Flameseeker (Book 3)

by R. M. Prioleau

  “Indeed!” Saris agreed, frowning.

  Jarial narrowed his eyes at Saris, then Omari. “What manner of foolery are you up to, boy? Going around accusing your fellow students of such a terrible act!”

  Omari blinked. “But Master Glace—”

  “Enough!” Jarial’s rage sent colorful light shooting across his vision. He fought down the power. “You are free to leave, Saris. I will personally deal with Omari.”

  Omari’s mouth hung open.

  Saris smirked. “Thank you, Master Glace. I am glad to know that you are not deceived by Omari’s blatant lies.”

  Jarial smiled and nodded.

  When Saris took his leave, Jarial turned to the two administrators. “I will take it from here. Thank you for keeping things under control.”

  The man and woman bowed and returned to their posts in the library.

  Jarial growled and smacked Omari in the back of his head. “You idiot! What in the hells do you think you’re doing?”

  “Ow!” Omari rubbed the back of his bald head.

  Fearful of eavesdroppers, Jarial grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the students’ quarters.

  * * *

  Omari could see colorful light crackling around Jarial’s eyes as the man paced Omari’s room, drawing the curtains over the window and searching for possible eavesdropping points under tables, Omari’s bed, and along the stone walls. Percival scampered out of the man’s way and hid under a bed pillow. When Jarial was satisfied of their total privacy, he faced Omari, his eyes returning to normal.

  “I know he did it,” Omari said, breaking the awkward silence.

  “You know nothing, boy!” Jarial retorted.

  Omari frowned. Jarial’s sharp tone made his blood boil. He won’t listen. He never listens! “You don’t understand, Master Glace!”

  “No, you don’t understand! And here I kissed their asses just so you can be guaranteed your Council seat!”

  Omari’s rage quelled. He what? He slowly sat down on the edge of his bed and regarded Jarial curiously. “What have you done?”

  Jarial crossed his arms. “I’m playing along with their petty politics. You must shadow the Councilmember of Illusion—me—for a time until you become acquainted with the rules and whatnot.”

  Has Master Glace returned to the Council? Omari stared, wide-eyed, not believing what he was hearing.

  “And here you are already, causing a scene and making me look like a damned fool!” Jarial threw his hands up in exasperation.

  “No, Master Glace, I—”

  “Be quiet!”

  Omari clenched his jaw and sat very still.

  “First of all, we do not have any viable proof to accuse Saris of anything, so don’t go around harassing him about it anymore, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Omari replied bitterly. “How do you explain the dagger, then?”

  Jarial’s expression hardened. “How? It being branded with the Ben-nyu symbol does not necessarily mean that Saris is the culprit. But it matters not now.”

  Omari arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone knows transmutation magic, for the dagger was enchanted with the disintegrate spell. It is now but a pile of dust in the Council’s chambers.”

  Omari gasped.

  “Therefore, Saris can’t possibly be the prime suspect, because he is studying Illusion, not Transmutation. To apply such a spell on a weapon like that takes extreme focus and mastery.”

  “If Saris is not a suspect, then who?”

  Jarial took another turn around the room and stopped in front of the curtained window. “Tell me more about Ben-nyu.”

  The strange random-seeming question brought nothing but bitterness in Omari’s heart, reminding him of his enemies. “The Ben-nyu is the firebird of Ankhram. My people tell old tales about the Ben-nyu being Ignis’s pet, sometimes his steed. Others say the Ben-nyu is actually the Firelord’s rage, for the flames that the bird is comprised of burn hotter than hot, and of the purest white.”

  Jarial turned. “Interesting. So you are saying that Ben-nyu and Ignis are somehow connected?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “And here I thought the most revered deity of Ankhram was Malik.”

  “It is. He is my patron deity. But there are few who follow other ways. Ignis and Malik are not necessarily enemies. However, Ankhram is Malik’s domain, and Ignis likes to claim things that do not belong to him.”

