The ruin caused by the firehound started in the blacksmith’s kiln, an explosion that killed the blacksmith and severely injured his apprentice. Tyfor’s population believed the Dwarf fuel sources the smith used had ignited the blast. The third casualty, the man burned within the general store, had been Tyer, the apple farmer.
With all the rumors surrounding the Soul Seekers, the last thing anyone needed to hear was that an elemental had caused the devastation. So, Darr said nothing about the stranger or the firehound. Better to leave out the details rather than stir up trouble.
Darr could tell Arn suspected the morning’s events weren’t what they seemed. The old innkeeper had known him all his life, and the tale of a piece of flaming debris being thrown from the blacksmith’s shop to the general store in the explosion was partly believable. Darr suspected Arn saw through his account of fighting the fire using the water barrel on the side of the building. The innkeeper had simply known him too long and knew he wasn’t a risktaker. Once his father was healed, Darr believed Arn would begin asking more questions.
The Summoner sighed inwardly, distraught at his inability to talk with anybody about the truth of what happened. Had Jinn been around, he would’ve confided in her. He stood in the golden halo of the oil lamps and swept up what remained of the scattered glass and ash.
The stranger who’d saved them was Nidic Waq.
Nothing else made sense. He’d never met the man, in fact, he’d only heard stories of him. From the stories Darr had heard since early childhood, Nidic Waq was the self-proclaimed prophet of Caeranol, a loner and an outcast almost everywhere he traveled. He appeared in random towns from time to time, narrating detailed accounts of the Aeon Wars and of times before, when the Ancients inhabited the land.
Despite his knowledge, he possessed far too much detailed information to be considered sane and it gained him little respect. Many people maintained Nidic Waq could read a man’s thoughts by looking at him. He could even divine the future.
From the moment the white-robed stranger had disappeared from the store, and the spirits had gone silent within him, Darr suspected Nidic Waq’s presense. It bothered him more that the man might be connected somehow to the firehound. After all, both the elemental and the prophet used magic. What if the stranger had created the firehound? Of course, if that were true, why did he come to destroy it?
One certainty had come from the experience, Darr would no longer be willing to dismiss talk about the Soul Seekers. The sight of the firehound alone, not to mention the display of magic let loose by the stranger, convinced Darr the Divine had less control over the magic they guarded than anyone suspected. Darr had a sinking feeling magic could be harnessed without the use of the Sephirs. The other option placed the mysterious stranger among the ranks of the Soul Seekers.
He swept a pile of glass and soot into a tray. The Tyfran General Store had been mostly cleaned out. All of the salvaged goods and shelving had been stored down in the basement or over at Arn’s Inn. The fire had done surface damage, which would require some heavy scrubbing and waxing, all of which could be taken care of within a day or two. Darr was planning what supplies he’d need for the repairs, and who he could get to help, when a knock came at the door.
At first, Darr mistook the sound for the old building settling or a siding plank shaking in the wind. The knock came again, this time accompanied by a gentle urging within the Currents, a voice he felt rather than heard. The tray and its contents slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Darr shook his hair from his face. He turned towards the door and stared in silence, straining to hear within the Currents, but nothing reached him.
He recognized who reached out to him, though he didn’t know how anyone, besides the spirits, could enter the Currents.
Darr lowered his arms and walked to the door with precise silent steps. The light from the oil lamps dimmed suddenly, as if what waited for him outside stole away their light. Or perhaps he drained their light, for he was shadowed somehow, separate from events conspiring around him. He stood in front of the door and took a deep breath before reaching down and opening it to the night air.
The tall, forbidding figure of the stranger rose up before him.
“May I come in, Darr Reintol?” the man asked, his voice smooth. Darr hesitated, uncertain, but he nodded anyway and stepped aside.
The stranger walked through the doorway, his tall form stooping slightly in order to pass through. The man intimidated Darr, and not by his physical height and appearance alone. Outwardly, he appeared calm and disciplined, but Darr sensed within the stranger’s frame a greater brilliance. He radiated some inner power. The Summoner reached back and shut the door. When he turned around, he faced an elder seeking reprimand.
