The Second Symbol

by Lana Axe

  Zamna felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. It soon morphed into discomfort and then pain. The urge to flee slammed into him, his only desire to find relief from the searing heat. An image of the ocean entered his mind, and he could think of nothing else but to run to it.

  Then a voice spoke softly in his mind, “Breathe.” He recognized it as Ynaja. Sucking air deep into his lungs, the burning subsided. Soon it diminished to a gentle warmth, and he welcomed its presence despite his anxiety.

  Blood magic. Somehow he knew exactly what it was. The spell was prepared, and now he had to control the magic. Ynaja’s singing continued, but he could barely hear it. Rising to his feet, he spread his arms wide, one toward each sorcerer. The act was pure instinct. His eyes held tightly shut, he reached for the blood in the basin with his mind. He found it. No longer was it a simple drop of blood. Now it held the power of dragons. Ynaja’s spell had transformed it for him. As she held the spell with her song, it was up to Zamna to send the magic to Imrit’s symbol, and pull it from Taren’s at the same time.

  Strangely, Zamna did not seem intimidated by this. Somehow he knew exactly what needed to be done. It all seemed so simple as he pushed and pulled at the blood with his mind. Magic danced throughout his body, caressing his scales with a delicate red glow. Taren, he thought, attempting to pull the magic away. He met with no resistance. The young man was fast asleep. A line of red in the basin moved away from the herbalist and crept back toward Zamna.

  Imrit, the La’kertan thought. Pushing at the magic, he directed it toward the old man who slept peacefully to his right. The lines began to obey, but stopped and swirled halfway to their destination. Zamna tried again. Imrit, he thought, putting more emphasis to the thought. This must be the more difficult spell, he reasoned. Pulling magic away would certainly be easier than adding it to a new vessel.

  The blood would not obey. It swirled in place, spinning faster and faster. Zamna swallowed hard and tried to steady his mind. Heat rose once again in his stomach, and soon the pain returned. The instinct to halt the ceremony and flee crept back into his mind. He was failing! What would become of his companions?

  Ynaja’s soothing alto voice came to him again. “Breathe,” she reminded him.

  Zamna forced in a raspy breath, but he could not calm himself. Panicked, he knew he could not do this. “Help,” he projected at the High Cleric, hoping she could hear him.

  “The magic is fading,” she said. “You must make a choice.”

  Choice. Zamna understood her meaning. The blood magic refused to awaken Imrit’s symbol. There was no time to search for an explanation. If he didn’t act now, the magic would be spent, and the ritual would fail. Imrit, he projected with his mind. The blood obeyed, lapping greedily at the old sorcerer’s magic. Taren. This time the blood did not hesitate. It rushed toward the herbalist, leaping from the cauldron in a mass of tangled red and black. In a single breath, the young man inhaled the basin’s contents, his eyes snapping open.

  Power entered Taren’s body like a rushing wave, slamming into every organ. His body shook, overwhelmed by the sensation. Fire, water, earth, and air, all mixed into one. Then the power of blood rushed through his veins, warming him and freezing him at the same time. It felt like his own blood was simultaneously drained and replaced. Visions of dragons and elves, fire and ice, sky and sea—all passed before his vision as his mind spun to comprehend it. Then he perceived the symbol’s consciousness.

  What had Zamna done? The magic was supposed to go to Imrit. Taren’s power should have been taken away. But there it was, the symbol, its golden strands gleaming with every color imaginable. It had woven its power throughout his body, centering itself within his heart.

  Chapter 23

  Jumping to his feet, Taren shouted, “What have you done?” Anger flashed in his eyes as he looked at Zamna. “You said you’d give the magic to Imrit. How could you do this to me?” Every sensation he’d experienced during the ritual had faded, leaving behind only anger.

  “I’m sorry,” Zamna said. “I had to make a choice.”

  “You made the wrong one!” Taren shouted.

  “No,” Ynaja cut in. “He didn’t. In his attempt to follow your instructions, the spell nearly failed. If he hadn’t given the power to you, the ritual would have been wasted.”

  “Then start over,” Taren said. “Do it again, and this time give Imrit the power.”

  “It won’t work,” Ynaja said dismissively. “Imrit refused to take the magic. No matter how many times we attempt the ceremony, it will always end the same way.”

  His anger fading, Taren looked at his former master. Imrit seemed older somehow, frailer. He wanted to protect the old man, to give him the eternal life he had always craved.

  Imrit padded toward the young man, a crooked smile on his face. “This was my decision, and it is all I’ve ever wanted. To see you achieve this level of magic is a dream come true.”

  “And what of your dream?” Taren asked, tears in his eyes. He could already see the day ahead when, for the second time, he’d have to say goodbye to his old master. Imrit would die, and Taren would be left behind to mourn.

  “I still have this second life,” Imrit said. “It is enough.”

  “This isn’t what I want,” Taren said. “Repeat the ritual, and this time don’t force the magic away.”

  “I will always force it away,” Imrit replied. “I will not accept the power. Not when I can give it to you instead. You deserve this, Taren. You were willing to face down Ailwen to claim that symbol, and then you stepped into dragon fire to save me. You have earned the right to wield its power.”

