Eternal Soul (The Eternal Path Book 1)

by Ivan Kal

  “What do you mean, Lady Kyarra?”

  Kyarra tried to hide her embarrassment; she knew better than to give the Guild mage more reasons to hate her. But she still answered anyway. “The chants and glyphs are not really required to cast spells. At the basest level, there are only two things that are truly necessary for magic—will and power. Will comes from the mage’s mind and focus, and power comes in the form of anima, which could either be a mage’s own or the anima in the world around us.” She raised her hand palm upward and focused her will, drawing anima from her staff and casting a simple light orb spell. An orb of blue light appeared above her hand, and she saw the eyes of the girls around her widen. She closed her hand and ended the spell and its drain on her anima.

  “To cast a spell a mage needs to tell the anima what to do, to create a spell-construct. When spells are cast with will alone, a mage is actually holding the spell-construct in their mind alone, which is extremely difficult without a rune to help bear the weight of the spell. That’s where ‘words of power’ come in. They are an aid, a way for a mage to associate things in their own mind and make the process easier. The words themselves hold no inherent power. There are as many different words of power as there are magical societies in the world—each have their own.

  “The glyphs, on the other hand, do have power. They are the language of magic, a way to guide anima without the need for will. Arranging glyphs into different combinations creates a rune, or a spell-construct, that will guide the anima around us to create a desired effect.” She raised her hand and inscribed three small glyphs in the air, finishing a rune in front of her, and a ball of light appeared with only a drop of her own anima spent. Then, after a few seconds, it disappeared.

  Kyarra looked around, seeing interest and awe on the faces of the group, even on the face of the princess. The mage, on the other hand, glared daggers at Kyarra.

  “That is technically true,” Master Galera said distastefully. “But at the Academy we teach students safely. Allowing an apprentice to cast spells with willpower alone is the quickest way to see them burn themselves out. Not all of us have the luxury of limitless supply of anima.”

  Kyarra winced. She had forgotten. Her books did warn about burning out, but it was a mostly theoretical concern for her. With the Staff of Storms in her possession, she would never run out of anima.

  “Of course. I would not presume to tell you how to instruct your students.” She cast her eyes around the room, seeing the King and his guards leaving the room. “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the King.”

  She turned and walked away quickly, Ovar following closely behind her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ASHARA

  Ashara Ravena paced across her small cabin. She’d spent the last three days with as little contact with the crew as possible, so much so that the captain had already asked her if she was feeling all right.

  She had always known that she was different, and she had always known that she needed to keep that fact hidden. Perhaps if she had been someone else, if her father had had other children—sons—she could’ve been true to herself. But he hadn’t, and she had made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong person. She should’ve known better than to trust that love. One that required her to hide in the corners and lie to all around her. But Ashara’s love was strong enough that she hadn’t cared back then. If the two of them had been anyone else, they would have been able to walk proudly together in plain sight. It might’ve been frowned upon, but there would’ve not been any consequences. Yet wishing something did not make it so. Both of them had been noblewomen, expected to marry and have children.

  She had learned to hide the truth, learned how to flirt with men but never let anyone get close. And she had been good at it; no one at the court had ever suspected her true inclinations, nor had they suspected the relationship she had kept hidden from them all. Yet, in the end, it was not the revelation of her secret that had ended her family—it was her recklessness and fear. She had reacted badly and hurt the pride of the wrong person, had humiliated him in front of the entire court.

  She had spent countless hours since her father had killed himself wondering what it would be like if she had reacted differently. She would’ve probably been married off quickly; her father would’ve been ecstatic at the thought of gaining a connection to the throne, no matter how remote. House Jauvek was powerful and distinguished. She would have had a good life. She would’ve lived in Amberhorn, and remained at court. And, perhaps, the meetings in the empty corridors and the quick kisses would’ve continued.

  Ashara closed her eyes as tears welled up in them. She should consider herself lucky that the truth hadn’t come out, as that would’ve destroyed the lives of those even outside her family. And the reciprocations would’ve have been far harsher on her lover. Memories of long auburn hair, full red lips, and smiling brown eyes came to her, and Ashara sobbed, as she did most nights. Her dreams always started the same—those full red lips against her own in the empty hallways of the palace. Then, inevitably, the hallways turned to the ballroom, and she watched, unable to turn away as Lord Jauvek’s face turned red with anger.

  In the dream, she didn’t insult him. In her dreams, she told the truth, and all eyes turned to look at the auburn-haired beauty dancing in the corner. The dream always ended the same, with Ashara ridiculed and banished. Not so different than reality. Yet in the dream she always destroyed more than her own family by telling the truth. And in the dreams, Ashara always heard the cries as she was thrown out of the palace, but never in her dreams did Ashara turn to look back. She couldn’t bear to see that face twisted in pain, not even in dreams, not even as a fantasy that would never have been the truth. In reality, those brown eyes had spurned her and turned her away.