  Jarial stroked his chin as he slowly returned to Omari. “While I do not believe that Saris is the primary one responsible for Na’val’s death, I’ve not ruled out the possibility that he might have been involved in its plotting in some way.” He snatched one of the pillows from the bed, uncovering Percival. The weasel squeaked and scurried to the other end of the bed. “Send your familiar out to Saris’s quarters to do a little scouting. We may find out some clues.”

  Omari tapped his chin, and then nodded. He went to Percival and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. “It is all up you now, my friend,” Omari said to him, as he set the weasel on the floor by the exit.

  * * *

  Percival slunk through the sparsely populated halls of the student dormitories until he arrived at the door to Saris’s quarters. He scampered off nearby and hid behind one of many potted plants that decorated the halls, awaiting Saris’s return or departure. He watched the students who occasionally passed by, some in a hurry to reach their next class, while others dawdled to reach theirs.

  The distant sound of Saris’s voice caused Percival to perk his ears. It came from down the hall, and he seemed to be speaking with another student.

  Shadows danced along the torchlit walls, and two figures emerged from the dark, drawing closer. Percival sniffed the air and confirmed Saris’s presence. The figures—two men—stopped near the door.

  “Christo and I are going to rehearse our speeches in the auditorium. Care to join us, Saris?” one of the men asked.

  Saris turned to his door and muttered something. It opened with a click. “No, you go ahead,” he told the other man. “I need to take care of something, first.”

  As Saris opened the door, Percival darted from his hiding spot, but halted when he caught a glimpse of Horus, Saris’s familiar, perched on the headboard of the bed in the room. The reddish-brown falcon greeted Saris with a throaty sound. Percival ducked away from the bird’s line of sight and remained outside the door.

  “That confounded bird,” Omari said in Percival’s mind. “I guess we will just have to wait until he leaves again. Hopefully he will bring Horus with him.”

  Percival stood on his hind legs and leaned against the door, sniffing the wood. He twitched his ears as he caught the faint sounds of Saris’s voice beyond.

  “Yes, I missed you, too, my friend....”

  Footsteps caught Percival’s attention, and he quickly scampered back behind the plant, where he remained. Several long minutes passed when the door to Saris’s room opened, and Saris stepped out, with Horus perched on his shoulder. Percival eyed the the ajar door, which Saris paused to close to speak quietly to his familiar. “Do remind me to mail that tomorrow before the symposium begins.”

  The bird replied with a series of soft clicks, affirming his understanding. But he looked around, warily, as though he’d sensed something near.

  Saris regarded his familiar curiously. “What? You smell prey? Well there is plenty of it running around these halls. I will feed you later. For now, let’s see how that ‘rehearsal’ is going, shall we?”

  Percival bolted for the small space between the doorway as the door begun to close. Percival got all but the tip of his tail in the room, which got slammed in the door. To his relief, only a tuft of hair had been lost when he whipped his tail out of the space. Percival listened to the sounds of Saris’s footsteps grow fainter until he could no longer hear it.

  Afterward, he scoured the room, which was darkened by a red curtain covering the only window. Percival grabbed a mouth
ful of the bottom of the curtain and pulled it back with all his might. Light from the sunset sky filled the room. Percival’s keen nose picked up the scent of fresh ink. Near the window was a desk, which was haphazardly littered with parchments. Percival approached the desk and climbed atop it. He began moving parchments aside with his nose. There were unfinished letters, class notes, and more. Atop a small stack of books, Percival spotted a recently-written letter, the ink barely wet. He examined the letter closely. “Let’s see what it says,” Omari said.

  Dear Father,

  I thought you assured me this plan would be flawless? The Elder already confiscated Masrah’s dagger, and it did not dissolve like you said it would. Moreover, I think that Batsuyou scum, Omari, suspects something, for he will not stop harassing me. If you do not do something about this, then I will. I will not be blamed for Masrah’s incompetence. My Council seat depends on it.

  I will be attending the symposium tomorrow, speaking on the contrasts of arcane light and their correspondence to the elements. It is anticipated to be a large turnout this year. I will make you proud.

  May the flames of Ben-nyu forever burn.

