The Sapphire Flute

by Karen E. Hoover

  “Oomph,” she said. She pulled back from the iron stomach, looked up, and froze.

  It was Ian. He looked at her, his hand on her shoulder, a slow grin spreading across his face as he saw through the disguise, through all of the work, to the very heart of herself. “I told you I’d find you, Shandae,” he whispered as he took a stronger grip on her arm. Ember wanted to scream, but her throat closed off. She looked around, panicked. She was in a room full of people—surely there had to be a way to get out of this without anyone getting hurt. She tried to pull away from him, but his clasp was like a vise.

  Just then Aldarin came around the corner, bringing in another young candidate. “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

  “No, you cannot. I am escorting my son from this trial.” Ian took her arm and tried to push past, but Aldarin blocked the path. He pointed down the aisle for the candidate to find a seat. The boy seemed oblivious to the growing tension and darted toward the front of the room.

  Ember’s head spun. She looked at Aldarin with pleading eyes. Her heart seemed to squeeze itself into a tight ball. More than anything, she wanted to throw herself at Aldarin and beg his protection, but she could hardly breathe, let alone speak.

  “Is that your wish, boy?” Aldarin asked.

  Ember shook her head, still not trusting herself to say anything.

  Aldarin met Ian’s eyes then, finally recognizing who stood before him. His eyes hardened. “Let him go, sir, before I call the guard.”

  Ian seemed dumbfounded. “What?”

  “I said, let him go. The boy has preference here. You are in the realm of the magi. If the boy wishes to go to trial, he is allowed to do so, despite parental wish or country’s call. It’s in the accords.”

  Ian slowly let go of Ember’s arm as the guards continued to gather behind Aldarin. He fumed at her. “This isn’t over yet,” he whispered in her ear. “I know your face now, and I’ve known your heartbeat since that first night. I’ll find you again.”

  Ember stilled at his words. He would be waiting, just as he had that morning when he’d sent the dogs in search. There was no escaping the man. Strangely, instead of losing hope at his words, she felt even more motivated to learn the craft of magic. She must pass this trial. Relieved, she watched as he turned and stormed from the building. She wanted to throw her arms around Aldarin, but didn’t dare.

  “Thank you,” she muttered instead, letting her eyes show just how thankful she really was. Aldarin seemed dazed by her look for a second, then slow understanding dawned on his face. He finally grinned, gripped her arm as he would greet a brother, and escorted her down the aisle to the very front row. He squeezed her arm before he left and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “I’ll let her know you’re okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  How he’d figured it out, Ember didn’t know. Aldarin always had been very intuitive. Her eyes welled up with tears. “Thanks, Dari,” was all she could whisper in response. He rested a hand on her shoulder and pressed softly before joining the rest of the guard at the back of the room.

  Ember directed her attention forward. The room was dominated by a large stage, and though only one person was there, he seemed to fill the space. His graying hair was cropped close, and he wore a purple cape that fluttered around him like a flag on a pole, very ostentatious. His eyes flicked over the whispering crowd of youngsters, quieting them as his vision passed over each one. When everyone was settled, he began.

  “Good afternoon, candidates, and welcome to orientation and first trial. Thank you for taking the time to attend and being willing to help us with this great work of service in magic, though it is not a livelihood for everyone. Even those who have the gift are sometimes not able to make the sacrifices required in this vocation, and thus we have created orientation for candidates before your first trial. It gives one a chance to change their mind if they feel this is not a job they are willing or able to do. There is no shame in that decision. There are many reasons why one would be unable to fulfill the calling to magic: family commitments, illness, death . . .” The audience chuckled. “All of these are valid reasons for not answering the call. Magic is a life-long commitment, candidates, so you must be prepared to devote the rest of yours to the work we do.

