Despite the fact they hadn’t yet left for the school, Ezeker had quizzed her endlessly since her acceptance into the academy, guiding her sight in what ways he could. He seemed to be a wonderful teacher, but Ember just didn’t see things the same way he did. She understood the concept clearly—she just couldn’t put it into practice.
“So there you are,” a relieved voice echoed across the waters. Ember jumped, her eyes snapping open as she scanned the room for the figure she knew she’d find on the other end of the voice. She wasn’t disappointed.
Feeling a little guilty for not telling anyone she was leaving, Ember sank her shoulders beneath the surface and swam slowly toward her mother, enjoying the slow transition from hot water, to warm, and almost chilled. Marda held up a large towel and stepped forward as Ember stood and climbed from the water. Her mother wrapped the towel around her without a word.
It was a sign of their changed relationship that her mother didn’t chastise her now, but instead put her arms around her daughter, as if Marda could feel the struggle within her—and also a change between them that Ember let her do it. When Marda let her go, they walked, mother’s arm around daughter as they went back to the dressing rooms.
Marda glanced down at the sleeping bath girl, her eyes flashing when she recognized her. She glanced at Ember, a wicked twinkle in her eye, then took the ink from the sign-in table and, using a corner of Ember’s towel, dabbed dark streaks across the girl’s cheeks and down the bridge of her nose.
Ember gasped. “What are you doing?” Marda put her finger to her lips and continued marking the girl. Ember clamped a hand over her own mouth and stifled an appalled giggle. She couldn’t believe her mother would do such a thing. It was a harmless prank, really. The ink would wash off—or so she hoped—and Ember enjoyed knowing her mother could let down her walls enough to let her daughter see her this way.
Putting a finger to her lips to remind Ember not to laugh, Marda put her thumb in the middle of the girl’s forehead, one last black oval, then set the ink pad on the floor next to the girl and stood. “Let’s get you dressed,” she whispered to her daughter before they moved on.
It was strange, being comfortable with her mother now, since their past relationship had been so challenging. Once the truth was out, Marda had become a different person. She was softer somehow, more full of purpose and compassion. And though she was still strict and kept close tabs on Ember, she’d finally given her daughter some of the freedom she’d craved for so long—being able to visit the baths so far from her rooms being an example of what she’d gained.
Mother and daughter went to the dressing room, Marda standing guard while Ember dried off and scrambled into her clean clothes, slipping the weather charm back around her neck last of all. Ember wasn’t going to step foot outside without it until the skies decided to stop spitting rain and mud.
The next morning, it was still raining and Ember had been forced to leave the weather charm behind, much to her consternation. No charms or talismans were allowed during practice, and today her new class had moved outside to the fields of Javak—the city that wasn’t looking so magical at the moment. She wiped dripping bangs from her face as she straightened and watched her soon-to-be classmates use their magic to clean the garbage left from the mage trials, and to make matters worse most of them were half her age. One couple had paired up, with the boy levitating the garbage off the ground and the girl incinerating it with a thought. Another girl made the wind blow everything in one direction, where a young boy circled it around him and then shot it outward to the garbage bin. Yet another girl made it disappear entirely.
And then there was Ember. She stabbed downward with a sharpened stick and picked up the trash the old-fashioned way. Things were supposed to have been different once she was accepted to the mage school. She was supposed to be able to use her magic just like anyone else. But for some strange reason, her magic wasn’t working. Her attempts at conjuring a fireball had summoned nothing but a plume of smoke. She couldn’t teleport the garbage, she couldn’t make the wind blow it away—she couldn’t even change it into something else. All she could do was bend over and pick it up or poke it with a stick.
“Worthless,” she muttered aloud. “What good is magic if I can’t make it work for me?” She stabbed hard at a sodden mass of paper. The stick penetrated something hard, the length vibrating like the handle of an axe when chopping hard wood. She pulled on the wood, but it wouldn’t budge. She got down on her knees and looked closer. The stick wasn’t wedged in a crack, as she’d thought. It was completely embedded in the rock. “How’d I do that?” she wondered aloud, standing and twisting the stick until a sharp snap freed it from the stone . . . minus the bottom three inches.
Frustrated, she threw the stick and yelled, the piece of wood tumbling end over end across the clearing. All the kids in the class stopped to stare for a moment before they went back to picking up their garbage, using their powers.
“Feel any better?” her stepbrother said from beside her. Ember jumped and turned in a single motion.
“Don’t do that,” she growled. She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out in one explosive blast before answering his question. “No. No, I don’t. Why can they use their powers and I can’t? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” Aldarin answered, putting an arm around her. “The whole point of this exercise is to learn how to use and control your powers in a safe environment. Sometimes it takes a little longer.”
“At least they had lessons,” Ember said, glaring at the group spread across the grass. “All I got was Ezeker telling me to do what feels best. I need a tutor! How am I supposed to learn without someone to teach me?” She snorted. “Do what seems right. Right now, doing what ‘feels best’ means poking somebody with a stick.”
Aldarin laughed. “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”
Ember turned her glare on him. “I know that, but it sure would get my frustration out. I don’t understand. I can’t even change the things I touch anymore. What am I doing wrong?”
