Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  Before Turesobei could apologize in shame, the two zaboko guards who were standing watch at the door stepped aside and Noboro walked in. He came over and patted Turesobei on the head. “You alright, son?”

  Turesobei nodded. “There was a spy.”

  His father smiled. “Aye, we heard you right enough. I think everyone must have heard that yell.”

  “Oh.” Turesobei blushed and turned his head away.

  “But at least you did the right thing when you spotted the enemy. Otherwise, you would be dead and we would not know.”

  “Did you get him?” Turesobei said.

  Noboro shook his head. “Slipped away. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing.”

  Turesobei slumped his shoulders and sighed. “You're not going to take me now for sure, are you? It's too dangerous and I screwed up.”

  Noboro looked at Grandfather Kahenan, who nodded to him. Then Noboro said, “You can come.”

  “Really?” Turesobei said with as much excitement as he could manage. He lifted up to hug his father, but a wave of dizziness washed over him. He lay back down.

  “I will allow it. You handled yourself well tonight, surviving an assassin's attack and sounding the alarm. Especially since Father tells me he had worked you hard all day.”

  Turesobei grasped his father's hand and squeezed. “Thank you, Father. I won't let you down.”

  “Of course you won't. You're a Chonda.”

  “There is one other matter, though,” Grandfather Kahenan said. “If you wish to go, Sobei, you must first cast a few spells to my liking. A simple test.”

  Turesobei's heart fell. His grandfather's tests were anything but simple. He would have liked to complain that it wasn't fair, but he didn't have the strength for an argument. Besides, he knew it wouldn't do any good.

  “Can you stand?” Noboro said.

  “I don't think so.”

  Grandfather Kahenan called some servants in who had a stretcher with them. With their large hands and great strength, they loaded and carried him easily. “Thanks,” he murmured.

  “Come on,” Noboro said. “Let's get you home for some rest. You're going to need it for those tests. And we’re leaving in three days.”

  “Take tomorrow off, Sobei,” Kahenan said. “But be here early the next day and prepared for your exam.”

  “I will,” he said, and then he let himself drift off into sleep as he was carried home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Except for a couple of meals and assisted trips to the privy, Turesobei slept for thirty-six hours straight. When he awoke, he felt restored, though stiff and groggy. He sat up alone in his bedroom. He had hazy memories of Noboro, his mother Wenari, and Kahenan visiting him. And he remembered dreams about swarms of tiny creatures crawling and flying through the room, so he knew his thirteen-year-old sister Enashoma had kept watch over him, protective as always.

  And he had the evidence to prove it: dozens of tiny origami creatures lay scattered about the room. Folding paper designs was Enashoma’s special talent, taught to her by their grandmother, just before she had died. And by scribing on the pages a few strange sigils from a magic brush that had been handed down for generations, Enashoma could animate the ones shaped into animals. She claimed it was nothing more than a parlor trick, since the tiny creatures could only move around for a few minutes. But based on the way Kahenan praised Enashoma’s efforts, Turesobei wondered if there was more to it.

  Turesobei did his morning stretches then rolled up his bed mat and blanket. He dressed and went to the kitchen. He found his mother there. She was wearing an elegant, cream-colored silk dress and her hair was twisted around a wire frame with a curving wing on each side of her head. Though of average height, she seemed taller because of her forceful personality and her thin, willowy frame.

  She stood prim and proper and thoroughly in charge as she directed the staff. Her every word served either bubbly praise or harsh scolding—the latter far more often. Of course, she didn't have to direct the servants. She did so only because she enjoyed it so much.

  Turesobei stepped forward cautiously. “Good morning, Mother.”

  Wenari turned and frowned with worry. Turesobei cringed every time that expression twisted his mother's face. Everything worried her, at least everything that didn't annoy or offend her. Turesobei tried to pretend his mother wasn't as bad as his father made out, but he found it difficult.

  Wenari rushed over and patted his head as if he were a small child. “Sweet Sobei, should you not rest a while longer?”

  “No, Mother, I feel fine. Besides, I've got to pass some of Grandfather's tests before I can—”

  “As for that,” she announced, “I forbid you to go.”

  “What?!”

  “You are simply too young, and it will be dangerous. Your father said so himself.”

  “Did he change his mind? Did he say I couldn't go?”

  “No, but I make these decisions.” She grabbed his arm. “Come, let's go sit in the garden. I'll have servants bring you breakfast there.”

  Turesobei allowed himself to be led along. The garden sounded pleasant, and his empty stomach was rumbling. While he had slept and recovered they had only brought him fruit and water.

  They stopped at a tiny gazebo overlooking a koi pond. The two knelt down at a small table, facing each other. Turesobei decided he was not going to let her push him around like she usually did. He threw away traditional baojendari decorum altogether and said exactly what he wanted to say.

  “I'm going whether you like it or not, Mother.”

  “Lord Kahenan told me you were becoming quite arrogant,” Wenari said icily, “but I did not see it until just now.”

  “I'm not trying to be rude, Mother. This trip means a lot to me. I want to go and Grandfather said I could.”

  “Lord Kahenan is not in charge of you.”

