by Sanders, Dan
“Was it Tholmar?”
“I can’t be sure. Over there, near the entrance to Storven.”
Shading his eyes from the sun, Xavier squinted harder. He made out three giant rock statues. Two sat on boulders facing each other as if in conversation. The third Reven stood near the entrance on the other side of the oval enclave. He was the largest of all Exotic beings and stood facing north, towards the centre of Annwyn. He cast a vast shadow in the basin. It was Tholmar, Xavier thought. His rocky crown and ruby rocks for eyes, each one the size of a carriage, marked him as the Reven leader. But they were all still as though frozen in time.
Xavier shook his head in disappointment. To block the sun he pulled the hood of his robe tighter over his red hair.
“It’s not my morning,” he said.
“Maybe we should collect the parcel for your father,” Sirakon said.
“That can wait. I want to get some fun in before you know what.”
“Really? Aren’t you excited about coming of age?”
“It’s all the ceremony stuff I hate.”
“Being the Overlord’s son has its benefits. Besides, it is special you were born on the equinox of the Lagan festival.”
“If you mean the benefit of having a father too busy to give you any time, then you’d be right.” Xavier wiped his brow with the hem of his tunic.
Sirakon changed her tone. “Xavier.”
“Yes?”
“What do you think of this war stuff? Don’t you think your father is going too far?”
“What do you know of such things? My father does everything for the people of Jalpari. War is afoot, Siri. The Confederation claim peace and harmony under Eostra but really they want control over our lives.”
“Is that what you think or what your father wants you to think?”
“I follow my father. Do you think we should simply join the Confederation and lose our independence?”
“I think it should be done peacefully, always. I heard he is in league with the dark Melders. Remember the Silder’s War.”
Xavier dismissed her. “Father had to make some very powerful friends to ensure we maintain our independence. You surprise me, Siri. The Faoir are the passionate ones of the Exotics, prepared to act when they have to. What’s gotten into you?”
“Whatever, Xavier. I just think it is dangerous. Even the Faoir are divided over this. They know what Torek is capable of. I only say this as a true friend. There are many who doubt your father’s wisdom in this matter.”
Sirakon moved to stand but one of her wings caught on a tree. She tried to pull it free. Xavier scuttled across the slope to where Sirakon sat with her dark legs pulled to her chest.
“Let me help,” he said.
“Be careful please,” she said.
The body length hair of his Faoir friend sat across her left wing. Xavier lifted it out of the way. He whispered in her ear, “Just remember your loyalty. Those words could get you seriously hurt.”
She didn’t return his gaze. Xavier unravelled the gossamer wing from the prickly branches.
“Ouch,” she said.
“Sorry, I —” Xavier began.
“Only kidding,” Sirakon said. She slapped his leg.
Xavier lunged at her but she had lifted her hands above her head. Her body shimmered with Fire Lore before gliding effortlessly into the air. With her hands on her hips she hovered above the treetops, looked down at Xavier and laughed. Her two teardrop shaped wings moved slowly about her body, keeping her steady.
“Come down, you’ll be seen,” Xavier said, waving his arms for her to join him.
“Nothing is happening here today,” Sirakon said. “It’s even too hot for the Reven.”
“Don’t be silly.” Xavier turned to the watching Bardolf for support. The blue wolf, the size of a small horse, padded across the uneven surface and disturbed only a single twig. His deep voice growled at the youngsters.
“There is movement below.”
Sirakon dropped silently from the sky and landed next to Xavier. She rested her hand on his shoulder. At first they heard nothing, then twigs snapped just below them to the east. They heard another twig, much closer this time, just in front.
“There, a Storven guard; let’s move,” Xavier whispered in Sirakon’s ear.
Two stout bodies in cream tunics tied with brown cord moved deliberately through the bushes. Each ran with a hand on a short dagger sheathed in the cord.
Xavier led Sirakon west and much lower towards the enclave rim. Bardolf panted behind him.
“Why are you taking us closer?” Sirakon asked.