“Who are you?” Darr asked uncomfortably, wondering what the man wanted.
The white-robed figure stood in the center of the room, looking up and around, searching for something. Finally, his piercing green eyes fixed on Darr and his wide mouth parted into a smile. “I think you already know who I am,” he said in so much of a whisper the Summoner barely heard him.
Darr’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the man, his own suspicions now confirmed. “You’re Nidic Waq.”
The man nodded and the yellow light from the lamps above shimmered off the long strands of red hair tied behind his neck. “I apologize for the attack by the firehound,” the prophet said, his voice low and smooth again, yet his gaze never left Darr’s. “I confess, the elemental broke free because of my presence. The Currents are delicate now, spread out through Ictar like a spiderweb, and Summoners are like bears traipsing through them. I truly am sorry, but in this time of war, there are risks we must take if we are to survive. Navigating the Currents is one such risk.”
So, Nidic Waq was a Spirit Summoner. Darr tried to decide whether he told the truth though somehow it was obvious.
“Wait a minute,” the Summoner blurted out, shaking his head in disbelief. “What do you mean? I’m not at war with anybody, and I’m certainly nothing like you.”
Nidic Waq smiled, another slight lifting of the edges of his wide mouth, and before turning away said, “Ahhh...”
Immediately frustrated with the prophet, Darr remained calm. How could he be close to the same as Nidic Waq? Darr didn’t have a hint of magic, let alone the desire to learn. Magic was forbidden for a reason. Besides, why would a man who preached about the errors of the Aeon Wars choose to equip himself with the same forces that had instigated it?
Nidic Waq stepped to where a few empty crates had been left stacked near the counter. He effortlessly lifted two from the stack and brought them over to the center of the room, setting them on the floor. Nidic Waq sat down, his legs stretched before him, facing the other crate. Darr hesitated, debating whether he should stay or run out the door, but after a moment gave into his curiosity and sat down.
The prophet kept his gaze steady for an instant, but it was enough time to send chills running down Darr’s spine. “Do you know the story of the fall of the Ancients?” Darr nodded his head, but the prophet smiled mockingly and remained silent, apparently testing his knowledge of Ancient Ictarian history.
“Well, I’ve always heard the Ancients were an advanced civilization,” Darr said. He looked up at Nidic Waq for approval but found nothing. “They built great things using magic and machinery. But something happened with one of their creations. It got loose from them and destroyed their civilization.”
Nidic Waq smiled sadly and leaned back. His intense eyes focused directly on Darr, and the prophet said, “I could tell you the truth of what happened all those years ago. But what difference would it make? The story of the Ancients is set in your mind like stone, as it is for the rest of Ictar. History has become a story for us, and the only way for you or anyone else to discover the truth is to discover it for yourself.”
The Summoner started to protest, but the breath left his body and he couldn’t. Something about what Nidic Waq said made a connecti
on, and Darr found himself wanting very much to know more about that connection.
Nidic Waq continued, his tone softer. “What I call history, and what you call stories, are merely words we use to color the truth. The reason I’m here is because you and I are both Spirit Summoners, and as such, we have access to a very old, yet very powerful magic...”
“Wait,” Darr interjected, his hands raised slightly in protest and defense. He didn’t like the way the prophet changed subjects so abruptly, almost in subterfuge. “I’ve never heard Spirit Summoners could do magic, not even during the Aeon Wars, and I certainly know I can’t, so somewhere along the line, I think one of us has been misinformed.”
The terrifying smile on the prophet’s face forced Darr to recoil not only physically, but also within himself.
“Yes, Boy, one of us has been grossly misinformed.” Though he continued to sit, Nidic Waq bore down on him, a towering wall of rage. “Did you think I would come here if I didn’t know what I spoke about? Did you think I would waste my time approaching you, if I didn’t think you were capable of what I am asking? What you have heard of me, and what you will come to know, are of such vast difference one should be stone and the other one air.”
