The Second Symbol

by Lana Axe

  Fighting the pain, he gathered himself, pressing against the dirt beneath him. His body shuddered, and dizziness threatened to overcome him. Righting himself, he studied his arm. It was marked, as it should be. The excruciating pain disappeared, leaving behind a dull ache. Rubbing his head, he took in his surroundings. What appeared to be a forest stretched all around him, a dirt road cutting its way through the center. A city, somewhere he did not recognize, stood in the distance. A single rider galloped along the road, spattering him with dust as he passed.

  To his eyes, the world was massive. How could he possibly locate Zamna in it? Not knowing which direction to travel, he had to make a choice. He chose the city. He’d barely taken a step before a terrified shriek sounded from the woods to his right. Someone was in mortal danger. A shiver ran along his spine. Fighting back his own fear, he charged between the trees.

  A human woman dashed frantically from the woods, shoving past Taren as if she never saw him. Screaming in fear, she disappeared from sight, her legs carrying her faster than he’d ever have thought possible. What emerged from the forest behind her explained her haste. A towering beast, more than twelve feet in height and covered in inky black skin, shoved aside a tree to make room for its body. Its red eyes locked on the herbalist, a wide mouth opening to unleash a metallic roar.

  The sound grated against Taren’s ears, his hands instinctively covering them. His next instinct was to flee, to follow the woman to safety. But that would draw it near her again, and he couldn’t risk that. Reaching for his magic, he muttered an incantation, one aimed at maneuvering the forest’s twisted branches to his aid. Nothing happened. Cursing the symbol, he tried again, but it was no use. The magic refused to obey.

  Defenseless, Taren stood unmoving as the monster bore down on him. With a swipe of its clawed hand, it tried to remove his head. Luckily, the sorcerer was faster. Ducking low, he rolled out of the way, finding himself snagged on a thorn bush. Ignoring the scratches, he found his feet and jumped, avoiding the beast’s heavy tail is it swung at him. Scrambling up a tree, Taren clung to a branch, his eyes scanning the terrain for any sort of weapon.

  “Come here, you smelly, swamp-sucking frog!” a raspy voice shouted.

  A blurred figure ran past the creature, drawing it away from Taren. A flash of metal, likely a pair of daggers, glinted in his rescuer’s hands. The beast roared again, but Taren’s focus remained locked on the new arrival. Expertly dodging the beast’s attack was a La’kertan. As he moved closer, Taren knew exactly who it was. Zamna had found him.

  Unable to let his friend fight alone, Taren climbed out of the tree, doing his best to remain unseen. Skirting the edge of the brush, he made his way behind the monster. As he leapt for the creature’s back, Zamna attacked, two daggers burying themselves into the beast’s belly. Cringing, Taren braced himself for a deafening shriek, but instead he heard silence. The beast disintegrated into a million drops of water, only a small wet stain remaining on the grass below.

  “What?” Taren shouted in surprise.

  “Taren?” Zamna asked, sheathing his daggers. “Why are you here? I never wronged you.” Believing this to be a trick, he kept his hands on the dagger handles, debating whether to draw them again.

  “You’re right,” Taren answered. “You never wronged me. Not once. And I’m not part of the vision. I’m really here.” He hoped his friend would see the truth. If Zamna attacked, he had no way to defend against it. With no magic, he was completely unprotected.

  Narrowing his yellow eyes, Zamna asked, “Is it really you?”

  “I swear it,” Taren said, approaching with caution. Lifting his right arm he offered it to his friend.

  Zamna grasped Taren’s arm, a wave of visions flooding him. Memories played out, images of their previous travels together. Zamna had told no one of their meeting, let alone of the journey they’d shared. Only Taren would know such details. It had to be him.

  “How did you get here?” Zamna asked. So much for a journey of personal discovery. Now it was a public event. Of course he would rather Taren make an appearance than Ynaja. He held a deep respect for the High Cleric, but her complete faith in the Auk unnerved him at times.