  “Many young people, perhaps even you,” he said, pointing to a smug-looking young man sitting to Ember’s left, “are under the mistaken belief that magic is all about power, glory, and fun. There are moments of joy and glory and even reward, yes, but it is hard work. Often, it is a thankless job. Many magi have given their very lives in the service of the Guardians and our world Rasann. Don’t be mistaken —it could happen to you,” he said, pointing to a young lady on the end of the row this time.

  “Let us begin.” He extinguished the mage lights with a wave of his hand. The class squirmed in darkness for a long moment, the sound of rustling cloth and giggles reaching Ember’s ears. A slight glow came from the center of the stage before her. It grew until it became a large ball of blue light with strange, squiggly formations, like a map pasted to a ball. The mage’s deep voice echoed from the darkness.

  “This is Rasann, as seen from the heavens—as the Guardians see it,” the mage said. “She was deeply wounded by the Great War of the Guardians, and so the Guardians stitched her back together as best they could.” Lines of rainbow light began to criss-cross the globe to form a giant net around their world.

  “The Guardians bound Rasann together with the colors of magic, and it is the duty of all magi to keep those bindings in place. Each day of a mage’s life is, in part, spent repairing the damage done to those ropes of magic. It has continued daily for thousands of years.

  “You are the next line in the defense of our world. It is exhausting work, and there are many who spend their lives doing nothing else—nothing but the work of knitting our world together. We are used where our talents are greatest, and for some—the healers in particular—their lives are used in giving the gift of themselves.”

  The mage lights came slowly back up. “Now,” he said, “I know there are some of you who are not willing to do this, for once you commit yourself to the order of the mage, there is no turning back. You will be called where you are needed with very little choice in where you go and what you do, but,” he raised one long finger, “the benefits are worth the inconvenience for some.”

  The audience murmured in appreciation.

  “You will always have a home, food, and clothing. Society, for the most part, is respectful of the mage order and usually grateful for those tasks we perform to ease their lives.

  “I would ask you to now determine if this is a way of life you would choose, and if not, feel no shame in escorting yourself from the auditorium. I shall wait for two minutes while you decide.” The head mage stepped to one side of the stage and waited, still as a statue.

  “Excuse me.” The boy next to Ember stood to make his way past. She wasn’t surprised to see he was not alone, though the number of people who filed out surprised her. A good third of the occupants left the room.

  The tall man stepped forward again once the door closed behind the deserters. “There, that looks better,” he said, “Now, before we continue, are there any questions?”

  “Yeah,” said a gruff-looking boy just behind Ember. “Do magi ever get married? Because the mage in our village is really old, and I don’t think he’s ever had a wife.”

  The tall mage nodded. “Most definitely, young man, and not always to another mage. I myself have been married for forty years and have five children and sixteen grandchildren. There are no laws or rules against marriage or dating, though we do ask you to be respectful and chaste in your dealings with one another. It’s only courteous, and courtesy is one of the primary rules of our order.

  “Any other questions? No? Then let us proceed with your contracts and testing. Please take a sheet of paper from beneath your seat and set it upon the desktop in front of you. Has everyone done that?” He waited for a moment unt
il the rustling died down, then continued. “Good. Now, take your timestone and lay it upon the paper,” he said, steepling his fingers in front of his nose.

  Ember dug the timepiece out of her satchel and laid it in the middle of the paper. Almost immediately, deep black ink seeped into the parchment. Ember heard gasps and thumps around her as startled initiates jumped in their seats, and their stones fell to the floor. She held her breath as the ink spread across the page, then she began to read.

  "This is to certify that I, Ember Shandae, agree tothe following . . ."

  Ember repeated the words, shocked at seeing the ink continue to spread across the sheet without pen to guide it.

  It was a straightforward and simple contract, stating that by signing this paper, she committed herself to attend each of the trials and, if selected by the committee, would accept the calling of mage in the order of color determined by testing. Ember had no objection to signing the paper. It was what she wanted to do anyway, and she fully expected to be part of the order of the green since she’d already shown an affinity for that color.

