Aeden was at the very edge of his seat.
“What?” interest bled into Aeden’s tone and dripped sanguinely onto the floor.
“Myself,” Master Glass smiled and sat back in his chair, “I found myself Aeden. I discovered true freedom. It’s not choosing how we look or what we say. It’s choosing who we are, what we do, and who we will become. These are what define us. They are what make us into something more than just being. This is the real meaning of freedom.
“Too often we become lost in the journey. The adventure wraps us up and comes to characterize us. The prospect of unimaginable potential, of unmatched skill, was too much for Huta, for Balder, Anat and Baal…” Master Glass paused and looked down at the floor.
His shoulders slumped as he considered his words, they were but a whisper, “I fear it has become too much for Master Sigerica.”
Aeden was nodding slowly, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking on the Dup Shimati. What could he do with the scrolls? What would he do with unrivaled power?
He could free his people. He could avenge the fallen and set right the terrible wrongs of his past.
“Do you know why I tutor you?” Master Glass asked more seriously.
Aeden’s thoughts broke into pieces and were carried away by the flickering light of the lone candle.
“It’s your white hair and grey eyes,” he said solemnly, “it marks you as different.”
Master Glass’ voice fell away like the distant cadence of a military drummer.
“It marks you as Agathonian,” the master was studying the floor, which was cast in yellow and purple hues from the mixed light of gloaming and the burning candle. “I’ve been there you know,” he said almost to himself.
Aeden nearly fell off his chair.
Master Glass wiped at his eye and looked away for a moment. His face became serious again.
Aeden felt desperate to ask questions. He wanted to know more, but he read the moment. It wasn’t the time to ask questions. It was time to listen. The venerable master of the S’Velt would’ve been proud.
“You’ve displayed unexpected skill. You’ve been marked for greater things. It’s my hope that you remember your heart. Remember your humanity, remember who you are.” Master Glass looked up, “You may hear words like Kan Savasci, Pathach, but these are just words. Aeden, you are more than this and you are less than this.”
Master Glass paused. He looked directly into Aeden’s eyes, ensuring he had his undivided attention.
“I need you to understand. No one person should hold all the scrolls.”
Aeden merely nodded.
Chapter 43
“Death only claims us once we’re forgotten.” A Thane Sagan Saying
The following morning Aeden’s mind felt sluggish. His thoughts circled about the Scrolls of Destiny. They lingered on the idea of unrivaled power. They clouded his awareness and clawed for his attention like a rat desperate for escape.
He awoke early, sweaty. His sheets clung to him like an abandoned lover. The delicate light of dawn presented itself with the faintest hint of burnt orange. It cast the dormitory in weak tones of cardinal and cream.
Aeden propped himself onto an elbow and rubbed indelicately at his face. He felt lethargic. His brain buzzed with thought and lingered on the images of a nightmare. He’d dreamt of a great ocean of color, frothing violently about him like a maelstrom of energy that threatened to crush his very soul.
The images of the dream faded like the final vestiges of a torrential downpour.
Aeden cast a glance about the room, taking in the shapes of slumbering bodies. He saw Adel nearby, peaceful as a fallen star. He saw Dan and Laurent, Garit and Sakhira. He knew the quiet note of sleep would soon be cast away by the coil of daily anxiety. The others would awake. They’d remember their roles and they would move about with purposeful intent, ignoring and ostracizing him.
Without another thought, Aeden slipped out of bed, grabbed his sword and exited the room.
The hushed corridors of Bellas Tower felt composed in the wake of a rising sun. It brought a momentary ease to Aeden’s mental wanderings. He even smiled as he worked his way through the tower and over the bridge, into the Tower of the Arkein. His breathing was even as he moved up the stairs and emerged, into the open, living library.
The smells of dust and leather and knowledge encircled him. They drew him in like an enchantress to a broken mind. Sitting at the center of it all was a polished wooden desk with three massive books. One lay open, its pages exposed to the translucent reflections of morning light.
Aeden passed the celeste blue flowers of a jade vine and made a beeline to the tomb ledgers. Each ledger was a catalogue of the books within the library. He began his search on the open page of the catalogue where several titles waited to be read. Salvare’s Touch and How to Cure It, Silent King’s Disease, Stoic Wisdom, Syndrome of the Blood Queen.
A string of curse words found his ear and pulled him from the ledger. Aeden looked up and saw Harmon had tripped into the corner of a table. Aeden stepped away from the ledgers and moved to help the fallen Harmon. It wasn’t the first time Harmon had run into something or tripped and fallen.
“Are you alright?” Aeden asked with concern.
Harmon waved him away, moving to stand up.
“I’m fine,” he grunted, “just caught up in my research is all…”
Aeden looked at him more carefully, noting his disheveled look, the bags under his eyes, his uncombed hair.
“How long have you been researching?”
Harmon rubbed absentmindedly at one of his eyes before he glanced up at one of the mirrors above. The mirror was already retracting from the windows under a complex set of mechanical gears.
Aeden placed a sympathetic hand onto Harmon’s shoulder.
“Is everything okay?”
Harmon blinked and nodded.
