He barely heard Tilly re-enter the waiting area. He opened his eyes and glanced up.
“Grandmaster Kaldi will see you,” Tilly Steck announced, disappointment dripping from her voice.
The annalist forced a short smile and stood. He grabbed his satchel, swinging it lightly over his shoulder and strode into the chamber of the grandmaster.
Immediately he felt the weight of the room. An immutable stillness throbbed silently, woven from the threads of the past. It echoed loudly. It whispered lovingly. It grated angrily at his ears.
“My foremost pupil returns,” a low and wispy voice reached across the room. “Has he come to return what he’s stolen?”
The annalist glanced up and saw the back of the grandmaster. He stood, silhouetted against a tall window overlooking Skadoian Valley. His hair was gray as granite, long and flowing. His frame was narrow, masked by thick robes.
Kaldi looked the same as the annalist had remembered, if not a touch older, a touch thinner.
The annalist then looked back to Tilly. She stood, framed by the doorway. Her face was a mix of displeasure and disappointment. It cast her in long shadows of fading insecurity.
“You may leave us, my apprentice,” the grandmaster said, still looking out the window.
A scowl momentarily twisted Tilly’s features.
“Yes, grandmaster.”
The annalist watched Tilly Steck leave. The door remained open behind her.
The buzzing pressure of the room increased. Memories threatened to plunge him into the depths of another searing headache. He closed his eyes a moment and let the quiet of the tower consume him.
“You have finally returned,” Grandmaster Kaldi stated.
The annalist didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He had remembered the grandmaster well enough. There was a time when you listened and a time when you responded. This was a time to listen.
“There is a shadow about you,” Kaldi continued, “it masks you like the opal road at dusk.”
The annalist listened as the incessant hum of the air obscured Kaldi’s words.
“It had been rumored that you were dead,” Grandmaster Kaldi whispered.
Dead?
Another stabbing pain pierced the annalist’s mind, just behind his eyes. It temporarily blinded him.
The annalist took in a slow breath and gathered in his surroundings. Desperate for anything to anchor him to the moment, to escape from the reaching fingers of memory.
He took in the bookshelves lining the walls, twice as tall as a man. He noticed a long table covered in scrolls and parchment. His eyes traveled to an intricately carved divider, masking all but the edges of a pillar, hidden behind a sheet of silk. The siren song of the unknown, of what once lay beyond the silken sheet, called to him like a beckoning lover.
“You have traveled far,” Kaldi continued, “and you have reopened one of the gates,” his tone was now more serious, “Why?”
The annalist knew this question merited a response. He felt it in the air.
His words, however, were slow to form.
“The old gods have returned,” the annalist began, “Old Trenton has fallen, the Blue City has been attacked, and there are whispers of a growing army of draccus fiends.”
Grandmaster Kaldi slowly turned. Fiercely intelligent eyes, partially masked by bushy eyebrows, fixed themselves onto the annalist.
The air grew thick with the weight of the unspoken word.
The annalist shifted his feet and felt the tumbling surge of a fearsome headache. Grandmaster Kaldi took a few steps closer, peering carefully at the annalist. There was interest and curiosity written upon Kaldi’s eyes, along with compassion, ambition, and a hint of sadness.
“I still don’t know why you are here?”
The annalist looked about for words. Wasn’t it obvious? For help. For guidance.
“To find the one man who could help end the war,” the annalist said, his voice fading into the silence.
Kaldi arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
“The situation is desperate,” the annalist continued, pleading his case, “the High Priest and Emperor has sent me on this task…”
“Did he now?” the grandmaster cut in, “To find the Pathach, to find the Kan Savasci?” Kaldi paused, taking in the annalist the way one would a masked assassin, “And where do you presume the Kan Savasci is?”
The question was simple, but the words held the weight of the arkein. The very air changed subtly, filled with the hidden texture of an immutable force.
A buzzing pressure bore down on the annalist with the weight of an anvil. It burdened his mind and slowed his thoughts.
