Rune of the Apprentice (The Rune Chronicles)

by Jamison Stone

  “Indeed, we do have an apothecary specializing in Northern wares,” the old man continued. “It’s that one there. The hand clutching an orb of green light. It was called the Emerald Promise.” Many of the young men at the table were now nodding. Katar, however, lowered his head over his mug. “Eamon was the owner’s name. He defected from the North a good many years ago.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Aleksi said in a careful tone. “Where can I find Eamon and his shop?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, lad,” the old man said, shaking his head. “I was not clear. Yes, he is part of the guild; once a member, always a member. Unless you’re expelled, that is.” The old man shot a scolding glance at Katar. “But Eamon died just a few years after the Vai’kel Unification War, if memory serves.”

  Aleksi’s heart sank.

  “His shop is still there, though, somewhere down an alley on Parmenth Street, although I’m not exactly sure which one. The sign still hangs proudly, though, of that I’m sure. Although it is a little dirty now, I’d wager.”

  “After all this time the shop is still there?”

  “’Tis guild law,” the old man chuckled. “If there is a death, the guild magistrate waits ten years for a next of kin to claim the shop and repay any debts. The guild pays the land taxes in the meantime, which are meager here in Old City. If it’s unclaimed after the ten, it belongs to the guild. It’s a pretty good deal they have worked out for themselves.”

  “How can I find the exact address of the Emerald Promise?”

  The old man tapped his nose. “If an old-timer like myself can’t remember, your only option is to ask the magistrate tomorrow morning to open the official Runic ledger and look.”

  “. . . Tomorrow?” Once again, Aleksi felt anxiety clutch his heart. “It can’t be done sooner?”

  “The magistrate has gone home for the day in preparations for tonight’s festivities.” The old man eyed Aleksi carefully, causing the youth to avert his gaze. “Come to think of it, I think the shop’s ten years are just about up. Where did you say you were from again? You wouldn’t happen to be next of kin, would you?”

  “No,” Aleksi said, pausing uneasily. “A . . . teacher of mine told me to speak with Eamon, nothing more. Thank you for your time, sir. Please excuse me.” Aleksi made a bow to the old man and quickly replaced his hood before turning on his heel and walking toward the door.

  Aleksi soon found that Parmenth Street was one of the longest in the entire city, second only to the main boulevard itself. This street, however, instead of going straight, wound around and merged with other streets in a weaving, patternless mess. Aleksi wished he could have gotten better directions at the Apothecary Guild but also hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention than he already had.

  Along the way, Aleksi asked others on Parmenth Street if they knew of an apothecary named the Emerald Promise. Sadly, no one seemed to know what he was talking about, and after they realized he was not going to buy anything, they shooed him away.

  Aleksi quickened his pace angrily. The jagged cobblestones were another difference from Guardians’ Plaza, and despite his sturdy boots, they made walking very uncomfortable. To make matters worse, Aleksi knew he did not have much time before the Zenith’s rays would begin to grow dim. With no wae’yrr trees here in Old City, he would have to move quickly if he wanted to search by light.

  Dusk descended as the Zenith’s light dimmed into a soft ocher glow. Continuing to walk down Parmenth Street, Aleksi saw two gaunt children playing by the side of the road. They were covered in dirt, wore tattered clothes, and had two sticks and a round rock. They hit the rock back and forth with the sticks until a woman, presumably their mother, walked up to them. In the fading light, Aleksi recognized her by her worn patchwork dress. He watched as she removed a crusty loaf of bread from her bag and the children sprang up eagerly.

  Seeing its small size, however, one of the children began to cry. The woman tried her best to soothe the child as she broke the bread in half. By the way the young ones devoured it, the bread was likely the only food they had had all day. The suffering of the broken family cut deeply into Aleksi’s chest. He was unsure, however, which pained him more: to see the children go hungry, or to see a mother in such a desperate situation still display so much kindness and determination.

  Has High Arkai Mindra truly forsaken those who need him most? What divine justice has brought this family to such poverty and ruin—brought this mother to such destitution?

