Rune of the Apprentice (The Rune Chronicles)

by Jamison Stone

  As he scanned the chamber, Nataraja noticed that the only thing out of place in the boy’s quarters was its very emptiness. Aleksi was gone, and yet there was no lingering smell of death. A sudden breeze blew through the open window, and Nataraja turned sharply, as if listening to a faraway sound. Dropping into a defensive stance, he extended one hand out in front of his chest, and a luminescent blue barrier emanated from his palm.

  Abruptly, a whirl of wind rose up from the night and a throwing knife flew in through the window. It ricocheted off Nataraja’s energetic shield, struck the wall, and fell to the wooden floor with a metallic clang. The room’s lamps were suddenly extinguished, and the chamber was plunged back into shadow. Nataraja had disappeared.

  A thick, smoky darkness silently seeped in through the open window. It spread out across the floor like heavy, shadowy vapor, its color blacker than a starless night. This darkness did not belong to Nataraja, yet he knew it well—it belonged to Nevain, his stepson and former Apprentice. Pooling over the floorboards, the darkness settled into the room’s corners and smothered all sound. Shrouding the chamber like black silk, it even drowned out the light of the moons. To most, this depth of gloom brought a terror that seemed to suck the very life out of all it touched. Nataraja, however, was not impressed.

  After a moment, a cloaked figure glided in through the window. Enveloped in a wispy mantle of the blackness, Nevain floated toward the center of the room, causing dark tendrils to swirl about his boots with each silent step. In a startling flash, he spun and threw three more daggers into the shadowed depths where Nataraja hid. The daggers, however, pierced the inky dark only to be buried in the wall with a loud thunk.

  The lamps suddenly flared, viciously burning away the black, causing Nevain to shield his light-sensitive eyes in anguish. Nataraja loomed behind the young man, seeming to materialize out of the room’s thinning darkness. Before Nevain could turn, Nataraja slammed his fist into the young man’s lower back, breaking his spine with an audible crack.

  Nevain’s mouth contorted in a soundless scream as his legs collapsed beneath him. Hitting the ground, the young man struggled to move but found his lower body numb. Flipping Nevain onto his back, Nataraja took two dark daggers from the young man’s belt and plunged them, one at a time, into Nevain’s hands, pinning him to the floor.

  “Is this how you killed your brother, La’vail?” Nataraja asked in a voice that was cold and controlled. “And now you plan to do the same to Aleksi?”

  “. . . Master Nataraja . . .” But before Nevain could say any more, his mouth slackened and his eyes rolled back into their sockets.

  As his stepson slipped out of consciousness, Nataraja placed a hand on the young man’s chest. Soft white light emanated from Nataraja’s palm, and Nevain’s body convulsed as his eyes wildly snapped back open.

  “My little shadow,” Nataraja continued, “if you wish to ever walk again, you will answer my questions quickly. You do not have much time.” Nataraja’s tone was tight, but his green eyes were alive with fury. “So I ask you again, is this how you killed your brother, La’vail?”

  “Master, please forgive me!” Fear rang in Nevain’s voice as he futilely struggled against the daggers pinning him to the floor. “All I have done has been under the direct order of High Master Asura! I swear it!”

  “So it was you that killed La’vail!” Nataraja bared his teeth and his face filled with rage. Nataraja took another knife from Nevain’s leather belt. The blade seemed to carnivorously swallow the light from the lamps. Seeing this, the young man’s green eyes grew even wider. “After all I have taught you, you dare to repay my love by murdering not just my son, but now my Apprentice, too? Nevain, I don’t care if High Arkai Kaisra commanded you to commit such an act. You are a fool to obey!”

  Nataraja plunged the dagger into Nevain’s gut. The young man gritted his teeth and grunted as Nataraja slowly twisted the blade. Blood seeped through Nevain’s cloak as his torn flesh glistened in the hot lamplight.

  “I have one last question for you, my lost Apprentice,” Nataraja said calmly as he continued to twist the dagger. “Did you come here alone or are there others? Speak quickly, or I will let you die.”

  “Father,” Nevain cried in anguish as the blade continued to gouge his stomach. “Please have mercy! Please!”

  “You are no son of mine,” Nataraja yelled, digging the dagger deeper into his stepson’s flesh. “Answer my question!”

