Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  “Excellent,” he said in a smooth, lilting voice. “Go on.”

  “Haiyah!” Clack, thud, clatter!

  Turesobei tried to shut out the noise that blared through the open windows. He lifted his opposite hand and willed the ball of dark-fire to fly across the space between them. The orb rose and began to move.

  “Haiyah!” Clack, thud, clatter!

  Halfway, the orb began to bounce and weave. He couldn’t control it much longer. Turesobei rushed the orb. But he overdid it. The orb struck his opposite palm so fast that he lost control and the dark-fire seared his skin.

  “Kaiwen Earth-Mother!”

  He drew his hand away, letting the spell drop entirely. The dark-fire orb sputtered and disappeared as it fell toward the floor.

  Lord Kahenan scowled and offered no sympathy.

  “Haiyah!” Clack, thud, clatter!

  Tears welled in Turesobei's eyes. “By the gods, Grandfather! Tell them to practice somewhere else. The orchard isn’t a training field. Kilono should know better.”

  He wouldn't have dared to address any other adult that way, but Kahenan insisted that he always speak freely. Kahenan thought such behavior befitting of a prince of the Chonda.

  “But Sobei,” he said, calling him by his familiar name. “I asked them to practice there. For your benefit.”

  Turesobei clutched his wrist as a giant, puckered blister rose on his palm. “What?!” he asked through gritted teeth. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because the world does not know you need peace and quiet. And magic, I am afraid, must be worked in the world.”

  “Arrrgh! I give up. I don't even want to be a wizard.”

  Kahenan laughed. “What nonsense! Of course you do.”

  “No, I don't. No one ever asked me.”

  “No one asked me either, Sobei. But it is what you were born for, to succeed me as the High Wizard of the Chonda.”

  Turesobei blew on his burned palm. He could have soothed it with a minor healing spell, but he was too upset to even think of the proper words.

  “You never tortured my father with all this training.”

  “He could not even summon a normal flame, much less dark-fire. That’s why he’s a knight of the clan. Now come, let me heal your hand so you can try again.”

  Turesobei stood. “I refuse.”

  “To have your palm healed?”

  “No!” Turesobei stretched out his hand. “I refuse to try the spell again.”

  Kahenan grabbed Turesobei's forearm and studied the burn. “Ah, then you should have said so. A wizard should always say exactly and only what he means.”

  “You know what? You're an infuriating old man!”

  Unmoved by Turesobei’s insolence, Kahenan laughed and replied, “Old people are supposed to infuriate the young.”

  “Well then, you're the worst of them all.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, Kahenan replied, “That is because I am also your teacher. A good teacher always infuriates his students.”

  After his dramatic sigh turned into a wince of pain, Turesobei said, “Please, Grandfather, this is starting to hurt really bad.”

  Kahenan turned serious. His eyes fell into creased slits. With a voice that always reminded Turesobei of rushing water, Kahenan chanted. A tiny golden cloud condensed from the air and drifted down onto Turesobei's palm. The cloud felt like cool, dense fog on an autumn morning. Kahenan's tongue licked at the corner of his mouth as he focused the healing energies.

  The blister disappeared and the skin healed. The pain faded to a dull ache, like a bruise. And it would feel like that for several days.

  Kahenan stood and belted Yomifano, his legendary sword, to his waist. His emerald robe billowed out, and he drew his hands into its voluminous sleeves. “You may go now, but I expect you back early this evening.”

  “I already told you: I’m quitting.”

  “Yes, but I neglected to tell you that you cannot quit. I will never allow it, your parents will never allow it, and the King will never allow it. The clan's future depends on you.”

  “I’m not the only one here who can do magic,” Turesobei said. There were other apprentices and four more wizards, too. But Kahenan spent very little time with them. All his efforts focused on Turesobei.

  “None of them have even half your talent, Sobei. You know that. Besides, I have invested nine years of intensive training in you. I will be lucky if I live that many more. I cannot start over.” Kahenan smiled warmly at Turesobei. “And I would also like for my grandson to succeed me, just as I followed my grandfather.”

