The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

“What?” Zedd’aki said, wondering at his reaction and concerned.

  “She broke the rule ...” Ja’tar grumbled harshly, covering his eyes with his hand as his other made a fist.

  “What? Which rule?” Zedd’aki asked, not following the conversation.

  “Travelers may not mate with locals from the realms. The child is hers,” Ja’tar spat angrily, waving his fist in the air, “with some mage. At least it was a mage ...”

  Zedd’aki lifted his brows, looked down at the lad and then again at Ja’tar. Now that Ja’tar had told him, he could clearly see the resemblance, “That must have been the robed man I saw, who put him in the Gate.”

  “You saw him?” an astonished Ja’tar begged. “What did he look like?”

  Zedd’aki reflected, trying to remember what it was that he actually saw. “But only for an instant. I called to him, but the Gate was already closing. He was tall, seemed sad. I didn’t see To’paz.”

  Ja’tar grunted, “Let me see the boy’s arm!”

  “Eh?”

  “His arm. Let me see his arm,” Ja’tar demanded, as he stooped down.

  Zedd’aki shrugged and pulled the lad’s arm out of the blanket. He saw the jewel encrusted bracelet, snug on his wrist. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Ja’tar grimaced, “It’s a bal’achar. What have you done, my sister?”

  “Is it?” Zedd’aki asked, his face going pale.

  Ja’tar put his hand over the band and chanted. His eyes shot wide and he yanked his hand back as if he had been bit by a venomous snake, “It is ... filled, by the Gods! I had prayed not.”

  To’paz caught a glimpse of Ja’tar as he gazed into the bracelet. He looked mad. She knew he would be. After all, it was the second rule of travelers that she had broken. None other was as important, except not interfering.

  Ja’tar held the boy’s arm and snarled into the bal’achar, “Sister, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

  She hadn’t seen who her brother was talking to, nor heard all that had been said, it had been muffled by the blanket, but she heard his snarl loud and clear. Just like him. What did he expect her to do, wither and die, just like that, just because some foul demon crashed the totems closed with a careless spell?

  She hadn’t liked her choices, but she hoped that her brother would understand, and in time, forgive her. She hoped that he would love and care for the boy. She could feel him, and that gave her great comfort. Even if she had to spend an eternity in this vessel, at least she wouldn’t be totally alone.

  Ja’tar set his hand on the boy’s head and chanted. He growled bitterly, “He’s filled with magic ...”

  Zedd’aki watched, “And that means?”

  “It means he will not be a young boy for long,” he sighed heavily, shaking his head and stood up. He turned away and threw his hands in the air in frustration.

  “What do we do?” Zedd’aki wondered aloud, knowing that the boy would face ridicule and teasing as he got older.

  “Do?” Ja’tar retorted.

  “Yes, you know what I mean. Do we hide him?” Zedd’aki asked. “Just until he’s bigger? Or do we send him away?”

  Ja’tar thought for a minute, “No, I see no need or benefit. Besides, my sister’s last request was that we raise him as a mage of the Keep. He’ll have a hard enough time once people figure out where he came from. It’s not his fault my sister broke her pledge, but he’s the one who will be ostracized and rejected.”

  “Do they need to know? Can’t we make something up?” Zedd’aki asked, worried for the boy.

  Ja’tar waved off his suggestion, “They’ll eventually figure it out. He looks just like To’paz. It will be worse if we lie.”

  “Does he have the gift?” Zedd’aki asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Ja’tar replied. “To’paz says he does, but the magic To’paz fed into him masks any sight I may have. I was never that good at reading. You?”

  Zedd’aki focused on the boy, “Maybe. You’re right; the magic is masking any true weave of talent I may divine.”

  The child opened his bleary eyes and looked around the dark room, “Mother?”

  Zedd’aki got down on one knee and stroked the boy’s hair kindly. “You’re mother is not here child, I’m afraid there is only Ja’tar and me.”

  “I’m in the Keep?” The lad looked up with huge baby-doe eyes, his lips quivered. “Did she go away? She said she had to go away for a long time.”

  “Yes, she had to go away ...” Zedd’aki said, biting back the truth. He scooped up the lad and held him tightly. “Do you have a name young one?”

  “My name is Bal’kor,” the child answered, returning the hug. “I’m really hungry.”

  Zedd’aki chuckled, “We’ll get you something to eat in a minute.”

