Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “How?”

  “As Master Latva just said, we have a lot to discuss,” the portly wizard replied and beckoned that Justan follow. The wizards filed from the Hall of Majesty through a door in the far side of the room with the newly named apprentice in tow.

  They traveled down many long hallways and staircases, Professor Beehn using magic to float his chair up or down the stairs as needed. Justan struggled with his situation. He couldn’t process it all. He felt kind of hollow inside and he was more than a little afraid. Suddenly he didn’t know who he was. It was as if his sense of self had been yanked away.

  He knew that he was now Edge. He had been named after all. But was he still Justan, the boy with all of the faults and frailties? Now that he was named did that all change? Was he now an excellent warrior and accomplished wizard? He didn’t feel any physical changes.

  Every named individual that Justan had ever heard of had one thing in common. They exuded confidence. They had complete knowledge and control of themselves and therefore were not afraid of any situation. Justan had wished that he would one day have enough mastery over himself to become named and despite the unlikelihood of it ever happening, he had often imagined how glorious it would be if that dream came true. Yet here he was, a named warrior and wizard. All he felt was fear and doubt.

  Wizard Randolf had been correct with his statement. Something about the situation just didn’t seem right. Justan thought back to the portraits of the named warriors and wizards that he had seen on his way to the Hall of Majesty. He thought of Master Latva and his good friend Hilt, the only named individuals that he had known. He thought of them and their vast experience and suddenly, he was ashamed.

  What had he accomplished to deserve such honor? Here he was, a clumsy warrior and an untrained magic user and he had been given rewards that great men like his own father had not been able to attain. He felt as though his naming was an insult to those other great and brave men.

  The answers to his hopes and dreams had been dropped into his lap and they seemed hollow to him. Justan felt now that he had been cheated of the experiences that Hilt and Master Latva had been given. The powerful motivation to succeed that had driven him so passionately was now without a direction and the rewards felt like ashes in his mouth. What did he have to reach for now? What was there left for him to achieve?

  He decided that he could not yet think of himself as Edge. He would continue to be Justan if only in his own heart until he felt that he was truly worthy of this new name.

  Suddenly, Gwyrtha hammered his mind with fear and anger. Justan’s lips pulled back from his teeth into a snarl as some of the raw emotion forced its way through his defenses and expressed itself physically.

  Frantic over the loss of control, Justan pushed Gwyrtha’s thoughts down and looked around quickly to make sure that no one else had noticed his momentary mood change. Thankfully, the council members were all looking straight ahead, deep in their own thoughts and none had seen his strange behavior.

  He was used to Gwyrtha’s intrusions by now, but she had never put such force behind them before. He was tired of her constant worrying over him and was still so in shock with his recent experiences that he didn’t want to bother with her.

  I am fine! He sent with as much emphasis as he could muster. I am busy now. I will speak with you later. He pushed her thoughts down as deep into the corners of his mind as he could. Even with his assurances, she struggled a bit longer before she finally went silent.

  At that moment the group approached a large double-door. Master Latva’s assistant, Alfred opened the door for them. His mind still reeling from his naming, Justan hadn’t noticed the gnome join the group along the way. He briefly wondered where Alfred had been during the ceremony and how he had known to join them here now.

  They entered the council hall. Again a high, dome-like ceiling arched overhead, but the room was less extravagant than he had expected. Deep blue tapestries lined the walls, but there were no statues or gilding. A large round oaken table in the center of the room was the focus. This is where the council had sat during every meeting for thousands of years. Events that changed the world had been planned in this room.

  Each wizard moved to the chair at the circular table that was marked with the rune that stood for his particular office in the council. Justan was led to one of three unmarked chairs that were used for special visitors. He rubbed the runes on his hands self-consciously and weighed the temperament of each councilman in his mind.

  The High Council was made up of seven wizards and all of them were looking at the new apprentice. Each wizard in the council was given a position relative to his skill. Unlike the other wizards of authority in the school, most of them didn’t teach classes, but had other responsibilities that kept them busy. As it was a rare thing to have the entire council present in a meeting, it was only luck that all of them had been able to make it to the apprenticeship ceremony.

  Justan had the rare privilege of having been taught by three of the councilmen and knew a fair bit about them. Master Latva was the Head Wizard of the council. Wizard Beehn was in charge of school grounds, and Wizard Auger was the Wizard Historian. He knew the others mostly by reputation.

  The remaining four council members represented the elements that they were most fluent in. Glaring at Justan was Randolf the Air Wizard. The Fire Wizard, Munsey, an aloof man who was well known for his rages, fixed his hawk-like gaze on Justan with one eyebrow raised as if questioning his very existence. The Earth Wizard, Master DeVargas, the only named wizard on the council besides Master Latva, was giving Edge a frown that made him uneasy.

