by DB King
He couldn’t protect them. He couldn’t save them all. He was only one man—
Energy flowed into his outstretched palms.
As Alec opened his eyes, he noticed all the strands of the cilantro plant had bent toward his fingers. The leaves on one half reached for his left hand, the other the right—until the plant looked like a boy with his hair parted in the middle. Green energy flowed from the stems, filling him with a vibrant, brilliant sensation.
The cilantro withered within the blink of an eye. The stems went gray, the leaves dropping into the dirt as the whole plant dried up and went prickly. Unlike with the flames, where Alec felt a portion of the fire’s body trickle into his body, this took everything the cilantro bush had. By the time he finished, he found himself staring at a dead mass of plant matter.
Uriel gasped. He touched the side of a particularly long stem with his thumb, watching as it crumbled at his touch. “Impressive,” the Archmage whispered.
Alec doubled over in pain. His vision blurred. A horrible sensation writhed within the pit of his guts. He’d once had a nasty stomach flu as a lad after a run in with undercooked meat in the Temple’s cafeteria, and this felt a hundred times worse.
“Uriel,” Alec groaned. “It hurts…”
The old man leaned over. His fingers glowed, but he stilled his hand just before the point of actually casting his magic on Alec’s body. “What does it feel like?” he asked.
Alec knew, but too much pain coursed through his body for him to find the words. When he’d pulled the torches into his body, he’d felt flames inside of him—now, with the energy of the plant within his core, he experienced what felt like writhing, stinging vines crawling inside of him. They wrapped around his intestines, his muscles, searing deep into the marrow of his bones.
“I see. We can talk about this later. You’re in no state to answer questions.”
Alec’s mouth moved soundlessly, like a fish stranded on dry land. “What…what do I do with the energy?”
Uriel’s eyebrows rose. “Ah! It seems you can’t simply contain it and save it for a rainy day,” the old man mused.
Should he have been able to? Alec couldn’t think about it at the moment. Tears sprang to his eyes, the writhing sensation inside of him growing stronger with every second. His fingers clutched at his own midsection, as if he could pull the vines from his own body to make the pain stop.
Uriel glanced around the room for a suitable vessel. His gaze finally settled on the dead plant sitting on the table, a shrug rising the fabric of his robes. “Give the energy back,” he commanded, gesturing at the mass of plant matter. “The simplest solution is to put the energy back where it came from.”
Returning the energy proved to be a simpler matter than drawing it out in the first place. Like an overfilled balloon, the power flowed back out of Alec, draining like a dam with a crack in it. The green aura covered the plant, its stems and leaves perking back up as life refilled the dead cilantro herb.
Uriel smiled as the plant restored itself to life. For a shining moment, it looked exactly as it had when the servant left it on the table between them, as if nothing had ever disturbed the cilantro in the first place.
Then it grew.
The energy inside of Alec had come nowhere near its limit. More flowed into the plant, blooming it well beyond the confines of the earthenware pot. Cracks formed in the surface, soil spilling out across the table as vines pushed through the material. Cilantro stalks stretched toward the ceiling, blocking out Uriel Diamondspear’s face as he stared with amazement at the ever expanding plant.
By the time Alec finished pouring out his magic, the plant dominated the table. Now it contained far more than the small bunch of cilantro that the servant had delivered. The door separating the dining room from the kitchen opened as a servant entered, startled by the noise. The man took one look at the plant and backed away, his eyes the size of saucers.
“Impressive,” Uriel repeated, scooting his chair to the side to look around the plant. “Most impressive, young man.”
Alec slumped over. Just like the first time he’d absorbed the flames, expelling the magic left him drained and exhausted. He felt as if he could eat a whole other meal, despite having finished a delicious dinner only moments ago. For long moments he could only stare at the colossal plant, shocked senseless by its majesty.
Uriel plucked a leaf from the plant and examined it, sniffing it and running his finger over the stem. “I confess, lad—it’s not very often that I am shocked. It seems whatever power you possess breaks one of the natural laws of magic.”
