Darlan’s grandmother sooner. Focus on her.
Ahh, Begazzi, said the voice of Justan’s grandfather. It was almost as clear as it had been the time Justan had spoken to him in his little cabin sipping tea. Sooo beautiful.
She is alive, Justan said. Somehow, whether it was because of her bonds or elven magic, she still lives. She is at the Mage School right now. Fist saw her today.
Alive? After so long? There was longing in Artemis’ voice. Oh to see her again. To hear her voice . . .
I can help you with that! Justan said excitedly. He pulled up the memories that Fist had shared with him and pushed them through the bond into Artemis’ mind. Do you hear her? Do you see her?
Begazzi? Artemis said wistfully and there were tears in his gray eyes. It is her. So much older now, but it is her. To think that she still lives after all this time. How long has it been?
Two hundred years, Justan said. It’s been two hundred years since she helped to defeat the Dark Prophet.
There was a sharp intake of breath and the crack in the blockage widened, melting away as if it were ice. Now Justan could see his great grandfather standing there. His arms and legs were still long and pale and skeletal, but his head and torso were that of a man wearing a tattered robe.
I see, Artemis said. Begazzi succeeded and lived on. So the world did not end with the Dark Prophet’s destruction after all.
Justan didn’t know what he meant, but he filed that information away. No, the world did not end. Otherwise how would I have been born?
Ahh, that’s right. You are my great grandson, Artemis said, his long limbs gradually shrinking and becoming more human. So much is returning to me now.
Hold on to that, Justan said. Hold on to the fact that your Begazzi is alive. She has accepted a place on the High Council of the Mage School. She is the new Council Historian. Her bonded, Kyrkon and Bill are with her.
Artemis smiled. Why those vagabonds! What of Cliff?
It took Justan a moment to understand what he was referring to. Oh! Cliff, the gnome warrior. Of course. It made sense that he was one of Sarine’s bonded as well. I’m afraid that he died while infiltrating the Dark Prophet’s palace.
Such a pity, Artemis said. He looked like a regular man now, other than the long black nails on the ends of his fingers. He was a good fellow. A strong card player. He often defeated me while playing Elements.
Sarine has a new gnome bonded now. Justan said, eager to keep him talking. A female
named Maryanne.
Good, said Artemis. The blockage in the bond had opened up until it was but a few strands of magic. Justan and his great grandfather stood only a short distance from each other. Do you know . . . has she moved on?
Moved on? Justan asked,
Has she found another? Remarried? The old wizard sighed. What am I saying? It’s been two hundred years. Of course she has. I would be furious with her otherwise.
Well, according to Fist, she was alone except for her bonded. Justan thought hard. There had been something else she’d said. Oh yes, she called you her first husband, so I suppose that means she did remarry at some point.
Then she mentioned me? Artemis asked, his voice eager.
She did. She said she missed you. Justan found the particular memory of her saying that and sent it through to the wizard.
Ah, Begazzi, Artemis said again. There were tears in his gray eyes. I miss her too. Does she know I still remain?
My mother has not told her yet. Justan replied. She is trying to figure out how to explain it.
The old man smiled. Begazzi is a wise bird. She will understand. Still, his smile faded. I don’t know that I can meet her like this. I won’t be able to keep control. The elemental will return.
Don’t let it, Justan urged. Assert your will. The elemental is just a personification of your own power. It is yours.
So you said the last time we spoke, Artemis said. He held up his left hand and Justan saw his nails darken again. It tries to regain control even now.
Justan shook his head, refusing to let go of this opportunity. He rushed forward and reached out with his thoughts to grasp his great grandfather’s hand. It was cold to the touch.
Look at this hand. Look at it! Justan turned the palm towards Artemis’ eyes so that he saw the rune clearly impressed on it. You are Artemis, so named by the Bowl of Souls. The fact that the rune is still here means that the Bowl still recognizes you. You are a master. A frost wizard. You cannot let your power control you.
Artemis laughed. The way you manipulate my feelings, you are indeed from Begazzi’s bloodline.
I’m a named wizard too, Justan said. Even if your presence blocks me from using my magic.
Staying in control will be a struggle, Artemis said. I would call it impossible if your stubborn refusal to believe that fact hadn’t convinced me.
Stay convinced, Justan insisted. I need your help. Your experience and insight will be invaluable to me. On top of that, the Dark Prophet is going to return at some point in the future. You still have a prophecy to fulfill.
So you believe that prophecy is still active? Artemis asked.
I do, Justan said. John told me so himself.
He tried to tell me so as well, now that I think about it. Artemis said, his brow furrowed in thought. The elemental tried to bite him for his trouble.
Justan remembered the frost covering the prophet’s finger that day and nodded. Please tell me you will do it. Stay in control.
Artemis rubbed at his chin. If it is going to be possible I will need your help.
Let me know what to do. I will help you in any way I can, Justan promised.
Then speak with me for a while longer. Help me hold on to my faculties while I figure out what to do. Just tell me what is going on in the world. There is so little that I have been able to hold onto from inside here while the elemental is in charge.
Of course, Justan said and he did so.
Justan stayed with Artemis for a long while, telling him what had gone on in the world during his long absence. Justan showed him memories of his journeys, shared stories of his bonded, tried anything he could think of to keep his great grandfather alert.