  Ja’tar grumbled, “Let’s get this Calling done with ...”

  Zedd’aki set the lad down and told him to wait for them to finish their work. The lad sat on the floor bundled in his blue and green blanket, peering out at the two magi. He watched their every move, studying them.

  The two magi walked over to the Gate and Ja’tar removed a note from his pocket. He scanned it and began pushing several of the glyphs as he recited the ancient poem he had scribbled down on the sheet of paper. The glyphs glowed orange while he chanted and worked his way around the Gate. Ja’tar handed Zedd’aki a ten-sided key with a ruby embedded in the handle. When he finished, both he and Zedd’aki joined hands and Ja’tar set his Keeper’s ring into the correct seal, while Zedd’aki pushed the key into the slot on the other side of the Gate. The Gate trembled, glowed an eerie vermillion color, and then when Zedd’aki turned the key, a loud chime sounded.

  “It’s done.” Ja’tar said, dropping Zedd’aki’s hand and gathering his notes, stuffing them into his pocket. “Let’s go get Bal’kor some lunch.”

  Zedd’aki removed the key and handed it back to Ja’tar.

  Somewhere back in Naan, the center stone in a ring that hung from a glyph in an ancient travel gate chimed and then pulsed softly every few seconds, as it did in every other realm controlled by the guild. The travelers would know; their medallions would begin to hum softly and ring in their ears.

  When the three walked into the dining room, all eyes swung in their direction. Several of the wizards stared befuddled, while they wove through the rows of chairs and tables toward the back of the room. The lad’s eyes were wide as they passed the display case filled with mugs of past wizards, and he stared up, mouth agape at the intricate ceiling. The boy stopped mid-stride and stared at the ceiling, watching it shimmer.

  Tax sat in the corner eating when he heard the commotion. He stood on his toes eyes as wide as any while he watched the diminutive lad. The third sign, he thought. My God! It is really happening. He moved closer, hoping to be able to listen in on the conversation. Ja’tar turned around and walked back to the lad, “Come now, we should get you something to eat. You can spend the rest of the day exploring, if you wish.”

  Bal’kor’s eyes got wide, he smiled broadly, and followed his uncle. The child grabbed his hand and grinned. Ja’tar was embarrassed at the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t know what the proper response should be. How could he respond warmly to the lad when the boy was an abomination not allowed by law? Well, for now, none knew of his origin. They sauntered to the kitchen and Gretta’s face lit up when she spotted the child standing between the two magi.

  “And who do we have here?” she asked, eyes glowing as she wiped her hands on her bib and hiked her skirt up so she could kneel down.

  “This is Bal’kor,” Ja’tar answered, rather cryptically.

  “Hello Bal’kor. I’m Gretta,” she said, focusing her attention on the small lad. She pushed his long hair out of his face with her hand attempting to get a good look at the lad.

  “Hello,” the lad mumbled shyly.

  Gretta turned to Ja’tar, “Will the boy’s mother be joining us?”

  Ja’tar mumbled a quick, “No!”
<
br />   “I miss my mother,” the boy said, weakly breaking into tears as he clung to the hem of Ja’tar’s robe.

  “There, there,” Gretta cooed, pulling the lad into a warm embrace.

  Zedd’aki was shaking his head, trying to get Gretta to change the direction of the conversation, but he wasn’t being very successful. She was paying him no attention, as if he were not even in the room. Women!

  “Are you here visiting?” Gretta said, bending over to look into the boys eyes. “Or are you a new wizard?”

  Bal’kor wiped away a tear and stuttered back, “Mother said I need to come live with my uncle.”

  “Oh, and who is your uncle?” Gretta asked, taking the boys hand.

  Zedd’aki raised a hand to his forehead and looked away, cringing at the response he knew was coming.

  “Ja’tar is my uncle,” the boy said, pointing at the elder mage with a smile on his face. “He’s a powerful wizard!”

  Gretta’s eyes went wide, “Oh ... Oh!”

  She looked at Ja’tar, then back at the boy, immediately noticing the resemblance. “Oh, my!”

  “Don’t ask,” Ja’tar grumbled, trying to not lose his temper. “We’ll talk later.”

  A Sister of the Light overheard the conversation and slid down the table next to Ja’tar.

  “Did I hear you say that the boy was your nephew?”

