by Kade Cook
Turning back to face the cauldrons, she holds her hand out, facing the ever-watching ceiling stars above. Vaeda focuses on the one with fire that matches her own. It blazes in mere wisps, and traces of light that swirls around within is containment—strong, fearsome, and very much present.
Vaeda’s brows pinch just for a moment as she concentrates on the magical fire before her. As if on que, it turns to her, like the fire is alive—a soul built of ancient Magik dwelling within the flame. Gabrian cannot help but gape at the extraordinary display taking place in front of her—awestruck and completely absorbed.
The strange fire flares out at Vaeda’s silent summoning of its Magik, but releases its hold on the stone cauldron, and rises. Leaving no trace of existence behind, the enchanting fire lifts upward, floating toward the Mage beckoning for it. Slowly, it inches forward, a defiant child shuffling toward its mother in a show of stubbornness. But with one last express of will, it derails its course and swoops to the right, up and over the crowd.
Mouthfuls of ‘Oohs’ escape the lips of the gathered crowd standing behind the Elders, curious to watch their leaders at work. The magical entity rushes over them in an exuberant display of acrobatics, catching them all in a spell of exquisite and playful delight, but then turns and makes one last burst forward, stopping just short of landing in Gabrian’s face.
Gabrian leans back reflexively at the close proximity of the fire, spirit, or whatever the hell this thing is. She ponders this then leans back in, seeing a depth to it—a call to her spirit, like a river calling to a soul, whispering for it to dive in. Before she can get a good look, it whips away and hurries to gather into an orb of bright light set above Vaeda’s open palm.
It begins to spin. The orb’s shape pulls in at the center, thinning into a tight funnel of light, and lowers to touch down on her flesh. Vaeda closes her fingers, wrapping them gently around the essence, and it disperses into strings of energy, sinking into her like electric blood into her veins. Each entry casts a subtle glow until the light is gone and her body has absorbed it whole.
The Elder turns to Gabrian and smiles, promenading back to her original post in the half circle, then gives a nod in her completion. Standing transfixed, Gabrian has forgotten her angst of being here. This experience is indeed different. Hearing her uncle’s words hum over her thoughts, she smiles hearing the words again. He is right, it is fun.
The next to step out of line is Arramus, the Egni Elder who found her in the ruins of fire on the night she had been attacked by Caspyous’ compelled minions. Arramus had gathered up her wounded—and still inflamed—body before anyone could see what she really was.
His large frame marches over to the same spot that Vaeda had just stood. Gabrian’s heart flutters in anticipation and her eyes narrows, studying the stone beneath his boots. There is a subtle yet distinctive peppering of smaller specks of marbles where they stand. She can see that now. Almost the same colour as his hair. It must be a hot spot for Magik where the Elders can draw on their gifts with less constraint from the binds that shield this sanctuary. Gabrian contemplates this theory in her head and determines this to be the logistics of it. She gets it. Strange things have occurred in this area for her as well.
Arramus grants her a smile and follows suit as his peer. With an upturned palm and red glowing eyes to match the fiery cocoon wrapped gently around him, he calls the cauldron’s flame. It is not as naughty as Vaeda’s fire but it is warm.
Very warm.
Gabrian’s brow releases a glistening tell of the immense heat. Beads of sweat trickle down the sides of her temples, dampening the edges of her hair as the fire sways haphazardly through the air toward the Elder’s palm. She shields her eyes to its intense flare as it spins, radiating a stifling heatwave in its show of power, and melds into the funnel shape on Arramus’s open palm. With a triumphant burst, it disperses into snakes along his skin and then is no more.