“Just tripped,” he responded, “I’ve some more reading to do before the sun fully rises.”
Aeden removed his hand and watched as Harmon ambled away, clutching the amulet about his neck. He was a strange student. Harmon was in the library more often than Aeden. He’d sit alone, huddled over a book like an old shrew, soaking in knowledge like a desert plant from the A’sh soaks in the morning dew.
Aeden shrugged the thought aside. The white cups of lily-of-the-valley provided a soft perfume fragrance to the smells of fresh glue. They drew Aeden’s attention to the books lining the shelves beside him. The moving mirrors momentarily cast light upon the book shelf, as though Ghut’s hand had guided it there.
As Aeden perused, the smell of new leather and fresh bindings undercut the floral scent. The smells further enticed Aeden to look more carefully. He noticed one book above all the others. He’s not sure why he chose that one in particular. Perhaps it was the way the light had reflected off its cover. Perhaps it was providence.
It didn’t matter the reason. He’d found the book he subconsciously had been looking for.
Aeden gingerly pulled the text toward him, like a mother would a child. He glanced once more at the cover to ensure he’d not misread. A Journey to Agathon by Master Glass.
He moved to a quiet space within the library and began to read.
The hours bled together as the sun traveled through the sky like a wandering Calenite. The hues of early evening befell the library and cast a startling array of pastels across the books, plants, wood, and stone.
Aeden hardly noticed.
In fact, he was so engrossed in his reading that it took a tap on his shoulder to pull him from that world. Aeden looked up to see his friend Adel.
“I was looking for you all day…” Adel said with a hint of reproach in his voice.
Aeden’s stomach rumbled hungrily in response. His lips made a thin line as he nodded a slow acknowledgement.
“Tonight’s news night,” Adel continued, “Unless you’re planning to skip that too.”
Aeden had nearly forgotten. He rubbed at his eyes, r
ealizing they had trouble focusing on anything beyond a few feet’s distance. He slowly closed the book and stood. Adel followed him as he returned it to the shelf it had been hiding on.
“So, you’re coming?” Adel questioned.
“Of course,” Aeden replied, forcing a smile.
Aeden was briefly reminded of how Adel had retrieved him for news of the pilgrimage when they had lived at the monastery in Bodig.
“Any idea what they’ll announce?” Aeden asked a little too loudly as he followed Adel out of the library.
“Shhh,” Adel hushed him, reminding him of the library rules, before shrugging his shoulders, to show he didn’t know.
They made their way down one of the spiraling stairways and to the Chamber of Light. Already the murmur of student voices found them. A knot began to form in Aeden’s stomach. He remembered why he’d been spending more time in the library. He abhorred the discomfort of being socially ostracized. It had become a refuge from public opinion. A safe haven from social judgement.
They stepped through an open door and into the open space demarked by neat rows of chairs about a central dias all under a massive chandelier. Murals sat quietly upon the walls, resting between columns belayed by beautiful tilework.
Almost immediately Aeden found Thea. Her back was turned to him. Her hair was tied up and partly fell over one of her shoulders. The smooth curve of her cheek was exposed and the white skin of her neck. He swallowed a lump as he noticed Rafe. He stood opposite her, smiling that charming smiling. Their hands had been touching.
He looked away and felt a set of eyes on him. Across the room stood Caine. He had been chatting to Janto, but his gaze was on Aeden, like that of a predator. There was an odd smile on his face as if he had won at some unseen game. Aeden wanted to walk over and rip that smile off his condescending face.
“Take your seats,” Master Zabal Zabel shouted.
There was a shuffling of movement and the slow fade of conversation died away, as silence crept in from the nebulous corners of the chamber, as if bleeding out from the darkest murals and seeping into the room, laying claim to everything within.
Aeden took a seat, removed from the other students of bijenna. He sat quietly, adding his own piece of silence to the greater stillness.
The spell of silence was momentarily broken with the opening of a door. Grandmaster Kaldi stepped into the chamber. His restrained power added a counterpoint to the tranquility of a moment ago. He strode across the room and mounted the steps to the central dias. He opened his mouth and shattered the silence, scattering all stillness to memory.
“Let me begin with news from the Templas Empire,” his eyes grew sharp as he looked upon the crowd, “Word has escaped, telling of a great sickness. It has been spreading, like some ungodly fire.”
The Grandmaster paused as if imagining the horrors now besmirching the once great kingdom.
“The Templas Empire is crumbling,” Kaldi resumed, “I predict it will likely fall. Worse still, it seems a segment of the populace has fallen into the madness of some long-forgotten disease, worse than the sickness that claims the land. A reckoning has begun.”
The grandmaster looked about. His bushy eyebrows were knitted together in concern.
“As for news of the Imperium, there are a few topics of concern…”
Kaldi continued as Aeden looked about the room. Across from him sat Master Meidl. She was reserved and attentive, yet she briefly caught his eye. She nodded ever so subtly before looking back at the grandmaster. To his right were the novus students, to include Dan and Laurent. They were poking each other subtly in the legs.
“…and that brings us to Bodig,” the grandmaster continued, “more specifically a death in one of the great houses.”
