Evora spoke ten words and the tip of the rod in her hand turned blue. Hoping that the enchantment she had created would work, Evora touched the surface of the pool with the rod.
Instantly, the water froze.
Evora could see new water start to well on top of the frozen pool, but the water ran over the hard ice and spilled over the sides instead of flowing into the canal below. She had time, but not much.
Evora climbed back down, following the little canal. Already the water level was dropping as the water from the canal drained to the lower pool without being replaced. Evora’s heart raced as she watched the level continue to fall, until finally the stones of the canal’s floor were exposed to the air.
Again Evora climbed into the canal, and she could now see that there were definitely symbols on one of the stone blocks between her feet. Under Master Garlan’s stern gaze she crouched and peered down at the flat block, perhaps six inches on each side, desperate to translate the runes and find the activation sequence before the water returned to the canal.
With a surge of triumph, Evora knew she had it.
She said the words.
At first nothing happened. Then, as Evora looked down, the block began to sink. As it disappeared further into the ground she could see a space open up. The block stopped moving, and Evora quickly felt into the space.
Her hand found paper, and Evora withdrew a single scroll, old, but dry and undamaged.
Before the returning water could enter the space Evora spoke the words to move the stone block back into place. She didn’t know how Maya had dealt with the water, but it no longer mattered. She had found the scroll.
But Evora knew that with her demonstration at noon the next day and no knowledge at all about what was in the scroll, she would need to apply herself like she never had before.
~
The three apprentices stood in the centre of the Great Court, waiting for Master Zoran to tell them who would be the first to give his or her demonstration.
In his green enchanter’s robe, Barrick looked like he was trying not to appear nervous and failing miserably. Next to Barrick was a trough filled with water, evidently required for the demonstration he was about to give.
Jostin stood next to Barrick, also in his rune-covered robe, a smug expression on his face. Whatever he intended to show seemed to have gone well. Jostin held a plain grey sack in his hands, and Evora couldn’t help but wonder what was in it.
Evora had her hands clasped in front of her green enchantress’s dress. She knew she had bags under her eyes, and she clenched her jaw when a yawn threatened to break out, horrified at the impression that would give Master Zoran.
“Barrick,” Master Zoran said. “Why don’t you go first?”
Barrick indicated Jostin and Evora should step back. The apprentice then put his hand in his robe and withdrew a shining wooden rod. Evora could see a great amount of effort had gone into the rod; it was covered in symbols from one end to the other. Without meaning to, she started to see where she could improve the design.
“Remember,” Master Zoran said. “The most powerful enchantment with the fewest words to call forth its power.”
Barrick spoke twelve words, and the top half of the rod turned blue. He touched it to the water in the trough, and after the count of two breaths, the water grew opaque and solidified. As they looked on, the water turned to ice. Barrick looked up triumphantly.
“Impressive, Enchanter Barrick,” Master Zoran said.
“That’s not all,” Barrick said.
He raised the rod once more and said twelve different words. The top half of the rod changed color, shifting hue from blue to red. Barrick put the rod against the ice in the trough and, though it took longer this time, after a few moments cracks appeared in the ice as it started to melt. As Barrick’s audience watched, steam rose from the water, even as the last of the ice melted. Finally the water began to bubble as it boiled.
“Well done, Barrick,” Master Zoran said. “You may deactivate the rod now. Very impressive." Barrick blushed as Master Zoran gazed at his other two apprentices. "Who would like to be next?”
“I’ll go,” Jostin said, reaching into his grey sack.
Jostin pulled out a white cloak. Evora could see a multitude of tiny silver runes covering its surface – even she was impressed.
Jostin said ten words and suddenly where the cloak had been there was nothing, even though Evora could see that it must still be there; some weight still dragged on Jostin’s hand.
Jostin whirled, spinning the cloak up and around his body. In an instant, only his head could be seen. Squinting, Evora struggled to see the faintest outlines of glowing symbols and some of the cloak's folds.
“A cloak of shadow,” Master Zoran said. “Very impressive. Excellent coverage, too. Enchanter Jostin: I have never heard of ten words being sufficient to activate an enchantment such as this without it soon depleting. Well done.”
Jostin smiled and threw out his arm. The cloak opened up and spun forward, landing to envelope Barrick’s steaming trough.
With his masterpiece now vanished, Barrick angrily tapped the rod onto his palm, looking as if he wished it were Jostin’s head.
“Enchantress Evora?” Master Zoran said.
Evora reached into the pocket of her dress and took out the small black wand. She’d made it out of obsidian, and the symbols were even smaller than those Barrick and Jostin had used, yet the arrangements were so efficient that Evora hadn’t even had to cover the wand’s entire surface.
She drew in a shaky breath. This was her chance. In emulation of Maya Pallandor, becoming a master was what she'd spent her entire lifetime to do.
Evora pointed the wand at the rod in Barrick’s hand. She spoke the seven words of power. “Asta-luna-dilara-tolia-muliari-agira-lorna.”
The symbols on the wand flared, hot and sudden, but then gone as quickly as they came.
Nothing happened. Barrick looked at his rod curiously.
