Because speaking was becoming too painful to accomplish, Isaac settled on rolling his eyes.
“And it seems his voice is gone as well,” Chandra announced in mild surprise. “I'm regretting this promise more and more.”
Isaac couldn't see Edith's expression clearly, but it looked as if she'd pursed her lips, probably in uncertainty about the ghastly corpse laying on the bed.
“And how will my blood help, exactly?” she asked.
“Let's just say for now that it's symbolic of purity,” the sorceress answered. “For as wrong as mortal society is about only being clean by abstaining from sex, such massive idealism gives virgin blood a good bit of power to utilize, particularly in breaking curses.”
Stepping behind Edith, Chandra further qualified, “Still, I've an idea. You said you've practiced the Craft, and even more proficient at breaking curses than virgin's blood is a virgin in the flesh. So would you care to try yourself? With my assistance of course.”
Edith exchanged a brief glance with Charlotte, then admitted, “I wouldn't wanna make a mistake and turn him into a frog or something.”
Chandra smirked as if the thought was amusing. “Even existence as a frog would be preferable to his current condition. Unless he's a rotting frog, I suppose.”
Isaac sighed. Still not as bad as some of the shit I've been through.
“That's true,” Edith conceded. “What would I have to do?”
“It's very simple, actually,” the sorceress replied, placing a hand on the mortal's left shoulder while leaning in to speak at her right ear. “Close your eyes and hold out your palm upright.”
Edith took a breath, then complied, lifting her right hand as her eyes shut.
Chandra then raised the saltshaker, pouring some into her palm while directing, “Now envision his curse as something you could tangibly see, like wisps of energy curling around his body, clinging for dear life and causing him to rot.”
Closing Edith's fist around the salt, she went on, “Curses suck life away to feed their energy, binding their target. So focus on it, and use this fist to break that grip and dissolve the unwanted force.”
Edith remained motionless, but as the sorceress directed her, a bright, white light began forming in her hand, the rays shooting out between her fingers. Isaac doubted the mortal even knew it was happening—but the way Chandra was coaching her made him suspicious.
“Good,” Chandra commended. “Now repeat after me.”
One after the other, the two of them began repeating phrases of a chant, and soon, their voices united to speak the words together. As the chant grew in speed, the power Edith built up seemed to erupt from her fist much like a spark, and flew through the air toward Isaac's body.
The moment it hit, it engulfed him in a pure white light, and immediately, he could feel the effects of the curse fading away. Just like that, it was over, and his natural ability to regenerate wouldn't take long to kick in and heal the damage.
In the aftermath, Edith opened her eyes, looking on in confusion. “What just happened?”
“You've successfully broken his curse in a single try,” Chandra answered, then inquired of Isaac, “I trust you're feeling relieved now?”
Isaac groaned just as Ulric mentioned for him, “Pretty sure he'll be himself again before the hour's out. Thanks, Chandra.”
Chandra didn't verbally acknowledge the draconian's gratitude, and merely inclined her head. “Now that my work is done, Edith, if you've time, I'd like to borrow you.”
“Okay,” Edith agreed without qualm—and Isaac's suspicion grew.
As it turned out, that suspicion wasn't unfounded.
When Chandra removed her hand from Edith's shoulder and directed her to the door, the mortal turned around to reveal a mark on her flesh where the sorceress' palm once rested.
The mark of an apprentice.
He stared at the blurry, triangular shape until the woman disappeared, trying to let the meaning of it sink in. Holy shit. It's her.
Edith was his mate.
The curse had weakened him too much to allow him to sense what she was on his own, but just the day before, he'd related to Charlotte that her best friend's voice sounded questionably familiar.
Now, it was apparent that he'd been hearing it in his dreams.
Isaac's gut suddenly clenched with want, and he nearly shot up off the mattress in an attempt to intercept Edith before she could leave. But his muscles were still atrophied from the curse, his bones brittle, preventing him from getting very far.
Seeing his reaction, Chandra actually smiled, mentioning on her way to the door, “I believe I've finally found what you've so longed for me to take, Isaac, which means I should depart. There's much work to be done, after all, and I'm certain you wouldn't want me to delay.”
Damn it! As she exited the bedroom, Isaac impatiently waved a hand at Charlotte—being a sun fae, she could heal him more quickly.
But the human-turned-fae was momentarily confused. “What? Oh, right, sorry. I keep forgetting what I can do as a fae,” she drew out more slowly than he would've liked while walking over to help him.
Ulric, on the other hand, knew all about the prophecy, and with recognition dawning in his cobalt eyes, he suggested, “You should hurry, sweetness. Isaac wants to see Edith again before she leaves.”
With her hands on Isaac's shoulders and bright, warm light seeping into his body to regenerate him, Charlotte asked, “Oh? Why's that?”
Isaac didn't answer, pulling away from her grip the moment he felt capable of walking again, and rushed out of the room to find his mate before she departed.
But it was too late—they were already gone.
“Fuck! Sonofafuckingbitchgoddamnit shit!”
Charlotte hurried out of the room at his excessive swearing, exclaiming, “What?”
Following more casually, Ulric qualified, “Edith is his mate, Charlotte.”