  She put her thumb to the bottom of the contract and held it while her thumbprint and name were taken in lieu of a signature. Papers were passed to the right and picked up by one of several gentlemen wearing black capes. The youngest of the assistants took the entire stack to the presiding mage, who placed the pages beneath the prism that had cast the image of Rasann. Very symbolic, Ember thought.

  “The first thing a mage notices when coming to power is the color of magic surrounding a person or thing.” The men who had collected the papers assembled themselves across the front of the stage and stood with hands behind their backs in a relaxed, but attentive position. Without warning, they shrugged the capes from off their shoulders to pool about their feet in a nearly perfectly synchronized act. The colors beneath the capes were as varied as the men wearing them, but all of them had one thing in common. They were bright and gaudy and hurt her eyes to look at them.

  “These gentlemen have consented to assist me. All of them are journeymen magi of differing colors. It is your job today to assess which color of magic belongs to which mage. Those who are correct in their assessments will move on to round two. Those who do not are free to return home. You will be notified of your status by morning. Take another piece of paper from beneath your seat and place your timestone upon it.”

  Ember did as asked and waited expectantly. Color began to bleed into the paper and she watched, her stomach bubbling with excitement, as images of the eighteen men assembled across the front of the stage suddenly appeared on paper. Their clothing was all of varied color and style, thus it was easy to determine who was who, even without detailed facial features.

  The mage continued speaking. “Place your index finger on each figure and think of the color you see. You will know you have locked it in place when the figure disappears from the page. Give the page to the assistants in the aisles when you have finished. Watch your timestones, as results will be posted by morning. You may now begin.”

  Ember studied each of the men standing across the stage. For a moment she was afraid she would be unable to see their magic color, but as she closed her eyes to think, she could see the auras glow about them—rainbow-colored figures twinkling in her magesight. She sighed with relief and put her index finger on the first picture on the left. In reality, the man was dressed in red, but his aura showed yellow, just like DeMunth, so Ember pictured bright vivid yellow. She opened her eyes and looked down. The picture of the man faded away before her.

  She moved to the next man, dressed in black pants and a vibrant purple shirt. When she closed her eyes, his aura was a clashing scarlet. Again, she held her finger on the paper representation, and the figure disappeared. Ember followed the same steps for all eighteen men until at last the paper was empty.

  Opening her eyes, she glanced around the auditorium at the sweating initiates. A few more seats had emptied since she’d first looked at her contract, though whether it was because more of the audience had left or had finished their test ahead of her, she wasn’t sure. One of the black-caped young men caught Ember’s eye and beckoned to her.

  Standing, she managed to move past the others on her aisle without mauling too many toes. She reached the end of the row and handed in her paper. He didn’t even look at it, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted. Her nerves were acting up again, now that she was finished. She hoped Aldarin or Shad would be close to the entrance. She did not want to run into Ian again.

  “Are you finished?” the boy whispered, pulling Ember from her thoughts. She nodded in response.

  “Great! You’re the first! Good luck, candidate. I hope you make it.“ He lightly touched Ember’s arm.

  She gave him a nervous smile, then turned and made her way up the aisle and into the refreshingly cool air, grateful the testing was done at last. Aldarin and Shad stood side by side waiting for her. Ian was nowhere in sight. Relief washed over her as she approached the men.

  “How’d you do?” Shad asked. Aldarin wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

  Freed from her anxiety over Ian, Ember’s thoughts turned to the test, and she shared her

  experience with the men. She yawned as the sun pulled the last of its rays behind the mountain and prayed she’d be able to sleep as she hoped for good results in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kayla ran at full speed, adrenaline surging through her veins as she pounded through the forest with T’Kato and Sarali just ahead, as if they were a herd of deer chased by a mountain lion. Only it was not a mountain lion they fled, but a roaring dragon that snapped the tops off the trees and shot great gouts of flame into the sky overhead, though it was not the dragon they feared the most.