“They won’t expect that,” he said. “I have another idea.”
Xavier ran back up the slope to the top of the rim, making as much noise as he could. Squatting behind a tree, he waited until the guards drew near. He curled the ball of flames he held in his hand, chuckled to himself and threw the flame onto a tree on the other side of the guards. As the flame hit the tree-limb he whispered to the fire in the ancient language of the Fire-Lore. The tree burst into flames, startling the guards. Hurriedly they picked up dirt and threw it onto the tree. When they failed to extinguish the flames one tore off his tunic and tried patting the fire out. The other followed suit. With tears of laughter Xavier whispered to the flames and they winked out. The guards looked curiously at the tree that was unharmed by the recent roaring fire.
Xavier repeated the process with trees on opposite ends of the leafy hillside. The guards, exhausted from the chase, would remove their tunics in haste and then puzzle over the unharmed tree. In the end they left their tunics off to save time. After the third false start they decided to go for reinforcements and disappeared into the hidden entrance of the Storven stronghold.
Xavier tired of the game and settled at the front of the bushland near the rock ledge. Only a single line of wispy trees separated them from the stony enclave below.
“Xavier, that was an awful thing to do to those poor guards. They are only doing their job.”
Xavier was still panting from the chase in the scorching heat. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.
“Yes, Miss Sirakon,” Xavier laughed, “you are right. Next time I’ll let them catch me.”
Sirakon slapped his arm. Her bangles tinkled in the sudden quiet of the trees. Just then they heard the rolling sound of rocks tumbling down a ravine.
“Hey, look,” Sirakon whispered.
His fire-fairy friend pointed into the enclave below. Two more Reven had appeared out of the rock face. With stately steps they moved to their leader near the entrance on the other side. With each step the hillside shook and rocks tumbled into the basin. Xavier held his breath and gripped the nearest sapling for support. They quickly forgot the guards. The Reven giants stopped in front of their leader. Sirakon had taken Xavier’s hand. The Reven leader took a step towards his companions. Sirakon’s fingers squeezed Xavier’s. He crouched transfixed and pulled her down with him.
Tholmar, King of the Reven, lifted his head. His burning ruby eyes stared directly at Xavier. Xavier’s heart stopped and he froze.
Bardolf growled at them both. “Leave here, now.”
Bardolf disappeared up the hillside. Sirakon grabbed Xavier under his arms, shimmered, and lifted them both into the sky.
“Did you see that?” Xavier said looking up at Sirakon.
Sirakon was watching the sky about her as they flew across the edge of the Jalpari tablelands.
“Can we go to the Professor now?” she called below to Xavier.
“You’re a spoilsport,” Xavier said and waved his hand. He kicked his sandals as he dangled in the air under Sirakon.
Xavier enjoyed the breeze on his face as they flew. He looked up and saw her round face and fiery eyes focussed ahead, her hair waving like a flag in the wind.
They arrived at the edges of Jalpari. The early afternoon sun smothered the homes. Sirakon dropped Xavier onto his feet. He crouched as he landed.
“Should we
wait for Bardolf?” she asked.
“He will find me,” Xavier said. “Let’s get this over with. I wouldn’t mind going back with you to Faoir Valley for a while before meal-time.”
Sirakon touched a toe on the gravel road in front of a house. The other foot landed and she folded her arms. A long shadow from the house covered her smile.
“You have the grandest home in Jalpari, if not in the southern ranges, yet you spend every waking moment away from it.”
“Wouldn’t you?” he said. “Besides, this festival and the visit from Torek on my coming-of-age-day will keep me busy.”
Sirakon placed a hand on Xavier’s chest. She looked seriously into his eyes.
“Remember what I said about him.”
“I don’t trust him either. Do you think I’m stupid?”
She let her hand fall, walked up to the door and raised the large stone knocker on the door of the Professor’s home.
“Hold on,” Xavier said.
He remembered the house. He had been here, many years ago, after his mother’s death. It was this man to whom his father turned when his wife accidentally killed herself in a rare Fire-Lore experiment.