  Aleksi reached into his pocket and pulled out a black pearl. Even though the light was quickly fading, he could clearly see the pearl’s multicolored Runes shimmer across its surface like oil on water. This pearl was of a low “stack,” signifying its low concentration and worth. Despite this, it was more than enough to not only provide food for the mother and her children for months, but also pay her debt to the Apothecary Guild with money left over for supplies. Aleksi twisted the pearl between thumb and forefinger and Runicly split the stacked pearl into ten new pearls of a lesser concentration. Each was of the exact same size as the original but possessed a lighter Runic color and lower one-tenth stack denomination. One of the new pearls could easily feed the family for over a month but would not provide enough for the woman to reopen her store and regain the ability to truly provide for her children.

  The Academy teaches that a Master’s role is to protect, for the weak fall prey to the powerful. And yet, at the Academy they cull the weak in order to fortify Terra’s strength against the encroaching darkness. But is this justice not the same that they teach against—is it not grounded only in the interest of power? What of those who do not fight the darkness by wielding a sword in battle? What truly is strength? Is it not this family whom the Masters should protect and nourish the most? Is not this woman’s strength—the power of love and determination—an even greater power against the Dark Ones?

  Before he had left the Academy, Aleksi had gone to great lengths to take these pearls from the vast stores sequestered away in the Eastern Academy vaults. They were all he had but more than enough for his journey to Vai’kel. As he weighed the ten new pearls in his hand, he looked over at the mother and children. Their paltry dinner was now gone and the second child had begun to cry as well. Aleksi’s heart ached and a tear slid down his cheek. The woman sat down by the side of the road and held her children close to her chest, rocking back and forth as she whispered gentle words. Closing his fist around the cluster of black pearls and causing them to Runicly reform back into their original stacked orb, Aleksi took a deep breath and walked across the cobblestones to her.

  All have forsaken this family—their city, their guild, and even their Arkai. The Masters claim to use their power to serve the people, but they are no different than the rest. They clutch at power for power’s sake . . . Well, I refuse to live my life at the expense of others. There must be another way, and I will find it!

  Bathed in the last of the Zenith’s artificial red twilight, Aleksi stopped before the woman and extended his hand and the pearl—offering her all the money he had. “May Mindra’s blessing be bestowed upon you and yours.”

  Startled, the woman bolted up and stood motionless as her children clung to her ragged dress. Although tears still ran from their wide eyes, both children were now quiet and scared. The woman’s eyes flashed from the iridescent black pearl in Aleksi’s outstretched palm to his sword, and finally settled on Aleksi’s hooded green eyes. Holding her children close, the woman took an uneasy step backward.

  Aleksi could feel both her desperate desire to take the pearl and also her deep apprehension and fear. He extended his hand farther, saying, “Earlier today you called upon the grace of the Guardians. Please consider this as a gift given freely from the Arkai—nothing more.”

  Just as the woman was about to take another step backward, the dying light of the Zenith reflected off a nearby window and shone onto Aleksi’s freshly tearstained face. As she saw the pain and compassion in Aleksi’s watering eyes, the mother’s fear e
vaporated. Releasing her children, she rushed to Aleksi and embraced him. Unsure of what to do, Aleksi stood motionless as she held him tightly.

  “Wherever she is now,” the woman said, pressing her cheek against Aleksi’s chest, “I know your mother is very proud of you. Thank you, son. Thank you . . .”

  Something inside of Aleksi crumbled and tears ran down his face. As the woman continued to hold him close, Aleksi gently placed his arms around her. He then felt his chest heave as he silently sobbed. Aleksi could not remember a single thing about his mother, let alone the last time anyone had held him.

  After some time, the woman released him, and after giving her the black pearl, Aleksi nodded a silent farewell. As darkness overcame the sky and stars twinkled overhead, Aleksi left the family and continued on for hours as if wandering in a daze.

  Aleksi shook his head. The night was dark and he was utterly lost. He was covered in a sheen of anxious sweat despite the cool evening breeze off the water. The youth felt his heartbeat pounding in his skull painfully. His entire body ached and his feet throbbed with every step. Although his bandaged palm hurt most of all, its Runic light had long since grown dark.

