Serpent's Mark (Snakesblood Saga Book 1)
Page 32
“It’s not like that,” Firal protested. Yet, some part of her had hoped for those things. Instead, he’d been unrepentant and stubborn and had driven home how wrong she’d been. She wet her lips before going on. “There’s too much to explain. I had to go out there, just one last time. I said I would meet him. We had a deal. I said I would help him, but after this...I changed my mind.”
Shymin crossed her arms. “Help him with what?”
How could she answer? The acrid smell of ash burned in her nose, reminding Firal of what she had done. “Daemon is...he’s Gifted.”
Marreli’s paperweight clunked to the floor.
“Gifted!” Shymin cried. “First, you expect us to believe in Underlings, and now this?”
“That was him, wasn’t it?” Marreli tugged her braids, her eyes alight. “The man in black, who danced with you at the ball?”
Both Shymin and Firal gaped.
“Yes,” Firal managed after a moment. “It was.”
Shymin’s features crumpled into a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’ve been teaching him!”
“It was part of our agreement.” Firal wrung the skirt of her robe between her hands. “How we got to Ilmenhith in the first place. He made me promise to show him how to control it in exchange for taking me to Ilmenhith.”
Indignation burned on Shymin’s face. “You’re not authorized to teach.”
“Aren’t you listening? He’s a wild mage!” Desperation crept into Firal’s voice and made her chest grow tight. “You know what happens if a mage doesn’t learn to control their Gift. Would you let him destroy himself? Regardless of what you think of him, or his people, or what happened here, letting him tear himself apart with his own Gift is against everything the temple stands for.”
Shymin clamped her mouth shut and fumed.
“And even if it wasn’t, would you really want a wild mage against us?” Firal glanced to Marreli. “Knowing no limits, not caring to preserve himself, if only because he doesn’t know any better? Wild magic is more dangerous, more destructive than anything else we could face.”
Both her companions shivered. Firal nodded, half to herself, half to agree with their discomfort. Wild magic was stronger than anything taught or controlled, but it was power at risk of the user’s life. Natural elements, like windstorms or raging fires, could draw out a wild mage’s power. With no idea how to monitor themselves, they had no way to restrain it. Some first-year magelings experienced it. Not all survived. Firal had never seen it, but the idea of a mage being seized by the very power they sought to manipulate was frightening enough.
“So I taught him basics,” Firal said, softer. “The most simple things I could. Just enough to be sure he was in control of his power and not the other way around. But it doesn’t matter. The deal is off.” Her shoulders sank as she spoke and she rubbed her forehead as if to smooth away her worry.
“Firal, if you taught him how to wield magic, and the temple was attacked by men from the ruins...” Shymin trailed off.
“I know.” For an instant, Firal felt the sting of tears. She breathed deep and it dissipated. “I made a mistake. I know. And I’ve already been punished for it. The only reason I agreed to do it was because it gave me the chance to ask the court mages about my mother. And then because I did it, the only way for me to find out who she was was destroyed.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Shymin said.
“Yes I do.” Firal clenched her fists in her robes and sank to the floor. Ashes stirred and swirled around her like snowfall. “I found them, Shymin. In the library this morning. The records from Ilmenhith. They’re gone. Every single one, burned, ruined.” Unable to fight anymore, she closed her eyes. Tears coursed down her cheeks, leaving pale trails through smudges of soot.
Marreli crept closer and wrapped her arms around Firal’s shoulders. Firal turned her head to bury her face against the smaller girl’s chest as the first sob wracked her. Shymin joined them, and together they sat among the ruins of everything Firal had ever known.
She had done it to herself, robbed herself of all she’d ever wanted. Yet some things could not be taken, and comfort came in the warmth of her friends’ embrace.
Firal cried until her ribs ached, until her tears ran dry. Then, finally, she wiped her face and sat back. Heavy bands of grief still wrapped her chest and constricted her breath, but the new emptiness came with a subtle sense of peace.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Shymin murmured. “You’re not responsible for what other people do with power.”