“What?” Baffled, she looked between them with widened eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, Chandra marked her before they left. Means she was impressed by Edith's performance and wants to train her as a mage.”
As he went on to explain the prophecy, Isaac scrubbed his fingers through his hair—or what was left of it after rotting away. He couldn't just stand around doing nothing, and asked Charlotte as soon as he got the chance, “Where does Edith live? Chandra might've taken her there.”
“No way, Isaac,” the fae shook her head. “I'm not passing out my best friend's address, I don't care if she is your mate.”
“Just calm down, Isaac,” Ulric began. “She's Charlotte's best friend, so Edith will come back to say goodbye before Chandra takes her to Mystikkar.”
Taking a deep breath, Isaac growled out his frustration, which wasn't wholly caused by the fact that he'd missed his chance to talk to Edith before she left. He also wanted the opportunity to actually recognize her as his and put a stop to the damned prophetic dreams he'd been having every time he drifted off to sleep.
Still, he reluctantly agreed, getting Charlotte's promise to let him see her friend by giving his word that he wouldn't reveal she was his mate. It was an easy promise to make considering such knowledge would only frighten Edith, and he'd probably done a bang up job of that already just being a rotting corpse.
But Edith never returned. Instead, she called Charlotte a few hours later to let her know she'd accepted Chandra's proposal to train, and might not get a chance to visit again in the near future.
When Charlotte inquired if it was possible for her to come by before she left, the mortal declined, stating her new instructor claimed to have some time sensitive business to handle in Mystikkar.
And Isaac wasn't buying that bullshit for a second.
Chandra was just getting back at him for the way he'd hounded her, knowing his irritating dreams would continue until he met Edith face to face without a curse weakening his senses. Sadly, this meant the blood oath he'd taken to refrain from interfering with her training i
nsured he had no hope of meeting her anytime soon—and he didn't even want to think of how long it could take.
Some men would've diligently waited with ease, but Isaac wasn't one of them. Fuck diligence, lottery winners don't wanna wait six weeks for their check, and neither do I.
But the damage was done, and he only hoped his ruthless ability to survive worked in his favor here.
Otherwise he was about to go on the longest bender in the history of immortal-kind.
One
• • •
Mystikkar, The City of Magic, Ithelyon
10 Months Later
“If archmages are infused with power from a well of spirit energy, doesn't that technically make us all necromancers?”
Edith groaned at the ridiculous question, posed by a fellow human apprentice named Marcus who'd been studying to become a magician for eighteen months now.
His dedication to learning simply wasn't showing in that particular moment.
“Aeons aren't spirits anymore, Marcus,” she pointed out.
“I know, they're ascended spirits, so they're pretty much pure energy. Still, they used to be spirits. So … ?”
“So no, they're not all technically necromancers. They're archmages.”
When Marcus waved a hand as if to say you just don't get it, Edith grinned and returned her attention to their topic of discussion; the Aeonic Well.
It was a large pool located at the center of the Grand Aerary where they stood, and though its contents resembled water, that wasn't exactly the substance filling it.
Instead, the well contained energy, untapped magical power that fueled an archmage's spells. According to Chandra, it was a divine construct gifted to Mystikkar by the god of magic, Velias. There were also other, smaller wells located throughout Mystikkar, but none were quite as large.
As a testament to the well's importance, a set of fifteen Sentinels stood watch around the circular chamber, headless suits of ornate armor holding long swords with their tips settled against the floor. An average human would think they were for decoration only, but anyone entering the Grand Aerary with the intent to cause trouble would soon learn otherwise when the Sentinels came to life and attacked.
Such was a small example of the magical wonders Mystikkar possessed, and for Edith, training there was nothing short of a dream come true.
Her life hadn't been anything to write home about, anyway. After losing her father as a young teenager, then suffering years of neglect from a dismissive stepmother, she hadn't believed she'd ever accomplish anything special. Low self esteem kept her from attending college, and she'd gone through one menial job after another with little hope of finding anything she could call a career.
So work was a dead end, and as for friends, Edith had only one that was close. But Charlotte's life had also changed drastically in the past year due to the supernatural. This left Edith free to pursue the path of a mage, and the chance to break away from a worried life of paying bills without much to show for it was too good to pass up.
So she'd quickly accepted Chandra's offer, and though it'd only been ten months since her training began, the things Edith discovered in Mystikkar had drastically changed her perceptions on both life, and her own inner workings.
Now, she, Marcus, and an elven apprentice named Arla were all waiting in the Grand Aerary after their instructors directed them to arrive no later than noon for a meeting with the Assembly of Archmages. Neither apprentice had any idea what the meeting was about, but if the Assembly was involved, it wasn't anything mundane.
No, this was big. And just a little distressing.
“I wonder what this meeting's about,” Arla mentioned just as Edith had the thought. “Do you think we've done something wrong?”
“Not anything the entire Assembly would wanna see us about,” Edith qualified. “Besides, if I'd done something, Chandra would've let me know without hesitation.”
Arla smiled. “Yes, she seems … strict, actually.”
“Nah, she just has high expectations,” Edith explained, adding proudly, “and I happen to be good enough to satisfy them.”
