There was a shimmer in the air and a violet cloud formed. It solidified and Chihon appeared beside him. Lorit noticed that Rotiaqua was looking frailer than before.
The Sorceress had always looked old, but as long as Lorit had known her, she had been vibrant and energetic as if she were a young woman inside an old body. Now she had an appearance of frailty that she had never shown before, and the worry showed on her face.
"The ship was in a storm that almost sank us."
Rotiaqua looked them over. "I perceived as much."
"We could have been killed," Lorit blurted. "It took all of our strength to hold the ship together in that storm. If Chihon had not been able to locate the sun using her magic and navigate us out, we would still be stuck in the fog, hoping not to run aground."
"But you survived," Rotiaqua said.
"We survived, but something about that storm felt wrong," Lorit said. "I could feel a Wizard's magic in it, and the Temple."
"Wizard's magic, you say? And the Temple?" Rotiaqua wrinkled her brow. "I am not able to sense as much as I used to. I did feel the scent of a Wizard about that storm. It's somehow familiar, yet strange at the same time."
"What should we do?" Lorit asked.
"Continue on. Keep heading for Midian. You should be able to get the help you need there."
"Any luck finding Zhimosom?" Lorit was concerned. If Rotiaqua was growing weaker, so was Zhimosom. He didn't know how much longer the pair could last.
"Nothing of Zhimosom, and I fear I may not be much help either. My power is fading fast."
With that, the Sorceress turned to mist and dissipated, leaving Lorit sitting in the room with Chihon.
Enlightenment
Tass sat quietly, waiting for Sulrad to enter her study. It was rare that he came to see her; he usually summoned her to him and kept her standing there until he got around to acknowledging her. She thought his firm insistence that his guests stood while in his study was inappropriate for a Priestess of her standing, but she'd long since given up on trying to change his mind on the subject.
He entered shortly, his gaunt frame looking even more worn and ragged than usual. He plopped himself unceremoniously into the chair and let out a heavy sigh. His eyes wandered around the room until finally settling on her.
"I take it from your demeanor that you were not successful," Tass said. While the High Priest didn't have any real friends, Tass was a close substitute. She had earned the right to speak frankly with Sulrad in a manner no one else ever would – well, no one who wished to continue living.
"Not entirely, no." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. His utterance was as close as he would come to an admission of failure.
"I see," she said simply. He would eventually tell her what was on his mind, if she refrained from speaking.
"The storm was rather more far reaching than I had planned. I fear Temple revenues may be down around the Freshen Sea this season. A few unintended ships were caught up in the storm."
He sat up straight and looked her in the eye. "The lad is strong, strong enough to withstand a storm at sea like that.
"I'm not entirely certain where he's getting the power to defeat my efforts. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was the Wizard Zhimosom. But he's safely away from this conflict. It doesn't feel like the Sorceress either."
"And?" Tass worried about Sulrad. He seemed to have a blind spot where the Sorceress and Wizard were concerned.
"I've planted a few agents along the false trail I set for him. Lorit still thinks he is going to find the prince. In fact, he's walking into a trap. Several of them, actually. I think I'm going to enjoy this."
He stood up quickly and turned for the door. Tass wanted to warn him that he still seemed gaunt and exhausted, but she refrained from commenting. He had that look about him. He had a plan and he was going to carry it out if it took all of his strength.
"I'm going to study and prepare." He turned and strode out of her office without another word.
Shortly after Sulrad departed, there was a rap at her door.
"Come," Tass said without looking up. She had that uneasy feeling she got around danger, even before the traitor walked in. He eased himself into a chair and smiled. He was always too familiar in his speech and his mannerisms for her taste. She looked forward to the day when his usefulness was over, so she could show him exactly what she thought of him. "What brings you back here?" Tass asked without looking up from her papers. When there was no reply, she looked up.
"I asked you a question," she repeated.