  Turesobei muttered curses at his fate as Kahenan nodded toward the door. “Now, go. I have important rituals to conduct.”

  Turesobei became interested in his apprenticeship again. “Um…perhaps I could stay, after all…you may need my help.”

  “Well, I had intended for you to stay. However, I think your punishment for impudence—this time—will be to go away and leave me in peace.”

  Turesobei bowed sullenly then stalked toward the door. Outside, the soldiers continued to practice. “Haiyah!” Clack, thud, clatter!

  “Oh, by the way, could you tell Arms Instructor Kilono to move elsewhere? All that noise is very distracting.”

  Turesobei clenched his fists, restrained a yell, and began to storm out of the tower.

  “Sobei,” Kahenan called.

  He spun around. “What!?”

  “You are forgetting your books.”

  When he’d arrived for his studies, Turesobei had placed his spell books on a table beneath the open east window. He stomped over, swept the books into his arms, and rushed out. But without realizing it, he took one book too many, a book that wasn’t supposed to be there, a book that hadn’t been there until a few moments ago. It was, in fact, a book unknown to Lord Kahenan or any other living wizard.

  Awake for the first time in centuries, the arcane runes embossed on the cover shimmered beneath Turesobei’s touch. If not for his anger, he might have felt this subtle pulse of magic.

  Chapter Two

  Just to spite his grandfather, Turesobei decided not to tell Arms Instructor Kilono to move away. But by the time he reached the steps of the Chonda Library, he turned around and went back. With gritted teeth, he delivered the message. Straight-faced Kilono let loose a sly smile and ordered his men to disperse.

  Restraining his anger, Turesobei trudged back to the library to relax and read, but not to study magic like his grandfather would want. His martial arts lessons wouldn't begin until the afternoon, and his riding lessons were after that. This much free time was rare and he wanted to delve into some books on nature and history. No philosophy, no metaphysics, and no magic.

  “Why me?” he muttered. He wanted to do something new and exciting. He was sick of being cooped up in the tower memorizing runes, reciting casting phrases, and reviewing volumes of energy theory. Wizardry was difficult, but only in a tedious, do-everything-precisely sort of way. Managing the energy flows and understanding the concepts had always been easy for him.

  Though he didn't mind dabbling with magic, Turesobei wanted to be an explorer, like his father. Not a high wizard.

  Not that he had a choice.

  Not that anyone had ever asked him what he wanted.

  His father got to roam all over Okoro. But Turesobei would be stuck here in the city of Ekaran for the rest of his life.

  The Chonda Library consisted of a small but ornately decorated building with a three-tiered roof and a fenced-in garden out back. Turesobei removed his sandals and slid the paneled door aside. He was startled to find the Head Librarian standing in the doorway. She bowed and stepped aside so he could enter.

  “Do you need help with anything today, my lord?” the librarian asked.

  Bowing in respect for her position and age, he replied, “No, Head Librarian.”

  “Well, in that case, my lord, I am going off to run a few errands. If anyone needs me, tell them I will certainly return by the fourth g
ong. If not sooner.”

  She shuffled out and Turesobei closed the door behind her.

  Inside, the library was filled with rows of wooden shelves that reached to the ceiling, and at various points there were tables with oil lamps and plush sitting mats. Turesobei thought about going outside but decided he shouldn’t, in case anyone came in looking for the Head Librarian. So he went to the table farthest from the entrance, near the open back door.

  Turesobei placed his books on the table and browsed the library shelves. He removed books with interesting titles, read a few snippets, and then put them back. He wandered until he found one he couldn’t put down: Legends of the Eastern Continent. That was the land from which Turesobei’s people, the baojendari, had originated.

  Turesobei returned to his table and shoved his spell books aside. He noticed his channeling stone, his kavaru, was glowing.

  He lifted the chain that held the stone around his neck.

  “What’s this?”