Alec managed to recover enough to ask: “which law is that, Archmage Uriel?”
Uriel shook his head, then took Alec’s hand and helped him to his feet. “Conservation of energy,” he said, tucking the plant’s stem beneath his napkin on the table. “When you drew upon the energy of the plant, you received a small amount. Then, when you pushed that energy outside of yourself, it became far greater than what you originally absorbed.”
“I don’t understand,” Alec said, his vision swimming.
Uriel lifted the pitcher of water, along with Alec’s glass. “You used this,” the Archmage explained, holding up the glass, “to fill this.” He mimed pouring the glass into the pitcher.
The scene still refused to make sense. How could a cup fill a pitcher? His ability must be strange indeed.
“It seems, lad, that you have the ability to not only draw upon elemental energies, but to increase their power.” A pensive look filled the Archmage’s face. “We will speak about this later, young man. For now, I think, it would be good for you to get some rest.”
Rest. Yes. Alec definitely needed that.
By the time Uriel Diamondspear got him upstairs to bed, he’d fallen fast asleep.
Chapter 10
After living in the Archon Temple for so long, Alec believed he knew every room in the Temple grounds by heart. The next morning, upon waking in an unfamiliar bed, he learned just how wrong he’d been.
His eyes opened to the sight of a luxurious bed, the sheets of a thick, silky fluffiness he’d never felt before. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, obscuring the stones with scenes of battle and magic. Sunlight streamed in from a nearby window, revealing the sight of the forest for miles around. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to remember where he’d been before he’d fallen asleep.
The last thing he remembered was the sight of the plant. With that, memories of his magic rolled in, and he realized what he’d done. His hands trembled as he pulled back the covers, the sounds of birdsong filling the suite in the tower.
It’s all true, he realized, hardly daring to believe it. I did magic. I can do magic. Master Diamondspear is going to teach me…
The Diamondspear sat atop the nightstand next to the bed. Along with it lay a pot of tea and a cold breakfast spread: toast with jam and butter, a rasher of last night’s bacon. He devoured it with alacrity, sitting on the edge of the bed all the while. From the angle of the sun and the trees outside, he tried to reason out his location in the Temple.
“This is the suite above the bell tower,” he realized, taking a big swig of tea. “Right where Master Diamondspear retires. The servants must have brought me here after that business with the cilantro.”
A door on the far side of the room opened. Uriel Diamondspear entered the suite, looking as rested and refreshed as if he’d taken a week’s vacation. If the scene Alec caused at the dinner table the previous night troubled the man, he showed no sign of it.
“Good morning,” the Archmage said, nodding toward a chest of drawers. “I had the servants take the liberty of moving some of your clothing to this room. You’ll find traveling robes stored in that nearby dresser for you. Once you finish eating, you should get dressed. We have quite a lot to do today.”
Alec wolfed down another bite of his bacon, utterly ravenous. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hungry. Despite the rumble in his stomach, the connecti
on between the sensation and the magic he’d worked last night hadn’t clicked as of yet.
“You moved my things?” Alec asked. “Am I not to stay with the other boys, then?”
Uriel gave the boy a strange look. “Alec, this will be your last day at the Archon Temple. For quite a while, at least. I am departing today on my airship—and you’re coming with me.”
The revelation filled Alec with equal parts excitement and dread. Excitement because he’d never flown on an airship before. Dread because he’d be leaving his friends behind.
“The engines are being spooled up as we speak,” Uriel said by way of explanation. “These machines take quite a long time to work themselves up to flying speeds, but once they do, the effect is quite unlike anything else in the kingdoms. Truly, there’s no better way to travel.”
The morning’s breakfast felt like a lump in Alec’s stomach. “The other boys,” he said, thinking of their names. Mortimer. Marcus. Thomas. “Won’t I get to say goodbye to them?”
Alec could tell from the look on Master Diamondspear’s face the answer was supposed to be no. But when he saw the panic at missing the chance to see his friends one last time caused in the lad, Uriel’s expression softened.