  -Saris

  P.S. Please brief me on the situation at the Pyre in your next correspondence.

  * * *

  Omari snapped from his meditation and looked at Jarial with widened eyes. “It is true, Master Glace! He really is involved in all this!” He went on to explain his findings.

  Jarial scowled. “Yes, so it seems there is a bigger issue here.”

  “He mentioned the Pyre in the letter. That is where Kaijin is.”

  “Yes, Kaijin could very well be in trouble, caught up in the middle of this.” Jarial rubbed his chin. “Well, I had planned on going there anyway to see him, so this gives me all the more reason. And you will accompany me, for you can remember what the Pyre looks like.”

  “But I do not know its exact location, Master.”

  “Just knowing what the physical structure looks like would suffice for what I intend to do. However, if you know someone with a map to the place, that would, of course, be beneficial.”

  Omari thought for a moment. Only one person came to mind. Gods, no, not him! He made a sour face. “I know of one person, but I do not know if I want to get involved with—”

  “If he is a valuable resource who will help us get to Kaijin, then you must find him,” Jarial interrupted.

  Omari sighed. And here I thought I was rid of that little pest. “Fine, I will locate him—if he is still in town, that is. But even if I do find him, how will we ever get to the Pyre?”

  “I will get us there quickly, via a teleportation spell,” Jarial replied. “It will take a lot out of me, but we can’t afford for the trip to take longer.”

  Omari blinked. Such spells were accessible to only the most adept mages, and even then, he’d only heard of few who were able to cast them successfully. “Are you sure about this? What if the spell fails?”

  Jarial bristled. “You dare question my abilities, Omari? It will not fail.”

  “Forgive me for doubting you, Master.” Omari lowered his head and swallowed. I still think this is dangerous. Even for Master Glace.

  “Your concern is noted. If I had any doubts about this, then I wouldn’t have accepted the responsibility of helping you become a Councilmember. Now, then. I plan on setting out early tomorrow. Meet me outside the Celestran aurorium in Ghaeldorund. Be sure you are nowhere near the Citadel by the time the symposium begins.”

  Omari nodded slowly. To avoid the crowd, perhaps?

  Jarial departed, and Omari remained in his room for the rest of the night. It wasn’t until Percival—who had to await Saris’s return before sneaking back out—had safely come back that Omari finally shut his eyes and drifted to sleep.

  VIII

  Kaijin stared helplessly at his spellbook, the words and runes a blurred jumble on the pages. His thoughts continuously diverted to Vargas and the afriti. It had happened so fast that Kaijin still had trouble remembering it had been real, and he couldn’t believe that he’d managed to sleep that night after the incident.

  He finally shut his spellbook. It was impossible to memorize any spells. His thoughts drifted to Ranaiah. I should try to talk to her about this. Find some answers to what had transpired.

  He retrieved a stack of books he’d borrowed from the library and left his quarters. Miele flew down from the ceiling and landed on his shoulder as he shut the door. He treaded down the warmly lit hallways of the east wing of the Pyre, the sounds of his soft footsteps echoing off the obsidian walls.

  Upon arriving at the grand hall, Kaijin looked toward the massive altar, upon which was the ever-burning brazier, bright with divine flames. A group of high clerics gathered at the altar, but Ranaiah was not there.

  Kaijin went to the library, which was located near the main entrance to the Pyre. Acolytes, young and old, traversed the aisles of bookshelves, perusing through the spines and sorting books. As Kaijin was returning his books to their respective places on the shelves, he felt a presence behind him and heard a man’s voice.

  “Let the young boys do that, Kaijin.”

  Kaijin spun around and faced the speaker, an elderly priest. The man’s crimson vestment was embroidered with flame-like golden designs along the hem.

  Kaijin set the books aside on a nearby table. Two boys, acolytes in training, hurriedly gathered the books and disappeared between the aisles.

  “Is Ranaiah here, sir?” Kaijin asked the priest. “May I see her?”