“Evora, was something supposed to happen?” Master Zoran said slowly.
“Try to use the rod,” Evora said.
Barrick spoke the twelve words to make the rod blue. Nothing happened. Frowning, he changed the inflections, saying them a little differently. Still nothing. He said the twelve words that would turn the rod’s tip red. Still nothing.
“I didn’t know such a thing was possible,” Master Zoran muttered.
Evora turned to where Jostin had thrown the cloak of shadow over the trough. She again spoke the seven words of power and pointed her wand.
The cloak reappeared, draped over the trough. Jostin picked up the white garment angrily, saying the ten words that would activate the cloak.
Nothing happened. It was once again just a piece of material.
“Do you have any idea how long I spent working on that?” Jostin rounded on Evora angrily.
“Enchanter Barrick, Enchanter Jostin, please leave us,” Master Zoran said. “I need to speak with Enchantress Evora alone.”
The two apprentices glared at Evora as they departed.
“How did you do it?” Master Zoran asked.
“I had some help,” Evora said. “I found one of Maya Pallandor’s scrolls.”
“Show me.”
~
Master Zoran looked up from the scroll. “This is all you had to go by?” He shook his head. “Typical of Maya, she only tells half the story.”
Evora shrugged. “Once I knew it could be done, it was just a matter of figuring it out.”
“You have a rare gift,” Master Zoran said. He sighed. “But I want you to know, I am going to name Jostin my successor. And,” he said, peering at her in the way that he did, “from now on we won’t be working together any more.”
“I see,” Evora said, trying to hide her disappointment.
“Please, Evora, come with me. Bring your wand.”
Master Zoran led Evora along corridors, up carpeted stairs and through several locked doors to a part of the
Academy Evora had never been to before.
Finally, Master Zoran stopped outside an open archway. Evora came to stand beside him and her mouth dropped open.
Looking through the arch, she could see nothing but an empty void of darkness. There was space out there though, she could sense it. If she fell, she knew it would be a long way down.
“Come,” Master Zoran said, “stand here.”
He led Evora onto the silken mat that stood in front of the archway. Looking down, Evora could see symbols woven into the mat. Clever, she thought.
Master Zoran straightened his robes and took a deep breath. In all the years she had known him, Evora had never seen him like this. “Keep your eyes down, Evora,” he said, “and only raise them when I say.”
Evora had heard of this place but she couldn’t believe she was really here. Master Zoran spoke some words and the silk mat began to glow, gradually becoming more radiant with every passing moment. If this was the place Evora thought it was – and there could only be one place like this – then he shouldn’t be saying these words where she could hear them.
Evora held her breath. Not unless, she thought, Master Zoran wanted her to hear them.
Master Zoran led her forward, and now at her feet Evora could see a glowing pathway, a bridge of runes, crossing the empty void. At the end of the pathway there was a door. The pair crossed in silence, but as they arrived Master Zoran spoke another word. The door opened and they stepped through. Master Zoran guided Evora as she kept her eyes down.
The door closed behind them and Evora saw a polished wooden floor beneath her feet. Her peripheral vision told her she was in a large room and that she and Master Zoran were not alone.
“Master Zoran,” a deep, booming voice said. “I have to say I’m surprised to see someone with you. Either she’s deaf, or you expect her to come here again. Or perhaps this is a one-way journey for the girl. The void you just crossed isn’t bottomless, but it is a long way down.”
Evora kept her head down, even though she desperately wanted to look up. Her fingers gripped her wand tightly.
“High Enchanter, you always said to tell you if I ever found someone special. Well, here she is. I’ve only seen one other with as much talent for enchantment as this apprentice.”
“And, Zoran, who might that be?”
“You, High Enchanter Greffon.”
The deep voice chuckled. “Look up, apprentice,” Evora heard the voice directed at herself.
She hadn’t realized how large the High Enchanter’s workroom would be – it was more of a series of rooms. Glass jars bubbled as heatplates warmed them from beneath and nearby vials of black liquid rested next to tools on a workbench. Books lined shelves on the walls, taking up every available space from floor to ceiling. Scrolls and tablets lay scattered about on a low table. Evora's eye was drawn to an emerald orb, inlaid with gold runes, proudly displayed on a pedestal.
The High Enchanter sat at a desk, a heavy book open in front of him. He wore a robe of green silk that shimmered as his body shifted. Smile lines creased the corners of his eyes, which sparkled as he looked at her. Evora realized he had been making fun of her.
“What is your name, Apprentice?” High Enchanter Greffon said.
“My name is Evora, High Enchanter. Evora Guinestor.”
“Are you as good as Master Zoran here says you are, Evora?”
Evora lifted her chin as she met his gaze. “Yes, High Enchanter. Yes I am.”
“The emerald orb over there… What does it do? If you can answer that now, I will accept you as my apprentice.”
Evora knew it was impossible to tell; once again, the High Enchanter was making sport with her. She was suddenly tired of being led around – by the rules and contests of the Academy of Enchanters, and by the men who saw her as an easily-dominated woman.
“Do I have your word on that, High Enchanter?”
“Yes,” the High Enchanter smiled. “Yes you do.”