He had always wanted to learn more about his mother, especially how she died, but his father was too busy running the city. He had an idea.
Ignoring Sirakon, Xavier crept to the edge of the house. He laid his hands on it. The large cottage was like many Jalpari homes, made almost entirely of rugged Javastone, but this house was unusual. The faded red door pointed into an archway at the peak, much like the doors in the palace. The outside corners of the house had pillars with intricate inscriptions.
“What are you up to?” Sirakon asked.
“I am trying to extract memories from the stones.”
Sirakon looked surprised. “Do you know such advanced Lore?”
Xavier ran his fingers over the smooth surface. He recognised only one of the signs in the myriad of inscriptions; the three wavy parallel lines that flowed vertically. It was the base sign of the Fire Elemental.
He paused, pressed his hands flat onto the Fire sign, and reached out with his mind. He pictured the Javastone, first the molecules, and then his mind went deeper into the cellular level. Nothing. He pushed his mind further, and felt the powerful energy trapped in the lower layers of atomic structures. Nothing. He had delved too far down. At this level of granularity, he couldn’t see patterns in the changes over time, the energy lattices in between that held memories and feelings. He pulled his mind out a little to capture a broader picture locked in the memory level energies. Sweat beaded his forehead. A lock of ruby hair covered his right eye.
He wished he had concentrated more in class. He remembered Miss Pashdove teaching the first lesson in Advanced Somatic Memory Hermeneutics. What a mouthful; no wonder he zoned out. She was gorgeous, golden syrup hair, popping red eyes…
He began to feel something, as though he had been there before. His cells could feel it, see it, a faint image of his mother in a flowing green robe, her auburn hair bent over a desk, reading a manuscript. He strained to see further, at the edge of grasping it. His head hurt. He felt Sirakon’s warm breath on his ear.
“Anything?” she said.
Xavier pulled his hands away from the house, shrugged and said, “Nothing.”
“What are you doing there?” an old voice called from the half-open door.
Xavier concentrated for a moment, and produced a small tuft of flames from his curled up hand.
“I am here to see Sashiel,” Xavier said.
“Well don’t just stand there…” The man disappeared into the shadows. Xavier squashed the flames in his hand and pushed open the door. They saw the hunched figure waddling down the hall. Sirakon held onto Xavier’s robe in the dimly lit corridor.
The inside of the house seemed larger than the outside. They walked through a wide corridor that wound through the house like a meandering river, down a short flight of stairs, with doors interrupting the royal blue wallpaper, some partially open, and others boarded shut. Crystals floating against the walls provided a warm, dim light. The old man paused at the last door on the right before entering.
Xavier’s eyes opened in disbelief, not only that a room could hold so much, but that he was witness to some of the rarest scholarly and most powerful treasures in Jalpari history.
The room was crammed with centuries of historical artefacts, scrolls and books, with every crystal known in Annwyn. Xavier sneezed at the smell of dust and plants mixed with incense and faded books. Hanging against one wall was a red crystal broad-sword with ornate carvings in the hilt. Xavier thought it looked similar to the one in the palace, and was surprised to see one in such lowly surroundings.
He bumped into a statue of the famous Reven, Agaroth. Backing away, he tripped over a large model of the atomic structures made entirely of smooth, various coloured crystals. From the floor, Xavier watched the electrons and other atomic elements moving according to their natural order.
Xavier dusted off, stood as tall as he could and looked squarely at the old man who was hunched over a red book on a massive oval table at the centre of the room. The Professor wore a deep blue tunic flecked with red and gold symbols. His head, with its faded red hair, nodded absently as he worked his wrinkled hands over the old pages, as if searching for a coin lost in tall grass.
For a while he didn’t acknowledge their presence. Xavier and Sirakon examined their surroundings. The room had no corners. The walls were smooth whitewashed stone that reached up to thin ceiling windows. They produced their own subtle yellow light.
