The elder stroked his grey-white beard, his expression neutral. “Divine intervention,” he muttered. “I never thought I would hear of such phenomena again in my lifetime—much less of it happening to a mage.”
“Again, Elder?” Master Darkwinter blinked.
“There was one such incident that I heard about from a group of clerics during my youth. They spoke of a woman—a simple commoner—who had become possessed by Tydus, the Dark Lord. Her influence brought chaos and war in the peaceful country of Corvandor, north of the Azulene Sea. I daresay that this phenomenon can only be a bad omen.”
“How terrible,” Mistress Aldermoon said, shaking her head.
“Indeed,” the elder said. “And that a mage has been possessed—this cannot bode well.”
“Let us meet this Kaijin fellow,” Master Harden suggested to the Council.
A few members nodded in agreement, and Master Ustan asked, “Why don’t we send him a message of our interest?”
“With all due respect, Honored Council,” Omari interjected. “Kaijin will most likely not come willingly, as he has already found his place at the Pyre.”
“Then perhaps we should go there, instead?” Master Adney suggested.
“And do what?” Mistress Shikawa said. “Take the man? We cannot force his will. Not even we can withstand the Firelord’s power, which Kaijin has seemingly been touched with.”
“Maira is right,” the elder said with a sigh. “Besides, I am certain they will not allow us to observe him. I propose we hold another meeting next week to resume this discussion in further detail. For now, however, we have far more immediate issues to discuss.” He nodded to Omari. “You are dismissed. Thank you for your detailed report. The final ruling of your test remains pending until Master Faulk returns.”
“Of course, Grandmaster. I understand. Farewell, then, Honored Eight.” Omari stood, retrieving his staff. Percival returned to his usual spot on his shoulder. After giving a respectful bow, Omari turned on his heel and left.
* * *
Jarial quickly pulled back from the door, hiding himself in the darkness of the hallway. So Kaijin is alive and well. Thank the gods. If there’s any chance of me seeing him again, it will be through Omari. Jarial stared at Omari, who walked with his head lowered. Once the doors to the Council’s chambers closed, bewilderment and frustration filled Omari’s face.
As Omari approached, Jarial dropped the silence spell and stepped out from the shadows, standing before him. He looked up at the taller young man, who started. Percival let out an alarm-whistle.
Jarial smirked. “That sounded like quite an adventure you had, boy.”
The young man stared at him, wide-eyed. “M-master Glace?”
Jarial nodded, and then patted Omari’s back. “How have you been? It’s been so long since I last saw you, and you’ve grown into a fine young man. Twenty-eight now, I hear.”
Omari grinned. “Indeed, sir.”
“By the gods, I can’t believe it’s been that long.” Jarial shook his head. “Now I know I’m getting old.”
Omari stifled a chuckle. “Master Glace, you look as though you have not aged a day since I last saw you.”
Jarial’s lips formed a smile. Thanks to his illusion spells he kept cast on himself, he always appeared much younger than his real age.
“My ass is not the one you should be kissing, Omari,” Jarial quipped. “You’re trying to impress the Council to earn your place, are you not?”
A hint of a frown spread across Omari’s face, and then he nodded. “Yes, sir. But I must await Master Faulk’s return—wherever he is—so that the Council’s final ruling can be made official.”
“Mmm, yes. I heard he went missing. How unfortunate. But there is nothing you or I can do about that right now.” He gestured with a side-tilt of his head for Omari to follow. “Walk with me. I’d like to know more about your endeavors.” He turned down a corridor that led the way to the exit.
“My endeavors ...” Omari repeated, catching up to him. “I simply have one: to ascend as one of the Nine. I had hoped that I had successfully passed my first test, having survived such a treacherous journey.”
“It is not my place to say if you have or have not, but from the time I noticed you when you first came to the Citadel as a boy, I knew you were someone special—someone destined for something great.”
Omari beamed. “Thank you, sir.”
