by RJ Crayton
And then, love. It was overwhelming, I felt love and loyalty. It washed over me and filled me completely, and I knew in my heart that there was one person who loved me wholly, who would never betray me, who would always care for me, who would never leave me. It was my alab.
Despite the fact that I still remembered all he had done — to my mother, to Auntie, to Akilah, I still felt that everything I was feeling was entirely true. Alab would never hurt me. Alab loved me. Alab was the one who helped me with everything.
A memory bubbled to the surface of my brain. It was me, and I was little, around the same age as when I’d first used the Talisman. I was sitting alone in a room with Zygam. I was smiling and happy and I felt nothing but peace. It was his room, his place where he lived and slept here at the temple. It was small, yet tidy. On the walls, there were tapestries of words. They were some kind of writing that little me didn’t fully understand the meaning of, but that little me knew was important. I liked to stare at the tapestries, to look at the pretty glyphs on them.
“That’s your story,” Zygam said, as I looked at the words sewn into the tapestries. “That’s your prophecy, Dirah.”
“What’s it say?” I asked, giddy for him to tell me, though I know he’d told it to me before. I wanted him to say it again.
“It says that there will come a day when there is darkness, when those who are kind will be persecuted by those of another land. Yet, they will be saved by a temple.”
“This temple?” I ask, eagerly.
“Perhaps,” he said, and he tapped the tip of my nose playfully.
“At the temple, they will prosper, and one will have a child, a girl of immense power. And she will be granted the beautiful stone. With it, she can cure all ills and make the world a better place. She can seek justice for all.”
I smiled big and said, “What girl?”
“It’s you, of course, sweet Dirah.”
It was me. I knew it was me. Alab knew it was me. Alab knew all the important things. He knew I had power and he liked it when I used it. Yes, I loved Alab.
The memory faded, and another emerged. It was me with Zygam, and we were in an outer garden this time. It was a memory from earlier, for some reason. Zygam was standing there with me and I had a frown on my face.
He smiled down at me, his eyes kind. He sat on the ground and beckoned me to sit in his lap. I did so, gladly. “Kadirah,” he said. “You know what your name means, yes?”
I nodded up at him happily. “Powerful.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So you should not fret about this. You have power and the ability to use it.”
Little me frowned harder and shook my head. “Not powerful.”
Zygam sighed and breathed out. He patted my little shoulder and said, “Dirah, power means it is something within ourselves. It does not mean that it is easy, or requires no work or patience.”
I said nothing, just sat there. I looked so small in his lap, and even though I was unhappy, my overwhelming feeling at that moment was love. My alab loved me.
“You are little, and this is advanced magic. Portals are very difficult, my child. Everything else has come easy to you, so I can see your frustration. But do not worry. You will get this. We will practice, and if it doesn’t work, it’s fine. I will still give you camelback rides and carry you around, for you are my sweet Dirah.”
At this I smiled. “Camel now?”
He grinned. “In a minute,” he said. “First I want to tell you a story, about when I was little and your papa was little.”
“Papa,” I squealed.
“Yes, your papa,” he said. “When he and I were little, we traveled a long way with our parents. But then they died, and he and I were left on our own, with little knowledge of how to use our magic.”
“Scary?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It could have been scary, but your father was a lot like you. He was brave, and he was smart and clever. He figured out many things and helped us survive. He kept me happy and safe. And I want to do the same for you, Dirah. I want to make sure you will always be safe. That is why I teach you these things.”
Little me nodded.
“You have power within. You are strong and brave and resourceful, Dirah, and I know you will master portals. Just as you will be able to master any magic.”
Little me said nothing. Then Zygam grinned, scooted me off of his lap, and turned around so I was facing his back. I wrapped my little arms around his neck, and my legs gripped his backside. “A camelback ride for my favorite little mage,” Zygam boasted, and then he carried me around the garden as I squealed with joy.
Another memory emerged. This time, one of me with my mother. We were someplace I hadn’t been before. It wasn’t the temple, and after a moment, I realized we were in Bailsi. It was the trip my mother had taken me on, the one to get me away from Zygam.
The land was lush and green, and there were many dwarves here. My mother was a bit taller than most, which was a difference from the temple. Back at the temple, most people were larger than my mother. I had fit in well enough with the other children, though I was a tad taller, and much more advanced in my magic. It had been an adventure being there, and I’d liked that part of it. But I’d missed my alab.
My mother, auntie, and I were all at a table, each of us with a bowl of fruit in front of us. I’d just eaten a slice of sweet fresh mango. “When we see Alab?” I asked my mother.
She frowned, and just that simple action had managed to sour the taste of the mango in my mouth. I’d realized she didn’t like it when I mentioned him. But I didn’t care at that point. I wanted to see alab. “I miss him.”
She forced a smile and said. “But you’ve been having so much fun with Kellen and Bashir,” she said. “They’ve even been teaching you to play lopli.”
“I hate lopli,” little me said, even though I didn’t. But part of me knew that she would stay away from alab if I liked it too much here. And liking lopli, Kellen, and Bashir wasn’t worth missing alab.