“We won’t tell the Masters,” Marreli whispered, smoothing Firal’s hair.
Shymin nodded and wiped her own cheeks. “We’ll help you how we can.”
“Thank you,” Firal choked out.
“What can we do?” Shymin asked. “What will you do? If you don’t have the ruins, and you can’t find your mother...”
Firal sniffled and wiped her face again. The tears left dirty smudges on her cheeks. “All I’ve ever done is study. It’s all I’m good at. I wasn’t certain at first, but with everything I’ve learned, I think...I think I’m going to teach.”
“Here?” Shymin asked, surprised.
Firal nodded. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking of what would happen when I found my parents, of trying to be something that would make them proud. I never stopped to think about what was important to me. But I care about this. I care about learning, about helping people learn.”
“The temple doesn’t retain many Masters as teachers, but your grades have always been so good,” Marreli said, her dark eyes shining. “I’m sure they’d keep you. You could even be the one to replace Master Nondar, someday.”
“It’s a good calling,” Shymin agreed. “You’ve always been so dedicated to your studies.”
“I think I’d enjoy it.” Firal wouldn’t say as much, but she had enjoyed her lessons with Daemon. If nothing else, at least meeting him had set her on the right path.
Marreli stood and pulled Firal to her feet. “You should go speak to Nondar about it.”
“What? Right now?” Firal scrubbed her cheeks with her dingy sleeve.
“Yes, right now!” Shymin agreed. “Before you change your mind.”
Before she lost her nerve, Firal suspected she meant. “But I hardly know what to say.”
“Just tell him what you told us. Ask him to point you in the right direction. It’ll give you something else to look forward to. Something to keep your mind off of...” Shymin cleared her throat as her eyes wandered the ruined office. “Well, you know.”
Firal gulped and nodded. She was right. A distraction from the ache of loss that had settled in her chest would be welcome. “Will the two of you be all right here without me?”
“Of course we will,” Marreli assured her.
Mustering a smile, Firal bowed her head in silent thanks and tip-toed back to the door. She paused once, resting her fingertips on the blackened stone and looking back.
Shymin nodded in reassurance, and Firal hurried on.
Fat gray clouds hung low in the sky and thunder growled in the distance as Firal made her way to the Archmage’s tower. Magelings rushed out the open double doors with oiled cloth in their hands and distress on their faces. Numerous piles of unsorted debris sat about the temple courtyard, all in need of protection from the rain. Who knew what was still there to be salvaged?
A cold raindrop hit her cheek just before she reached the tower, and Firal looked skyward. Some things never changed. She wiped away the water and slid inside.
Halfway up the tower, the high-ranking Masters had been afforded small, private offices. Though she hadn’t had a reason to venture into them before now, it was not difficult to find Nondar’s. The temporary office was bursting with dried herbs and bottles of medicine recovered from his storerooms. The rich, spicy scent was noticeable from anywhere on that floor.
Firal crept to the open doorway and peered inside.
Nondar sat beside the window with hi
s back to the door, watching as the first raindrops fell. Though there was no glass in the windows, the rain did not enter. For a moment, she wondered if the old Master held it at bay.
“I did receive the letter, you know,” Nondar said. “The one from Temar.”
Ducking her eyes, Firal stepped into his office and clasped her hands together. “How did you know it was me?”
“Every mage bears a unique presence. No two Gifts are alike. With time, you will learn to tell them apart, too.” The old Master stroked his beard in thought. Unlike the other Masters she’d seen about, his robes were stained gray with ash. Whether it was from sorting the supplies brought up to him or from searching for them in the rubble himself, she did not know.
“What did she write?” Firal asked, unsure what else to say.
“That she granted you permission to review all Ilmenhith’s archives, along with the temple’s private archives, if they were necessary for you to find what you sought.”