They descended the stairwell and were soon back in the main hall, which was still bustling with activity. Jarial continued along toward the exit, ignoring the glances and greetings he received from students and faculty, new and old. He eventually made his way outside the Citadel and into the main courtyard. The orange skies, streaked with sooty lines of clouds, heralded the fast-approaching dusk, and the outline of Ghaeldorund’s skyline could be seen on the horizon, across the sea.
The air was cool and dry, and a light breeze kissed Jarial’s face. Before I know it, winter will be here.
On the ground in the middle of the courtyard, a large teleportation circle with abstract designs and runes around it glowed softly in the advancing twilight. It was the primary means of transporting from the Citadel to Ghaeldorund, which was on the mainland. Only those possessing certain enchanted items approved by the Citadel administration were permitted to use the teleporter.
Jarial fished through his purse for the gold brooch he had been given by Maira upon his return to Ghaeldorund. The simple trinket, upon which a star was inscribed on the sapphire inset, was Jarial’s key to using the device.
Omari pulled a tarnished locket out from within the breast of his robe. Etched on one side of the locket was a rune that meant “storm.”
He still uses his mother’s locket?
Omari looked to Jarial, awaiting his lead.
Brooch in hand, Jarial stepped into the circle. Light momentarily blinded him before all was clear again, and he was standing in another similar circle—a landing point. A metal railing lined the cliff he now stood upon, overlooking Ghaeldorund’s docks below and the island upon which the Citadel sat. He stepped out of the circle. A few Citadel students and citizens milled about further inland from the cliff.
Moments later, Omari appeared in the circle. He briefly scanned the area.
“Come.” Jarial beckoned and headed toward the heart of the city.
Ghaeldorund’s usual daily bustle had slowed as night approached. Taverns and inns were beginning to fill, and the growing sounds of the city’s nightlife filled the air.
Jarial stared straight ahead as he briskly walked to the inn at which he was staying, the Silver Maiden. He glimpsed the bright yellow banner ahead, its satin-like material swaying in a passing wind and reflecting brilliantly from the light of nearby street lanterns.
Opening the door, Jarial was greeted with a blast of warmth from the inn’s interior. The light inside was dim, creating a cozy, homey feeling. Few patrons lingered about, and the main room was quiet. The hearth radiated a comfortable warmth, the red-orange embers glowing and snapping softly in their downy bed of ash.
Jarial padded up the stairs, which were lined in plush red carpeting that softened each step he took. He briefly glanced over his shoulder to check that Omari was still following. Jarial approached the door to his room and, after uttering the unlock spell, quietly opened it. Conventional keys were useless to him; he felt safer using his own security mechanisms, which had never failed him.
His familiar, Sable, greeted him with soft meows, and she wove between his legs, tickling him with her soft black fur. Smiling, Jarial picked her up.
His room came complete with a small lounging area, with an emerald-colored couch and matching chair; an ornate rosewood desk near one of the small green velveteen-curtained windows; two armoires; a clothes drawer; a storage trunk lining the wall opposite the regal bed that looked big enough to fit four people; and a floral-embroidered privacy screen, which occupied another corner near the bed. The wooden floors were decorated with exotic r
ugs of various shapes and sizes.
Jarial crossed the room, and paused here and there to mutter alight the candelabras that sat on the desk, drawer, and bedside table.
Omari stood in the doorway and gazed at the posh chamber with awe. “This is quite luxurious, sir.”
“Of course it is,” Jarial said. “I wouldn’t accept anything less.” He set Sable down, and she scampered to Omari and stared up at him—or rather at Percival, perched on Omari’s shoulder.
The weasel let out a sharp, warning chirp, but it seemed to do nothing to discourage the cat.
Omari eyed Sable and tensed, perhaps reacting to his own familiar’s discomfort. Finally, he placed his hand in front of Percival and took a step back.
Sable licked her upper lip and watched them attentively.
Jarial guffawed at Omari and Percival. “Relax, you two. She just wants to say ‘hi’.”
Percival’s chirps became more aggressive. Finally, the weasel climbed down his master’s body and confronted Sable. He arched his supple back and growled fearlessly despite his smaller size.