“This is incredible,” Gabrian whispers to no one.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nothing
One by one, the Elders step out of formation and take their place in the center of the enchanted stone, the strange life-like fires releasing their hold on the cauldrons. Each demonstrates quirky and unique personalities as they obey the Elders’ request. Gabrian gathers her hands together, fingers clenching in the excitement of this profound display of Magik. The way Ashen’s ice sprite dances across the room, dousing out bits of heat in tiny crystalline impressions before curling around her in a lacy print of frost. Mirrored reflective small sheets of light, engrained with memories of the past and future, flash by as Ariah coaxes her cauldron to let go. Gabrian strains to take in any of the thousands of fluttering images cutting through the darkening space between them. A glint of a thought causes her to suck in a gasping breath at what her conscious catches in the flutters. A flash of Jarrison and Sarapheane holding hands rips at her heart before switching to another fraction of memory.
Gabrian’s eyes twitch in her strain but close as the entity sinks to touch Ariah. Her eyes swirl with a prism of light as it fades into her body. Even though the glimpse was brief, it was enough to paint a smile on Gabrian’s lips—a gift from the whirling spirit, she has no doubt.
The hum of chuckles lighten the room as Manny calls to the Hydor cauldron. Having no real official training or experience at this particular aspect of his duty, the water entity plays an impish trick and raises high above them all before dousing half of them in a bath of vaporous waves then rushes around the room, swirling and weaving in and out of the crowd.
Among the onlookers’ humor, Gabrian hears the hint of a more lyrical giggle in the mix. A soft soothing melody of Lyarah’s voice memory tickles at her thoughts. This old entity must whisper secrets hidden within the depths of the ocean, that of the nymph, and those gifted with the sight of their existence—a knowledge that lends Gabrian a lighthearted breathy laugh as well.
Manny’s face flushes in the outright revealing of his level of inexperience. Furrowing his brow, he lets go of his humiliation and concentrates at the job at hand. His eyes flicker and spark just a little brighter. With one last show of defiance, the water sprite curls around the back of Gabrian’s neck, slipping over the top of her head to face her eye to entity. Holding its gaze just a second more than two breaths, it lets go and heads straight for the newly appointed Hydor Elder.
Swirling into a twist, fueled by tidal power, it burns bright blue before washing over Manny’s hands and sinking into his soul. The rush of pure Magik presses the wind out of Manny’s lungs as he releases a loud sigh. His eyes dim as do the blue haze of flames around him as he glances back at his highly-esteemed peers. Seeing their silent congratulatory smiles, he finds his humor again and bows to the crowd, returning to his place in the semi-circle.
Vaeda’s soft but confident voice breaks through the murmuring comments of the new Hydor’s show. “Tynan, if you would be so kind,” she hums, stretching her arm out toward the center of stone.
“Of course,” the large Guardian retorts in a low, sanded tone. Stepping through the half circle of Magik wielders, and slipping Gabrian a wink over his shoulder, he marches into place, taking his position.
In Orroryn’s absence, he was asked to assume the position of Schaeduwe Elder to retrieve the silhouetted entity from its cauldron. His hulking form is immediately shrouded in an array of shadowy flames, neither dark nor light, just varying shades of twilight that play hide and seek with his presence. He does not hold his hand out like the rest, for the Schaeduwe are beings made of shadow themselves. The Magik is within them and they with it. The ominous flames of shadow are attentive and obliging to his unspoken demand and rush toward him with no intention of playing games.
The sudden shift of veiled Magik, from the cauldron to her uncle, is swift and nearly missed under her blinking eyes, but the transformation washes a wave of vertigo over her and she feels her stomach turn as the world tilts for a moment. The familiar tingling in her fingers pulls h
er attention back from Tynan’s exchange and returns her momentary lack of balance upright again.
Swallowing down the pool of saliva settling in her mouth, Gabrian glances around at the others. Anyone else looking like they might throw up? No? Just me? Great!
Her eyes end their search and return to her uncle as he steps out of the dimming glow on the floor and heads toward her. Handsome as always, mouth twisting in a crooked grin, Tynan delivers a wink. Sidling in to take up position beside her, he leans down and whispers, “Piece of cake.”
Ugh, Gabrian thinks, Cake. In the strange reaction to his withdraw of Magik, the thought of eating cake makes her queasy, and a trickle of wetness fills her mouth again.