  Then there was the Water Wizard, Valtrek, the only member of the council showing the new apprentice anything resembling a smile. Seeing the grin on Valtrek’s face made Justan more troubled than the reactions of all the other wizards combined.

  With a quick rap of his staff on the table, Master Latva called the meeting to order. Immediately, Wizard Randolf spoke out.

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why we must have this meeting. There has obviously been some kind of mistake! An apprentice does not get named!”

  “Well, now one has,” Valtrek remarked, sending a scowl along Randolf’s face.

  “I refuse to believe that. Look at him, he can’t even perform a simple offensive spell and from Beehn’s last report, he surely isn’t a master of defensive magic either. He does not deserve the naming!”

  Professor Beehn slammed his fist on the table. “Who are you to determine whether or not someone is worthy to be named, Randolf? We all know that the requirements for naming are determined by the Bowl of Souls.”

  Master Latva raised a hand, calling for silence and spoke to Justan. “Did you, at any moment during the Apprenticeship, hope or ask to be named?”

  Justan had been listening to the comments by the wizards in dismay, each point that was made deepening his confusion. When Master Latva asked him the question, he wasn’t quite sure.

  “I don’t think so, Master. All I remember is being in awe at standing in the presence of the Bowl of Souls, and then there was this . . . pressure building up inside me until it all just happened. I don’t think I had any control over it.”

  “No one ever does,” Valtrek put in.

  Randolf wouldn’t stay silent. “It doesn’t matter what his intentions were!” The man pointed at Justan. “I say the whole thing is suspicious. There are too many inconsistencies here. No one is named twice! Not only is he just an apprentice, but he has only been studying magic here at the school for one year! He is too young, not even into his twentieth year. Have any of you heard of someone being named that was less than twenty?”

  “We have already been over that!” Professor Beehn spouted. “The Bowl of Souls decides who will and who will not be named. It is not for us to question its magic.”

  “Actually, I think that Wizard Randolf has a point.” A voice came from the other end of the table. All eyes turned to Master DeVargas, whose comment had
taken them by surprise. “That he has been named in this stage of his development is strange enough, but there are other facts that make me question the validity of his naming.”

  As he spoke, the master looked into the eyes of each of the wizards at the table before settling his gaze upon Justan.

  “From the day that this student has entered our school, tradition has been turned on its ear. He has been given exception after exception. Personal tutors, early morning runs, sword fighting with the guards, and he has carried that bow of his around with him everywhere he went, a sure breach of protocol if I have ever seen one. And don’t forget his involvement with the Golem situation.” Several heads at the table were nodding in agreement. “Then that man claiming to be the Prophet comes in and has the gall to chastise us for holding him back!”

  “That man was the Prophet, DeVargas,” Master Latva corrected. Being the Headmaster and the only other named wizard on the council, he was the only one in the room that had the standing to speak to Master DeVargas without using an honorific.

  Justan knew that the Prophet had chastised the council about something, but he was surprised to hear that the Prophet had been speaking about him. Suddenly he felt like he was on trial here. It was as if, by being named he had committed some crime. Justan frowned, he hadn’t asked for these things to happen to him.

  Wizard Randolf interrupted. “I agree with Master DeVargas. Everything has fallen into this boy’s lap since the moment he came here!” Justan winced at the harshness of the statement.

  “Every exception that he has been given is one that he has earned.” Wizard Beehn said in frustration. “In every situation he was put in, he excelled. He is one of the best students in the school. He pays attention in every class and has an eagerness to learn, not to mention how quickly he figured out the riddle of the game of Elements. His morning runs have been a positive influence on the other students.” Heads were nodding in agreement with Professor Beehn now. “As far as his carrying the bow, if it weren’t for him carrying that bow of his, who knows how much more damage that golem might have done!”

  Vaguely, Justan realized that they were all avoiding speaking about him by name.

  Master DeVargas lifted his hands up palms out, conceding the point, but also showing the rune on his left palm, a subtle reminder to the others of his accomplishments. “Gentlemen, please. I agree that each of the exceptions made for this student have been completely justifiable if not earned.”

  “Then what was your point?” asked Munsey, the Fire Wizard who, up until now had been silent.

  “We all agree that this student’s powers are still quite mysterious. All that we really know is that he has great potential. Am I correct?” There were murmurs of agreement. “The point that I was going to make before I was interrupted was that far too much has happened to this boy in the last year for this all to be a coincidence.

  “Look at him, marked in the chest by a frost elemental and now in both palms by the Bowl of Souls. The boy is practically a magnet for magical mishap. I believe it possible that this student’s mysterious magic is responsible for all of the events I mentioned before. I say that his naming could be invalid because I believe that his magic triggered it.”

  Justan’s jaw dropped.

  The room erupted as all of the wizards began arguing at once. Master Latva did not let it go on for long. He rapped his staff against the table, sending an arc of light over the heads of the council, effectively silencing the discussion.