“Is the Kan Savasci here?” Kaldi mused aloud.
The headache that had been boiling quietly in the background now churned violently. It raged within, threatening to topple the annalist’s perception. It seethed, tearing at the fragile state of reality, as voices echoed loudly, reverberating within the inner chambers of his sleeping mind, whispering and clawing for an audience.
The annalist glanced briefly at the silken divider before he closed his eyes and quieted the voices. He stuffed them back into their box and looked up at the grandmaster.
“There is no time for games,” he said hotly, “Verold is on the very edge of collapse.”
“I do not play games,” the grandmaster responded, his voice echoing off the walls.
The annalist was forced a step back from the weight of it.
“You seek the Pathach, yet you ignore the Sight and hide from the truth like a fanatic,” Kaldi boomed, “How can I help such a person find that which is obvious? How can I help one who’s betrayed my trust?”
The annalist rubbed at his head. He felt a cloaked turmoil rise inside of him. It gave him strength. It pushed back against the strange pressure of the air.
He should have known. Riddles and obfuscation.
The grandmaster, like the Sages of Umbra, had often used riddles to puzzle out hidden truths. His riddles had cost lives. Today, however, there was no time. The annalist was not here to play games. He was here for answers. He was here to find the whereabouts of the Kan Savasci. He had a mission that had to come above all else, or risk letting Verold fade into shadow.
Anger pressed against the annalist’s head and pushed against the tide of a rising headache, stuffing it back into a latent corner of his mind.
“I am here for answers,” the annalist said, his voice was now strong, filling the room.
Grandmaster Kaldi nodded imperceptibly. There was a hint of a smile that touched his lips.
“There it is,” he said quietly, “the source of your strength, the root of your downfall, and the dawn of your recovery.”
The annalist hardly heard. His heart pounded heavily against his ears. Time swelled and contracted with every breath.
“I must find the Kan Savasci,” the annalist said.
The grandmaster’s eyes took on a different shape. It was one of sadness.
“Do what you must,” Kaldi responded.
The annalist dug into his bag of tools.
“Grandmaster?” Tilly’s voice reached forward, inquisitively.
The annalist glanced back at her. She shouldn’t be here.
With a single shout, Tilly was swept off her feet and thrown into the waiting room, pinned to the wall.
“You will not hurt her,” Kaldi said, the first sign of anger shading his tone in hues of red.
The room exploded in a cascade of light and sound, as Grandmaster Kaldi liberated his power. The annalist released a single shout and transformed the boiling mass of energy into silence.
His ears rang with indignation.
“Don’t let fear mask your heart,” Kaldi uttered, resignation shading his words.
The annalist barely heard as a surging strength, fueled by anger and a need for answers, overwhelmed him. It filled him. He merely glanced back and the door to the chambers shut with a wallop. The very air hummed in tune with his thoughts.
<
br /> “I have questions,” the annalist said, pulling out the tools of his trade.
Grandmaster Kaldi nodded sadly, “I know…”
Chapter 12
“Every new beginning enters upon the ashes of an old beginning.” Saying of Roewold
The gates to a mountaintop village stood open, resting in the shadow of a massive tower. Just beyond the reaching spire, clouds stood still as glass. Sunlight bled through an uncertain sky and cast Aeden and his traveling companions in its warm embrace.
“Welcome to the village of Andir, home of the Tower of the Arkein,” Master Cassius announced.
Standing outside the stone walls of Andir were the last remaining students of the University of Galdor. They stood upon the opal cobbles of the ten thousand steps, at the summit of Mystes Mountain. They stood at the threshold of Andir, before the gateway to boundless knowledge, mystery, and adventure.
Master Cassius looked upon the group with a mixture of pride and fatigue. Tufts of hair had grown upon his eyebrow ridges, marking the master alchemist in new hues of comically ragged undertones.
