by Ivan Kal
She knew that during her earlier lives she was taught by rogue mages that the royal house hired, but eventually one of her lives—where she had been known as Naira Con Aroch—began to write teaching books, and every subsequent life added to that knowledge. Now she had a treasure trove of books on magic larger than even that of the Academy of the Mages Guild. It was just another thing that the Guild resented her for; and that was probably not even at the top of their list.
Once she finished washing herself, she stepped out of the tub and cast a simple spell that removed all the water from the surface of her body and left her clean and dry. She walked over to her bedroom and stepped into her closet room. She looked over the rows of dresses, robes, tunics and trousers, trying to decide which one she would wear to the gathering. There were dresses in styles from every kingdom on Enosia. All of the best and finest quality. Kyarra never had to worry about coin. As the Eternal Soul, she had inherited the name Con Aroch, which all her past lives carried, and with it all the holdings they had earned. She owned half of the silver mines that made Tourran wealthy, and the reason why it was coveted by other kingdoms. All her past lives had managed that wealth well; she had a fortune accumulated over many lifetimes. She had more of it than anyone else in Tourran.
Yet even with the finest of dresses, Kyarra never felt comfortable wearing them. They never fit her as well as they did the other ladies of the court; dresses that looked perfect on them looked off on her. Kyarra turned and stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself. Her muscles were defined, not overtly so, but they were noticeable. Powerful mages knew that in order to have a healthy mind, one needed to take care of the body as well. Most of the journals and books from her past lives insisted on it, which was why she was keeping herself fit. Her shoulders were just a bit too wide, however, and her hips were just a bit too narrow. No one would ever mistake her for a man—her chest was large enough, she supposed, to prevent that much—but she was not built like the ladies of the court who were considered beautiful. Her hair was the color of dried ink, and her face was angular with strong lines. She had a sharp nose and high cheekbones, and light-brown skin. Her ancestry made Kyarra always stand out in these gatherings, compared to the fair and light complexions of most people in Tourran.
She turned back to the rows of clothing and grabbed a long, lavender dress and put it in front of her. It was one of her favorite dresses, and for a moment she debated putting it on. But she knew that if she wore it she would regret it by the end of the night. Princess Jarna would inevitably find a flaw or make a comment that would make everyone laugh at Kyarra’s expense. She sighed and put the dress back. She didn’t even know why she kept having these dresses made when she didn’t have the courage to wear them. The last time she wore a dress to a gathering had been Princess Jarna’s fourteenth birthday, three years ago. She remembered Jarna’s words clearly: “Oh, you poor thing! If you didn’t have a fitted dress, you could’ve just asked me. I would’ve gladly had one of my old dresses fitted for you.” All of Jarna’s friends laughed, and Kyarra had excused herself and left. Not because she was particularly hurt by the words themselves, but because she knew that Jarna was right.
Kyarra wasn’t really afraid of humiliation. Ovar had been correct—Jarna had only acted out of jealousy. Kyarra had figured that out a long time ago, but that didn’t change the truth behind the woman’s words. Tourran-styled dresses rarely looked good on her. And as the Eternal Soul, Kyarra had a reputation to protect. Many of her lives had written advice in their journals about perception and reputation. Half of the reason why the other kingdoms left Tourran alone was because her past lives worked hard to build on the Eternal Soul’s reputation, and Kyarra had a duty to do the same.
She reached over and found a small ornate chest sitting on one of her shelves, one she had acquired recently. She opened it and looked inside at the choker within. In it was set a small, dark-blue stone that shined with a pale light, and the stone itself had been inlaid in a silver base engraved with glyphs. She put it around her neck and activated the spell enchanted into the stone. Anima flowed from her to the choker and from it out over her body, bathing the room in a soft glow. After the spell was finished, Kyarra turned back to the mirror and looked at her reflection. She was wearing a strangely styled outfit. The top was a dark-blue sleeveless tunic that hung from her neck, leaving her shoulders and collarbone exposed. On the bottom she wore long, dark-blue trousers tucked into tall silver boots that came up to her knees, along with a silver-and-black half-skirt over the trousers that was open on the front side and came down to her knees on the back. Her arms were covered with long, dark-blue glovelettes that came up to just over her elbows and were held in place by silver bracelets that twined around her upper arms.
The choker’s gem was a magically crafted item, one that was supposed to hold a person’s most natural outfit inside. And these types of magic objects were nonexistent in Tourran or even the surrounding kingdoms. The Mages Guild had master crafters, but none could rival the masters of the kingdom of Kahaldia from the southern continent—Emaros—whose crafters were hailed as the best in the world. The stone had cost her a fortune, more than most nobles had in their entire treasuries. It was made by the greatest living mage crafter in world—Laos Han Mahaati, the grand crafter of Kahaldia. And the outfit was in the style of the kingdom of Kahaldia’s mage’s garb. Looking at herself in the mirror, Kyarra smiled. The outfit fit her perfectly. It was obviously a strange style, one that was clearly not from Tourran or anywhere else on the northern continent of Amiras. She liked to think that her parents had been from there somewhere—and that perhaps her mother had worn something similar.