  As soon as he looked into the kavaru, the light went away. This wasn’t normal. The stone should never show any activity without him casting a spell or using some other wizard ability.

  Was something wrong with it? Turesobei touched the stone to his forehead, matching it up to an unusually dark birthmark in the shape of a kavaru. This marked him as a baojendari noble, which meant his ancestry traced directly back to the ancient and magical Kaiaru race. Only people of the baojendari race could use the stones, and without such stones, wizards couldn’t cast even the most basic of spells.

  Turesobei’s kavaru was the most powerful and most renowned in the clan, having originally belonged to the ancient Kaiaru hero Chonda Lu for whom his clan was named. The Kaiaru could be eternally reborn through the stones, but after three millennia and a score of rebirths, Chonda Lu had grown weary of life and released his body to death. His soul, however, would forever sleep within his kavaru. Kahenan should have inherited this stone from his own grandfather. But he had chosen a different stone and had always refused to explain why to Turesobei.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Turesobei spotted a glimmer on the spine of one of his books. Except that wasn’t one of his books.

  Where had this fourth book come from?

  He spread the books out in front of him but quickly tossed aside the three that were familiar to him. He closely examined the fourth. It was a tattered book, bound in leather and embossed with strange runes Turesobei couldn’t read, though they did look familiar and were certainly of magical origin. The book was smaller than the others and it was bound unlike any book Turesobei had ever seen before, using wires instead of thread and a cover that seemed to be leather, though it was amber-colored and polished almost as smooth as glass.

  Each time he touched it, the runes glowed with an amber cast.

  The book must be one of Grandfather Kahenan’s. But the table Turesobei had put his books on had been empty. And he would have noticed if his grandfather had put another one there. In fact, he didn’t remember his grandfather getting up at all during the lesson.

  Turesobei frowned. Was this a trick? Some kind of strange test his grandfather had devised? He really should take the book back to Kahenan, but it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt him while he was conducting important rituals.

  If his grandfather had given him the book, then he clearly didn’t mind him using it. And if him finding it was an accident? Well, surely Kahenan wouldn’t leave dangerous books lying around.

  “So just what are you?” he asked the book.

  Did it quiver in response?

  There was nothing to do but open it. He flipped the cover open, and as it settled back, the pages stirred and rapidly flipped on their own.

  Turesobei leaned back as the book rushed through page after page, all of them blank. When it reached the last page, the cover closed and with a muffled pop, the book exploded into a tiny cloud of swirling smoke.

  The cloud churned for several moments, and then it started to draw in upon itself until at last it coalesced into the form of a strange little being only a foot tall.

  The thing’s skin was the color of amber, and the batwings it unfurled were a darker amber. Its big, round eyes bounced around, looking at everything in the library except Turesobei. It flicked a forked tongue across its tiny fangs. It flexed its clawed hands and swung its pronged tail.

  Then it spoke in a faint, musty voice.

  “Aha!” it said. “Free free free. Free at last.”

  Turesobei placed his palms on the table and leaned forward to get a better look. “What are you?!”

  The creature looked at Turesobei. It narrowed its eyes and smiled.

  “I’m a book, master.”

  “You are most certainly not a book. Are you a demon?”

  “Ooh. Shadow or light?”

  “Shadow,” said Turesobei.

  “No.”

  “Okay then, light?”

  “No.”

  Turesobei had summoned and banished minor demons as part of his wizardry practice. He knew how to handle them. “I’m getting angry. Answer me precisely or I shall banish you.”

  With a stunned look on its face, the little creature blinked twice then recovered and bowed. “I’m a magical construct, master. A living metaphor. I am the essence and demon of the book you opened, which is a diary. Your diary, though you clearly don’t remember.”

  Clearly.

  “Did Lord Kahenan put you up to this?”

  “No, no, master. Lord Kahenan would be very angry with me. If he knew I existed. Which he doesn’t. I came back to you all on my own. Like I was supposed to. When I was supposed to…I hope. I’m not early am I?”