Evora lifted her wand and pointed it at the orb on its pedestal.
With a clear voice, she spoke the seven words of power.
“I can tell you in all truthfulness, High Enchanter, that the emerald stone does nothing." Evora smiled as she lowered the wand and turned back to the two wide-eyed men. "I suppose,” she finished, addressing the High Enchanter, “I should now call you master?”
The Discovery
“Do you know any dark stories?” Harun, the oldest boy, asked. “That last one was nice, but it was a bit…”
The bent old storyteller sipped from his wooden cup and then raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jenrin. Jenrin nodded and then gave Harun a squeeze.
“There’s no women here,” Jenrin said. “Give us something to suit the night.”
Harun looked up and grinned at his father.
Petie shivered and squirmed. He’d enjoyed the story about the huntsman and his missing bride. Outside the circle of firelight it was pitch black, and unlike Harun he didn’t have his pa close by to make him feel safe. Petie’s pa had been killed by bandits just three weeks past, bringing the number of people in the caravan down from seven to just six: Jenrin, Harun, Jenrin's brother Rob, the Torak twins, and little, fatherless Petie.
The storyteller spoke in his thin, croaking voice. “You’ve given me food and shelter on this cold night, and I’d be remiss in my duties as a guest if I didn’t give you what you asked for.” He drained his wine and then, setting down the cup, began to rummage in the sack he kept at his feet. The storyteller groaned as his body bent down, and Petie frowned when Harun stifled a laugh at the storyteller’s contortions. Jenrin pinched his son’s shoulder, silencing him.
The old storyteller found his wine flask and filled his cup, straightening. Petie slid along the ground until he was close as he could get to the fire without being burned. His night vision was spoiled by the flames and he was suddenly conscious of the darkness at his back. He wished for a big log behind him or even one of the caravan wheels, but the wagons were out there, hidden by the night.
“Where to begin?” the storyteller said. “I suppose I’ll start at the discovery.”
~
Once, in the land of Petrya, there was a boy who was smaller than all the other boys his age. Someone called him Fidget, because he was always playing with things, and even though that wasn’t his name, it stuck.
Apologies if I’m telling you what you already know, but Petrya is a land of contests. From a very young age the boys start competing, and this continues on through life. Even old men still fight, and wrestle, and climb, and jump. What about girls? Girls aren’t much valued in Petrya.
Fidget tried hard, but he wasn’t very good at the contests. He would practice in secret, over and again, trying to jump and climb and run. But Fidget was small, and he wasn’t very strong.
Fidget’s father was a warrior in the High Lord’s guard, a very honorable position. He was embarrassed by his weak son and tried to teach the boy, but he finally gave it up as hopeless. Fidget’s mother was kind, but she wasn’t able to stop the other boys from making fun of her child.
As Fidget grew older, he spent more time alone: playing with things, fitting pieces of metal together, forming blocks of wood into figures with his knife. He didn’t know it, but he was good with his hands.
Then Fidget’s mother died, and with no one to protect him, the sport of the other boys turned vicious.
They always hit him where he was covered by his clothes. Once, they broke two ribs. Another time he passed blood for three days. Fidget never told anyone; he was afraid his father thought him a weakling, and he didn’t want to get into trouble.
What’s that? Ah, yes, I mentioned a discovery. Well, one day, when Fidget was far from his village, he came across a cave. It was hidden by scrub, but the entrance was large enough for a man to pass through, and Fidget was able to push the bushes to the side and enter.
He coughed as he walked in, his footsteps raising big clouds of dust. No one had been in the cave for a lo
ng time. It was too dark to see, so rather than exploring further Fidget resolved to come back the next day with something to see with.
He stole a pathfinder – one of those seeing devices the Alturan enchanters make – from a strong boy named Tatem, one of his greatest tormenters. Returning to the cave, he activated the pathfinder and started to explore.
It was dark in the cave, outside the light of the pathfinder, and Fidget was scared but he was also curious. The walls of the cave were creviced and jagged, creating strange shadows. He walked slowly forward, finding a few planks of wood and a pile of old cloth but not much more than that. He was about to give up when he rounded a cleft at the back.
Suddenly Fidget froze, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
There, at the back of the cave, in the shadows past the pathfinder’s glow, was a man.
Fidget willed his legs to turn him around, but he was too scared. He simply stood, staring at the black form, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest. As he waited for the man to speak, or to come at him, he realized that the figure was completely motionless.
Now, I don’t mean motionless like little Petie here, staring at me all wide-eyed. I mean completely, and utterly still.
Finally Fidget summoned the nerve to step forward. He raised his hand holding the pathfinder, and the light trembled along with him. The glow caught the figure’s foot, and something glinted back, like the way a sword will catch the sunlight.
The light moved higher as Fidget took one more step forward. And then he saw that it wasn’t a man; it was a statue of a man. No, it wasn’t a statue, like you’d see in a town square. It was a man made of metal.
Walking forward, curiosity starting to overcome his fear, Fidget ran the light up and down the metal construct. It stood about seven feet tall, and it looked strong, powerful, like it could come to life at any moment.
Then Fidget heard a noise outside the cave.
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