  “But Father said I could go.”

  She chortled. “Hah! That man comes in for three days and thinks he can decide what's best for you? No, I do not think so.”

  “He has that right, you know. By law.”

  “Society may give him such rights, but I am in charge in this household. He forfeited that right long ago.”

  “He could take the matter to the King.”

  “Do you really think he cares that much? That he would go to all that trouble? Be honest with yourself, Sobei. He's only taking you because Lord Kahenan wants him to.”

  Turesobei frowned and bit off his reply as he saw servants approaching. The two zaboko girls, Imi and Shurada, were around his age. They usually spoke to him casually, but they would not do so in his mother's presence. They set the plates down, arranged the food, poured apple juice and water into the bowls, and then backed away.

  “This is acceptable,” Wenari said. “You may go.”

  “Thanks,” Turesobei added. “It looks delicious.”

  The girls grinned slightly and bowed. His mother glowered at him. She didn't think servants should be treated politely. And she didn't like for him to converse with zaboko either, though that had never stopped him when she wasn't looking.

  The food did look delicious: poached eggs, pickled vegetables, rice, spinach, and fruit. He dove in and ignored his mother for a while. Neither spoke while they ate, though Wenari merely picked at some fruit, since she had eaten breakfast earlier.

  “As for your insolence,” she proclaimed the moment he finished, “you are forgiven. Though I do not take kindly to being talked to in the manner you have chosen today.”

  “You’re not going to punish me?”

  “No. I talked with Lord Kahenan about it months ago, when you started becoming more difficult than usual. He says that it’s natural.”

  “I don’t get it. I’m allowed to speak my mind where others cannot, and no one else is allowed to behave the way I have today. Shoma certainly can't. You scold her for the slightest offense.”

  “No,” Wenari said. “She cannot behave as you do.”

&nb
sp; “Because I'm a wizard?”

  “No,” she snapped. “It is because—” She hesitated. “Yes, it's because you are a wizard.”

  “You're lying. It's something else.”

  “No. It is not. And if you have further questions, talk to your grandfather.”

  Imi and Shurada returned and removed the empty plates. Then they brought out steaming bowls of green tea. As she bowed and withdrew, Shurada smiled at Turesobei, with a sparkle in her eyes. He was pretty sure she liked him, but he didn't have a clue what to think about that. Even among the Chonda, relationships between zaboko and baojendari were forbidden.

  Turesobei sipped his tea. “Mother, this means everything to me. Please let me go.”

  “You are my only son. I will not lose you on some ridiculous expedition to only the gods know where.”

  “Please, mother. What can I do to change your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I have to grow up sometime.”

  “Not yet.”

  Turesobei sighed with frustration, held back a scream, and pleaded with her. “Can't you see that this may be my last chance to spend time with Father before I'm an adult? I never get to see him. I don't even really know him.”

  “You are not missing much, and it is not my fault.”

  “Yes, it is. At least partly.” She winced and then narrowed her eyes with anger. “The two of you never get along and Father is always off doing this or that. I want to spend some time with him for a while. And I am coming back. Plus, you've got Enashoma here to keep you company.”

  She shook her head. “Sobei—”

  “You're just being possessive and controlling. That's not fair to me.”

  She drew herself up straight, clenched her jaws, and crinkled her nose up into her eyes. If she hadn't been seething with anger, she would have looked ridiculous. But after a moment, her expression softened and she shook her head.

  “I would let you go, Sobei, I really would. But I have a bad feeling about—”

  Turesobei stood and interrupted her. She often used intuitions as excuses to make him and Enashoma do what she wanted. “I love you, Mother, but I'm going and that's all there is to it. I am the High Wizard’s heir, you cannot restrain me.”

  He turned and headed back into the house to retrieve some of his things. He would sleep in the tower tonight.

  “Sobei!” she yelled. “Sobei! I won't let you go! I'll tell Noboro not to let you!”

  Turesobei kept walking.

  “If you go, don't ever return to this household!”

  * * *

  “You look upset,” Grandfather Kahenan said as soon as Turesobei trudged into the workroom.

  Turesobei bowed to him as required. “I had a spat with Mother.”

  “Let me guess: she does not want you to go?”

  “She forbade it.”

  “And you told her?”

  “That I loved her but I'm going anyway.”

  Grandfather Kahenan smiled and put his hand on Turesobei's shoulder. “I am proud of you for standing up to her without compromising your love for her. And this is not unexpected. Your father and I figured this would happen.”

  “She said she'd tell him not to let me.”

  “Do not worry. He will let you if for no other reason than to spite your mother.”

  “Why are they like this?”

  “Your parents were not a good match. That was King Ugara’s fault; it is difficult to gauge a match when the children are only two years old. Your grandmother fought him on it, as best as she could. She didn’t believe marriages should be arranged so early. Naturally the King got his way, and I had to step in and persuade him not to officially reprimand her.”

  “Why do we arrange marriages?”

  “Because….” Grandfather Kahenan stared at the ceiling as if the answer might be hanging there. “You know, I am not sure why. We used to do it to solidify alliances. I suppose some clans still do. These days it seems to just be a tradition for the Chonda. At least we do it a few years later now than we used to. I think that helps, and you can thank your grandmother in your prayers for that.”