  Around him only a few of the neighboring buildings were lit, and poorly at that. One of Terra’s moons had risen, but it lay low on the horizon. The tall buildings of Guardians’ Plaza obscured its soft blue light. By now, Aleksi was so deep into Old City that it felt like a forsaken barrow of the dead. Nearly all of the buildings’ windows were broken, and many of the adjacent doors were boarded up. As Aleksi stalked on, the only sounds he heard were his own boots on the cobblestones and the rough breath in his chest.

  Angrily, Aleksi threw back his hood. He knew he should stop, calm his mind, and ease his agitation. Or at least, find some food or water—he had hardly eaten all day, and his head hurt terribly from dehydration. But instead of stopping, Aleksi felt his body move of its own volition, searching restlessly for the apothecary. He had nowhere else to go and nothing to return to. He also had little time left if Rudra was to be believed. He needed to find the Emerald Promise, and soon. Fueled by pure desperation, he willed his body to continue and he searched on.

  What seemed like hours later, Aleksi entered an intersection where half a dozen streets, lanes, and alleys all came together in a jumbled disaster. Aleksi threw up his arms in exasperation. He had been going in circles! The moons had fully risen and now illuminated the dirty streets in an eerie blue light. The youth was beyond tired and his body was fueled by restless delirium.

  Looking about, Aleksi saw that there were sporadic trash piles on the side of the road next to slumped bodies huddled in the alleyways. Aleksi hoped they were just sleeping. Other than those sprawled on the ground, he had hardly seen anyone in the past several hours of searching these back alleys. The thought of tripping over a corpse made his empty stomach churn painfully.

  In a brief moment of clarity, Aleksi realized everyone must be in Guardians’ Plaza enjoying Mindra’s Festival. The youth let out a caustic laugh. They all were drinking and celebrating, while he, and those too feeble to walk, haunted the back alleys of what felt more like a crypt than a city!

  Taking a deep breath to calm his mind, Aleksi turned his face up to the sky. Closing his eyes, he said a desperate prayer to the moons, Rahu and Ketu. He felt their blue light shine softly upon his face. Sadly, he felt no divine inspiration or heavenly guidance.

  Walking again, he turned right and went down another alleyway he hoped he had not yet explored. When he came to an intersection, he then went right again and continued down a slightly wider thoroughfare. His knuckles grew white clutching his blade’s scabbard, and he pushed on. His body burned and his head ached, but there was no stopping. If he did not find whatever Rudra had sent him here for, all would be lost.

  Just as Aleksi felt the urge to backtrack, he turned a corner and suddenly stopped; across the street stood the sagging remains of an old shop. Its windows were dark and its worn sign hung loosely above a boarded-up door. Aleksi crossed the street, unconsciously holding his breath.

  He then saw it—the faded image of an upturned hand with a ball of green light inside its grasp. Despite the dirt on the carved sign, he could read the painted words clearly by the light of the moons: THE EMERALD PROMISE.

  Aleksi let out a great sigh of relief that seemed to echo throughout the dark alley.

  CHAPTER IV

  Beck sighed as he watched Arva Vatana approach the officials’ side gate to Mindra’s Temple. Bathed in moonlight, the horse lord was followed by an orderly phalanx of his own Pa’laer bodyguards and the High Council Honor Guard dispatched to protect him. As the men came closer, Beck nodded to the sentries manning the temple’s interior gate. They, too, were keenly eyeing Arva and his armed entourage. At Beck’s command, however, the large gate slowly swung open with the sound of creaking metal.

  Arva let his gaze drift across the manicured temple gardens as the gate opened upon grounds separated from the public parks. The officials’ entrance was reserved for the council and other officers of state, and was surrounded by gardens of the highest quality. Beck assumed the Pa’laer horse lord was not used to such extravagances on his vast plains across Devdan’s sea channel.