"I am aware of that. I was simply waiting for the common courtesy of your full attention. I'm not one of your under priests. I'm a full member of the Wizard's Council, after all. A little respect, if you don't mind."
"You're a traitor. Why should I respect that?"
"Because I'm going to rid you of the Wizard Zhimosom."
"Your orders are to detain him while we deal with this upstart, Lorit. That is all. Detain him. Nothing more. Or do you have bigger plans than leading the Wizard's Council?"
"My orders?"
"Your orders. Do you think we're simply asking favors of you? Remember, you came to us for help in securing your place at the head of the Council."
Tass was losing patience with his impertinence. She stood up to dismiss him, but he remained seated.
"I understand that a young price is missing," the traitor said. "Royal blood with magic in his veins. That's quite a prize."
Tass sat back down. Where had he gotten that information from? She wondered if he had an informant in the Temple.
"How do you think we plan to facilitate the final binding on Zhimosom?" Tass asked. "He's more powerful than you will ever be. If it were not for us providing you with power, you would never have been able to hold him, even temporarily. You certainly wouldn't be able to imprison him permanently.
"You will follow your orders and stay with the plan we have agreed. Is that understood?"
The traitor sat there silently, as if in thought. He looked down at his fingernails, examining them for the answer. Finally, he looked back at her.
"I have the Wizard bound just as we agreed. Soon, I will deliver him to you for your more permanent disposition."
"And then?" Tass prompted.
"Then I will rid both of us of the upstart Lorit."
"Thank you for your cooperation." Tass stood up. "If you will excuse me, I have an appointment that I must keep."
Tass entered the training room where the priest Garsh worked to turn the Prince. He stood above the boy he had labored over for days without success. She leaned over the boy and looked into his bloodshot eyes. She waited for them to focus.
"Tass. What are you doing here? Why am I here?" He struggled to get free, but the bonds were tight and all he did was manage to chafe his already raw wrists.
"You are here to learn, Your Grace." Tass rested her hand on Prince Ghall's forehead. "To learn about pain."
She raised a spell similar to the one the Priest had been using on the boy. His body convulsed as he tensed against the pain that wracked through him.
He let out a scream that hurt her ears. She placed her hand over his mouth to silence him. "Here, here. None of that. It won't help anyway. The only way to make the pain go away is to give in to it, release your will, and let Ran take over."
She recalled her own training. The first test was the ability to withstand the pain. Most young Wizards failed in that, giving up their power rather than pushing through the pain.
"Why are you doing this?" the Prince gasped.
"To make you stronger ... or kill you. The choice is yours. You're strong enough to push through the pain if you want to. Let it soak into you. Let it become a part of you. Let it in and yield to it. That's what we all did. Once you do this, you will be one of us."
"Will the pain stop then?"
"No – no, it won't." She stroked his forehead, cooing like a mother over her infant. "The pain never goes away; it just gets a little
more tolerable with time." With that, she invoked the spell that drove him into spasms once more.
"He's coming along just fine," she told the Priest. "Garsh, you're doing an acceptable job here." She smiled inwardly. She'd remembered his name, so she wouldn't have to think of him as the short balding priest.
She stood by as he passed his staff above the Prince. Again and again, the waves of pain wracked the boy's body and his screams split the air. She leaned in to whisper lovingly in his ear. "Just give in to the pain and release your spirit. It will all fade after that. In the end, we will have your magic - either with you, after you join us, or without you, after your death. I'd prefer that you join us."
The torture continued well into the night with Tass and Garsh taking turns. Prince Ghall fought against it for a long time, but by the middle of the night, he started to yield. Tass could feel it. He was weakening, letting the pain transport his consciousness to the next level.
"I think Ran is about to take him," she commented, looking into the Prince's bloodshot eyes and noticing their glaze. She nodded encouragement to Garsh, who continued his ministrations.