Sable pawed at the weasel, then sniffed at him cautiously. She started purring.
Percival cringed, wary of the cat’s actions, then eased and slinked curiously toward her.
Jarial beckoned Omari over with a tilt of his head as he patted the backrest of the couch. “Have a seat.”
Ignoring Percival, who was now sitting upright on his hind legs and peering into Sable’s left ear, Omari set his staff by the door and hastily made his way to the couch. “Master Glace, if I may ask, why has the Council not asked you to stay at the Citadel?”
Jarial unpacked his belongings from his bag, along with his spellbook, which he kept secured on a chain slung across his body beneath his outer robes. “Because I am not a Councilmember,” he replied. “Not anymore, anyway.” He shoved aside books and a haphazard stack of used parchment on the desk and set his spellbook down.
“Yes, but ... You were highly respected—and you still are. Many consider you a legend.”
Jarial smirked. “Do they, now? How flattering. Well, to sate your curiosity, I was offered accommodations there a few days after my arrival here, but I politely refused. My place is no longer amongst them, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Do you truly hold such contempt for the Council?”
Jarial pursed his lips. He does not understand. No one will. “‘Contempt’ is too strong of a word. I’d been on the Council for nineteen years. I felt it was time to move on.” He finally took his place in a chair across from Omari and stared at him intently. “I want to talk to you about something ... important.”
Omari leaned in.
“You informed the Council about a man you met during your travels. Kaijin—my former student.” The tip of Jarial’s tongue tasted somewhat bitter. Yes, at this point, he is no longer mine.
“Indeed, sir!” Omari replied. “It was Kaijin who sent me back here after we reached the Pyre. He cast a strange spell—somewhat reminiscent of a teleportation spell—which sent me and my other companions to Gryphon’s Pass, just on the outskirts of Ghaeldorund.”
Jarial blinked. “Kaijin did that?”
Omari nodded quickly. “The whole purpose for us going to the Pyre was for Kaijin to return an orb he had found. It was a druidic artifact, but it held great power—the essence of the Firelord, himself. I met Kaijin and his group soon after ...”
Jarial sat back in his chair and listened to Omari’s tale of adventure and intrigue. Indeed, Kaijin had become something far more than I would have ever thought possible. It could very well be that Kaijin is more powerful than even I am. The thought made Jarial clench his jaw, and the remainder of Omari’s story became a dull buzz in his ears.
He was snapped from his thoughts when he felt Sable’s vibrating body against his legs. He gazed down at his familiar. She purred contentedly, rubbing herself against him. He smiled at her briefly, then returned his attention to Omari, who was now speaking in greater detail about his adventures with Kaijin.
Once he had finished his story, Jarial said, “Do not speak about any of this to anyone else, do you understand?”
Omari sat up straighter. “Yes, of course, Master Glace.”
Jarial tapped his chin. “I now realize what I must do next. I must find Kaijin.”
“What? But why?”
“Because I have some unfinished business.” And I now realize I’ve made a grave mistake abandoning him like that. Jarial frowned.
“He is at the Pyre, somewhere far to the south and east in the mountains.”
Jarial nodded and stood. “Then that is where I will go. And I want you to accompany me.”
Omari stood, as well, and gawked at Jarial. “Me, sir?”
“Indeed. You will help me navigate to the Pyre, since you have already been there once before.”
“I do not know how to get there from here—at least, not without a map.”
“Then we will get a map.”
Omari paled. He opened his mouth to say something more, but he held back his reply. Instead, he nodded slowly.
Jarial smiled and returned the nod. “Very good. You are dismissed, then. I will contact you again in a few days, once I’ve finished my preparations.”
Omari turned to leave, and Percival followed him. Omari glanced over his shoulder. “Master Glace, if I may ask, what of the Council?”
Jarial glared at him. “What of it? I am not one of the Nine anymore, nor will I ever be. I can go wherever I please, do whatever I please.” I gave up that title the day I decided to leave the Citadel.
“But—”
“Enough! Leave me, Omari.” Jarial shooed him off with a flick of his wrist.