Aldarin shook his head. “I’m not the person to ask, Sis. Only you would go and pick the one kind of magic nobody knows anything about. You’d think that being a white mage, you could use all the colors of magic.”
Ember snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too. Evidently not. There’s got to be a textbook or some mage’s journal from the past. Surely they would have kept some kind of record. I’ll never get this without some help.”
“Wait until we get to the mage academy. The library is endless, and you never know what you might find in there. We can hope.”
“Right now that’s all I’ve got,” Ember said. She picked up another stick, pulled out her belt knife, and began whittling once more.
Ember had been unwillingly dragged before the mage council, her abilities and very identity thrown into question. She’d finally proven herself by reading the colors of magic for all seventy some-odd members of the Mage Council, and she could still see magic now. She could discern every shade and color of magic in all the people she saw . . . but she couldn’t tap into her own power.
Ember was grateful Aldarin stayed quiet while she whittled the stick to a point. The frustration inside of her bubbled and boiled like one of Ezeker’s potions, and there was no way to release it except to stab at the garbage. When she dreamed of being a mage, she’d never imagined how hard it could be.
Her new stick sharp, Ember went in search of more trash. Most of it was cleared after four hours of work in the large field, so Ember left Aldarin watching the class and went another direction, anxious to get away from her classmates and try some of her own magic in private, where she wouldn’t continue to embarrass herself with an audience.
She headed toward the permanent buildings on the west side of town, angling down the alleyways for trash that might have been blown about in the storm. Everything was wet. Muddy ash had collected against the buildings and window ledges.
The mage shiel
ds suddenly surged to life in a blue wave. Why it had taken so long to get the mage shields working again, she had no idea. Ezeker had his up in a matter of hours. Maybe he was just better at magic than the Magi in Karsholm. that made Ember jump, then Ember sighed with relief when the rain stopped pinging off her head. The field and paths would dry out soon and at long last the mud would be gone.
Ember came upon a U-shaped meeting of three buildings that had trash heaped against the walls. She sighed. People were such slobs. She took her stick and canvas bag and moved to the corner, still thinking over her problem.
How could she learn about white magic when there were no books, no teachers, and the only person who knew anything was one of the Guardians who had created the world? What was she supposed to do? Pray for a teacher? She was actually tempted to do just that. She stabbed downward, collecting a soggy mass of paper on the end of her stick, then paused. If her father would talk to her, maybe he could get a message back to Mahal to see if he really could help her find a teacher.
Ember heard shuffling footsteps behind her, but paid them no mind. It was most likely another student searching for more garbage, just like she had done. It wasn’t until sizzling heat and the crackle of flames were almost upon her that she instinctively dove for the mud, a fireball slamming into the stone wall just past where she’d stood. She rolled over and looked up, scrambling to find some place to hide, but she was cornered. Trapped on three sides, the only open space was filled with flittering shadows in the shape of people.
Her heart racing, Ember took her stick in her hands, wishing it were a sword, a polearm, a spear—anything but the wimpy wood she held. A flash of heat sparked across her palms and the weight in her hands suddenly increased, the wood shifting from warm and alive to cold, hard metal in an instant. She didn’t even question it, but took the gift for what it was and rushed forward, hoping to take the enemy by surprise. She raced into their midst, swinging the iron rod like a club and aiming for the empty space between them.
An arrow flew at her from out of nowhere, Ember never having seen the shooter. The shaft flicked through her hair, just inches from her neck. In an instant, Ember dropped the rod, and with a surge of overwhelming power, instantly became wolf without any of the slow changes she usually experienced. Her body flared with pain, but with the adrenaline pumping through her, she barely registered it. Suddenly, her sight and sense of smell heightened. The shadows still flickered, but they seemed to slow as her perception changed. And when she could not see them, she could certainly smell.
They moved in to surround her. Ember gathered herself and leaped directly at the man in front of her. He hesitated just long enough for her to bare her teeth and take him by the throat. Warm blood gushed into her mouth as she bit down, but her usual gag reflex was buried in her wolf survival instincts. The group of shadows rushed toward her. Ember let go of the man and he sank to the earth, clutching his throat and gurgling.
In an instant, she jumped over him and raced toward the field and the protection of Aldarin. She ran full tilt, running faster than she ever had, when she hit what felt like a brick wall. She yelped as her nose rammed into solid air and her body flipped up. She saw stars for a long moment, then shook her head and growled. They stalked toward her, more slowly now as they realized the danger she could be to them. The man whose throat she’d nearly torn out still lay on the ground, jerking spasmodically. The flickering shadows seemed to race from place to place, a zipping blur that put them here one moment, there the next, and Ember couldn’t focus on them long enough to defend against them.
Her mind raced. She couldn’t do this alone, but it appeared they had created a shield to hold her in, and she had no idea how to break through. She didn’t know how to fight. She didn’t know how to use her magic. She was alone, defenseless, but for her teeth and whatever magic would sporadically work for her. Terror began to build, and she backed slowly against the shield wall, wishing with all her heart that it would let her through. The shadowy people picked up their pace and raced toward her, though still in a zig-zagging blur.