“I suppose there’s enough time for you to briefly bid them goodbye,” he said gruffly. “As long as you finish your food and get dressed quickly.”
In all the long history of the Archon Temple, no young man had ever finished his breakfast and gotten dressed faster than Alec. The next few minutes passed in a blur. He wanted to win every moment possible to hug his fellows and wish them farewell. Even Uriel Diamondspear seemed impressed with how quickly he moved.
“Very well,” Uriel said once the boy was fully dressed and ready to go. “Shall we?”
All the way down the tower, Alec fretted. The bells of the clock tower chimed to a rhythm he knew like the beating of his own heart—they told him the Temple grounds were a quarter-hour after breakfast time. The boys would be just about to start their lessons. What if he didn’t have an opportunity to speak with them?
He needn’t have worried. As the chef told him on the way to Master Diamondspear’s dinner the previous night, news traveled fast in the Archon Temple. Even before Alec woke, the news of his imminent departure had spread through the hallways and grounds of the Temple. Every foundling knew this was to be Alec’s last day among them—and so, they were all waiting for him.
“Alec!” they chorused as he reached the first-floor landing. “Good luck!”
He fell into a mass of tiny arms and bodies, hugging the boys until his arms felt sore. He wished the best to dear, one-eyed Mortimer, assured Marcus that his wounds would heal quickly and he’d be back to tormenting the younger boys in no time. Thomas, the youngest, did not cry—but Alec could tell it took a huge effort from the small child.
“You have to come back and visit us!” Thomas begged, hugging him tight when it was his turn. “The Temple won’t be the same without you!”
“You’re right,” he said with a grin. “It won’t. It’ll be better.” While Alec had been changing his clothes, he’d talked to Master Diamondspear from the other side of his dressing screen. The Archmage agreed to draft several letters for the leadership of the Temple—the casual cruelties and indifferences the boys had been subject to would soon be a thing of the past. But even without such assurances, Alec knew things would be different from now on. These boys weren’t the same ones he’d met when he first came here—even shy Thomas seemed as brave as a little lion now.
After promising each boy about a hundred times to both write frequently and return whenever he was able, Alec moved back to Uriel’s side. His eyes felt watery from the effort of holding back tears. He’d resolved not to let the boys see him cry on this day, but it had been hard. Damned hard.
“Very good,” Uriel said, waving to the boys. “This isn’t goodbye forever, you know. You’ll be seeing Alec again before you know it. Come along now, lad.”
But Alec hadn’t moved. “Master Diamondspear,” he said, conscious that he shouldn’t use the name Uriel when the two of them were among authority figures. “There’s one more thing I’d like to do before we leave, if you don’t mind.”
The old man pursed his lips. “What’s that, young man?”
Alec glanced across the grounds, to the chapel. Its large door stood halfway open, a symbolic gesture meant to state that anyone was free to accept the Archon’s help or mercy at any time.
“I want to offer a prayer to the Archon,” Alec said. “You can say what you want about your sister and my bloodline, but I’m pretty sure I have him to thank for all of this.”
Alec knew his Diamondspear heritage was a fabrication, of course. But saying that in front of the boys would have caused problems, and he didn’t need those on his last day.
Uriel looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I do think that would be a good idea, young man. Go ahead, I will wait here. Return to me once you feel the Archon has received your prayer.”
After a few more goodbyes to the foundlings, Alec made his way across the grounds to the chapel. Dew stuck to the grass, covering it in beads of moisture that clung to the bottoms of his pant legs. He was so intent on brushing it off he almost missed the monk who came around the corner, beckoning toward him.
“Alec?” the monk asked.
He glanced up. He’d seen this monk helping Master Abel occasionally. “Yes, David?”
The monk gestured toward the nearby stairs, his face filled with irritation. “Master Abel wants to see you,” he said, stalking off as soon as his command was fulfilled. Considering the monk worked for Master Abel, Alec couldn’t very well blame him.