Wrapped around one of the walls was a vast map of Annwyn, revealing cities Xavier had never seen on a Jalpari map. Even the Exotic cities of Thilameth and Nilawen were shown. He thought his eyes were playing tricks when he saw Thilameth drifting around the map.
Sirakon stepped next to Xavier and said, “It is the floating city of the Agramond, you know, the Air Elves. This map shows the current positions of the cities on Annwyn. Thilameth floats on the air currents and clouds as it pleases, and takes no fixed position. Thus its absence from most maps produced.”
“Is that Nilawen?” Xavier asked.
“Ah, Nilawen, the underwater city of the Styx. The Water Sprites are the keepers of the rivers and go to great lengths to prevent people from knowing their location. Long ago, this map was given as a gift to the Professor by Melder Whiteoak, from the realm of Eostra, for his exemplary contributions to Fire Lore.”
A flash of anger crossed Xavier’s face. Father had mentioned this name. This Melder conspired with the Confederation. Why was the Professor associated with him? He would tell his father.
Tired of waiting, Xavier introduced himself. “My name is Xavier Morgenstern, son of Darius, Overlord of Jalpari.”
The man hobbled over to a bookshelf. He nodded to himself, retrieved a scroll, opened it out on the table, and began reading with even more intensity and concern than before.
“Hey, since when did you learn to be so rude?” demanded Xavier. “Father sent me to pick up a package.”
The man looked up, his misty green eyes searching past Xavier into some other realm.
Xavier was taken aback when he realised the old man wore a strange pair of spectacles. They were gold rimmed, with only a single lens over the left eye. It was not like an ordinary lens, but a small sphere made of transparent red crystal. Xavier wondered how such a silly looking thing could help the Professor see better.
“Your manners were better when I last saw you, young one.”
“But—” Xavier tried to defend himself without sounding shocked.
The old man held up a wrinkled palm.
“What you tried outside with the house was impressive. Memory reading can be tricky. Your connection with the land is strong, but you don’t take your studies seriously. You have wasted your privilege.”
Xavier was stung. “Hey, you don’t know me. You have no right to—”
“Only speak when aske
d,” the Professor said. “Your royal position carries nothing here, and I find your arrogant manners annoying.”
“I don’t care what you think. You are the one with poor manners—”
Xavier felt himself dragged across the room by some unknown force, his arms trailing behind, feet scraping along the stone floor. His hood fell from his head, releasing his wild bundle of long ruby hair. He had no muscle control. The old man had mental control of him, inching Xavier closer to his face. “You are also lazy. You should always be alert, Xavier.”
The mental hold released and Xavier felt his muscles sag as he regained control of his limbs. He was scared now. The way the Professor said his name, so intimately… Why had his father sent him here?
“Wait until my father hears about this. He’ll have you skinned alive.”
The old man chuckled. “You think so? I have known your father since he was a boy and have been his closest advisor.”
Xavier glanced at Sirakon who watched with a smile.
Professor Sashiel turned to Sirakon and said, “It is a pleasure as always Sirakon.”
“And you, Professor.” Sirakon pulled out her wings and curtseyed.
Professor Sashiel walked to what resembled a miniature floating greenhouse. It seemed to search for the warmest rays of sunlight from the windows.
“My boy, we have little time and I have much to tell you.”
The Professor hand-fed a bug to a large orange tubular flower and whispered soothing words. Xavier thought him a bit loony, but he respected his backbone. Nobody talked to him that way, other than his father.
He followed as his host scuffled to the other side of the room, behind a mountain of books in a floating bookcase.
“Your father asked me to prepare you for the next stage of your life. The foolish man has given me only this day, and from what I have seen, I will fail. I can give you just some idea and artefacts that may prepare you as you learn to grow on your own.”
The Professor spoke quietly to a large chest against the wall. Internal locks twisted and clunked in obedience. The lid lifted to reveal a cream staff with a single line of markings along the side and a small sapphire crystal wedged at the top. It floated out into the old man’s hands.