  The man smiled under his thick, grey beard. “But of course. She has gone out for her daily walk down the mountain path. Would you like me to take you to—”

  Kaijin didn’t give the man time to finish. He headed straight for the main entrance, where he politely brushed past two clerics standing watch and opened the door himself.

  The sky was hazed over with smoke and clouds, but still bright. Miele took the opportunity to fly off his shoulder and stretch her wings, darting and swooping through the sky. After a moment of scanning the area for Ranaiah, Kaijin concentrated and slipped into Miele’s mind. He saw the view from her eyes high above him, just above the thick blanket of smoke. Rivers, lakes, and forests dotted the landscape below the mountains—something Kaijin had not seen in days. He realized he’d not ventured outside since his initial arrival at the Pyre, and he had forgotten the beauties and splendors Aransiya held.

  Kaijin spied Ranaiah accompanied by two other clerics, ascending the mountain path. One of the clerics carried a basket. Kaijin left Miele’s mind and ran down the path to meet them.

  Ranaiah stopped and greeted Kaijin with a smile when he stood before them. Taking the basket, she dismissed the two clerics, who hurried back up to the Pyre. “Oh, Kaijin, I was just on my way back. I wanted to talk to you.”

  Kaijin returned the smile. “I wanted to talk to you, too.” He glanced down at the basket, which was filled with fresh-picked fire lilies. “Would you like me to carry those for you?”

  “How sweet of you, Kaijin. Thank you.”

  Taking the basket, Kaijin watched her walk ahead, treading up the mountain’s narrow rocky path, her red and yellow vestments gently flowing over the curves of her hips. He ran up beside her and walked with his head lowered.

  “I know we have not talked much since that ... incident,” Ranaiah said solemnly.

  Kaijin looked at her, tracing the gentle features of her face. “I’m rather confused about it all, actually.”

  “As am I.” Ranaiah took longer strides.

  Kaijin followed suit. “What was he thinking? Was he trying to kill me or something?”

  She didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the path ahead of her.

  Kaijin blinked. Was he really ... ? “Ranaiah?”

  She kept her silence and a steady pace.

  He decided not to press the issue further until she felt comfortable discussing it.

  They returned to the Pyre, and Kaijin, rejoined by Mie
le, continued to follow her through the grand hall, turning down the brightly-lit halls of the south transept and eventually arrived at the vestry located toward the end. Ranaiah ushered Kaijin inside the quaint private meeting room and closed the door behind her.

  Miele took her place on the ceiling of the cozy windowless room, which looked only big enough to hold seven people. A small, rectangular mahogany table surrounded by seven chairs sat in the middle of the room. Gold-framed portraits of Ignan clerics of the Pyre both past and present hung from the stone walls. A long, narrow carpet spanned the length of the table. At the rear of the vestry sat a small brass-laden hearth, which was currently unlit. Some spruce logs were piled neatly beside it.

  Kaijin set the basket on the table and pulled out a chair for Ranaiah. Instead of sitting, however, she swept over to the hearth. She placed two logs inside and then murmured a prayer. Orange flames enveloped her hands and when she touched the logs, they caught fire.

  He smiled, watching her with delight. The flames in her hands and hearth enhanced her beauty. She is so beautiful.

  Ranaiah extinguished the fire in her hands, breaking Kaijin from his thoughts. She stoked the hearth with an iron poker that had leaned against the wall beside it, causing the flames to flare before calming. “There. Much better.” She returned the poker to its place and stood back and watched the dancing flames. “I feel at peace just watching the fire burn, listening to the soft crackles of wood. It is a constant reminder of the wonderful gift that the Firelord has bestowed upon us.”

  Smiling, Kaijin approached her. He fixed his eyes on the hearth, watching the flames dance, feeling very much at peace. “I often find it hard to imagine that something so ... serene can be a gift from Him.”

  Ranaiah glanced over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow. “Why is that? Like the flames, Ignis is as capable of peace as He is of chaos.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve read about it in some of the books here. But most of my life has been nothing but chaos.” Kaijin frowned, remembering his lost family and friends, his hardships, his internal struggles ...