  “I ingested the same potion you did,” Taren replied. “I came to ask you to travel with me again. I’m sorry. The symbol wouldn’t let me wait for you to emerge from your vision quest.”

  “The symbol?” he asked. “I thought it was a gift for your master.”

  “It was,” Taren replied, realizing Zamna didn’t know the end of the story. “He died and passed it on to me. Except, he’s not really dead. He has a symbol of his own, and he and I are learning to use their powers. We need your help.”

  “I don’t know anything about magic,” Zamna said. “You already know that.”

  “You might know a thing or two about dragons,” Taren replied.

  Zamna wondered if he’d heard correctly. “Dragons?”

  “We’re on our way to find one,” Taren explained. “We hoped you might speak to it on our behalf.”

  Laughing, Zamna replied, “You’re out of your mind. What do I know of dragons?”

  “I know you’re more similar to one than I am,” Taren replied. A burning flame ran up his arm. “You have to come.” After pausing, he added, “Please.”

  “What’s in it for me?” Zamna asked, falling back on old habits.

  Thinking a moment, Taren grinned. “It’s a dragon. There could be treasure.”

  “The last time I went looking for treasure with you, I came back with far less than I expected. And most of that went to my debtors.”

  Though his arm throbbed with pain, Taren did his best to ignore it. “From what I saw, it looks like you’ve taken a vow of poverty anyway. That plain white robe doesn’t suit you.”

  Zamna looked down at the black leather he was wearing. Taren was correct. These clothes were part of the vision. In reality, Zamna was sitting in the temple, wearing a simple white robe.

  Fearing his friend would not agree, Taren pleaded, “Look, I came because I needed to find someone I could trust. Of all the people I know, your friendship has proved the truest.”

  Rolling his eyes, Zamna grunted. In all his life, Taren was the only friend he’d had that didn’t turn on him when the moment was right. The sorcerer was probably his only real friend, but Zamna wasn’t the type to express it. “I guess I won’t find inner peace with you skulking around. I’ve had just about enough of this place anyway. I’ll go with you, but I won’t consider killing any dragons. Unless, of course, it tries to eat me.”

  “I would never ask that of you,” Taren replied honestly.

  Zamna nodded. Taren would never harm a flea, even after it bit him. He would certainly never ask a friend to kill someone or something on his behalf. He’d rather die looking like a fool than allow a friend to come to harm. Zamna admired his friend for that.

  “I should also say thank you for rescuing me from that beast,” Taren said.

  With a shrug, Zamna replied, “It couldn’t kill you. No one is really in danger here.”

  “Is that why my magic wouldn’t work?” Taren asked.

  “Maybe,” the La’kertan replied. “The visions are what you make of them. If you expect it to be difficult, it is. I’ve learned that much. What I’m not sure of is how to make it end.” He’d essentially been stuck for the last two days, unable to make progress, and unable to leave. Finishing the quest he was on was impossible. “How could I ever right all the wrongs I’ve done? How could anyone?” His yellow eyes looked at his friend, hoping to hear an answer.

  “I don’t know,” Taren replied, looking down. “It’s not possible to know how many people have been affected by my actions or lack thereof. I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Wishing he could give a better answer, he said, “I’m sorry, Zamna. If I could help you on your quest, I would.”

  With a hissing sigh, Zamna said, “It’s all just pretend anyway. None of this helps anyone in reality.”

&n
bsp; “You helped me,” Taren said.

  “I told you no one can die here,” Zamna replied.

  “But I didn’t know that,” Taren said. “I could have died of fright.”

  Zamna hissed with laughter. “You’ve got me there,” he said. “Now how do we get out of here?”

  “I suppose we wait for the potion to wear off,” Taren said.

  Shaking his head, Zamna explained, “It won’t wear off. Not until you drink the antidote.”

  “I’d hoped it would run its course,” Taren said. “But you’ve been here seven days and it’s still working.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” the La’kertan said.