Petrified by the the prophet’s words and powerful gaze, Darr found himself unable to break away despite his fear. Something more than Nidic Waq’s physical actions held him spellbound. The longer Darr sat there, the more he realized Nidic Waq used the Currents to accomplish this.
In response, Darr let his mind slip away from the prophet, and the air about Nidic Waq shrank. His fear deteriorated. The man’s eyes were calm once more, his voice smooth and reassuring.
“Now, if you’ll allow me to continue uninterrupted.” Darr nodded his head ever so slightly, and Nidic Waq smiled in response. “Good. The information you have about Spirit Summoners is not complete. Yes, we are connected to the Currents in such a way that allows us to hear the spirits, and in turn, communicate with them. This is a fraction of what a Summoner’s potential amounts to. It isn’t only the spirits that lend a Summoner his meaning in life, though it’s certainly an important aspect. An integral piece to the puzzle of the Summoners is our connection to the Currents.”
With caution, Darr watched the prophet, not willing, or wanting to believe his words quite yet, but he didn’t want to discount him either.
Nidic Waq leaned forward, and his gaze held Darr’s own. “In all of Ictar, only the Spirit Summoners can experience the connection shared between the Currents and the spirits. Only a few of those Summoners know that all life on Ictar is connected to the Currents as well. Now I ask you, Darr Reintol, if you know the importance of this association?”
The Summoner shook his head, his eyes wide. Nidic Waq continued.
“When I say everything on Ictar is connected to the Currents, Darr, the Sephirs are included. They are connected to the Currents in the same manner of all living creatures. What this means for a Summoner is one can acquire the skill necessary to navigate the Currents, thus enabling them to call upon the Archons within each of the Sephirs. This is the true power of a Summoner.”
Darr stared in confusion, still unsure what exactly Nidic Waq wanted him to understand. The prophet raised his hand and a ball of white fire flared to life, causing Darr to flinch before it died away.
“Every Summoner is capable of finding the skill needed to summon the Archons, thereby harnessing the elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. There are some Summoners that possess this skill naturally, gifted from birth with the ability to traverse the Currents with little effort.”
Darr sat frozen in shock while Nidic Waq’s words echoed through his mind. He no longer doubted what the prophet told him. He had the strange feeling, again, that he’d known all along, and Nidic Waq merely confirmed the information. Darr couldn’t be sure of the source of this feeling, especially since he’d already experienced something of Nidic Waq’s power over his mind.
Darr built up his courage and asked, “How is it I know you speak the truth? I want to believe you, but like the rumors I’ve heard, you’ve imposed your will on me.”
The prophet nodded somewhat sadly. “I don’t impose my will so much as I bring to surface and intensify those emotions that control you the most. The spirit realm allows me to see deep into the Light dwelling within living creatures. It allows me to either suppress or intensify those emotions and memories of their soul they would keep hidden.” Nidic Waq hunched forward on his seat. “Despite the rumors, my young friend, I am not a mind reader. I am a listener of the spirits, and the knowledge of the spirits is vast. Sometimes they know of things that are to come. Being able to listen to the spirits and not be confused by their words is another skill that takes practice and time. But, I think you will master the skill quickly.”
“So what do you want from me?” Darr asked, his voice wavering. The prophet wanted him to use his summoning abilities in some way, but Darr couldn’t imagine how.
Nidic Waq’s posture didn’t change. “I want you to explore your potential. I need you to become the kind of Spirit Summoner you were born to be, not because of me or your own desires, but because Ictar’s survival requires nothing less.”
Darr shook his head in protest, but Nidic Waq held up his hand, halting him.
“You don’t need to know everything yet, but you must know the Soul Seekers are real. They are as real as you and I, and if they’re ignored, they will do to us what they did to the Ancients.”
A numbing cold washed through Darr. “You mean that story...?” he asked in a bare whisper.