My mother frowned. “Alright, dear,” she said. “No one has to like lopli. Everyone has their own desires and joys.”
“Alab,” I said.
She nodded. “We’ll be heading back to the temple soon enough,” she said.
I grinned big. “Really?”
She nodded again. “Just enjoy the rest of the time you have here before we have to leave all your nice relatives.”
That memory faded and yet another emerged. I was a bit older and I was in my uncle’s room again. He handed me a small, squat stick. When it hit my hand, it extended into a miniature staff. “Only you, my love, could emerge from the saharba with a ketesh at such a young age.”
I beamed with pride. I loved it when alab complimented me, when he told me how wonderful I was.
“Now, we will work on glyphs. They are not the most crucial part of magic. Not for someone like you.”
“Someone powerful,” I said.
He grinned. “Yes. Someone powerful.”
This memory ended and another one emerged. Again in his chamber and this time I was crying. “I think mama is very mad at you, Alab.”
He shook his head. “Do not worry, Kadirah.”
I cried harder. “She’s very mad. She doesn’t want me to do magic and she is mad at you.”
He patted my knee and said, “Dirah, please, do not worry. I will deal with your mother.” Little me of the memory was assured by his tone, but as I looked at him with today’s knowledge, I realized I shouldn’t have been. There was something sinister in his gaze as he watched me.
He smiled and said, “I need you to calm yourself, for I need your help. I need your powerful magic.”
My little hands wiped my eyes and looked up at him dutifully. I worshipped and adored him. That was evident. “What?”
He walked away from me, over to a tapestry on the wall. He slid it to the side, spoke a glyph, which sparkled on the wall he’d just uncovered. A moment later, a secret hiding spot in the wa
ll emerged. From it, he pulled the Talisman of Elpida.
It was beautiful, and it spoke to me. Not literally, but it spoke to my heart. I could feel it beating as my own heart. It was as if it were alive. I watched as it floated from his hand into my outstretched hand. I closed my eyes and felt the power of the stone rushing through me. It was electrifying. It was like being atop the world’s tallest mountain and knowing everything that lay beneath it was yours.
“Dirah,” Zygam said. I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I need you to ask the Talisman to help me if I need it. To help me with tasks.
I stared at him, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“The Talisman, it is meant for you, but you need an alab to help guide you, to help you use it. You can link the Talisman to your alab, so I can help you better understand it.”
I felt the talisman warm in my hand. My uncle was right. The stone needed an alab, but it wasn’t him. The stone said I could get rid of him. I stared at it. I wasn’t sure I liked the amethyst stone as much now. I loved alab. The stone must love him, too. It should love him.
“Alab, I don’t know how.”
“Tell it,” he said. “Tell it to bend to my will, and it will obey you.”
And somehow I knew he was right. The stone was there for my direction, because I was powerful. I closed my eyes, held the stone tight, and in my head, I thought, “You should help my uncle. Aid him if he needs your assistance.”
The stone warmed in my hands. Hotter and hotter. Almost too hot. Almost as if it wanted me to drop it, as if it was tempting me to drop it. But I knew that I couldn’t drop it. This was a test. A test of my power. I was the powerful one, and it would have to yield to me.
And then it began to cool. I had passed the test. I wasn’t sure if I liked being tested, but I knew I had been.
I opened my eyes and handed the talisman to alab. I smiled. “It will help you, alab.”
He took it from my hands, and the moment he did, the stone glowed purple in his hand, and his entire body was covered in a purple haze, and a look of contentment crossed his face. The haze faded, and he looked at me with pure joy. “Thank you, Dirah,” he said. “You have helped your alab immensely.”
I smiled. “I will always help you, alab.”
Chapter 22 - Healing
A few more memories had come to me before I lifted my head from the ground and found Auntie sitting there with a worried look upon her face.
“Are you alright?” Auntie asked me, her voice soft.
I wasn’t sure. I felt a strong desire to see my alab. The emotions of it were similar to what I’d felt that first times I’d seen him. I wondered, briefly if he’d been able to tap into my emotions, without accessing my memories, if that was why I’d felt so drawn to him each time I saw him.
I swallowed and looked at Auntie. She looked so concerned, I wasn’t sure I should answer her question. I was sure now I wasn’t alright. “I need time,” I said. That was true.
She nodded. “Do you want to stay here in the alshams room?”
I looked around, and then squinted. It was incredibly bright in here. The room must have sensed my conflict, sensed the bit of despair that had come with the memories. I had known little me had adored Zygam, but I’d felt certain that Jasper was right. That when the memories returned, I’d experience them with distance and objectivity. Instead, I felt a great desire to go my alab, to try to talk things out, to hear his side of the story, to try to understand why he would do these things. He wasn’t a bad person. I loved him, and he loved me, and my heart wanted me to seek his explanation.
Thankfully, some part of my brain was sounding the alarm, saying I couldn’t think like this. I couldn’t let these emotions rule me.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to stay here,” I told Auntie. “I need to talk to Pylum. I remembered something important.”