  A surge of pain ran up Taren’s arm, his other hand grasping it instinctively. With a grimace, he looked down at the lines, which changed from black to a pulsating red. Zamna watched with great concern, stepping close as if to help.

  “The symbol,” Taren grunted through the pain. “It wants to leave.” The pain subsided as he spoke. “I don’t think we need to find a way. I think the symbol will bring us out.”

  Zamna hadn’t forgotten being teleported by the symbol’s magic before. It was a curious feeling, one that left him both energized and completely confused.

  In a flash of gold light, the pair were pulled from the woods, their eyes snapping open. They sat across from each other, a lit brazier between them. Both men drew in deep breaths, relieved to be back in the real world.

  “Welcome back,” Ynaja said. She nodded toward two acolytes. The pair immediately stepped forward to help the vision seekers to their feet. Offering them each a small flask, she said, “Drink this. It will reduce the aftereffects of the tea.”

  Neither questioned her. Each took a cup and downed its contents, finding it warm and sweet.

  “You should eat something,” she said to Zamna. With a wave of her hand, she summoned an acolyte who offered Zamna a small plate of food. The wriggling items on the plate repulsed Taren, who averted his eyes too late. Zamna’s tongue lashed out, grabbing three of the crawling creatures and crunching them.

  “Have you found the peace you were seeking, Acolyte Zamna?” Ynaja asked, her tone soft and sincere.

  Lowering his eyes, Zamna felt ashamed. He had failed, and he knew it. “No, High Cleric. I did not.”

  “The journey to inner peace is not an easy one,” she said. “It might take several tries. Some will never find it. Take solace in the journey. It is an opportunity to better one’s self—to become more than you once were.”

  Zamna stepped forward, allowing the High Cleric to place her hands on each side of his head. Touching her forehead to his, she whispered a few words that Taren could not make out. He had never thought of Zamna as a spiritual person. Apparently he was wrong.

  “There is a cleansing ritual I would recommend you take part in,” Ynaja said, letting go of her acolyte. Glancing at Taren, she said, “It is a brief ritual, but it will clear your mind and prepare you for the journey ahead.”

  “It sounds like a good idea,” Taren suggested.

  Following a row of acolytes, Zamna left the room. Ynaja observed Taren for a moment, her eyes lingering on his right arm. The marks were moving again, grinding against his bones.

  “You are in pain,” she said to him.

  He tried to shrug it off. “It’s not too bad.”

  On silent footsteps, the High Cleric came to Taren’s side and gently took his arm in her hands. Singing a melodic enchantment, she calmed the symbol inside him. Taren’s pain disappeared entirely, the lines ceasing their motion. If he didn’t know better, he would say she had lulled the symbol into a trance. But how was it possible she had power over the ancient object?

  “Are you a sorceress?” he asked.

  Smiling, she replied, “I am a High Cleric.”

  “You have great power,” he said. “Can you teach me what you know?”

  “And what is that?” she wondered.

  “To learn how to live with the symbol,” he replied

  “I know nothing of this symbol,” she replied, letting go of his arm. “I do not have the power you seek, nor can I teach it.”

  Disappointed, Taren sighed. “Well, I appreciate whatever you did to ease the pain,” he said.

  She nodded and backed away. Taren could only guess how she had managed such magic. Maybe the Auk she spoke of knew something more. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to learn all about her religion.

  “I don’t suppose the Auk would want to share what he knows about the symbol, would he?” he asked, hopeful.

  “She,” Ynaja corrected. “And you are not ready for such information. Perhaps you will find something on Ayumai.”

  Taren wondered how she knew about his destination, since he hadn’t mentioned it to her. A knowing smile curled at the edges of her mouth, but she kept her secrets to herself.

  Minutes later, Zamna returned with the other acolytes. Instead of the robe, the La’kertan was wearing a familiar black leather jerkin and pants. They were the same style as the clothing he wore when Taren last traveled with him, the clothes of an assassin who needed to move silently and stay hidden in the night.

  “Ready to go?” Taren asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Where are we going?”