Her throat tightened. The court Master had bestowed her a great gift, only for it to slip through her fingers as ash. “I appreciate that she’s a woman of her word.”
“You would like her, I believe,” Nondar said. “Temar is a good woman. I am sure if she had the means, she would have helped you further. But she did not. And neither will the records anymore, I’m afraid.”
“I know.” Firal paced closer. “Thank you, Master Nondar.”
“I did not realize the records had been moved to Kirban.” He rested his hands atop his cane. His fingers flexed, his knuckles white. “It was not within my authority to allow you to read them before you wear white. But had I known the records were stored here, I would have tried.”
A sense of comfort stirred inside her, a diffuse warmth that pushed against the ache and sadness that had cooled her heart. Firal closed her eyes and clung to it. Nondar was a good man, grandfatherly and kind. No matter how her crushed hopes hurt, she still had him. “Thank you, Master. I appreciate that. But I came to speak with you about something else.”
He cocked his head and cast her curious look from the corner of one mage-blue eye.
Firal twisted her fingers, as if movement could soothe her nerves. She inched closer and drew a breath. “My whole life has been consumed by wanting to know my parents. I never thought much beyond trying to reach the white so I could impress them, whoever they were.” She knelt beside his chair and rested her hands in her lap. “I suppose in some ways, I thought knowing them would help me know myself. To know what I wanted.”
Nondar raised one thick brow. “And now that you’ve been robbed of the chance to find their legacy?”
“I think it’s time to start building my own.”
He chuckled and reclined in his chair. “Who sent you?”
Her cheeks reddened. “What do you mean?”
“A life’s calling does not change in the span of a week, child. Don’t hurry from one to another, no matter who urges you. When the temple is rebuilt, we will speak of what you wish to do. It’s best if you take this time to reflect on it.”
“But what if I’m already sure?”
Nondar ticked a gnarled finger at her. “Then you will still be sure two weeks from now.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you think the temple will be able to rebuild?”
“It has before,” he said with a shrug. “Just before you were born, in fact.”
Her brow furrowed. “You told me that you didn’t know my mother.”
“I didn’t.” Nondar’s face softened with a smile. “But I knew you. A tiny babe, entrusted to us. The strongest Masters were certain you would be Gifted. You cannot imagine their delight in discovering you were. And strong in it, too.”
Firal blushed again, this time with pride. Compliments from the old Master were few and far between. “Do you think I’m strong enough to become a teacher?”
“I believe you are strong enough to do anything you set your mind to, child. And when the temple is restored, we will know for sure.”
She closed her amber eyes and savored his words. She did not feel strong; her weakness had caused grief for everyone. But she respected Nondar, and he had no reason to lead her astray. She nodded as she pushed herself up from the floor.
Nondar tilted his head as she turned away. “Where are you going?”
To forge a new life. To start again. To set her path in motion.
Firal paused at the door and smiled. “To rebuild.”
The Snakesblood Saga continues in book 2, Serpent’s Tears.
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About the Author
Beth Alvarez has enjoyed writing since childhood and is a ravenous reader.
A visual arts major, Alvarez has worked as a freelance web designer, graphic designer, illustrator, and video game programmer. When not writing, she enjoys drawing, playing video games, driving, and sewing for her unusual collection of Asian ball-jointed dolls. Her collection can be seen on her YouTube channel, Lomi’s Playground.
Raised in southern Illinois, she now resides in the suburbs of Memphis, Tennessee with her husband and daughter, their Siberian husky, and a very mean cat.
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Books by Beth Alvarez
FANTASY BOOKS
Gale’s Gift
Of Blood and Rain
To Steal the World
To Steal the Crown
To Steal the Queen (Coming June 2020)
Serpent’s Mark (Thanks for reading!)
Serpent’s Tears (Coming May 2020)
PARANORMAL BOOKS
Keeper’s Finder
Her Midnight Cowboy
Her Midnight Wedding
The First Hunt (Newsletter Exclusive)
Death of the Sun
Born of the Moon