  “I . . . I am alone! I swear it on Mother’s grave.”

  Nataraja lowered his head and let go of the dagger.

  “Please,” Nevain whispered with a soft desperation in his tone. “I can feel it. I can feel death taking me. Father, I beg you. Don’t let me die . . . I was only following our lord’s orders . . . both times.”

  After a long moment, Nataraja let out a great sigh and placed his right hand over the young man’s blood-soaked torso.

  A look of relief flooded across Nevain’s pale face. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Only following orders,” Nataraja whispered. “Oh, Nevain, that was my greatest folly. And for your sake, I am so very sorry . . .”

  Confusion crept into Nevain’s eyes.

  “Sleep well, my little shadow,” Nataraja continued sadly, “knowing that you have blindly served your lord’s will.” Nevain’s eyes widened as Nataraja’s hand glowed red. “I, however, will never make that mistake again . . .”

  A look of horror swept across Nevain’s face as his body emitted tremendous heat and light. “No, Master!” Nevain sputtered, as fire and pain flooded through his chest. “Asura will know of your betrayal!”

  “And by then,” Nataraja whispered, “it will not matter . . .”

  A fire raged inside the young man, burning out his lungs as he let out a soundless scream. “I send your soul back to High Arkai Kaisra,” Nataraja continued softly, as a tear ran down his cheek. “May he show you the forgiveness I never could . . .”

  Terra’s two moons still hung brightly in the starry sky. They had moved a great distance, however, and now shone through the room’s open window in a glorious shaft of silver brilliance. The elegant light framed Nevain’s lifeless body slumped on the floor. Idly staring up at the ceiling, his dull eyes reflected the moons’ soft glow. The cinders that were crusted around the gaping hole in the young man’s charred chest cavity were now cold, but despite the open window, the scent of burnt flesh still enveloped the room.

  “Kai’la, my love,” Nataraja said roughly with emotion thick in his voice. “Please forgive . . .” The Master sat some distance away on the bed. He held his head in callused and tearstained hands. “Please forgive me.”

  After several long moments, Nataraja raised his head and brushed away strands of damp hair. Turning to look out the window with raw eyes, he gazed down at the twinkling island of Adhira and Terra’s great ocean beyond.

  “Go fast, young Aleksi,” Nataraja whispered. “You are not ready for what follows you. Nor for what you will find . . .”

  Huddled on the deck of a small sailing ship, Aleksi watched the dawn of a new day break over the Eastern Zenith. The ship quickly surged westward, riding the wide channel’s unusually fast current to the island of Adhira. Although his heart still longed for one last glimpse of the majestic towers of his departed home, Aleksi knew he would not be able to see the Masters’ Academy at such a distance. So instead, the youth cast his gaze past the sky’s highest clouds and up to the mountain’s lofty crystalline peak as the shimmering Zenith shone its new rays of morning light.

  The morning’s damp breeze was piercingly cold. Instead of being illuminated by a sun, Terra received its daylight from the Zenith of each continent’s sacred spire mountain, a gift of the Arkai. As Aleksi watched the Eastern Zenith’s globe give off its first glimmering rays of light in the dark sky, he wrapped his sleeveless cloak tightly around himself.

  The one-masted vessel was bound for Mindra’s Haven, known by all as the shining star of Adhira and the most r
enowned city in the Eastern realm of Devdan. Mindra’s Haven, however, was not Aleksi’s final destination. Ultimately, he needed to find passage halfway across Terra’s great ocean to the war-torn Central Continent of Vai’kel. After Aleksi arrived in Vai’kel, the youth knew not where fate would take him—only that if he did not get there quickly, he would soon be dead.

  Other than a few low-denomination black pearls of currency, Aleksi had only the clothes on his back, the sword at his hip, and a frayed letter from Master Rudra in his pocket. Aleksi slipped a hand into his cloak and felt the cryptic message’s weathered parchment. It was smooth to his touch, worn from many attempts to decipher its occult meaning. Letting out a great sigh, Aleksi slipped the page from his pocket and silently reread the strange message by the growing light of the Zenith’s new dawn.

  Aleksi,

  I sense your Rune has finally begun to awaken. Others can feel it, too. Dark assassins have been sent to corrupt or kill you—to steal your Rune for their own or to prevent its power from entering this world. If they succeed, you will become the catalyst of the Guardians’ destruction, for it will be by your hand, or lack thereof, that Terra’s salvation will be plunged into darkness.