  Beck cleared his throat and walked up to Arva. The Pa’laer lord still sat astride his stallion, and as he saw Beck a small contemptuous smile spread across the horse lord’s lips.

  “Lord Vatana,” Beck said, slightly bowing his head. “I trust the tour of the city was to your liking?” Beck paused, but Arva did not respond. The large man’s eyes fixed on Beck’s scar, and his smile deepened. Beck’s tone grew icy as he continued. “Mehail Bander, Chair of the High Council, will greet you in the Council Hall. Please dismount and follow me.”

  Unwavering atop his horse, Arva continued to eye Beck as a Pa’laer guard approached. The soldier placed a steady hand on his lord’s warhorse and Arva dismounted with surprising grace. Arva hardly acknowledged the other man’s existence as he handed off the reins and strode toward the temple.

  Beck grimaced. A man’s decency could easily be known by how he treated his vassals. Turning, Beck led the small group under a large archway into the foyer entrance. As they approached, two sentries opened the temple’s wide doors and saluted. Beck nodded to each man as he passed. They entered in silent procession and the doors closed behind them.

  Illuminated by innumerable ever-burning lamps and a tremendously long chandelier, the column of men walked up the formal circular staircase known as Magistrate’s Gallery. The many-story stairwell was wide and steep as it corkscrewed its way into the temple’s heights. Deep-navy rugs stitched with ornate golden embroidery covered its steps, and paintings of renowned Eastern officials from ages past adorned the walls. The pictures hung in lavish golden frames that reflected the flickering flames of the chandelier that cascaded from ceiling to floor.

  The Pa’laer men and the High Council Honor Guard remained a respectful distance behind Beck and Arva as they climbed past the looming faces of the long-dead Devdan magistrates. After slowly ascending to the cylindrical room’s peak, the group emerged into the Officials’ Hall. Breaking across the threshold, Arva paused and looked up at the great embossed golden ceilings. Hung with more chandeliers and embossed with silver mosaics to mimic the starry sky, the hall’s dome caught the eye of all who entered.

  Beck waited a moment before leading the group on through the cavernous expanse. The sound of the men’s boots echoed against the arched ceiling as they strode on solemnly. After crossing the chamber, they went up another winding staircase and finally came to two large doors gilded with elaborate flowers. The doors opened up into one of the most famed possessions of Mindra’s Haven, the Night Gardens.

  To get to the Council Hall, one had no choice but to walk through these gardens and bear witness to their splendor. The flowers, and the large garden beds where they rested, were a renowned gift left by the Guardians. The blossoms that grew from these beds were the only ones of th
eir kind in all of Terra, or so the scholars said. A “teaching gift,” the luminescent Zenith dwellers had called them, given to help the council members contemplate their duty, role, and station.

  Some of Beck’s fondest childhood memories were in this elaborate garden. Beck’s father, a former High Councilman, had often brought Beck to these gardens in his youth. Beck assumed his father had done it to inspire him to follow in his father’s footsteps of leading the people of Mindra’s Haven. And while some might say Beck had done just that, Beck often mused that his leading them into battle had not been his father’s intention.

  Beck opened the doors himself. Entering into the gardens, the group came upon rows and rows of elegant flowers surrounding a long marble path. In the middle of the room was an ornately carved fountain bubbling in the silence. Overhead, a crystal-domed ceiling was seemingly open to the sky above. During the Zenith’s light of day, the room was pretty, but nothing particularly unique. At night, however, anyone could see that the garden’s blossoms were spectacular. For under the light of the stars, the flowers of the Night Gardens bloomed and died in rapid succession over the span of mere seconds.

  As a child, Beck thought it was incredible. If he came in the afternoon, the flowers would remain stoic and unchanging for hours and hours. But as dusk approached, the flowers would wilt, die, and then bloom anew right before his eyes. He could clearly recall the childish sadness he felt watching their petals fall to the ground, and then the eager excitement when a new bud would instantly grow underneath. Now, walking down the garden’s path with Arva close in tow, Beck felt a measure of tension release from his body. It was impossible to not be affected by the flowers and their strange dance of death and rebirth.