Of course I would have to deal with him today, Alec told himself, taking the stairs. He made a mental note to enter the chapel on the way back down. Uriel could tell him that time was of the essence all he wanted, but Alec knew a thing or two about the world. When it came to great men like Uriel Diamondspear, events moved at their speed, not the other way around.
He would have preferred to ignore Master Abel’s summons entirely, but the monk would never forget the slight. He might even take it out on the boys in Alec’s care should he be snubbed on this final day of Alec’s employment at the Temple. So he trudged up the tower to the same room where Abel had recently lectured him about the need to keep the boys out until nightfall. My, how things have changed, Alec thought near the top, chuckling to himself.
Abel’s office remained as messy as ever. The bald monk sat behind his desk, a half-finished plate of breakfast nearly tipping over the side and onto the floor. The man barely noticed—the only thing he had eyes for this morning was Alec himself.
“Quite a different feeling this morning,” the wizened monk said by way of conversation. “Isn’t it, young man?”
Abruptly, Alec decided he’d heard enough. Whatever carping Master Abel wanted to do as a means of saying farewell, he’d more than had enough of it over the years. If the man refused to admit that Alec had the potential to become a mage, well, that was his problem, not Alec’s.
“Listen, Master Abel,” he said, cutting the monk off. “I’m not going to dishonor the name of the Archon Temple or anything like that. I wouldn’t do that to the monks, or the boys. So if you have something cutting you want to say to me, go ahead and get it over with. I’ve said goodbye to the people I really care about, and now all I need to do is offer a prayer of thanks to the Archon for delivering me from this place. So if you would be so kind as to allow me to do that?”
Master Abel just stared at him. Then the monk sighed and shook his head. “I really have been a terror to you, haven’t I, Alec?”
Alec started. He’d never heard the monk use his first name before—not once in all the time he’d lived at the Archon Temple.
The wizened monk rose from his seat, his bones creaking in protest. Master Abel turned to the big picture window behind him, looking out over the Temple grounds with his back to the young man.
He laced his fingers together in his fists, projecting confidence and strength—but Alec sensed something like nervousness deep inside of the man.
“You know, I always saw potential in you, Alec,” he began, shocking Alec into forgetting whatever snide remark he’d prepared to come back with. “I know...I know I haven’t exactly been the best tutor. Yes, I’ve taught you mathematics, the histories, and the sciences, but...I haven’t exactly given you a very good picture of the world, now have I? Of humanity?”
Alec paused, choosing his words carefully. This would very likely be his last time speaking with Master Abel, and the temptation to tear into him during their final interaction was nearly too strong to resist. But he moderated his tongue, feeling less anger than he’d expected.
“It seems to me that you’ve taught me much about humanity,” Alec finally said. “You and the other monks. Granted, it wasn’t the prettiest lesson to learn, but it’s one that may stand me in greater stead than many I might have been taught.”
Master Abel stood at the window for so long Alec began to worry. The man’s shoulders began to shake, and when he turned around, tears beaded in the corners of his eyes.
“You have been,” Master Abel said thickly, “without a doubt, the most responsible and intelligent young man to pass through the doors of the Archon Temple. Had you elected to remain with us, I firmly believe it would have been no trouble for you to become the Head of our entire organization. You’ve done an amazing job raising those boys—”
Alec couldn’t believe his ears. “Master Abel—”
“Let me finish. If it had been anyone else than you the other day in the forest leading them, Alec—anyone else—there would have been a massacre. We wouldn’t be celebrating your ascension with Master Diamondspear; we’d be mourning over a dozen dead children. Your bravery prevented all that. As a monk, I have never fathered children. None of us ever will.” He sighed heavily. “But if I had, I could not have asked the Archon himself to give me one like you.”
Alec’s mouth worked soundlessly. “Master Abel, I... I don’t know what to say.” His hands went into his pockets, as he could no longer trust them not to shake. “I only wish you’d said these things to me before, sir.”