“Yes, Summoner,” the prophet replied. “The Seekers are spawned from the Devoid, the very same creation that rid this world of the Ancients. Neither you, nor the might of all the races combined, can bring an end to them. Though the Devoid is sealed away by the Light of the Sephirs, it has been chipping away at its prison for some time now. All we can do is buy ourselves some time, for as we speak, our guardian and protector, the great Archon, Caeranol, searches for a way in which we’ll all be free.”
“Caeranol?” Darr interrupted. “I thought he was only a myth.”
Nidic Waq gave him a dark look. “No, young Summoner, I can assure you Caeranol is very real. He is an Archon of vast power, one who is bound to Ictar in ways you cannot imagine. Caeranol’s objectives in this matter are of little concern to you now. What matters is you’re in a position to aid me, and thereby aid yourself and all of Ictar.”
Darr nodded hesitantly. “Even if I could learn magic, if I have it in me to do it, what chance do I stand against something that destroyed the Ancients?”
The prophet’s brow furrowed and he adjusted his seat. Darr wanted nothing more than for the prophet to get to the point. Nidic Waq cleared his throat before continuing.
“All living things on Ictar, the Sephirs included, are possessed of the Light and subject to its laws. The Light contained within the Sephirs is potent and vast, but like every other living creature, it is finite. When the Light from a Sephir is extinguished, the magic controlling its element is extinguished as well, and if the Light of all the Sephirs fails...”
“Chaos.” Darr breathed the word like a curse. “Before the time of the Ancients, the world was chaos. But an unknown cataclysm brought life to the world by binding together the Four Elements through the creation of the Sephirs. How the Sephirs were brought together was a mystery even to the Ancients, but without them, the world would revert back to its true form of chaos.”
“Yes, young Summoner,” Nidic Waq said, nodding his head solemnly. “Chaos. That’s exactly what the Devoid is after. Unleashing chaos would allow the Devoid and its Soul Seekers to reap the Light from every living creature on Ictar. More to the point, the return of chaos would break the walls of the Devoid’s prison. What’s more frightening is the Devoid has discovered the means to drain the Sephirs, and it’s been doing so for some time now.”
Darr’s jaw dropped slightly. “How...?”
Nidic Waq shook his hea
d. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you everything, but my time grows short. At this point, either you’ve made up your mind to believe me, or not. I need your help, and while I cannot tell you everything, I can tell you this--only a Spirit Summoner with potential such as yours, Darr Reintol, can restore the Sephirs to their original state.”
Darr stared for a moment before his words tumbled out in a rush of disbelief. “So that’s it? The Sephirs have started to fail and you want me to go with no more information than what you’ve told me?”
Nidic Waq nodded again, his eyes dark and solemn. “I have already explained what is necessary for you to make a decision. All you need now is the willingness to explore your potential in order to learn.”
“I can’t do what you’ve asked!”
“You’ve never tried.”
The prophet remained motionless, a statue sitting before him. Darr watched him with the caution, but also with resignation. He sensed truth in the prophet’s words. Besides, Nidic Waq was giving him the opportunity to travel Ictar. It gave him an excuse to leave.
The Summoner looked back at Nidic Waq. He remembered all the stories he’d ever heard of the prophet. The people of Ictar shunned him largely because they didn’t want to hear what he had to say about them. Darr realized the same was true for him. He wished Nidic Waq had never come to Tyfor, revealing omens of doom and shadows of Darr’s own self, shadows he somehow already knew.
He wished he wasn’t a Summoner, carrying with it a legacy of magic he never knew existed. More surprising though, Darr wished he’d never wanted to leave Tyfor. He wished desperately he could live out the rest of his life in the confines of his town and never know anything beyond.
He knew he couldn’t do that though.
The desire to know the truth about himself and the world was too strong. Likely, Nidic Waq knew this as well.
“Fine,” the Summoner said softly. “I’ll go.” He looked up into the prophet’s eyes, seeing a tender look there. “I don’t know what I can do, and I’m not sure where to begin. I’m afraid for myself, but more for those I’ll let down if I fail.”
The Children of the Light: Book 1: Spirit Summoner Page 3