Another benefit was that she didn’t need anyone’s help to get dressed, something that had always made her uncomfortable. But then again, she felt uncomfortable with other people in general, not just her servants. She turned away for a moment and walked over to one of the shelves, grabbing two golden pins covered with gems which had belonged to one of her past lives, and used them to hold her hair in a bun at the back of her head. She put on small touches of face paint, framing her eyelids with black and drawing a short line from her lower lip to her chin.
Ovar had been right—she had hidden and sulked in her home for far too long. She needed to come to terms with her fate, like all her lives had before her. She was the Eternal Soul. It was her duty to protect Tourran. She didn’t need to play politics or make sure that she was fashionable, nor should she care what spoiled little princesses thought. The royal family’s rule depended on her. But she needed to present a dignified and impressive visage, as that was a part of her duty, too.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she saw an impressive, albeit strangely dressed figure standing before her. There was only one thing missing. Kyarra put her right hand to the side and focused inward, toward the ever-present presence inside of her center. As familiar to her as her own heartbeat, she found it and called. Power rose up from her and space twisted around her arm as a large staff appeared in her hand. The staff was taller than her, and it resembled a strange polearm with the lower part of it ending in a gray-colored blade engraved with magic glyphs that glowed faintly white. The rest of the staff was coated in silver with more glyphs inscribed in around the handle all the way to the top, where a fist-sized, dark-gray crystal—that looked as if it was filled with violet smoke that twirled around constantly—was embedded into a base that twined around it.
The Staff of Storms, as it was called, was one of most powerful magic crafted items in existence—yet it was nothing but a conduit for channeling the power of the crystal embedded in its head. The crystal was a fragment of true power, and the true reason why no one dared attacking Tourran. There were only nine of these strange and powerful crystals in existence, and only seven of those were currently accounted for. Each of the crystals held enough power to level mountains. Wars were fought over them. Kingdoms rose and fell, and cities were slaughtered, all for the chance to hold one of these
crystals and to possess their immense power.
Each crystal had a nearly endless well of anima which the person that possessed the fragment could draw from—if they were a mage, that is. Although non-mages could still use it if the fragment was used to power a magic-crafted weapon, like her staff, which was exactly that. The Staff of Storms was a weapon that drew power from the crystal, allowing her to cast the spells inscribed on the staff with no need for magic circles or chants, and even without using her own anima.
The staff that contained the crystal’s power was crafted by the person who all of her past lives considered their first life: Vardun Con Aroch, the man that cast the reincarnation spell on his soul and who had made the deal with the royal family of Tourran, exchanging a permanent home for permanent protection. Tourran would shelter all his lives in return for him protecting Tourran from all who sought to conquer it. It was a good deal for the royal family of Tourran, as it gave them a fragment of power, something that they would have never had the chance of obtaining on their own. The fragments of power were bonded to their owners until death; or, rather, until the owner’s soul passed from this realm to the next. Before then, no one could steal a fragment or use it but the person the fragment was bonded to. Kyarra’s soul never left the mortal realm, and so the Staff of Storms was always bound to her. Killing her would not break the bond, for her soul would not leave the realm of its influence.
And that was the greatest reason why the Mages Guild hated her—Vardun had been on the Council of Mages and had carried the staff in their name. And in their eyes he had betrayed them by stealing the fragment, and the cycle of reincarnation had made it impossible for the Guild to ever recover the fragment. No one understood the magic that Vardun used to bind his soul to the mortal realm, not even the greatest mages of the Guild. He had been beyond them all. Not even his other lives had any idea how he did it. The Guild had then cut off Tourran in protest, refused to provide mages as advisors or to sell their services to the kingdom. The Mages Guild trained and controlled almost every mage on the continent of Amiras—only a few kingdoms refused them entrance. And the Guild considered any mage who was not trained in their Academy as a rogue mage, someone who dabbled in magic with incomplete knowledge. They believed themselves the greatest authority on magic in the world, and looked down on anyone else—despite the fact that there were other magical societies and organizations in the world. As far as Kyarra could tell, they had taken the loss of the fragment and the fact that Tourran didn’t cave to their demands as a grave insult.
For centuries they had refused any sort of connection with Tourran—until recently, when Princess Jarna’s own talents had been discovered. The princess had been sixteen, a bit older on the scale, but still young enough to be accepted to the Academy. And so she had refused to be trained by the royal mage, who was not associated with the Guild, and it was clear then as it was now that under no circumstance would she accept being taught by Kyarra. And the King could rarely forbid his daughter anything.
And so the Council of Mages had reached out by sending an ambassador of sorts to negotiate with the King. He had not been all that keen on the idea the ambassador presented, but it had finally been agreed upon a few months ago that the princess would be sent off to the Academy next year. But that was not Kyarra’s business.