  To flee the grasping shadow, you must go to the city of ruin that the Guardians neglected. At the precipice of eternal ignorance, turn from the edge of darkness, for if at any time upon your journey you take a life in anger, you will fall willingly into the hands of those who hunt you. As the repercussions of your rage burn through your body, drink deeply from the light of Mindra—his power of compassion and healing is freely given if you can but open your heart to his eternal song.

  Next, find the ancestral place of healing which was once dedicated to the Northern light. As you search, give not into your temptation, but remember the Masters’ Vow. Once you arrive, let the wounded blindly run away from his fears. As you bear the token of your father while seated by a cold flame, a soon-to-be-resurrected leader will tell you to forsake your lineage. Save him from both flame and steel, for he will lead you to your safe passage before giving the children of Mindra a new hope against the looming shadow.

  As you search for your past, your house, and its fateful ruin, you will cross the sea on a ship of many facets. When torment returns, the myth of the moons and their holy birth will temporarily cleanse your wounds. As your mettle is tested, please remember: the truth is never as simple as a deceiver would lead you to believe. Contemplating your choices from the loft perched in light, do not unveil the truth of the noble, for the leader must seal the fate of his people untainted, lest he condemn us all to shadow. Finally, when you find Vai’kel’s last hope in dire need, give her your strength and trust in your heart, for it will be love that will save you both and awaken your true power.

  Most importantly, however, never forget that only I can teach you how to harness your Rune and protect yourself from its devastation. Until you have it mastered, you are a threat to both friend and foe alike. But fear not: your fissured heart will lead you to your answers, and then, finally, to me. I know that you have great faith but also great doubt—remember that both are needed, yet it will be great determination which will allow you to transcend to salvation.

  When you are well on the path, I will send word again. But remember to make all haste, my Apprentice, for shadows follow your every step. Never forget that if at any point on your journey you choose to fall prey to its alluring power, then its corruption will reign over Terra, eternal.

  ~Rudra

  Anxiety spread across Aleksi’s face and he looked down at his right palm. It was covered in a clean white bandage. The youth focused his mind and felt the nerves in the flesh of his hand pulse and burn with Runic power. It was as if sharp, white-hot tendrils spread out from his palm and extended into his fingers and wrist.

  Is the forsaken word of that man really worth abandoning Master Nataraja and my tutelage at the Academy, and defying the Masters’ Law? How can I trust him after what he did? Is that broken outcast truly worth dying for?

  A familiar soft blue light emanated from the flesh of Aleksi’s bandaged palm. Although it showed itself only infrequently, the glow had begun the same night Rudra’s letter appeared under his pillow. The light meant only one thing—Rudra was right, Aleksi’s Rune had begun to awaken. Rudra had told him many years ago that if left unguided by a trained Master, the Rune would send its metallic tendrils up his central nervous system and into his brain too quickly. Not only would this kill him, but dying in such a way would overload his newly synchronized Rune and cause an explosion of colossal magnitude. Anger welled up within Aleksi and, scowling, he crumpled Rudra’s letter in his bandaged fist.

  Whether it was right to leave or not, it does not matter now. The choice is made and there is no turning back . . .

  Huddling on the ship’s damp planks, Aleksi wrapped his hooded cloak around himself even tighter as he squinted and futilely tried one last time to make out the Masters’ Academy on the western slope of the towering Eastern Zenith. Despite his Rune, Aleksi knew it no longer mattered if Rudra’s ominous letter was true or false. The moment Aleksi had left his Academy, he had sealed his fate. The youth now had no choice but to continue to follow Rudra’s cryptic path and do his best to outrun both the Academy’s Enforcers and the Shadow Assassins.

  Aleksi let out a great sigh. Even worse, if the letter was accurate, then those who followed him would be the least of Aleksi’s worries. Born in the South and now known only as Terra’s Bane, Rudra was a forsaken Master hunted the world over—yet if he was telling the truth, Rudra was also the youth’s only hope of survival. For although much of the letter was cryptic and confusing, one thing was perfectly clear—Aleksi looked down to his glowing palm once again—his Rune was beginning to awaken, and the youth was therefore in unfathomable danger.