The Prince convulsed once more and cried out, not in pain this time, but in victory. It was a deep-throated yell, primal and animal, but unmistakable. He relaxed, no longer straining at the bonds as the Priest passed the staff over him. It looked as if pain no longer emanated from the staff, but Tass knew better. The pain was probably worse than before, but having yielded, it no longer mattered to him. He embraced it. It was a part of him, who he was now.
"He's ready. Go fetch the sacrifice." Tass bent down once more to whisper in Prince Ghall's ear. "Are you ready?"
He moaned and opened his eyes. The old glint was gone, replaced by a hard steeled look. He nodded ever so slightly.
Garsh came in bearing a cage that contained a mini dragon. The creature was listless and tired-looking. They had kept it caged ever since they had captured the Prince, waiting for this moment.
The Priest reached into the cage and carefully pulled the animal out. It barely struggled as he trussed it up and laid it on the table, next to Prince Ghall. He took out his sacrificial knife and stood over the mini dragon.
"Ready?" he asked as he laid the knife against the animal's exposed neck.
"Ready," Tass said.
She leaned in once more. "I will help you channel the power into yourself as he dies. You will find this enlightening."
She nodded to the Priest who deftly made the cut, loosening the precious blood of the mini dragon and releasing its magic.
Tass whispered the words of the spell in the young Prince's ear. "Pull it into you," Tass said. "Take this magic and make it a part of yourself." She could feel him grow stronger as he absorbed the magic.
The Prince inhaled sharply and let out a yell of pure joy.
Mistwind
Princess Ukina and the monk Tormu arrived in Mistwind late in the afternoon. Tormu guided her to the temple, where he made himself known to the monks. They were seated on cushions scattered about the floor of an ornately decorated room. An old monk wearing the orange robes of his order entered, leaning on his staff. When he saw Ukina, he stopped short. He looked at her strangely, and then glanced over at Tormu.
"Just so," Tormu said.
Princess Ukina wondered what they were talking about, but she had learned not to ask too many questions of the monk. Tormu only quoted parables, riddles or more of his enigmatic koans in reply to her questions.
The old monk hobbled over to her. As he approached, a young boy ran over and placed a cushion on the floor. He folded his rickety legs as he lowered himself into position next to her. Princess Ukina was impressed that he was so flexible. Her own legs were sore from all the walking and climbing they had done to reach the temple.
The monk tossed his staff down next to him. It clattered as it hit the polished marble. He slowly turned his attention to Princess Ukina and looked into her eyes, his ancient face frowning. She could see the milky film covering his light blue eyes and wondered how well he could actually see her.
"I am Kour," he said, reaching out towards her. He touched her face gently. His wrinkled hands were rough, almost like leather on her skin. He turned her head slightly, looking into her eyes the whole time; gently, he moved her head from side to side until he appeared satisfied.
"Indeed," he said to no one in particular.
She was getting tired of the cryptic monks and their tight lips. "What is it?" From their lack of response, Ukina thought they might as well have been deaf. They carried on as if she had remained silent.
"It is true? Has the holy one taken on a new form?" Tormu asked.
Kour motioned off to the side. Another monk entered, carrying a large book. He sat down across from Princess Ukina and opened it. He searched through it for a while, eventually settling on a drawing of a mini dragon. He turned the book so that they all could see it.
"Are you certain?" Tormu asked. He shook his head. "So soon?"
"Just so," Kour replied.
"Forgive my disbelief." Tormu bowed his head towards the monk holding the book.
"According to my visions, it has only just come to pass. We have not yet checked for ourselves," Kour explained. "Would you be so kind as to accompany us?"
"I would be honored."
"Wait a minute! What's going on here? Why are you ignoring me?" The Princess demanded.
Kour reached out and touched her cheek with his dry leathery hand. He turned her head to face him. She could see those milky eyes coming closer until all she could see was him. "This could be your salvation. Be patient, my child. All will be well."
She relaxed almost against her will. Something about the old monk was soothing and comforting. He stood again nimbly without the aid of his staff. He reached down and helped her up, then retrieved his staff and bent over it.