  The greatest danger sat astride his back.

  Kayla had no room for anger at the moment. The peace that came with the song of the woods was gone, and now fear laced her veins like icy fire.

  T’Kato slowed. Kayla pulled even with him very quickly.

  “We’ve got a choice. The path branches up ahead,” he yelled. “We can either run for the mountains and find a cave, if we’re lucky, or head to the sea.”

  “That’s not much of a choice,” Kayla answered between gasps. She was really beginning to wish she had been more active in the past. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could run at full speed like this. “Which one is closer?”

  “The mountains, but there’s not much cover, and the going is steep. I can’t promise we’ll make it, or that we’ll find a cave when we do.” He didn’t show any of the bitterness she would have felt in a similar situation. After all, they wouldn’t be in this mess if Kayla hadn’t played the flute. But in her heart of hearts she knew she’d had no choice, and felt no guilt. T’Kato seemed to understand that.

  “I’d say mountains, but I’m not the leader here,” she said, and stumbled.

  T’Kato caught her elbow and steadied her as they ran. “Yes, you are,” he mumbled, then pulled ahead to speak to his wife.

  What did he mean by that?

  C’Tan’s dragon had taken to pulling branches off the trees and hurling them like giant javelins at the fleeing threesome. Now their flight could no longer continue in a straight path, and they zigzagged through the forest, creating some distance from each other to make harder targets. Evidently it worked, because the dragon quit throwing the trees and backed off a bit. The snapping of the dragon’s wings faded in the distance, the beast screaming its fury at being pulled from the hunt.

  Kayla staggered to a stop and bent over, nearly vomiting with her need for air. T’Kato was not in much better shape, though Sarali hardly broke a sweat, and her breathing had only accelerated slightly.

  “How do you do it?” Kayla gasped at her.

  Sarali grinned. “Lots o’ practice. ’Tis the nature of me people to be active.” The longer they were in the woods, the more cat-like Sarali became. Her movements were even more lithe and graceful than usual,
but there was a dangerousness menace about her that made Kayla ill at ease. The woman was obviously comfortable here, as if she’d come home.

  “Can’t rest long,” T’Kato said, breathing hard. “She’ll be back with reinforcements. Any suggestions?” His fear showed for the first time. That sent a chill through Kayla, and she straightened quickly. If T’Kato was afraid, there was real reason for fear. As if her racing heart wasn’t enough, her hands began to tremble at the realization.

  “What about the river, Kato?” Sarali asked.

  “Kayla wants to try the mountains,” T’Kato answered her with a warning glance, though Kayla caught it.

  “But the lass doesn’t know all her options. Give her more, T’Kato, while we’ve got a bit o’ time to breathe.”

  The tattooed man shook his head. “Sarali, there’s no point—”

  “It’ll be savin’ her life, man! Of course there’s a point!” Sarali snarled and turned to Kayla.

  “Look, girl, we won’t have much time here, so it might be best if I just show ye a thing or two. You’ll need to watch me for this, but don’t be afraid.”

  Before Sarali finished speaking, her face had begun to change. The already narrow, feline-type face grew more pronounced, her eyes slitted, and she sprouted whiskers and hair. Sarali crouched, her body changing and thickening until what appeared to be a great blonde cat sat on its haunches before her.

  It spoke, and Kayla jumped, wanting terribly to rub her eyes in disbelief.

  “Now ye know the truth and me secret, Kayla. My people aren’t entirely human now, ye see. We are shapeshifters, much like the wolf people, but we’re more than that, too. We’re MerCats, masters of the waterways and lords of the sea.“ She grinned a feline grin, tail twitching back and forth, and it was all Kayla could do not to run screaming at that very moment. She knew of magic, of course, had just performed some, in fact, but . . . not like this. What this woman had done was supposed to be impossible. People could change their appearance by illusion, but only the white magi were able to change physically, and there hadn’t been any around for thousands of years.