The group stood, huddled near Andir Bridge, in breathless anticipation. They were tired and they were hungry. The journey up the mountain had been swift. For most, their hearts still bled for those they had lost. It stained the air with the subtle flavor of sorrow. It besmirched the golden light of the sun and soured the texture of the sweet mountain air.
Aeden looked upon the scene with excitement and indignation.
The frenzy of movement, the constant vigilance, and the lack of sleep tore at his mind. It hummed quietly beneath his skin and it whispered against his ear. His legs burned from the trek. His feet were sore. It was cold and his temper rested on a razor’s edge.
Binding and underlying his frazzled nerves, was anger.
It was anger at his failure to act. It was anger at his inability to save those from death’s steady hand. How many lives had been stolen in an effort to reach him? How many would never feel the grace of the sun again, the sounds of laughter, or the touch of a lover’s lips?
“We’re nearly there,” Master Cassius shouted.
Cassius’ voice tugged at Aeden’s thoughts and pulled him slowly to the present. Aeden’s reflections faded into the deep recesses of his mind.
He glanced to his left and saw his friend, Adel, standing there, open-mouthed and in awe. Adel had paused and was looking up in an effort to make out the hidden spire of the Tower of the Arkein.
Adel seemed to have noticed Aeden and smiled.
“We’re not in Verold anymore,” Adel whispered.
Aeden returned the smile in spite of his mood. Part of him felt comforted by the presence of a true friend. In that moment, he couldn’t imagine anyone else he’d rather have by his side. Except, perhaps, the archduchess. Aeden smiled again, this time with a sense of warmth in his heart.
“We’re certainly not,” Aeden responded as questions began to formulate in his ever-inquisitive mind. “I wonder what lies beyond these walls.”
“More than you could know,” Master Claire Ashdown said as she passed.
Aeden had meant it rhetorically.
He glanced about and noticed Thea watching him. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes held something more. What that something more was, Aeden couldn’t tell. He might as well have been divining the Hidden Mysteries of Savikko.
He tore his gaze away, feeling uncomfortable with her steadfast glare. He busied himself with studying the scene, remembering how the Widow Ayleth had chastised him, so long ago, for his lack of awareness.
So much had changed since then.
Aeden absorbed the scene with the eagerness of a child. He started with the blue and black hues of the stone road, noticing how they transitioned to a pattern of charcoal gray cobbles framed by square, white pavers, over a stone bridge. The bridge itself spanned a moat, which encircled the village of Andir.
Beyond the moat was a wall. The wall itself was worthy of a second glance. Rectangular abutments jutted out from the barrier at regular intervals, capped in intricate spires of overlapping arches. It had the design and appearance of keeping something out.
Hiding just behind the village’s outer fortification, were glimpses of rooftops, spires, and the monolith of the Tower of the Arkein.
“Unless you’re daydreaming about me, I suggest you pay more attention,” Thea chided.
Aeden looked away from the scene and saw the group moving over the bridge. He looked at Thea, but she had already walked off. Aeden tugged at Adel’s sleeve, for he too had been caught staring at the scene before them.
Toward the rear were Laurent and Daniel. They were already deep in another one of their discussions. Their voices ensnared Aeden and Adel, wrapping them in their latest discussion.
“Pay up,” Laurent uttered.
Aeden only half listened as he looked past the group.
“For what?” Daniel scoffed.
Standing within the shade of a tall, arched gateway was Master Cassius and Master Ashdown. They looked small before a closed, metal doorway. The Gates of Andir.
“Our bet, from nearly two years ago,” Laurent responded with a smile, “I had told you there was a school of magic and that the University of Galdor was just a testing ground for it.”
Aeden continued to study the massive entrance. Above the masters were crests molded into the doorway, carefully lined in gold and silver. There was one per door. One crest was a winged sword wreathed in foreign script, the other was the circular shape of a snake eating its own tail.
“A bet is a bet,” Laurent continued.
Master Cassius banged on the door with a closed fist.
“We don’t know if there is a school of magic here,” Daniel retorted.