  “I…I don’t know. What’s your name?”

  “Lu Bei.”

  “How old are you, Lu Bei? When were you fashioned?”

  “I am two thousand, four hundred and thirty-eight years old.”

  “Who made you?”

  “Why, you did, master.”

  Turesobei sighed. “Don’t play games with me.”

  The creature reached out and touched Turesobei’s channeling stone. “I swear, master. You created me.”

  The kavaru vibrated and began to glow.

  “Oh, you mean you were made using my stone.”

  “Yes, of course, master.” The little creature sighed dramatically. “It is your stone, after all.”

  “Well, the stone first belonged to my ancestor, Chonda Lu.”

  “No, master, it belonged to—”

  The strike of a gong sounded across Ekaran. Followed by a triple-tap to designate the exact time.

  “Oh no!” Turesobei leapt to his feet. “I’m late for arms practice. Again!” Turesobei threw his books into a corner. He would have to come back for them later. “Lu Bei, you’ve got to go away. I cannot miss class again. I would be in so much trouble. Can you hide somewhere? Until I get back?”

  “Of course, master. I can turn into a book again anytime you like. And if you stop focusing on me, I will return to book form anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, master. I don’t have enough energy to exist in this form independently.”

  “Then do it,” Turesobei said. “Quick!”

  There was a rush of air, a puff of smoke, and suddenly Lu Bei was gone. The diary lay on the table. Turesobei hid the book on one of the shelves and ran from the library.

  Chapter Three

  Putting the book and Lu Bei from his mind for now, Turesobei sprinted from the library toward the practice field. His black queue of hair fluttered behind him like a banner. His wide-legged pants ruffled noisily, and his sandals clapped across the gravel pathways that meandered throughout the inner city of Ekaran.

  He would have to remove his outer robe for practice. The thigh-length, grey silk coat was tied in the front with eight knotted cords, so to save time he decided to pull it off over his head. That turned out to be a bad idea. Halfway off and covering his head, the coat got stuck. Still running, he squirmed and wriggled, b
ut to no avail. He couldn't see a thing. Suddenly, a group of girls squealed. Feet scuffled away from him, and he skidded to a halt.

  One girl clacked a fan shut and spat, “Watch where you're going!”

  Turesobei knew that biting voice. He cringed. “Sorry, Awasa.”

  “Turesobei?”

  The coat's ties finally slipped loose, and he pulled free. Beneath, he wore a simple cotton shirt suitable for martial arts practice. Turesobei grinned sheepishly at Awasa. The other girls backed away and snickered behind their painted fans. Awasa frowned at him, as usual, and tapped her foot with annoyance.

  Awasa was a year younger than him, and quite beautiful, in the traditional, elegant way. She had large eyes, a round face, and high cheekbones. Her skin shone like yellow-tinted ivory. Today she wore a mint green outer robe with a pattern of white peonies. The silk robe beneath it was a light red like eastern wine. Silver pins and ribbons held her hair in a bun on the back of her head.

  “You do realize you can untie your coat, right?”

  “I was trying to save time,” he replied. “I'm late for martial arts.”

  “Well, you are not getting there faster now, are you?”

  “Er, I don't guess so.”

  “And you nearly ran into me.”

  “I am so very sorry, Awasa. I'll be more careful.”

  “Well, you should.”

  Turesobei grinned and fidgeted awkwardly. “Um, I was kind of hoping to talk to you. And I never seem to get a good chance.” He blushed and found it hard to meet her gaze. “Do you, um…do you think next week, maybe…the festival—”

  “No.”

  “What?” he murmured stupidly.

  “I said no. Since I’ll have to spend most of my life with you I see no need to make it worse on myself by attending festivals with you now. I’m going with someone else.”

  Turesobei’s mother and Awasa's parents, years ago, had arranged for their children to be married once Awasa turned eighteen, provided Turesobei passed his wizardry examinations, which no one doubted would happen. Turesobei thought the arrangement was splendid, but it didn't please Awasa in the least.