  “We must not forget that this is a High Council Meeting. We will act appropriately.” the master said and looked at DeVargas. “The claim you make goes against all that we know of magic, councilman. It sounds to me more like a village rumor than an educated opinion and frankly I am surprised to hear it come out of you.”

  This was a stinging rebuke coming from the normally even-tempered Head Wizard and DeVargas’ eye twitched as he replied.

  “All that I am saying, Master Latva, is that there is too much strangeness surrounding the boy’s naming. I motion that we should investigate it further.”

  “I second the motion,” said Wizard Randolf, his eyes gleaming. “I for one, refuse to call this student by his so-called new name until it is proven to me to be legitimate.”

  “I object!” shouted Wizard Beehn.

  Master Latva sighed. “I am afraid that the motion stands. The council will investigate the situation. However, we will all call our student by his new name. Unless proven otherwise, he is Edge. To call him anything else would be the gravest of insults and far below the dignity of any wizard in this school. Am I understood, Wizard Randolf?” The master looked straight at Randolf and was met by a sullen nod.

  “I have an addition to the motion,” said Wizard Munsey. “I foresee much confusion possible among the students if our new apprentice is seen with those telltale runes on his hands. I propose that we keep this event secret until we can figure out what to do about it.”

  “Agreed.” Latva said.

  “But!” Justan sputtered. He held out his hands. “How am I supposed to hide these?”

  “Alfred.” Somehow the gnome had anticipated Latva’s call and approached from the hallway holding out a pair of fine leather gloves. “I am sorry, Edge, but these will have to do,” the master said.

  “May I make a remark?” Valtrek asked and waited for the master’s nod before he proceeded. “I think that we are looking at this all wrong. This is an exciting time, an opportunity for us to learn. For so long it has seemed like we knew all there was to know about this power that we have all been blessed with. But now, look at Professor Beehn and Sir Edge, the student before us. New and exciting things are happening and I for one am glad to be here for it.”

  He seemed as if he wanted to say more, but a knock at one of the doors to the room interrupted him. With a gesture from Master Latva, Alfred crossed the room to answer the door.

  In rushed Jeffrey, the stableman. His clothes were dirtier than normal and his boots were muddy. He took deep, ragged breaths and seemed to be quite agitated, his eyes darting nervously about the room. When the stableman attempted a bow, he stumbled and slammed his knee on the stone floor with enough force that everyone in the room winced.

  Master Latva smiled. “Jeffrey, what has you so worked up? Please, sit and calm yourself.” Alfred pulled back a chair for the man and then helped him to sit.

  “Masters, you will not believe what is in my stable!” he blurted, his face full of excitement. “It's a rogue horse, Masters! A rogue horse!”

  Justan's heart shot up in his chest. Gwyrtha! He closed his eyes and concentrated, searching deep within himself to the place where he had pushed her thoughts. He called out to her, but received no response. He pushed deeper and to his relief, he found that she was still there and her presence was located in the direction of the stables. Her thoughts were ethereal and distant as they were when she was asleep, but they were too distant. She wasn't dreaming. He shouted at her over and over mentally, but he couldn't wake her.

  Justan opened his eyes to see the council members all talking at once, hounding the stableman with questions. Everyone seemed to have forgotten Justan and no one had noticed his actions except for Valtrek, who looked at him with brow furrowed.

  They all seemed excited by the prospect of a rogue horse, especially Master DeVargas, who looked as though he had just stumbled onto a dragon's hoard. Jeffrey's nervous eyes darted back and forth between the wizards addressing him, not knowing who to answer first. His hands were clenched tightly in front of him, their knuckles white.

  Once again, Master Latva's staff pounded against the table, brightening the room with a flare of light and silencing the excited council members.

  “Enough! Please, professors. Let the man tell his tale.” The Wizards grumbled, but held their tongues and watched the stableman as he composed himself. “Now, Jeffrey, would you please tell us what happened?”

  “Well, a couple of hours ago, sir, there was a ruckus out by the wa
ll. See, that student, Pympol, he started yelling, saying there was a monster out by the forest. Well he got Wizardess Bendra and Wizard Jackson and they gathered the guards and went out after it. Next thing I know, they come back in dragging the scariest looking monster I have ever seen. I didn’t realize what it was at first, but Wizardess Bendra looked so excited about the capture that I looked closer and sure enough, it was a rogue horse!”

  Justan’s mind whirred. They had Gwyrtha. What was he going to do?

  “Are you sure?” asked DeVargas.

  “Yes sir, the wizards put the thing to sleep and we locked it in that room in the stable we keep for unruly mounts. Back in my youth, I saw enough of the things that I know. There is definitely some horse in the beast. Anyway Wizardess Bendra told me to come and tell you that it was a rogue.”

  “Amazing.” Master Latva leaned back in his chair. “After all these years . . .”