  “Imrit, I—”

  “No more arguments,” the old man said, holding up his hand. “Besides, I’m not so sure my symbol is compatible with me.”

  “What do you mean?” Taren asked.

  “I felt Zamna’s blood as it tried to come to me, and I’ll admit, in my greed, I desired it.” He paused a moment. “But the magic rejected me. My symbol repelled it, refusing to give me its power. I reached for my magical stores, but then I stopped, realizing that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I could have forced the blood to come to me, but instead I sent it away.”

  “That’s only because my symbol was activated first,” Taren said, frantic. “Ynaja said only one could be active. If mine hadn’t been awakened, yours would work fine.” He was desperate to convince Imrit to repeat the ritual. Taren did not want the symbol’s power if it meant losing Imrit again someday.

  “No, Taren,” Imrit said softly. “My symbol and I are simply incompatible. We must accept it.”

  “No,” Taren said. “We’ll study together and find a way.”

  “Of course we shall study together, now that we aren’t forced apart by two symbols at odds,” Imrit responded. “But I will never repeat this ritual. I will never claim power at the expense of yours. All of my studies sent me along this path, and I am pleased with the outcome.” Grabbing Taren in his arms, he hugged the young man to his chest. “I am proud of you, Taren. You have exceeded your master in every way. Accept my gift.”

  The words stabbed Taren’s heart like a knife. Imrit had changed far more than Taren had expected. No longer obsessed with his own immortality, he had passed all his dreams to his apprentice. Taren never felt closer to the man than he did at this moment. They were more than father and son, they were bound by forces of magic too strong to be denied.

  Feeling the symbol’s power swell within him, Taren began to accept its full presence. With its help, he would likely find ways to aid Imrit in his constant thirst for arcane knowledge. They would make the most of the years they had left together. He squeezed the old man, the symbol’s warmth washing over both of them. When Taren finally released him, he felt his scales receding.

  “You’ve accepted it, then,” Imrit said with a smile.

  Taren observed his arms and ran his fingertips over his face. His skin was back to normal. The image of a black-scaled dragon flash
ed before his mind’s eye, but he blinked it away. He was not yet ready to attempt a full transformation. There was plenty of time for that.

  “It will take time,” Ynaja said, handing Taren the dragon’s tome. “Now you will be able to decipher these words, and they will guide you at the beginning of this new journey.”

  Turning to Zamna, Taren said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been angry with you.”

  “No harm done,” Zamna replied.

  “Imrit and Taren, you are both welcome to stay while you begin your studies,” Ynaja said. “Acolyte Zamna, I would suggest you stay as well. There is much potential within you, and it is time you began unlocking it.”

  “I’d like that,” Zamna said. The magic he’d felt during the ritual had sparked a new desire within him. There was much for him to learn.

  “You’ve accompanied me on both of the greatest journeys of my life,” Taren said. “I’ll gladly accompany you on your quest to become a master sorcerer.”

  Hissing with laughter, Zamna replied, “I’m not sure I’m ready to become a wizard.” To him, it seemed far too complicated a way of living.

  With a swirl of her white robe, Ynaja disappeared from the room. Her voice echoed in Zamna’s ears. “Blood magic will have its way.”

  Epilogue

  High above the ocean, a black-scaled dragon soared on silent wings. The night sky was alight with a million stars, their reflections dancing upon the darkened sea. Dipping low, the dragon allowed a single talon to skim the surface of the ocean. A gentle spritz of salt water sprinkled his foot, the coolness refreshing against his claws.

  It had taken Taren months to master this transformation, but it had been worth all the work a million times over. The freedom becoming a dragon allowed him was immeasurable. It was pure bliss to soar among the heavens, to see the world from this new perspective. Looking back on these past few months, he couldn’t help but laugh at his own failings. There had been days when he feared he would never return to his human form, the magic sending him into a panic. He’d nearly burned down a forest in his confusion. Luckily Imrit had been there with his water magic to save the day. Once Taren had learned to focus his mind and work alongside the symbol, the spells went much more smoothly.

  It was a strange thing handing himself off to an artifact and allowing its power to flourish. Though he never truly surrendered his will to it. It was a strange symbiosis, one he couldn’t quite put into words. Suffice to say, the two worked in perfect harmony, ever achieving a balance between their two separate wills.

  Exploration was the first item on Taren’s list. As a dragon, he need not book passage by ship. He flew wherever he wished. Today he was returning from a visit to La’kerta, where Zamna was continuing his studies with Ynaja. But Taren had visited more than one friend. He had spent time with Lilla, learning about her unique methods of potion crafting. She was a fascinating woman, with plenty to teach. Taren found himself captivated and yearned to know everything about her. She seemed interested in him as well, and the two had shared many flights together. She was fearless and intelligent, an irresistible combination. Taren hoped to pay many more visits to her island.

  Nearing Imrit’s manor, Taren prepared his feet for landing. The memory of his first time landing came to mind, as it often did. Flight had taken days to learn, but landing had taken weeks. The subtle nuances required for a successful landing had eluded him, and he had found himself crashing into the dirt on more than one occasion. Now he landed with ease on Imrit’s doorstep. Instantly transforming himself, Taren approached the door, his black cloak billowing on the wind.

