Xavorin sneered at Kaijin then returned his attention to Jarial. “So it is true, then? This reckless boy is your student?”
Jarial bristled. “Yes, he is, and he does not need to hear about a crazed necromancer’s motives.”
“How dare you judge me, Jarial Glace? I am trying to cure myself of this disease.”
Kaijin’s gaze bounced back and forth between the two adults as their voices rose. The growing tension in the air fueled the rage in his flustered mind.
Why, Rorick? Kaijin thought, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists until his knuckles whitened. Why did you have to leave? He strained to hold back the burning tears when a warm sensation filled his body. He shuddered. Briefly, he saw the world around him transition to a deep auburn color before returning to its normal state. Kaijin felt something urge him to lash out at the two men.
* * *
Jarial spied the sudden change in the boy’s eyes and sensed the increased magical aura around him. From above, he heard Miele’s frantic screech echoing the boy’s rage. He watched the bat flap about in circles near the ceiling before diving at him. Jarial quickly shielded his face, and the bat grazed his arm, puncturing a tiny hole in the sleeve of his robe with her fangs. Jarial hissed, gave Kaijin’s hair another firm tug hair before shoving him to the floor. “Damn it, boy!”
As Kaijin hit the floor, the orange glow in his sienna eyes faded, the strange aura subsided, and he collapsed onto his back.
Miele ceased her cries and calmed, returning to the ceiling above the stairs.
Xavorin remained silent as he observed the chaos, indifferent to Kaijin’s abuse.
“I will leave, Jarial.” Xavorin rested his hand on the door handle. “I will leave and never return. The spirits will find me, and they will consume me. When they have had their fill, their insatiable desires will keep them hungry for more.” He narrowed his eyes at Jarial. “You will be to blame should death befall this city and all of its residents! You are nothing but a selfish, ungrateful bastard! See you in the Abyss, Jarial Glace. I will be waiting.”
Before Jarial had a chance to retort, Xavorin slammed the front door behind him and was gone. Jarial narrowed his eyes at Kaijin, grabbed a handful of his hair, and lifted the boy to his knees.
* * *
Kaijin squirmed and reached up in a failed attempt to tug Jarial’s hand away from his hair. He cried in painful defeat, “I only heard that he was a necromancer! That was all! I swear! Please let me go, Master!”
Jarial momentarily studied him before releasing his grip.
“I swear, I won’t tell anyone about this, Master!” Kaijin wailed. “I just—”
“How did you do that?”
Kaijin regarded the mage curiously. “Do what, Master?”
“That sudden spike of magic was evident in your eyes. Tell me how you did it.”
“I don’t—I don’t know what you mean, Master.”
Jarial sneered. “You know exactly what I mean, boy.”
Kaijin gulped and tried to recall the details. He examined his hands and noticed sweat beading in the palms. “I was ... angry ...” he said slowly. “... angry at Rorick for leaving ... angry at Miele for being such a bad bat and not listening to me ... angry at all the yelling ... it just ... it made me want to ...” He scowled. With his recollections, he felt a similar sensation building in him, rekindling his spirit’s inner flames.
“Kaijin ... Sora ...” he listened to his name whispered in his mind by an unknown entity. The voice sounded almost exactly like fire crackling. It hissed at the boy as if in avid anticipation.
Kaijin heard the voice, but he didn’t respond. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them, seeing red. The image of Jarial was a blur. Kaijin took steady, nervous breaths, unable to control whatever was inside him. It was a power he could not comprehend, but he knew it was there—and it was sentient.
Miele flapped in wild circles near the ceiling. Jarial looked up at the chaotic display and delivered a hard slap across Kaijin’s face. He hissed, “So, you are far more advanced than I’d thought.”
The smack shook Kaijin’s body and roused him from his trance. Rubbing his stinging cheek, he stared at his master, confused and flustered as though awakening from a long dream.
Jarial pointed at him. “I will not have an uncontrollable student. Rorick may have failed me, but you will not. Your sickening admiration for fire has consumed you to the point that it has transcended your very emotions. If you do not control this now, you will end up like Xavorin—a renegade—a traitor to the Art.”