Kyarra sighed and turned to another small chest, taking out a few pieces of jewelry and putting them on. Then she looked herself over in the mirror one last time, making sure that everything was perfect, before she turned and left the room.
It was time for the Eternal Soul to return to Tourran’s high society.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASHARA
The morning sun broke against the calm sea around the Norvus. With no wind and weak currents, the ship was forced to ghost around, barely even moving. The crew had taken to playing card games and making general checks on the ship under the first mate’s guidance. Ashara had found a quiet place at the bow of the ship and was looking out at the sea as she tried to keep her mind off the things that were constantly gnawing at her. She had made herself a nuisance to the captain and the crew in the past two weeks, she knew, but she couldn’t just stay closed up in her cabin. Each time she tried to relax, the memories came back, and the weight of what had happened threatened to overwhelm her. There hadn’t been time before for her to truly grasp the magnitude of everything that had happened—and she had no desire to allow herself to be overwhelmed.
A creak of the planks next to her alerted her that she was no longer alone. She turned to see the ship’s first mate standing beside her, silently. The old man was capable of moving without a sound when he wanted to, and the only reason Ashara had heard him was likely because he had wanted her to. Solunwari Jorvasi was an enigma. Ashara had never seen anyone like him before. He looked old—although it was hard for Ashara to put an exact number to him, her best guess was somewhere around fifty or sixty—yet he moved and held himself like a man much younger. And then there were the markings on his face and arms, white against his brown skin. Ashara knew that there were many cultures on Enosia, and some of them did mark their skin in a similar manner…but there was something about the Norvus’s first mate that made her nervous. In the days since they had set off from Amberhorn, Ashara had gotten to know the crew well enough to see the great respect for, and great fear of, their first mate.
“Mr. Jorvasi,” Ashara greeted him cautiously.
The first mate dipped his head at her, then turned to look over at the sea.
He didn’t speak again, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence—at least on Ashara’s part. She didn’t know why he had approached her, and didn’t know whether she was supposed to say something further. She debated silently, then finally decided to speak.
But as she opened her mouth, the first mate spoke himself. “The sea is waiting.”
His voice startled her for a moment, and it took her a few seconds for his words to register.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
The first mate shrugged. “My people believe that when the water calms and the wind stops, it is because the great spirits of the oceans and the winds are waiting for something.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Don’t know. Who am I to know the thoughts of such beings?”
Ashara frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it. She didn’t know anything about the man’s beliefs, and she didn’t want to say something that would offend him. She had already gotten into enough trouble from speaking before thinking. Instead she turned the conversation to something that has been bothering her since she boarded the ship.
“May I ask you something about the captain?”
The first mate remained silent, watching her.
Taking that as a yes, Ashara continued. “That night in Amberhorn, when I asked for passage on this ship… Why did the captain react the way he did?”
The man’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her, seemingly searching for something. Then he tilted his head. “The Norvus does not take passengers, and the captain does not trust strangers easily.”
“He said that there is only one dock-master…”
The first mate grunted and nodded.
“So who was it that pointed me in the captain’s direction?”
He didn’t respond. Instead he turned to look out at the sea, and Ashara tried to wait patiently. Then, after a while, he turned back to look at her.
“I wouldn’t know,” the first mate said.
“The coin—it meant something to the captain.”
The first mate shrugged in a manner that clearly conveyed that he didn’t know nor particularly care. “The captain is a very private man. I am fortunate enough to call him a friend. But not even I know all there is to know about Captain Corvo.”
He glanced back at the still waters. “The captain is an Islander, and people from the Shattered Kingdom are always reserved with their trust. A stranger coming to his ship asking for passage wou
ld’ve never been accepted, at least not for any amount of gold. Yet something about the coin you gave him made him change his mind…” The first mate trailed off. “This is the first time I have seen the captain do so.”
“Well, I am glad for it,” Ashara said.
The first mate studied her for a moment and then bowed and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Ashara didn’t like things that she couldn’t explain, nor did she like owing favors, especially when she found herself in someone’s debt without her consent. She had learned a lot about the nature of favors as she had grown up. Ashara was her father’s only child, and as such she had been taught everything about trade from a young age—she had been her father’s heir. Amaranthine’s law didn’t forbid daughters from inheriting. But it did limit the circumstances of that inheritance; the only way she could’ve inherited anything was if she had been married, and was with child or already had one. Something that her father had hoped would happen eventually, and Ashara had hoped never would.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flash of light at the edge of her vision. Startled, she turned around just in time to see a person hit the water. Immediately, she ran over to get a better look.
“Man overboard!” she yelled, as she looked at the form as it slowly sunk deeper and deeper. Whoever it was wasn’t moving. She turned to look at the sailors running toward her, but they were still too far away—and Ashara knew that, in these kind of situations, every moment mattered.