"Come."
Princess Ukina followed them out of the temple and down streets lined with homes and shops, until they reached the cemetery. Crypts of varying sizes and construction lined the winding path. Deep in the cemetery was a large marble structure with golden doors. The monk walked up to it and examined the doors. One door bore an engraving of a short stout man. The other one had an intricate depiction of a mini dragon.
Kour ran his hand over the seam between the doors. It looked as if it had been sealed by heat, the gold flowing together in ripples piled one atop the other. Down the middle of the seam, a deep gash had been cut to break the seal.
He pulled at the door and it opened effortlessly. Inside was a small casket sitting atop a marble pedestal. Dried flowers covered the floor and were scattered everywhere.
Kour stepped up and ran his hands along the edge of the intricately decorated casket. He found what he was looking for and pulled. With a pop, the casket opened.
It was empty, save for a small scroll tied with a green ribbon.
Kour reached inside and retrieved the scroll. Carefully, he untied the ribbon and unrolled the paper within. There was only an elaborate pictograph on it, nothing more.
"What does it say?" Princess Ukina asked.
"It's the name the holy one has chosen to use in his new incarnation. He has chosen a mini dragon for his next life."
"What does it say? I can't read the words."
"One does not speak the name of a dragon aloud," Kour said. "It is magic. Strong magic."
He ran his hands over the symbol. Princess Ukina watched as his lips moved soundlessly. She could have sworn she heard him mutter, "Kal'ryni."
The next morning, Princess Ukina and Tormu returned to the temple. Tormu insisted that they had to see the head monk before they departed. She was eager to get back on the road. Veldwaite awaited her just at the foot of the mountains and she was anxious about the trip home.
Kour was sitting on his cushion in the reception area when they arrived. He nodded his head to her, then to the cushion beside him. "Please sit a while."
She took the cushion and waited. He watche
d her quietly and just when she felt she could wait no longer, he spoke.
"Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected in a puddle of water but a single digit wide. The whole moon and the evening sky are reflected in one dewdrop sitting quietly on a single blade of grass in the morning.
"We seek but enlightenment. To learn the truth. We make no judgments about truth. There is no good or bad in truth, it just is."
He shook his head at her. "You, Princess, are not truth. You are a lie."
She started to get up, but he held up his hand. She felt as if a blanket had been wrapped around her that bound her in place. She struggled, but was unable to move. Two monks came, lifted her off the cushion and carried her into the next room, where they laid her out on her back on a large marble dais. She struggled, but still was unable to move her arms and legs.
"What are you doing? I demand you release me!"
Kour leaned down to her and whispered in her ear. "We are going to release the truth." He placed his hand over her mouth. When he removed it she was no longer able to speak.
"Have you called the holy one?" Kour asked.
Tormu stood next to Kour. He nodded his head. "He comes.
"Forgive my immodesty," Tormu said. In his hand, he held a ceremonial knife. The blade gleamed silver, the handle was made of ivory and fashioned in the likeness of a dragon's head with the wings forming the guard. He grasped her arm, slid the knife beneath her sleeve, and cut through the cloth, leaving her exposed. He worked quickly, slicing through her garments, pulling the remnants from beneath her and dropping them to the floor.
The marble dais felt cold on her skin, as she lay there defenseless. She struggled, trying to escape, fearing the sudden plunge of the knife into her heart.
Tormu leaned over and peered into her face. "Please don't struggle. This will be painful, but I assure you, it will be over quickly, and the memory of the pain will fade in time."
He started with her feet, cutting a thin line along the top of both of them, leaving a small trail of blood behind. She could feel it trickling down her body as he cut. He worked his way up each leg and made a series of cuts across her belly. He drew the knife up her stomach and between her breasts, leaving a thin trail of blood as he went. The cuts hurt like fire, but she was helpless to cry out or escape the pain.
Wizard's Education (Book 2) Page 19