Laurent scoffed, looking about for support. Aeden hardly noticed, for he had just caught sight of Caine. He stood near the masters as if he merited greater importance than the rest of them. The sight of Caine made Aeden’s brow furrow and the muscles in his chest constrict.
“Why do you think Master Cassius called that impossibly tall spire,” Laurent paused to point skyward, “the Tower of the Arkein?”
“Health reasons…” Daniel shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips, “or to be convivial.”
The group fell silent as there was a creaking movement. The massive gates opened.
Caine shoved his way past the other students, pushing Garit into Thea, in his rush to enter the town.
“Well, Caine’s still a dick,” Laurent whispered, “And you owe me money,” he said, turning to face Daniel.
Daniel merely shrugged, hardly noticing as the group now poured through the open gate. They entered the town of Andir, as fate’s own hand ushered them toward a new path.
They entered hungry and tired. They entered with the weight of death, as memories of Galdor still burned within. They entered with a sense of hope.
Aeden hung back for a moment, listening to the faint, echoing whisper of a distant memory. The half-formed images of a forgotten dream intermingled with the words of the priestess of the Monastery of the Cave, “a Pathach has returned.”
Chapter 13
“Destiny is defined by more than the seeds of our actions.” Emperor Karaka - Savikko
A solitary voice called out above the din of students, “Master Cassius!”
The voice tore through Aeden and ripped his attention away from the ornate buildings, lining the main street. It stripped his attention from the town’s people, who were peering through open doorways and through tall windows.
“Please, follow me,” the powerful voice echoed, “Grandmaster Kaldi awaits, as do we all.”
There, just beyond the head of the group, stood a man in dark robes, cinched at the waist by a wide sash. The stiff shoulders of his outer garment gave the impression of strength, as the widening sleeves, concealing his hands, gave a sense of mystery.
“Master Glass, I follow your lead,” Cassius responded.
Aeden noticed intell
igence in the robed master’s gray eyes, as well as a sharp look to his face. Master Glass glanced from Cassius to the students, before turning on a heel and walking into the heart of Andir.
“Master Glass? That can’t be a real name…” Laurent said to Daniel.
Aeden watched as Master Glass headed deeper into the heart of the town. His eye was drawn to the symbol stitched into the back of Master Glass’ robes. A silver serpent eating its own tail, created a circle, much like the crest on the massive gate they had just passed. Within the circled-serpent rested a triple helix.
“If you’re implying that my money, in effect, is usufruct to you, I disagree,” Daniel retorted.
Aeden’s attention was torn from Master Glass to Laurent and Dan. He watched as they moved ahead of him, continuing their prior discussion.
“Usufruct?” Laurent snorted, “Where do you come up with these words?”
Garit was nearby and leaned in, “Usufruct: the right to legally use something that belongs to another without damaging it.”
Daniel was nodding and smiling. Laurent frowned briefly.
“No one asked you,” Laurent chided before turning back to Daniel and resuming his argument, “Come on. Master Glass? Grandmaster Kaldi? And why name a tower the Tower of the Arkein, if not to practice the arkein within it? Those are magical storybook names!”
Daniel chuckled, “I’ll concede your point when I’ve seen actual magic and not until then.”
Laurent and Dan continued ahead, their discussion unabated, oblivious to their surroundings.
“What do you think.” Aeden turned to ask Adel, “Is there magic here?”
Adel looked up as if distracted.
“I smell pastries,” Adel replied quite seriously, “and fresh honey!”
Aeden knew of his friend’s fondness for sweets and couldn’t help but smile. Aeden doubted Adel listened to a word Dan or Laurent had just said.
“I’ll buy you some pastries and a honeycomb later,” Aeden responded, his mind still thinking about the possibilities of learning magic.
Adel nodded earnestly.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” Aeden replied, “And remember,” he whispered conspiratorially, memories of their first adventure bubbling to the surface, “blue on the map demarcates land.”
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