  Ja’tar rubbed his temples. “Yes. You heard correctly. He is my sister’s son.”

  “But you only have one sister. Didn’t she just ...” she stopped mid sentence putting the pieces together. “Oh! Oh, my!”

  “Well,” Gretta said, with a big smile. “You’re so skinny. Gretta will put some meat on your bones. Now, let’s get you some dinner. Do you like roasted chicken?”

  Bal’kor moved his head up and down vigorously. “I love chicken!”

  He followed Gretta off into the kitchen, turning to wave goodbye to Ja’tar and Zedd’aki.

  “Taila, can you keep this to yourself for a while?”

  Taila nodded halfheartedly, clearly disappointed and Ja’tar knew she would be unable to keep his secret. He wondered how the Head Mistress of the Sisters could keep so many secrets, and yet, couldn’t resist the urge to gossip. Taila flipped her jet-black hair out of her face and over her shoulder. She didn’t answer. She moved both of her feet over the bench very lady-like and stood, straightening her long robe, prominently displaying her gold and blue strips. She was Pro’car and Head Mistresses.

  Zedd’aki watched her excuse herself and leave the room. He saw her look back over her shoulder several times as she exited.

  “So now the whole Keep will know ...” Ja’tar mumbled to himself, his shoulders slumping.

  “Come on Uncle,” Zedd’aki teased. “Let’s drown your sorrows in some mead.”

  Ja’tar looked up with a pitiful look on his face, “There’s not enough mead in the Keep.”

  “But we can try,” Zedd’aki laughed, clapping his friend on his back. “And if need be, we can make more!”

  Tax smiled to himself and tried to contain his excitement. He had heard the lad’s response and seen his uncle’s reaction. The lad is the one. The Breaker had been born. He would need to give this information to the others as soon as it could be arranged. Of course that meant he’d have to talk to the Seer. Tax shuddered. He never had taken a liking to the old woman. She made him feel uncomfortable, as if she knew all his secrets or something, staring at him with those milky-white eyes. Well, there weren’t no gettin’ around it, be that as it may. He hastily scrawled a message on a scrap of paper and hurried off to leave it in the secret spot so that the meeting could be arranged.

  Zedd’aki grinned. At least things would be a little different with the child around. He couldn’t remember the last time the Keep had a child within its walls. Zedd’aki watched Gretta lead the boy off, thinking that he would need a new robe, the one he had on was getting a little short, and tight.

  Zedd’aki and Ja’tar helped themselves to plates and food. It wasn’t long before Gretta led the boy back to the dining room with a plate of meats and cheeses that Zedd’aki swore was heavier than the boy. She had also gotten him his own mug.

  “Gretta got me a mug of my own,” the lad said excitedly, taking a sip. “It’s good apple juice. I like apple juice!”

  Gretta watched Ja’tar lead the boy to a table and sit him down. He sat quietly swinging his legs back and forth under the bench as he ate, taking one bite at a time. Zedd’aki was impressed. For one so young—he deftly handled his fork and used his napkin. Zedd’aki excused himself and went back for another healthy portion.

  Zedd’aki grabbed a clean plate and filled it up before he rejoined Ja’tar at the table. It wasn’t long before Rua’tor came over to meet the new recruit.

  “And who might this be?” Rua’tor asked, extending his hand to the boy in friendship.

  Bal’kor grabbed his stubby fingered hand and shook it mightily, for a five-year old, “I’m Bal’kor. Ja’tar is my uncle. Pleased to meet you!”

  Rua’tor raised both brows and stared at Ja’tar.

  Ja’tar squeezed his eyes shut and quietly answered the question, figuring he might as well get it over with. “He’s To’paz’s little boy,”

  Rua’tor sputtered. “To’paz’s? But that ... Well ...”

  “Exactly,” Ja’tar said, shaking his head wearily.

  “Oh, my!” Rua’tor echoed. His eyes darted uncomfortably around as he sputtered. “What’s done is done ... I suppose.”

  “Indeed, that’s how I see it,” Ja’tar mumbled, burying his face in his ale.

  Two White Sisters named Wanda and Gretchen came running up her face all aglow. “I just heard that Ja’tar is an Uncle. Where is the boy?”

  Ja’tar winced. Zedd’aki chuckled.

  Bal’kor peeked out from behind Ja’tar.