  “I'm afraid my intended doesn't like me much either.”

  “Well, hopefully that will change in time.” Kahenan led him to the writing table. “Come, you need to get to work. How do you feel?”

  “Perfectly fine, except that I'm upset.”

  “Well, take a while to cool off. Your test will not be easy.”

  “Grandfather, when I return, can I live with you?”

  Kahenan chewed on his lip and stroked his beard. “Well, I guess that would be alright, but you would have to help out around here. You know, it might not be a bad thing. It would give me more opportunities for teaching you. But I doubt your mother would let you.”

  “She said I couldn't return home if I went off with Father.”

  “Ah. Well, we shall see. There is simply no telling what she will do when you return.”

  Turesobei sat cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. He inhaled through his nose for five seconds then exhaled through his mouth for ten. Steadily, he increased the counts up to ten and twenty. He imagined himself breathing in the good kenja from his surroundings and pushing out the anger and worries from within his mind. Eventually he grew calm and focused.

  “I'm ready, Grandfather.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kahenan pointed to the writing table. A dozen flat bamboo strips the width of three fingers and the length of a hand lay beside a pot of black ink mixed with minuscule particles of kenja-conducting dark iron. This metal had the opposite property to white-steel. While white steel could cut through kenja, dark iron could draw and channel it.

  Turesobei sighed with relief. He possessed a steady hand and could script spells far better than he could cast them on the spot. They still needed activation commands and some manipulation, but most of the work was done by hand ahead of time. Of course, that made preparation essential, and the strips would only last a few months at best before the energies bound up within the runes would slowly start to fade.

  Unfortunately, basic spells such as the spell of the flickering flame or the spell of prodigious leaping were too simple to script. Scripting was reserved, and was often a requirement, for more complicated spells.

  “Before you script any spells, Sobei, you must perform a few without preparation. First, give me a flicker flame.”

  Turesobei chanted and a small globe of orange flame rose from his hand and hovered nearby.

  “Excellent. Hold it and levitate a single bamboo strip.”

  Turesobei did so.

  “Good. Now, activate your kenja-sight.”

  As his eyes glazed white, Turesobei found that his talent required far more concentration than normal, due to all the spells he had active, but he managed it.

  “Excellent. I have placed a new, continuous and active spell within the room. Tell me where it is and describe its nature to me. Keep your spells going while you look.”

  Turesobei looked around, using his kenja-sight to see the flows of energy that permeate the world. Anything magical in origin would send out ripples like a stone thrown into a pond, except the waves were tinted according to the nature of the energy—red for fire, green for wood, yellow for earth, black for water, white for air, blue for metal. Natural, non-magical energy flows were transparent, like heat waves over a flame.

  As Turesobei searched the shelves, the plants, and then the furniture, the spell strip drifted back down and the flicker flame globe dimmed. At the last moment, he noticed the spells weakening and brought them back to full strength.

  A half hour passed and he began to tire. He started to panic, but then he reminded himself that this was not difficult. It only required patience and stamina. Taking deep breaths, he refocused and started searching again.

  Almost immediately, he spotted a nuance he didn't remember having seen before. A miniscule wave of water energy pulsed from the clasp that hel
d his grandfather's beard in its braid.

  He pointed it out, and his grandfather exclaimed, “Excellent! Now, you will need to script eight spells.”

  Turesobei released his kenja-sight, the levitation, and the fire globe. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly with a tense sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Three healing charms, a blinding strip, a demon banishment, a fog cloud, a fire beam, and a spell of countering powerful spells.”

  “By the gods, Grandfather! Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No,” he said simply. “When you are finished, you can find me down at the pavilion. But do not wake me if I am napping.”

  Turesobei gulped and nodded. He might have to sleep through the entire trip after casting all those spells, especially if he ruined any of them. And he would have to be careful not to work himself until he passed out. Casting magic depleted one's inner kenja, and the more times it was depleted, the shorter one's lifespan would be. Passing out from casting was particularly dangerous because it meant that all of one's kenja had been drained away, at least for a moment.

  Kahenan shuffled to the door. “Oh, one more thing. You may rest as often as you wish and join me for dinner if you like. However, you must finish all the spells by midnight.”

  Fortunately, kenja was at high tide because the dark moon Zhura was dominant in the sky, while the bright moon Avida, source of the ore from which white-steel was made, was absent. Turesobei dipped his brush into the inkpot and began scripting the first healing charm.

  Every line in every character had to be perfect, without any stray marks. He drew the characters on the bamboo strip with his mind focused on summoning and binding the power that would pour out from the characters when the command was given. The other benefit to scripting spells was that when in danger, a sorcerer didn't have to drain himself in casting one or two spells. He invested most of the necessary energies ahead of time.

  Turesobei labored without pause. He completely lost himself in his work and had no idea how much time passed. He forgot hunger, fatigue, worries, everything. He gave his entire being over to scripting the spells. When at last he finished the final spell, he plopped down onto the meditation cushions and fell asleep.