Kaijin chewed on his bottom lip, apprehensive at his master’s warning. Even before being taught how to scribe spells, Kaijin had been required to learn about the dangerous renegade arcanists who had used the Art with unsavory intentions. It frightened him to think about being forever branded a renegade, constantly alone running for his life. To Kaijin, however, Xavorin appeared to be a different case. There was obviously a deeper relationship between the two men.
Kaijin swallowed, thinking. His heart pounded, and he placed his hand on his chest, touching the pulsating warmth of the metallic holy symbol. The charm pressed against his tunic, providing a soothing heat. He looked at his master. “Was Xavorin your student, too?”
Jarial snorted, appearing offended by Kaijin’s bold question. “No, he was not my student. We were about the same age as you and Rorick when we began studying magic. We studied together in Ghaeldorund—an extravagant, magocratic city and home to one of the most highly-esteemed arcanic schools in the world.” He paused and rubbed his chin.
Kaijin gasped. “An entire city of magic? Really?”
“Indeed.”
“Will you take me there someday?”
“No—and don’t ask again.”
Kaijin felt his face fall. How did I know he was going to say that? After a moment of awkward silence, Kaijin reluctantly replied, “Yes, Master.” His disappointment was brief as his curiosity returned. “So, what happened between you and Xavorin while you were there?”
“Well, Xavorin was like your brother—very slow to grasp the basic concepts. Unlike Rorick, however, Xavorin showed a willingness to learn no matter the length of time it took. As a fellow student, I helped him, and we eventually became good friends. Soon, Xavorin found it easier to learn the Art and was more confident in his abilities.” Jarial frowned. “I think he became a little too confident. He grew curious about things he should have left alone—things that were otherwise considered forbidden—like necromancy. He wanted to know why the school forbade students to pursue an art we were required to learn so much about. I warned him numerous times, but it only further fueled his desire to seek out those answers. To protect myself, I severed my affiliations with him. I did not want to be accused of associating with one who treaded the dangerous path of a renegade. He kept his fascination with the Forbidden Art in secret during that time, but I was one of the few at the Citadel aware of what he was really up to. After graduation some years later, Xavorin and I parted ways with the intent of never seeing each other again...” His voice trailed off in a sigh.
Noticing his master’s distress, Kaijin canted his head and asked, “Why did he come here to see you, then?”
Jarial grumbled. “Because he expects me to fix his mistakes. And I will not. He betrayed me, and I will not be wrongfully accused of helping a renegade. His ‘sickness’ is his punishment. I say, let him suffer. He will eventually wither away—consumed by his own passion for necromancy—until he is nothing but a corpse, himself. Then, he will be hunted and killed by men. An ironic fate for a practitioner of death and undeath.”
Kaijin made a face. I never knew Master Jarial could be so heartless.
“As you can see, Kaijin, I am very passionate about the arcane arts.” Jarial’s expression hardened. “I condemn anyone who misuses or abuses them.”
Kaijin nodded and focused his attention on the floor. “Master, may I ... ask you something?”
“Yes? What is it?
”
“Are you ... even able to help Xavorin?”
Jarial huffed. “Whether I am able to help him or not no longer matters, nor is it your business, so do not ask again.” His eyes briefly flared up in a magical blaze before returning to their normal state.
Kaijin winced and quickly shook his head. “Oh, I won’t, Master, and I promise not to practice necromancy, either! Besides, fire is more interesting than dead stuff.”
Amusement replaced the annoyed expression on the mage’s face, and he chuckled. “Yes, I think, at this point, I won’t object to your fire obsession. However, I cannot stress enough how important it is that you learn how to properly control your abilities in order to prevent your urges and emotions from possessing you.” His eyes drifted down to the holy symbol. “I am getting more and more curious about the nature of that little trinket you’ve been wearing.”
Kaijin instinctively clutched the charm. “Wh–what do you mean, Master?”
“I’ve never thought much about it until recently. I sense a strong magical aura from it—similar to what I felt from you and your little display earlier. But it is a priestly item, and the fact that I can sense anything arcane about it is preposterious, yet mind-boggling.”