A subtle roar dances on the edge of her ears, distracting her from her unsettled stomach as wispy grey flames rush up around Ethan. His eyes light and his hand slowly lifts to call to the smoky whirling fire that fills the cauldron before him.
A loud snap stings her eardrum and her hand rushes up to defend the opening against the noise. Her sight dances over the others but not one reflects her actions. Either they are all used to the strangeness of this or the high intensity of the Magik is affecting her differently.
Hushed whispers fill the air coloured with strands of greys and antique whites. Strings of energy spring out from the hollow of the cauldron and dance wildly in the space above it like a swarm of fireflies alight and singing songs of the night. Each small fragment of swirling essence rises delicately as if they were spirits of embers, lifting and sparking from the heat of the soul’s fire.
Gabrian eyes water in this raw unveiling of Magik, an intense spectacle of emotion moving right through her though it is nowhere near her. It catches on the edges of her senses and pulls her along on its rollercoaster of moods that cling to her insides.
Captivated by this wild Magik, she is completely absorbed—prisoner of its powerful unleashing as it treks back to Ethan. The lethal entity fills the room, but does not defy its mission, and weaves together, orderly and obediently. A definite show of Ethan’s many years of struggle to learn his gift and contain its ferocity within.
A ferocity that Gabrian knows all too well.
Clutching his hands into a knotted fist, the Magik is withdrawn and in containment. The Elder’s eyes dim just as a glimmer of sweat beads down the side of his temple. The sides of his hair darken, damp from the absolute reign of control over the mighty entity that dwells within him.
Taking a deep, controlled breath, Ethan turns and donates a smile of hope toward his young friend and colleague. It is a glimpse, a show of faith in one’s ability to overcome circumstances and to stand resolute in conviction to desired beliefs. Withdrawing from his position, he is met by a friend, one of the remaining Elders to stand and pull back his gifted show.
Giving her head a shake, and letting go of the bombardment of Ethan’s turn, Gabrian is curious to see what happens now. Having bared witness to a whole lot of secret Magik, this should be interesting and as Ethan had so nicely said it, enlightening.
Whips of pastel greens rise from the floor around Kaleb’s feet and twist around his body. His honey-colour skin glows in the lime lighting. He crosses his arms over his chest, wrist touching and fingers extended, and raises his chin. The luminescent glow of hazel from his eyes stands out against the walls of green.
In his still silence, the Eorden cauldron responds. The first stirs and breaks into leafy neon plumes of light mixed with snaking vines that curl and switch as they transform. Nothing unusual in this display compared to all the rest. The shocking yet alluring miracle of seeing real Magik take form is now somehow lost in the repeated ritual being performed for her.
Yet, she keeps her eyes tensed, not lax on her observation as she seeks out another colour that seems to be hiding in the mist of forest greens and lime chiffon wisps swirling its way to Kaleb. She does not care what he is or that he may or may not be a wanted being. Judgement is not something she is at liberty to hold. She just wants to see what her soul so strangely desires to find.
The neon leaves and vinery entity, now settling politely around Kaleb’s form, wraps uneventful around his outspread digits and dissolves into his chest. Gabrian exhales a disappointed breath and twists her lips. No show tonight. Letting her eyes slip to the others behind him, she waits for the next runner up.
A high-pitch searing roar pummels her backward as a bright yellow fireball lurches forward and hovers in front of her face. No one moves. No one. They all stand staring at Kaleb as he inhales a deep breath, wiggling his fingers.
Gabrian’s heart jumps to life. The thing pulsing in front of her wants her attention and hers only. In waves of breathy hummed words, the message comes. “Yhou are the keeper of the soul’s secrets. We lives and dies within yhour decision. Our fate is yhour future and our debt in yhour honour.”
And with that it was gone.
The sudden void of energy leaves Gabrian cold. Awestruck by the message just given, she turns to Tynan to study his response of the oddity. Surely, he must know what to make of this. But his attention is elsewhere, unmoved and relaxed. Her eyes jump around the space, seeking out anyone who might have seen what she has. But there are no takers. The only one who looks her in the eye is Kaleb.