  “To the docks,” Taren answered.

  “And after that?” Zamna asked.

  “Ayumai,” Taren said.

  Zamna groaned and shook his head. “Dragon Cultists,” he said. “I should have known.” Once again he was following Taren into danger. Pressing his hands to his chest, he made sure his daggers were secure.

  Chapter 8

  The sun was beginning its descent from the sky when Taren and Zamna set out from the Temple of Auk. It had grown exponentially hotter, the ground having been fried by the sun’s rays when it reached its highest point for the day. Taren was glad it had moved lower, sparing him a nasty sunburn on his human skin. La’kertans could flip their scales, altering their coloration slightly to reflect the sun’s rays. A useful adaptation indeed.

  “So,” Zamna began. “Your master faked his death after you returned with his prize. That must have been,” he paused a moment, “confusing.”

  “I mourned his loss more than any I’ve experienced,” Taren replied, his voice cracking. He still felt a dull pain in his heart when he remembered Imrit’s death. It had not been easy for him to overcome. “I only recently found out he was alive. He had his reasons for not contacting me sooner.”

  Zamna shook his head. It seemed Taren hadn’t learned much in the two years since he’d seen him. He was still making excuses for his master, the man who sent two other apprentices to their deaths for his own selfish desires. But that was Taren. Loyal to a fault and a touch naïve. One day he would become more familiar with the world, even if he tried to hide himself away in his laboratory. He wouldn’t learn betrayal from his potions, but elsewhere. Then he would grow more wary.

  Zamna hoped his friend wouldn’t become a cynic like himself, though. The loss of innocence would be a great loss for Taren, and Zamna did not wish that on his friend. Instead, he hoped that wisdom would find Taren in a gentler way. He could certainly use a dose of that.

  “What have you been up to?” Taren asked. “I was surprised to learn you were at a temple. You never struck me as the religious sort.”

  Groaning, Zamna replied, “I’m not religious, and that’s not what the Temple of Auk is about.”

  “All right,” Taren conceded. “What’s it about then?”

  “You know,” Zamna began, “curiosity got the gecko’s neck tied in a knot.”

  Laughing, Taren replied, “Now there’s a fable I’d love to hear.”

  “The Temple of Auk,” the La’kertan explained, “helps a person to discover more about himself. The Auk is all-knowing, all-seeing, and ever-present. It’s a way of life.” He thought a moment and added, “All right, it’s a religion.”

  Taren smiled and nodded but remained silent.

  “There’s no wo
rshipping or praying or anything like that,” Zamna said. “It’s probably closer to what a young sorcerer learns before he begins casting spells and such.”

  “Opening the mind, concentration, meditation,” Taren said. “I understand.”

  “I returned to La’kerta,” Zamna explained, “about a month after we parted ways. That’s when I decided to make some changes in my life.”

  “A new career, perhaps?” Taren asked.

  “Old habits die hard,” Zamna replied, narrowing his eyes. “I tried, believe me, but there aren’t a lot of respectable jobs that will hire a former assassin.”

  “Did you visit with your family?”

  “I did,” the La’kertan replied. “I made amends with some of them, and others refused to see me. For one it was too late.” He gazed off toward the jungle, deep in thought.

  Taren allowed him a moment of peace, not wanting to pry open an old wound.

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Zamna said with a sigh. “I’ve been visiting the temple for some time now. Ynaja is a masterful teacher. I learn something new from each conversation with her.”

  “She’s teaching you to better yourself,” Taren said. “Sort of like Master Imrit did for me.”

  “Maybe,” Zamna said, not wanting to reveal any more. Some things were better kept private. His journey toward enlightenment was too personal to share in its entirety, even with his only friend.

  The marketplace was quiet as the pair passed through, only a few stalls remaining open. Taren swiveled his head repeatedly, obviously searching for something.

  “Looking to buy?” Zamna asked. “They reopen an hour after dawn.”

  “Actually, I was looking for Lilla,” Taren said.