  “Come in! Come in!” Imrit’s voice sounded from the stairwell as Taren stepped inside.

  Hurrying down the stairs like a child eager to show off his latest drawing, Imrit presented Taren with a scroll. “I’ve found it,” he said.

  Taren took the scroll delicately. It appeared half-rotten and incredibly delicate. He wasn’t sure he should try to unroll it.

  “I’ve transcribed everything onto fresh pages,” Imrit said. “I’ll show them to you.” With light steps, he trotted up the staircase, with Taren close behind.

  “It’s a prophecy,” Imrit said, grabbing a page off his desk. Holding it up for his companion to view, he said, “See the markings? I traced them from the scroll in your hand.”

  Taren observed the drawing closely. “I don’t recognize it,” he said.

  “Here,” Imrit said, taking his hand. He pressed the younger man’s hand to his arm, where the symbol had entered his body.

  A flash of swirling lines entered Taren’s mind, forming themselves into a tight knot. “Your symbol,” Taren whispered.

  “Yes,” Imrit replied, his eyes sparkling. “You see, this scroll contains information about my symbol, and I am not the one destined to bear it.”

  “Then why are you so happy?” Taren couldn’t believe such news would make Imrit happy. Yes, he had resigned himself to a life with a mostly dormant symbol, but it lent him magic nonetheless. Taren doubted Imrit was eager to give it up.

  “Mine isn’t destined to be active at this time,” Imrit went on. “The blood magic probably never would have worked, even if I hadn’t refused it.”

  “What do you mean?” Taren asked.

  “Ynaja was mostly right about the symbols and their limits,” he explained. “The two cannot be active together when held by those who were not destined to bear them. Your symbol called out to you, begging you to claim it. Mine never did.”

  “Then who is yours destined for?” Taren asked.

  “One who has yet to be born,” Imrit responded. “And I shan’t be around when she is.” He paused, took a seat, and clasped his hands together. “But you will still be alive,” he said. “And I hope you will seek her out and prepare her for her destiny.”

  A lump rose in Taren’s throat as the pain of the impending loss swept over him. No matter how many years he still had with Imrit, he couldn’t let go of the fact that someday he would lose him. The thought came to him far too often, and he hated it. Why couldn’t he enjoy the years they still had together and leave it at that? Why did these dark thoughts plague his mind? No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make them go away. Every happy moment was weighted with the knowledge of his dearest friend’s mortality.

  “You will have to deliver my symbol to her once I am gone,” Imrit said somberly. “I hope it isn’t too great a task for you, my son. I know it will cause you pain, but this is how it must be. She is destined to wield the symbol I carry. In her hands, it will reach its full potential.” Rising to his feet, he took Taren’s hands in his own and squeezed them. “Be there for her, as I have been for you. Nurture and educate her. She will need your guidance.”

  All Taren could do was nod. He feared opening his mouth to speak. The words might not be his own.

  “Death comes to us all,” Imrit continued. “I have finally accepted that, and I no longer desire immortality. My fear was that I would have to stop studying and learning before I knew all that there was to learn.” He paused and looked at the ground for a moment. “But my legacy will live on through you, and through this child who will come next. Don’t worry. We still have many years together.”

  “How will I know her?” Taren wondered. Especially if Imrit would be gone by then.

  “In due time,” Imrit reassured him, “all will be revealed.” He cleared his throat and patted Taren on the cheek. “Now, be a good dragon and fetch me a new scroll. I’m all out of interesting reading material.”

  Taren swiveled his head to take in the entirety of Imrit’s library. It was enormous, far larger than the one at the Mage’s College.

  Imrit saw the young man’s expression and burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, it’s never enough,” he said. “You can fly, so it’s not a difficult task.” Narrowing his eyes in jest, he added, “Just watch out for dragon hunters.”

  Taren smirked. Should any such hunters exist, they would be hard-pressed to take on the young wizard in drag
on form. The power of the symbol gave him far greater skill than the ordinary dragon, if there was such a thing as ordinary where dragons were concerned.

  Handing Taren a hand-drawn map, Imrit said, “There are a few scrolls here on this remote island. They’re probably cached somewhere deep, but the place is uninhabited, so you’ll have plenty of freedom to roam around and find them.”

  “Of course,” Taren said. “Are you coming along?”

  “Not today,” Imrit said. “I have plenty of studying to keep me busy while you’re away. I suspect you won’t be gone long.”

  Taren smiled knowingly. “I’ll see you soon, then,” he said. Leaping from the library window, he transformed midair, catching the wind beneath his massive wings. Adjusting his course to follow the map, he made his way toward the sea. Soaring above the ocean, he looked into the blue of eternity, where the ocean meets the sky. Two faces appeared in the clouds before him: one of his old master, the other a young girl.

  About the Author

  Lana Axe lives in the Missouri countryside surrounded by dogs, cats, birds, and reptiles. She spends most of her free time daydreaming about elves, magic, and faraway lands.

  For more information, please visit lana-axe.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11