  She calmed herself down, wiping at her face, and then gazed at the doors of her cabin. She had been terrified that Vin was going to tell someone, even though she knew intellectually that it might not even matter to this crew. They were not Amaranthine; likely few would care. She was not among the nobility here. She was not in the position where she had to provide an heir for her house. Yet those like her were generally spurned and looked down upon in most lands. She shook her head. She needed to stop thinking about her—there was no point now. She would never again step foot in Amaranthine.

  Ashara took a deep breath and stepped out of her cabin. She had promised herself that she would keep moving forward no matter what—would never take the easy way out like her father did. She walked to the top deck and looked around. A few of the crew greeted her and asked if she was feeling better. There was nothing different in their looks; and, inwardly, Ashara relaxed. She greeted them back, and then inquired if they knew where Vin was. She needed to have another conversation with him. They told her that he was at the stern of the ship. She caught something in their voices when they answered her—distrust and unease clearly pointed toward the newcomer. She thanked them and made her way toward the stern.

  Once she climbed the small series of steps, she saw him. He was standing with his arms stretched wide, and she froze as he started moving. Ashara had never really seen anything like it. His movements reminded her of a dance, yet his slow and deliberate actions seemed somehow aggressive. It looked to her as if he were fighting the air around him. He turned and twisted with his eyes closed, his limbs moving in all directions. Occasionally he would come to a stop, getting back in to a standing position with his arm brought close to his chest; then a moment later he would again explode into another series of movements. Eventually he came to a stop again—only this time he raised his hands up and took a deep breath, before slowly pushing them down in front of his chest while he breathed out. He remained in that position for a beat more, then opened his eyes and locked them with Ashara’s.

  Not wanting to give him the chance to speak first, she asked, “What was that?”

  Vin tilted his head and studied her. “Those were the nine basic movements of the Way of the Sky Crash
ing Lightning.”

  “Movements of what?” Ashara asked as she took a step closer.

  “Basic combat movements of my people’s martial arts.”

  “Ah, a fighting style. I have never seen one like yours before,” Ashara commented. She had watched her father’s guards train on many occasions, but their training looked nothing like this. In comparison, the styles of the guards seemed somehow crude.

  “Your people don’t have many martial arts?” Vin asked her.

  “Well, I know that different cultures have different styles, but I am not so well versed in such matters to comment more.”

  Vin nodded at her words, and she could see that he wanted to ask her more, but he stopped himself. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and steeled herself—but then Vin spoke before she had the chance to.

  He bowed over his fists, and kept his head turned toward the ground. “Apologies, honored sister. I offended you the last time we spoke. I still do not understand the nuances of what is considered polite to be brought up in conversation. It was not my intention. You have my word that it will not happen again, and that I will never speak of it again.”

  Ashara looked at the back of the strange man’s head for several moments. She had been so afraid when Vin had so easily seen through her. But she was no longer in Amaranthine. She no longer had a family which could be destroyed by the truth. All of those things were far behind her. Tourran was a place where people were much more open, and she would be no one. There, she did not need to walk in fear of being found out. The crew of the Norvus was still an unknown for her—they came from all over the world, and that meant that she should step much more carefully around them. Not every culture in the world looked with disgust at people like her, but some did. At least Vin did not seem bothered.

  “No, it is I who am sorry,” Ashara told him. He raised his head to look at her and she smiled nervously at him as she gripped the fingers of her left hand in her right. “I know that you didn’t mean anything bad by it, but where I am from, people like me are…frowned upon. In fact, relationships between people of the same sex are rare, and never occur among the nobility.”

  Vin frowned in surprise and dismay at her words. “But why?”

  “Those who are nobles are expected to sire children, to provide heirs for their houses,” Ashara said somberly. “I’m sorry that I reacted so poorly. I am used to hiding who I am.”

  “Nobles?” Vin asked slowly.

  “A caste system. Those born in the noble houses are the ones that rule in Amaranthine, my homeland,” she said with distaste.

  “That is…strange. Are you telling me that rule is decided by birth in your land?”

  “It is not the same where you come from?”

  Vin shook his head. “It is not. A man or a woman can rise to power by their own will and strength. It is true that some clans have advantages—better techniques, better resources. But talent is all that matters in the end. I myself had been born into a small clan, and as my talent for the spirit arts showed itself, I was quickly discovered. The greatest masters of every clan had vied for the chance to instruct me. I would have eventually risen to the highest ranks among the clans,” Vin answered. He had already been the greatest living spirit artist; his name had been respected amongst all the clans. “I have learned from the talks with the others that your lands are divided, that there are many different…kingdoms, I believe they are called. And that each usually has a single person ruling it. It is not that way back in my home. The great clans rule their domains, but all of them work together. People move freely among the clans. They leave their birth clans to join others. And all were free to do with their lives as they wished. To love who they wanted to.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ashara said wistfully. A part of her wished that she had been born in such a society.

  “It could be,” Vin said, his eyes wandering away from her before snapping back up. “I do not understand this nobility of yours. For my people, our only purpose, our only desire, is to follow the path—to reach the greatest heights. We all strive to gain strength and heavenly enlightenment, and join the gods in the heavens. But each of us is seeking their own way to that enlightenment. The spirit arts are the way of our life.”