  “Oh, there you are! My you are a cute one,” Wanda said, placing her hands on her hips and bending over for a closer look. She turned and faced Gretchen. “He looks just like To’paz, especially the eyes.”

  She patted the boy on his head. “I have to go, but we will see plenty of each other. The Keep’s a small place – once you get to know it.”

  She turned and left, leaving Gretchen standing there.

  Ja’tar looked up at Gretchen. “Please, don’t say anything!”

  She snorted and threw her nose in the air. Rua’tor was still standing there.

  “Do we know who his father is?” Rua’tor asked, raising a brow.

  Ja’tar shook his head.

  “Merl, my father’s name is Merl,” Bal’kor said, his face lighting up. “Mommy told me. He’s a wizard.”

  “A wizard?” Rua’tor raised his left eyebrow, “Smart lad.”

  “Are you a wizard?” Bal’kor asked. “Mother said my uncle is a great wizard.”

  “Yes, I’m a wizard,” Rua’tor answered. “I’m the Floormaster.”

  “The Floormaster presides over ceremonies,” Bal’kor said, with a smile. “It’s an important job.”

  “I like him already,” Rua’tor said, nodding to Ja’tar.

  “I’m going to be a powerful wizard when I grow up,” Bal’kor said, grinning. He held his hands up and wove an intricate spell of Wizard’s Fire.

  Ja’tar startled, threw up his hands and shielded his eyes, expecting the ball of fire to appear right next to him, for the spell was perfect. But nothing happened, but a small ‘pop’ and he visibly relaxed. The spell was perfect, it should have worked.

  “I don’t doubt him,” Rua’tor said, while he laughed. He set his hand on the boy’s head, tousled his hair and walked away from the table. “Nice control in throttling the magic.”

  While everyone was fawning over the lad, Ja’tar cast his glamour of the boys. They walked into the room in single file and sat down at the bench in the far corner of the room. Ja’tar kept them looking over their shoulders every few minutes at the group gathered at the table. Ja’tar moved his hand stealthi
ly under the table, controlling their motions.

  Men’ak leaned over and whispered something into Dra’kor’s ear. Dra’kor leaned over the table and said something to Grit. Ja’tar hoped it would be convincing enough to lay aside any worries about the boys that may have developed since they left the Keep. With a little luck, everyone would just think they had been under the weather for a little while.

  Rua’tor saw the images of Dra’kor and his group off at the opposite end of the cafeteria and hurried off to let them know. As he approached, Dra’kor sneezed and Grit looked up after coughing phlegm up and spitting it in his napkin. They looked very ill. Rua’tor stopped, forced a nervous grin, and unwilling to risk sickness, turned and hurried out of the room.

  “That went well, Zedd’aki said, nodding in Ja’tar’s direction taking a bite of piping-hot bread. “That was not beginner’s spell ...”

  “We’ll see,” Ja’tar said sardonically. “I recognize that spell. It belonged to To’paz. She had a special flair for Wizard’s Fire.”

  “He has amazing control to have snuffed it out at the last second.” Zedd’aki clapped him on his back. “It looks like your glamour worked too. Did you see the expression on Rua’tor’s face?”

  Ja’tar snorted as he modified his spell to make Dra’kor and his friends get up and leave the room. The spell was less than convincing, but nobody was paying close enough attention to tell.

  “I think the phlegm was a bit much ...”

  Ja’tar watched the door, hoping that the nobody else would enter. He was sorely disappointed when Qu’entza pushed his way into the room. He fidgeted, his eyes darting about the room. He spotted Ja’tar and his brows arched. He grunted, making his way down the stairs and hurrying down the aisle, heading in their direction.

  Qu’entza smiled, “So we have a new mage ...”

  Ja’tar looked up, waiting for the inevitable ‘but.’

  “But who’s going to teach him?” Qu’entza asked, extending hands that were overly long with six fingers to a hand. He gently messed the boy’s hair with adulation. “Welcome to our home young mage.”

  Ja’tar looked at Qu’entza. The tall thin man was hard to read, he was Wyrm and they were just plain impossible to read. Ja’tar knew that somewhere behind those lizard-like eyes, Qu’entza’s mind was work and calculating options, chances and evaluating the boy. Ja’tar wasn’t sure if he was asking to be the teacher or was just wondering. Qu’entza’s black eyes darted as he twitched nervously. The skin on his arms and hands rippled.