She backed farther away, the pressure building behind her and seeming to crawl up her body as she stepped rearward, her tail between her legs, her lips pulled back in a snarl, blood from her victim and drool mixing to drop in rivulets to the ground. The closest person raced toward her and she jumped away, the growl rumbling in her throat.
Suddenly she was not alone. A figure in glowing yellow armor landed at her side, his shining sword cutting toward her attacker, slicing him neatly in half, top and bottom hitting the ground separately. The shadows stopped and held still for a moment. DeMunth didn’t give them a chance to attack again. He raced toward the figures as they turned to flee, his feet moving so fast, he seemed to have wings. Ember sat stunned for a brief moment, then raced after him. She couldn’t let him fight alone.
But her efforts were in vain, for by the time she reached DeMunth’s side, her attackers had reached the U-shaped building, leaped to the rooftop, then jumped skyward and disappeared.
Chapter Two
Kayla trailed her fingers through the water wall and stared into the depths of the sea. For some reason, the thin membrane that held the sea at bay glowed with an eerie blue light that drew the creatures that lived in the depths to investigate. In addition to the near-constant school of fish that seemed to follow Kayla wherever she went, tonight there was a family of sea turtles and a manta ray. The latter in particular fascinated Kayla, and she unconsciously found herself digging in her bag for her flute. Not The Sapphire Flute, not for this, but the flute Brant’s father had given her when she was eleven years old.
She pulled the instrument to her lips and let her fingers run up and down the keys, a quick stuttering of scales that made the school of fish dart away, then slowly collect just outside the wall again, their bodies tilted to the side much like a young child’s cocked head, listening to her tune.
Instead of falling back on her standards like Darthmoor’s Honor, Kayla tried something new—something she’d tried only with The Sapphire Flute before. She played from her soul a random sampling of notes that blended, became measures, and eventual songs written for the sea, written for the visitors who swept back and forth across her field of vision. She played for the fish and for the sea turtles, for the manta ray and for the sea itself. She played for the sand tunnel and the waterways that traveled across the floors of the oceans the world wide and felt a surge of majestic gratitude flow back toward her. It almost stopped her playing, so surprised was she, but instead she redirected her efforts high, up beyond the sea to the heavens, where the Guardians lived and had breathed life to the world. She played a question for them. Where should I go? Where should I go?
And finally the answer came, a whisper of thought that seemed to echo from the heavens and through the water. With relief she heard the words she’d wished for these last three nights. Go home, Kayla. Go to Brant. That stopped her playing abruptly, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest, a mixture of fear and joy. Go home to Brant? It was all she’d wanted these three nights full of nightmares. She’d seen him fall, released by the dragon high in the sky. She’d seen him plummeting to his death and had played to save him, but every night she awoke with his cry of pain as his body pounded the earth. Had he survived? She’d held him up as long as she could, but had he truly been safe? Was he injured?
The questions had kept her sleepless and indecisive. She knew she needed to go to the mountains behind Javak and find the birthplace of the flute. She knew she needed to find The Wolfchild, the chosen one, and find the true player of The Sapphire Flute, much as it pained her. But how could she do all that, knowing her fiancée could be injured, or worse—dead?
Kayla stared past the wall once more, her fingers reaching through the water membrane to touch the rubbery edges of the manta ray. It nudged closer, nearly caressing her hand before it jerked to the side and streamed away in a burst of speed. The school of fish and sea turtles followed immediately afte
r, and it was only then Kayla saw the two bubbles of light swimming toward her. It wasn’t until they were nearly upon her that she realized it was two of Sarali’s people, the MerCats, coming by for a visit. Kayla stepped back, her palms suddenly clammy and nervous as they leaped through the water wall as if it were nothing more than air, tails swishing as they stared at her.
They crouched, looking part beaver and part jaguar, before they melted and pulled upward into human form. When the transformation was complete, they gave her a slight nod and strolled down the sandy walkway toward where Kayla had left Sarali and T’Kato sleeping. Unable to help herself, she followed the two beings, not sure whether it was to protect her friends, or listen in on whatever was important enough to bring the MerCats here.
Before the two reached Kayla’s friends, T’Kato rolled to his feet, knives in hands, and Sarali sat up and brought her knees to her chest.
“What do ye want, Niefusu?” Sarali asked, looking up at the taller one, who was a hair taller than Kayla.
“Father wishes ye to join him for an audience,” the shorter one said.
“I was not speaking to ye, Jihong,” Sarali nearly snarled. Kayla was surprised. Though she’d known Sarali only a short time, she had always been mild-mannered and polite.
The shorter one called Jihong bowed low, almost mockingly. “It matters not who answers, little sister. His reply would be the same.”
“But I want to hear it from his lips,” Sarali barked again, surging to her feet. T’Kato closed in, standing by her side and looking as if he’d jump in front of her, should the need arrive.
The tall one, Niefusu, finally deigned to answer. “Father wishes to see ye. Would ye please grace us with yer presence, princess?” He bowed, not full of anger or scorn like Kayla would have thought, but more a deep, deep sadness that sang through his voice.
The Armor of Light Page 2