A strange web of energy floats between them in silence. Strong but serene, it narrows and connects them on a subconscious level of knowing. As their eyes connect, a warm flutter of calm opens up and spreads through her from within. As if feeling it too, his eyes sparkle with flecks of gold haunting the edges of his black dilated pupil. Though they are nowhere near each other, she can see the clarity in each fleck, the sharpness in each cut of colour that lingers in his eyes.
He grants her a smile and she receives it with a light heart. The fear that shadowed her before about the wild beast lingering inside of him just beneath his flesh is no more. Instead, a new curiosity and eagerness to learn more about him germinates and itches at the surface of her mind.
Kaleb’s smile turns into a grin and he knows she knows. With a hard blink, he cuts their lingering connection and steps away from the darkened space. No one is any the wiser of what just transpired between the two.
Now, there is only one cauldron left to burn. Violent blackened purple fire swirls and whips wildly within its stone hollow. It casts an ominous shadow of doom over all that lay in its black light. With the beautiful displays of Magik, Gabrian had not really thought about those who had made this place so dark for her. They were banished to the shadows of her mind, cast into darkness by the light of this wondrous show of events.
But her thoughts are back now. And they are very much in the light as the shuffling of feet draws her attention to the crowd parting behind them. Breath strangles her. The familiar and daunting purple haze she knows all too well looms above the bobbing heads, whispering hushes of gossip and truth of his state of being.
The blood thunders in her ears as the Elder’s violet aura draws nearer to her. Her eyes rush, scraping over the others but their faces are still painted with creases of serenity and joy. No signs of malice are hidden in their eyes. No disrespect waiting to lurch out and cause disarray. Her mind thrashes a million ways at once, searching for threads of inner strength. She let her guard down and scurries to find the walls of her barriers, her armour to shield her soul.
Her skin burns and her fingers sear as the Elder saunters in her direction. Why is everyone still smiling? This is the man who led her to her first death, a prisoner of the Realm. And Holy crap he is headed right for me.
A tall, wiry, middle-age man in black—tee-shirt and worn faded jeans—breaks from the crowd. She knows who it is but her eyes deceive her. His long strides, through the huddles of people, bring him toward her. With his presence, electric and way too close, Gabrian steps back to clear the space between them. He slows, hesitating only a fraction of a breath. His eyes meet hers with a nod and a meek but marked smile—one filled with softness, hinting of sadness on the edges.
The strange enco
unter punches the wind out of her sails, leaving her to drift on an ocean of memories. Within the small exchange of acknowledgement, Gabrian sees something different welling in him. This is not the look of a prisoner. Nor is this the image of a heartless killer. This is the face of a father, lost for decades in sallow gloom, who has finally found his child. The face of a man who merely existed, chosen to live again regardless of his circumstances—a soul once submerged in a suffering of darkness now able to see the light.
Gabrian fights against the throbbing pulse of her angst as much as possible and returns his nod as he walks by.
The Elders shuffle to the side, making room for the Derkaz Elder as he joins the semicircle. “Lady Vaeda,” he hums softly, with no malice on his tongue, and bows to her on his entry. “Elders of the Covenant of Shadows.”
“Cimmerian,” Vaeda chimes back in reply, bowing to meet his. “Thank you for coming.”
“It is my honour to be here.”
His dark eyes alight with enchantment. His mouth curves with gentle creases, upward and kind. This dark and ominous Elder, who Gabrian has come to know, now looks much like the man who came to the hospital and did not punish her for being there when she was forbidden on the premises—the man who offered to help guide her on the journey of learning Dark Magik.
She narrows her eyes, fascinated by this strange metamorphosis of being that has occurred to Cimmerian. Before her stands a different man. The Derkaz Elder strides into the allotted magical position and the air crackles as he does. Raising his hand, the last lit cauldron responds in whips of violet strands—sizzling and sparking—whirling around in their containment. His eyes shift and are ablaze with haunting darkness. Gabrian shivers at the depth of death control within them.