After Omari took his staff and left, Jarial undressed and plopped into bed. Sable leaped up and curled up against his legs, purring soundly.
Kaijin ... Jarial stared at the dancing shadows on the wooden ceiling. If I were to see you again, would I recognize you?
... And if you saw me again, would you forgive me?
IV
Kaijin awoke with a sharp gasp from another dream about his former master, but a glance around the familiar, orange-lit space of his bedchamber relaxed him. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was the second dream he’d had about Master Jarial in the past few days, but he didn’t understand why it was happening or what it all meant.
Miele stirred from her resting perch, concealed in the shadows of the ceiling. She flew down and landed beside him on the bed.
“Another bad dream, I think,” he said mentally. “Or maybe I just miss the man too much.”
Miele screeched in response and sent him calmness.
But then he felt a burning heat on his bare chest and looked down. His necklace throbbed against his skin, a red-orange glow that pulsed in time to his heartbeat. Kaijin clutched the fiery charm. The heat intensified and seared his palm, but he refused to let go.
“He abandoned you—left you to die,” said the familiar fiery voice in his mind.
Frowning, Kaijin clutched the golden charm more tightly, ignoring the pain in his hand. I’ve done what you’ve asked. I thought you were going to leave me in peace.
“You are naïve, Kaijin Sora.”
For a moment, the charm grew unbearably hot—more intense than anything he had ever experienced before. Kaijin had no choice but to let it go. Divine flames?
The voice sounded annoyed. “Your life has been spared. Your powers have been enhanced. Your debt to me is eternal.”
Kaijin gritted his teeth. “Leave me alone.”
“You will never find peace.”
“I said, ‘leave me alone’.”
“The past will always remain.”
“Leave me alone!” he yelled.
A sudden knock on the door startled Kaijin. Miele flew back to her perch in the shadows. The fiery voice exited Kaijin’s mind, leaving him in momentary silence. The heat from his necklace dissipated instantly, returning the charm to its
natural golden shine.
Another knock came, and a woman’s voice called, “Kaijin? Kaijin?”
He relaxed, recognizing the voice of Ranaiah, the high priestess. He smiled at the sweet concern in her soft voice. He straightened, gathered his composure and responded, “I’m all right, Priestess.”
The door slowly opened a crack, and High Priestess Ranaiah poked her head inside. Deep concern lingered in her big brown eyes as she scrutinized Kaijin. Since Kaijin had first met her four days ago, he’d been fixated on her beauty and elegance. But she was quick to display her power, authority, and wisdom as she oversaw the duties of the Ignan clerics. She was unlike any woman Kaijin had met, and she intrigued him.
Ranaiah closed the door behind her and approached his bed. Kaijin tensed and felt sweat bead on his body, causing the pants he slept in to stick to him. Though she wore a long, flowing gown of flamboyant colors and sparkling sequins, Kaijin could still make out the gentle curves of her hips as she walked.
He wanted to tear his gaze away from her, but he was too enthralled. I shouldn’t be staring at her like this. She is a priestess. I’m being so disrespectful.
She stopped at his bedside, her concern never lifting. “Kaijin, I heard you shout. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Her closeness gave him prickles of excitement. He inhaled her scent of fire lilies and amber. His cheeks hurt from the broad smile he couldn’t hide. “Yes, Priestess. I assure you, I’m okay. I just had—”
“Ranaiah,” she corrected, smiling reassuringly at him.
His heart fluttered. “I ...”
“Please, Kaijin. You don’t have to use such formalities around me. But your actions are duly noted and appreciated.” She glanced at his spellbook, which sat atop his bedside table. It was locked—he kept it that way most of the time—and no one but he could open it. He’d perused certain pages of his book the night before, memorizing a selection of spells of his choosing that he would use for his training today.
Ranaiah briefly ran her hand along the worn leather cover and looked back at him. “You’ve slept all morning. We should begin the training shortly. Vargas has been growing impatient.”
Flameseeker (Book 3) Page 3