“You know,” Marcus mentioned, “the way you put that almost makes it sound like you two are—”
“Oh, shut up!” Edith exclaimed, knowing exactly where he was going. “Chandra's like my mother, you dick.”
Quickly, Marcus held up his hands apologetically. “Sorry! It just sounded … ” he trailed with a sigh. “I say stupid things when I'm anxious.”
“So you're anxious all the time then?” Arla asked.
“Low blow!” Edith laughed.
“Oh ha, ha … ha,” Marcus drew out sarcastically.
Grinning, Edith supposed she could sympathize with Marcus in regards to his nervousness, and wouldn't have minded if he'd made that comment about anyone but Chandra. She hadn't lied, the sorceress was like a mother, which was very important to someone who'd never known their real mother.
But Edith was too nervous to have a sense of humor regardless. I wish they'd hurry up and tell us what we're waiting on.
The apprentices lapsed into silence for several moments following their exchange until Marcus next mentioned, “You know, being here, training with magic, it's all kinda weird when you think about it. I was just a stock boy at a local supermarket in South Dakota when I met my instructor. Next thing I knew, Nishalla was bringing me here.”
“What's a stock boy?”
Knowing Arla was born and raised in Ithelyon with no clue as to what a supermarket even was, Edith explained it.
Nodding in understanding, Arla remarked, “I grew up on a farm near Onoria, so it seems we both have humble beginnings.”
Marcus grinned, then asked Edith, “What about you?”
Shrugging, she answered, “I'm from North Carolina, was relying on my trust fund to get by between menial jobs when I came here.”
“A … trust fund?” Arla inquired.
Edith parted her lips to explain, but was interrupted when the double doors to the Assembly Chamber at the top of the stairs clanked without warning.
Immediately, the apprentices dropped their conversation in favor of looking up to watch as the entryway slowly opened. There wasn't a soul in sight on the other side, but one of the Archmages within soon called for them to enter.
“Here's hoping this is good news,” Marcus remarked quietly, and they all stepped around the Aeonic Well to ascend the stairs.
Inside of the circular Assembly Chamber were several rows of seats set up before a raised parapet overlooking the room. Upon it sat the Elder Archmages, including Chandra, who remained silent as Marcus' instructor directed them all to stand at the center of the chamber.
Once the apprentices took their places, Marcus' instructor, Nishalla, called down to them, “I'm sure the three of you know we were just discussing you.”
They nodded silently, except for Marcus, who asked, “Anything good?”
“You could say so,” she answered. “You've shown a vast amount of improvement in your training recently, and an understanding of your magical skills that we all strive to attain. So we've been reviewing you.”
“Reviewing?” Edith echoed inquisitively.
A gnomish wizard to Nishalla's left explained, “We think you're ready to attempt your Final Callings.”
Hearing the words Final Calling, all three apprentices exchanged surprised looks, then turned their gazes back to the archmages when Chandra added to their announcement.
“We have faith in your abilities to complete this challenge, but the true question is whether you do. Remember, if you accept the Final Calling now, it will be the only chance you have to acquire your staff and achieve the rank of archmage, meaning that, should you fail, you'll never rise above your current station.”
Edith exhaled a deep breath. Every apprentice in Mystikkar knew as much, making this a difficult decision indeed.
The Final Calling was a quest to gather items that would craft their staff—and the items could be
anything, from a blade of grass, to a statue. Once acquired, these components were stored in a magical cache provided by their instructors, and upon completion of the quest, the apprentice would return to Mystikkar and enter the Aeonic Well to be infused with energy, taking their place among the archmages.
This challenge could last a week, a month, or even take years depending upon the items needed, which were revealed through signs and visions. Some pieces were easy to acquire, while others took a massive amount of skill, and may even endanger the mage's life if they weren't clever enough.
Topping it off, mages only had a limited amount of magical power granted to them by the Aeonic Well to use in their quest, and if it was depleted, the chances of actually accomplishing the Final Calling were significantly diminished.
Because of this, several apprentices turned down the chance to begin their Calling out of fear and doubt over their skills. Others simply lived out their lives in Mystikkar without worrying about such a grand scavenger hunt.
“What is your verdict?”
Nishalla's question broke the silent deliberation the apprentices had undertaken, and Marcus looked up at his instructor, then exhaled a deep breath.
“I'm ready,” he answered with a confident nod of his head, casting a sheepish smile at Edith and Arla. “I've been training for over a year, so it's now or never, right?”
Edith smiled, then looked up when Chandra called, “Arla?”
The elf exhaled, but soon shook her head. “Thank you all, but I'm not confident enough yet. I'll have to turn it down this time.”
“As you wish,” the sorceress acknowledged. “You're dismissed. Now, Edith, what is your decision?”
Edith's smile faded in taking another moment to consider. Unlike the apprentices with her, she'd only been training for ten months, having developed skills best suited to the class of enchantress. It was a useful class of magic involving illusions and the change in state or function of items, including people's minds. It also entailed altering one's form—a favorite pastime of Edith's was parading around Mystikkar as a golem, or spooking the other apprentices as a wraith.
The Final Calling Page 2