Artemus listened, deep in thought, sometimes he made the odd insightful observation, but those comments were few. Mostly the old wizard concentrated on keeping his form and he succeeded, holding the Scralag at bay throughout the night. Eventually, he held up a hand, bidding Justan to stop.
I think I have come to somewhat of an understanding of my situation, he said.
What is it? Justan asked.
It seems that I need to make a deal with this power of mine. The elemental has truly become sentient while I have convalesced. It does not want to give up control.
Alright, Justan said. What do I need to do?
You? he said. You have done enough. Leave me for a while. Let me see what I can do on my own. If you return in a few days to find that I have lost my battle, call for me again. Remind me of my wife and I will try again.
I will, Justan promised.
Very good. Now go, he said, making a shooing motion with his hands. Your other bonded are calling. Do you not hear them?
Now that he mentioned it, Justan did hear them.
Justan! Deathclaw said. Justan wake up!
Wake! Gwyrtha agreed.
Justan opened his eyes to see Deathclaw’s face glaring back at him. The dim light of early morning streamed in through the open tent door behind him. What is it?
“Look around, you fool,” the raptoid said.
“Oh!” Justan said, surprised to discover that the entire interior of his tent was coated with a thick layer of frost.
Chapter Six
Justan stumbled out of the tent. He trailed a frosty mist behind him despite the cool morning air. He brushed clinging bits of snow from his clothing and glanced around the rest of the camp. It was an orderly group of tents, though they didn’t keep to any particular formation like the strict lines of an academy camp.
The Roo-Tan warriors were in the process of preparing for the day’s journey. It was early enough that most of them were still cooking their breakfast at the various camp fires. The Roo-Tan used a different blend of spices in their cooking and ate a lot more reptile and amphibian than Justan was used to. The smell of many of the meats roasting was foreign to him.
Justan was relieved to see that no one was directing any looks of alarm his way. There were a few curious glances, but they were directed at the raptoid and the rogue horse. Justan couldn’t blame them. His two bonded were a fearsome sight; Deathclaw looking like a dragon in humanoid form, and Gwyrtha with her reptilian head and skin that was a patchwork mix of various animals.
He glanced back at the tent to see how bad it looked from the outside. There was a thin layer of frost, but it was only obvious in a couple patches. Justan decided that this was one area in which the tent’s thick material came in handy. With the tent flap closed, the only real way someone could tell something was off was that the tent was sagging and that could be explained by how bad of a job Justan had done setting it up.
I’ll fix it, Gwyrtha decided. The rogue horse approached the tent and licked at a patch of frost. Her large tongue stuck to the canvas for a moment and she jerked back. That is cold.
“These Roo-Tan will talk if it is discovered,” Deathclaw observed.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” Justan replied.
The peoples of Malaroo were notorious for their distrust of elemental magic. In past generations, there had been a prevailing belief that the elements were the realm of the gods. Spirit magic was a gift to mankind, but men who tried to steal the power of elemental magic for themselves were committing sacrilege. Wizards had been hunted down and expelled from the country. Even members of their own people that were born with the talent had been killed or banished.
Things had changed to a certain extent since then. Since taking a vow to protect the Jharro Grove, the Roo-Tan had become a much more tolerant people, but the old traditions still held some power. Elemental magic was seen as distasteful. Wizards were only rarely allowed into the country and were dealt with quite harshly if they tried to enter without announcing themselves.
Knowing this, and especially knowing how dearly her father held the old traditions, Jhonate had downplayed Justan’s talent for elemental magic. She had focused on his being a named warrior and a bonding wizard, two things that her people respected. Still, Justan had seen the way Xedrion e
yed the naming rune on the palm of his left hand with distrust. The fact that he was unable to use his elemental magic was likely part of the reason that Xedrion had allowed Justan’s betrothal to Jhonate to continue.
If any of the Roo-Tan soldiers saw his tent-full of frost, Justan’s reputation would take yet another black eye. Especially if a rumor spread that Justan couldn’t control his powers. If Xedrion decided that Justan was a danger to his daughter, things would get very uncomfortable. Justan realized that he wouldn’t be able to handle this issue on his own.
Jhonate, I need your help, he sent through the Jharro ring on his finger. She was on the far side of the camp and Justan could tell that she was deep in conversation with someone. He hoped that she wasn’t too distracted to hear him. His voice would be faint. The connection to Jhonate provided by the ring was a pale comparison to the bond he shared with his bonded.
What is it? she asked, her worry flaring through their connection. As it ended up, he had underestimated her concern for his safety. She had been monitoring the ring in case of an attack by the nightbeast.
When Justan told her what the issue was, she responded with an irritated sigh. Very well. I will be there soon. Keep the tent shut until I arrive. Try not to let anyone see it.
Alright. Please hurry, Justan said. Then he addressed Deathclaw. “She’s coming.”
“Why did this happen?” the raptoid asked. He folded his arms. “Were you being reckless again?”
“No,” Justan said. “At least no more than usual.”
Justan opened the flap and reached back inside the tent to fish around for his boots. They were next to his bedroll where he had left them, but they were partially frozen to the interior wall of the tent. When he jerked them free, a two-inch thick sheet of slowly melting frost fell from the ceiling onto his bedroll.
“Ugh, my blankets are going to be soaked after this thaws,” Justan griped.
“This would not have been a problem if you had not insisted on tearing down the barrier to that thing in your chest,” Deathclaw replied.
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