  “That is much different than what most in the world believe. Your homeland must truly be far away.”

  Vin’s eyes turned toward the sky and got a faraway look to them. “Yes…it must.”

  Ashara coughed, the intensity of his look making her uncomfortable. “Anyway, I just wanted to come here and apologize about the way I spoke to you before.”

  “There is nothing for you to apologize for. You have my word that I will not speak to anyone else about it.” The man paused, considering her. “Although, I would like to ask for a favor. Would you be able to help me understand your people’s ways more? I do not wish to say something that would offend someone again. Already I have made the crew nervous with my comments and attempts at conversation.”

  Ashara smiled. “Yes, I can do that.”

  * * *

  Several days later, Ashara sat on the deck and watched as Vin did the same dance that he did every morning. The movements, as he called them. She was genuinely surprised with Vin—he was not at all what she had first thought him to be. He was always respectful, even when she told him that he didn’t need to be. His way of speaking and acting was strange to her—and she had interacted with many different cultures—but it was his mannerisms and actions that were stranger than any she had ever seen. They had talked at length both about the cultures on the Amiras continent and his own people. What he told her was fascinating. His was a warrior’s culture, one that focused on advancing on the path of the spirit arts. She didn’t yet have a good grasp of what that exactly meant, but from what she could gather it all came down to a person finding their own way to follow that path. To gain more strength, more knowledge, and to find enlightenment was their ultimate goal. If she had understood him correctly, there was no nobility in his society. Those that ruled did so because they had advanced further on the path. Anyone could rise to the top, no matter their beginnings.

  Vin finished with his movements, and Ashara stood up and walked over. “Why are you doing the same moves over and over again? I haven’t seen you do anything else.”

  Vin grabbed a rag from the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow. “The basics are extremely important, and while I had mastered them long ago, I need to get my body into shape. My…imprisonment has left me weakened. In order for me to take the next step on the path, I need to get my body ready first,” he told her. She noted that his accent and structure had already improved greatly.

  Ashara nodded, but didn’t really understand what that meant. “Well, it’s time for another language lesson.”

  Vin nodded, and they found a place on the deck before she started tutoring him. The spell had given him an understanding of basic Amaranthine, so Ashara had started teaching him a few different dialects that were common in the area. People in Tourran in particular spoke in a dialect of Amaranthine, so that was the easiest for her to teach him; and, as that was their ultimate destination, he would need to know the language in order to get by regardless.

  Ashara was surprised at the level of maturity and composure that Vin showed for someone who didn’t look much older than herself. She would’ve thought that someone who had been a prisoner for a long time and had just found himself in a strange land would be a little more subdued—but Vin was eager to learn. At first she had been suspicious, had wondered if he might be someone sent by Lord Jauvek to assassinate her, but those silly thoughts had left her mind quickly enough. Ashara was a very good judge of character, despite her occasional paranoia, and she was certain that Vin wished no harm to her or the crew. She was sure that he kept things from them, she could see it in his eyes, but she could understand someone not wanting to share all of their secrets. She felt the same, of course.

  And he didn’t look at her the same way that oth
er men did. She was very much aware of her good looks; she had learned to use them well in order to get what she wanted. But always, everywhere that she went, she was the center of attention. It had been the same at court. If she hadn’t worked so much to befriend the other ladies of the court, she knew that they would’ve made her life far harder than it had been—although of course the moment they had seen an opening, all of them had turned their backs on her. Their friendships had proved as fickle as the wind.

  They spent the next hour seated on the deck as she taught him the different pronunciations of Amaranthine words in the Tourran dialect. Finally, she decided to call their session to an end.

  “I think that that is enough for today,” Ashara said as she stretched her arms above her head.

  “Very well,” Vin said. “Thank you again for doing this, sister.”

  Ashara sighed and smiled in resignation. Vin had thanked her every day, after every one of their sessions. And he had taken to calling her “sister” after she managed to get him to drop “honored.” It was fascinating to her to learn about his society. Every man called any woman “honored sister” unless they were a part of their close family, just as every woman called any man “honored brother.” It was fascinating.

  “I told you already that you don’t need to thank me every time. And it is not like I have anything else to do on a several-months-long journey.” She gave him a smile.

  “Neither do I. The captain had assigned me to the crew, but they do not seem to want me around. None of my offers for help have been accepted.”

  She knew that the crew was wary of Vin. After she had started teaching him, a few of the crew had spoken to her, asking if she needed help with dealing with him. Narima—the young boy that Vin had spoken to her about—had offered to have a talk with Vin and dissuade him from, as he put it, “bothering” her. Vin had been right; the boy was almost certainly in love with her. And it was her fault, as she had encouraged him. She hadn’t done it on purpose, of course, it was simply that old habits died hard. She had just kept doing what she had done at court. She hadn’t thought about how it would look to a simple sailor that had probably spent his entire life on a ship with very few women giving him their attentions.