Aeden sat up as if a fish hook had just begun to reel him in. Grandmaster Kaldi continued, oblivious to Aeden’s sudden attention.
“The adopted daughter of the High Priest Godwin, the first in line to King Illian Benbow of Bodig,” Grandmaster Kaldi rubbed at his brow, before continuing, “Alina Cynesige of the First house of Bodig, Holder of Keys, has passed away…”
Aeden’s heart dropped out of his chest and fell upon the floor. It had felt like an Inquisitor had torn it free from within. He struggled to breath as he felt the darkness creep closer from the corners of the room. His mind spun as the grandmaster continued to talk, but he couldn’t hear him.
The archduchess was dead?
Aeden hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much he’d clung to his memories of her. The memories of their time together. The perfect memory of her cuddled form against his as they sought warmth in the darkness of night, as the draccus weasels howled at the moon.
Aeden closed his eyes. He could see with startling clarity, her smiling face, her laughter. They were now but echoes of the past.
The buried hope of running away with her had been burnt to the ground, destroyed like his village and his people.
His gut twisted into a sad knot.
What would he do? What could he do? Who had done this? How could she have died?
The image of dark hair splayed across a pillow, flashed across his mind, only to be besmirched by blood and violence. His thoughts curdled as anger took root.
Why the archduchess?
Thoughts assembled too slowly as emotions tore through him like the angry gale of a Vintas storm. He couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. He refused to believe it.
Aeden wanted to howl in frustration. He wanted to cleave the head off Caine’s shoulders. He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to cry in frustration. He wanted to understand the cruelty of Verold. Yet, he realized that its cruelty was boundless.
Verold was shaped by death.
“Aeden?” it was a woman’s voice.
Aeden glanced up. It was Thea. It was only then that he noticed half the students had left. The Grandmaster was no longer upon the central dias. Excited chatter colored the walls.
Aeden didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. It felt like a boot was crushing his throat.
“You should go and pack,” she said, there was a hint of compassion in her voice, “We leave tomorrow.”
She only lingered for a moment. The moment was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was devoid of the love and hope he once held in his bleeding heart.
Thea turned and left, leaving Aeden to his thoughts.
Pack? What was she talking about? Pack for what?
“Looks like we’re on an adventure,” Garit said, approaching.
He was smiling goofily.
“I can’t help but wonder why we were all chosen though…” Garit was shaking his head in wonder, before the layers of anger surrounding Aeden permeated Garit’s oblivious nature.
Garit fell silent and nodded. He didn’t know what to do or say. He stood there for a moment, studying the floor before he simply walked off.
More students filtered out of the room.
Aeden half watched as they talked in excited tones. He heard bits and pieces of what they were saying, but none of the words filtered into his mind. He was stuck, rooted to the spot, like a tree who refused to be uprooted in the midst of a tempest.
A hand squeezed his shoulder. Aeden looked up and saw his friend. It was Adel. Of course, it was Adel.
They said nothing in that moment. They didn’t need to.
Aeden felt a trickle of emotion. It felt like someone had poured warm honey down his throat. He nearly broke. He nearly cried. But he couldn’t. His emotions were trapped in his chest, like a fly in amber. He wanted to get rid of the feeling. He wanted to scream out loud.
Instead, Aeden nodded to his friend. A weak smile passed across his face. Adel squeezed his shoulder again and he smiled. The smile said everything Aeden already knew. I’m here for you my friend. I will always be here for you.
Aeden nodded once and watched Adel walk out of the room. Yet, still, Aeden couldn’t muster the courage to leave his chair. It was as if leaving the chair would someho
w make everything more real. As if Grandmaster Kaldi’s words would finally be true and the memory of the archduchess would vanish.
He looked up and saw Master Sigerica approach him. The room was empty now, save for the two of them. She had been lingering in shadow, biding her time.
She took a seat near him, studying him for a moment, before she spoke. Her words were clear. They were precise. They were ambitious, commanding, and compassionate.
“Finish your trip quickly. For once you come back, the more important adventure begins…”
Aeden nodded as his thoughts coalesced into a quagmire of tangled emotion.
PART THREE
Sages of Umbra
Chapter 44
“The great celestial kingdom is a treasure, found by the gods, then buried and hidden from all who sought it.” Lost Verses of the Book of Khein
The village of Andir sat quietly within the relative safety of its high walls. The buildings huddled together, as if seeking warmth against the descending mists. The cold damp of a Mystes Mountain morning had begun to settle its weight over the hamlet and slowly sank into Peter’s bones.
Peter suppressed another shiver.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Thea uttered.
Peter tore his gaze from the grey, that now swallowed most of Andir, and observed the subtle frown that tugged quietly upon Thea’s lower lip. It was enough to draw Peter from his mental wanderings and into the present. It caused him to soak in his surroundings like the damp had soaked into the fabric of his clothing.
What had she seen?
The village felt tired, brittle.
Curtains were drawn, obscuring the insides of the buildings. Doors were shut as if fearful of the cold. Chimneys were silent and still. The bright colors of the Fold were temporarily muted by the weather, masking the demonic statues gathered in the shadows, their heads worn smooth by a thousand touching hands.
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