* * *
It felt odd sitting in Pylum’s office with Auntie. Usually, when I spoke with Pylum about matters of importance, it was just him and me. I had to make my case and defend it, or figure out what his stance and posture meant. I had to interpret everything on my own
Yet now, Auntie was here with me. It was something I’d wanted since the moment I had arrived. But now that I had it, it felt strange.
Pylum had folded his arms across his chest and looked pensive, his beard tip touching the uppermost folded arm. “You told the Talisman to serve Zygam?” he said for the third time.
I nodded yet again. I felt incredible scrutiny over this. I was four, and the person who had been the father figure my entire life had asked me to do something for him. Something that was within my power to do. “I would have refused him nothing at the time, Pylum.”
Pylum looked up at me, nodded. “I know. I just hadn’t realized he’d been given so much access to it.”
“But you knew he used it.” I said. “You told me as much.”
“Tapping into it of his own ability is much less than if you had asked the stone to bend to his will.”
“Why hasn’t he done more with the power?” Talitha asked.
I stared at her. “What is it you think he could have done?”
“So much more,” Pylum said. “He could have and should have tried to recruit more members. Clearly, he helped use it to create the moon temple. But, he should have done more with it.”
“More what?”
“More of everything,” Pylum said. “He could have and should have been able to call to you, to have the stone call to you if you’d asked it to help him. But something prevented him from using the stone to find you.”
Auntie was silent, but watched closely, seated in a chair next to mine, both of us facing Pylum. I ventured a guess at the problem. “The stone isn’t complete,” I said. “I mean, that’s what you said. So maybe that’s why he hasn’t done more with it.”
Pylum shook his head. “He hadn’t even realized entirely that the stone wasn’t complete. I assumed he would need the child of light to see that. But even without it being complete, it could have done more. There is something else. Something we’re not seeing. Something else he’s using the Talisman for.”
And Master Yaritza’s tale came back to me. “The Talisman can heal people, right?”
Pylum shrugged. “Yes, it can, I believe. The Talisman is mentioned in several scrolls, but most people prefer the ultimate power over dealing with trifles that most healers can cure.”
“But,” I said. “If the stone were being used to heal him, would that mean he couldn’t use its power for other things?”
Pylum stared at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Because of what Master Yaritza told me. She helped my mother do a shared fate spell before he killed her.”
Chapter 23 - Training
Pylum and Auntie gasped when I mentioned the shared fate spell. Auntie’s thin hand surged to clamp over her mouth, as if to hide her shock and Pylum’s eyes narrowed.
Auntie shook her head. “Yaritza wouldn’t do that,” she declared, lowering her hand.
“She did,” I assured her. “She told me. She said she promised mother she wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Pylum watched me with a critical eye, as if trying to assess whether I was somehow confused.
“Why wouldn’t Tima tell me?” Auntie asked. “I don’t understand why should would ask Yaritza for help, and not tell me.”
I turned to her, trying to come up with an explanation that felt odd. “Perhaps she didn’t want you to think poorly of her,” I admitted. “You both seem upset that she did the spell, even all these years later.”
Auntie bit her lip, and looked at me a moment longer than necessary. I wondered if my words had hit home. And then I wondered if my memories of Zygam were already changing me. In my memories, Zygam always spoke to me as an equal. Even at the earliest memories, he never treated me as a child. He always spoke in plain language and assumed I had the intellect to follow. He suggested motivations for people, strategies. And as my brain was integra
ting the locked away portions into my conscious mind, I could tell I was beginning to think with Zygam’s influence. I turned away from my aunt, my gaze finding Pylum.
He was deep in thought, still in shock. “Why does this spell upset you both so much?” I asked.
I suppose either of them could have answered. Pylum did. “A shared fate spell was once considered the dominion of justice, but that was long ago. In modern times, shared fate spells are the dominion of revenge, not healing. I’m surprised Master Yaritza knew how to do it.”
“Alab taught her,” I said, before I’d even realized it. And then, a memory floated to the top of my mind. It was one that had been previously locked, for it had a sharper, clearer quality about it that my normal memories didn’t have. It was alab and me in the garden beneath the saharba tree. It was a big tree, a thick base, the width of a small house. It was squat, with many low branches, but few leaves. The bark was a dark, dark brown, so that it almost looked black, and all the branches you could see twisted and wove through the air. I felt calm sitting there. I was older in this memory, and even though the date wasn’t readily available, it seemed close to the end, close to the time right before my mother took me.
“There are spells that connect people,” Zygam said, in a low voice as I leaned against the base of the tree. “Just the way that this tree is connected with the magic of the people who use its keteshes.”
I tipped my head back and stared up at the thick, winding branches. “How?”
He smiled at me. “Always a good question, Dirah. The hows and the whys are important to know. The saharba is connected to the branches it bestows for keteshes because they came from it. And through its magic, it binds the staff back to it. It can feel the magic that happens through its branches. It’s the tree’s life blood. But, in life, when we love others, we are connected to them. Love has in it a certain magic. So do family and trust. And when people are connected by these bonds, the way I am connected to you, or you to your mother, we can add another layer of magic to keep us connected. It is called an alfasiri. Can you say that?”