Kaijin pored over the symbol in his hands. “But I like this necklace. I always feel warm when I wear it. I never want to take it off.”
“Holy symbols are tools that priests use to focus their divine-natured spells as well as to ward off evil. To a mage, it is nothing more than a decorative necklace. I doubt you will find any further use for it.”
“Can I still keep it, Master? Please?”
Jarial grumbled. “Yes, you may. Now, I think you’ve had enough adventure for one night, and it’s time you went to bed.”
Kaijin nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Master.” He called to his familiar. “Come, Miele.”
With a series of soft, elated shrieks, the bat obediently flew down from the wooden beams and landed on Kaijin’s shoulder.
Kaijin trudged upstairs to the candlelit attic. After feeding Miele some leftover pieces of dried fruit from a pouch on his desk, he sent her fluttering off to the rafters. Kaijin plopped down on the edge of his bed and stared at the haphazard sheets of Rorick’s empty bed. As his mind replayed the day’s events, Kaijin fought the urge to cry. Not even bothering to kick off his shoes, Kaijin lay on his back and observed the shadows of the ceiling, which blurred and wavered through his sad, tear-filled eyes.
V
Kaijin awoke earlier than usual, excited about a new day of field training with his master. After sliding out of bed, he opened the window to allow the sunlight and fresh morning air to flow into the room. The sun glistened on the holy symbol around his neck, revealing the golden charm’s exquisite detail. Gazing out the window and hearing the faint sounds of the early marketplace bustle, Kaijin briefly reminisced about his younger days of visiting the vendors with his father.
Has it really been ten years since Rorick left? He watched children playing in the streets. He had thought about his younger brother every day and accepted the fact that he could no longer change the past. Rorick’s choice was his to bear, and Kaijin could no longer blame himself.
A cool, soothing breeze brushed across Kaijin’s bare chest, and he blinked out of his trance. Miele roused from her sleepy perch in a shady pocket of the rafters above his bed. The bond between them had developed over the years into an inseparable link that was both empathic and magical in nature. They felt one another’s thoughts and emotions, and communicated introspectively. Often, Kaijin spoke to Miele aloud, and she understood him by responding with sounds, body gestures, and emotions. At first, Kaijin had thought it odd that he was able to comprehend the bat’s means of communication, but, in time, it was as natural to him as breathing.
Kaijin offered a brief smile to his familiar and retrieved a small jar from the bedside table. He opened it, pulled out a honey stick and softly called out to her. She flew down from the beams, landed on his shoulder, and happily savored the treat. Watching her, Kaijin turned away from the window to shield her large eyes from the morning light. After devouring the snack, Miele returned to the shadows of the rafters where she contentedly drifted back to sleep.
Kaijin slipped on a comfortable tunic and pair of trousers and went downstairs. He knew Jarial was already up and about when he found a cloth-covered plate and a near-empty flagon of mead sitting on the kitchen table. Kaijin took a peek under the white cloth and discovered slices of rye bread. Pouring the remaining drink into a small cup, Kaijin caught a glimpse of his master through the kitchen window. After grabbing a slice of bread, Kaijin approached the window, peered out, and watched Jarial tend the herbs in the terrace garden.
Over the years, Kaijin had learned about Jarial’s other passion: gardening. Kaijin couldn’t understand what pleasures the man found in watching plants grow, or in being on his hands and knees pulling weeds. However, Jarial was also a specialist in alchemy, which he recently began teaching Kaijin. The subject of the alchemical arts was something new and exciting.
Kaijin stuffed the slice of bread in his mouth. He watched Jarial plucking the tiniest of weeds from the rich soil. Sweat and dirt caked the man’s labor-worn hands. Kaijin couldn’t help admiring his master’s attentiveness to every detail in his beloved garden. Kaijin’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt Sable’s soft, furry body rub along his calves and the vibrations of her purr. After downing his mead, Kaijin knelt, picked up the cat in one arm, and made his way outside.