  CHAPTER I

  Majestic clouds glided above the fissured island of Adhira before disappearing into the horizon beyond. At the center of the island lay Mindra’s Haven, the former capital of Devdan and home to the greatest trading port on the Eastern Continent.

  In an age long past, the island of Adhira was shattered during a fierce battle of ascendancy waged between Terra’s deific protectors and the invading Dark Ones. Legends say that the Dark Ones periodically descend from the stars to steal Terra’s sacred power—a power that radiates up from Terra’s core into her mountains’ crystal Zeniths, giving Terra her light and warmth.

  In response to each invasion of the East, Mindra, High Arkai and leader of the Eastern Guardians, was said to have flown down from his Zenith with his ethereal legions to fight the attackers. The stories say that in the most recent encounter, the Guardians once again repelled the Dark Ones and secured an age of peace for the planet and her peoples. Despite this, the island of Adhira was scarred deeply by the conflict—for wherever the Dark Ones had touched, only ruin remained.

  To bring healing and renewal, the Guardians remained in Mindra’s Haven for a generation. While among the people, they taught the secret ways of Numina and ushered in an age of rebuilding, renaissance, and enlightenment. Devdan’s capital was rebuilt during this time and prospered greatly. At the heart of the city, a grand and noble temple was constructed so all could receive the Guardians’ numinous teachings. Many came and went, until the saying “I have been to Mindra’s Haven” came to denote one’s faith in the Guardians’ great power and divine grace.

  Sadly, after the Guardians returned to their home and the ages passed on, the peoples of Terra began to lose their way. In this Modern Age, with the ancient history of the destruction and divine rebirth of Mindra’s Haven receding into the mists of time, the former capital no longer ruled over the now politically divided continent of Devdan. However, in spite of many generations of territorial wars, Adhira was still able to maintain a fraction of its former glory, and Mindra’s Haven, the jewel of the island, remained a place of pilgrimage. Although no longer seen as a seat of divine power, the city still acted as the Eastern hub of inter
national trade while also providing culture, Runic assistance, and military protection to the peoples whom it had once governed so many years ago.

  Even though any factual record of these legends had been lost to all but the Masters in their occult Academies, the Eastern peoples still held on to the hope that High Arkai Mindra’s great hall would once again serve as a place of holy revitalization for the Eastern Continent. To fulfill this hope, Mehail Bander, Chair of Adhira’s High Council, had proclaimed there was to be a gathering of the three prime leaders of Devdan’s Eastern realm on the eve of High Arkai Mindra’s annual festival. This meeting was to create Devdan’s Covenant of Eastern Amity, a treaty that would shape the destiny of the continent, if not the whole planet of Terra.

  Inspired by the prospect of reunification, Devdan’s citizens had been locked in hopeful anticipation of the festival for many long months. Their wait, however, had come to an end, for the festival was to commence at dusk.

  As the clouds streamed from the shining sea toward Adhira’s fertile fields, myriad great ships surged on the currents entering and exiting the mouth of the large island’s foremost western channel, known as Honor’s Gate. The deep channel, a remnant scar of the Dark Ones’ attack, cut through the island, wrapping around the much smaller landmass of Mindra’s Haven. As the epicenter of Adhira, Mindra’s Haven was the locus of ancient destruction and the Guardians’ generous rebirth.

  Beyond the fort on the eastern side of Mindra’s Haven, the harbor shallowed into a marshy estuary where large docks were used by residents, fishermen, and coastal traders. The domestic merchandise exchanged ranged from rare hari pelts, found only on the Eastnorthern windswept steppes of the Pa’laer, to the mysterious amala fruit, traded from the Akasha people in the Farden forest to the Eastsouth. As always in such harbors, however, the farther into the marshes one traveled, the more the rough-and-tumble traded in goods less reputable. There was even talk that for the right price, Eastern smugglers sold shards of Runic Power Armor, mysterious weapons, and other outlawed ancient equipment scavenged in the badlands and ruined cities out past the Eastern Zenith. Although only the boldest dared defy the Masters to go all the way to the impenetrable mountain range of Dagger’s Veil, many adventurers risked life and limb to search beyond the Modern Age’s boundaries of civilization for a chance to find relics of ages past and reap their powerful rewards.