A stone wall about shoulder high enclosed the tiny area behind the small cottage. Despite its size, the cleverly constructed, flourishing garden was a key part of Jarial’s alchemical studies.
Jarial, unaware of Kaijin’s presence, remained on his knees, busily plucking sage leaves and placing them into a basket.
Kaijin knelt and set Sable free in the garden. “Good morning, Master.”
Sable trotted over to her master and greeted him with an affectionate rub of her head against his thigh. Jarial paused, acknowledged his familiar first, and then Kaijin. He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. “I’m surprised to see you up this early.”
“I ended my work early last night because you said we would be able to train this morning.” Kaijin paused. “Or has that changed?”
Jarial waved him off. “Don’t worry, Kaijin. I haven’t forgotten. I know how eager you’ve been to try out your new spell.”
Kaijin beamed. “Of course, Master! Why wouldn’t I be? My very first sixth-tier spell ... I can’t believe it! It’s taken me weeks—no, months—hells, I can’t even recall how long it’s been!”
Jarial chuckled softly. “Let’s just say it’s taken you about the same time it takes most aspiring mages to learn spells of the fifth tier.”
“Surely, it didn’t take you even half as long, Master!” Kaijin laughed.
“The Citadel trains children as soon as they’re able to read. I was one of the few children who excelled. A rarity, I might add. I was about seventeen when I reached my sixth tier of learning. I remember the spell quite vividly—Prism Storm.” Jarial smirked. “I had quite a bit of fun with that one.”
“Prism Storm?” Kaijin repeated.
“Oh yes. I was always attracted to the more colorful spells. You can imagine, by the name alone, how colorful it is.”
Kaijin smiled. “Will you teach me the spell, Master?”
Jarial paused and then shrugged. “Perhaps, when I’m in the mood, I might.” He turned back to his garden. “Now, I need to finish gathering the witchroot blossoms. The plants will lose their potency if they are left unpicked for too long.”
Kaijin’s eyes diverted to another bed of leafy shoots where his master grew various poisonous plants. Kaijin stepped carefully through the garden, knelt down in the soft soil, and examined the witchroot shoots. “I’ll help you, Master.”
Jarial watched him. “All right, do you remember which ones to pick?”
Sifting through
clusters of green leaves, Kaijin spotted plants topped with white flowers in full bloom. “Let’s see....” His head tipped back as he recalled a past lesson. “Are they the five-petaled, white blossoms with black tips?” He looked to his master for confirmation.
Jarial grinned. “Yes, that’s right. Remember, the black tips indicate the plant has reached the peak of its toxic state. Now, gather the blossoms, and place them in the basket.”
Kaijin worked quickly and soon gathered enough black-tipped blossoms to fill the small basket. With the container in tow, Kaijin followed his master to the root cellar adjacent to the garden. The tiny cellar was primarily used for storing plants, potions, and other alchemical items. Jarial also kept a few small casks of ale, cider, and mead.
After they finished preserving the plants in flasks of vinegar, Kaijin asked, “Master, I just realized—how am I going to be able to test my spell?”
“What do you mean?”
Kaijin shrugged and shook his head. “My notes said something about the spell having a ‘large conflagration radius’ when evoked.”
“Well, obviously, you won’t be evoking it here in Easthaven.” Jarial reached for an empty flagon on a shelf and filled it with mead from one of the casks. “Your spell—Firebrand—is not truly radial, anyway. It depends on how the spell is evoked. You can very easily manipulate it to burn in a straight line if you choose.”
Kaijin blinked. “Will you please show me how, Master? I would love to learn how to control fire to burn in any manner I choose.”
“That is the purpose of training, Kaijin.” Jarial turned and left.
Kaijin opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and hurried after his master.
Jarial returned to the kitchen and retrieved a small jar of honey from the pantry. He sat down at the table and helped himself to the remaining slice of rye bread from the plate.
After taking a seat, Kaijin fidgeted with his hands. His mind raced with questions. For a moment, he simply stayed silent and watched Jarial drizzle the bread with a modest portion of honey. Kaijin returned his attention to his hands. “Master ...”
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