Delife spoke. “For many years we have fostered a few talented youngsters like yourself, who for whatever reason would normally have been unable to study at our monastery. It is our duty to offer this island what assistance we can. Some have come from poor families, others have had difficult childhoods, like yourself, and we recognize that you all need special understanding while you adjust to our life. Such a simple monastic life may not be for everyone, but we offer what we can without asking for recompense. However, as in all things, someday it must come to an end.”
Delife paused to gather his thoughts, and Caldan took advantage of this break to get a word in. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But as you said, good things cannot last forever. That is why I’m asking that by the end of next year a position or placement could be found for me on the mainland. Plus references from here, of course. It would take a while for you to arrange a position, which is why I wanted to mention this now. Over this next year I can study and prepare myself for a specific role. After leaving, I will send back to the monastery a portion of my earnings for the next few years as a sign of my appreciation.” He looked at the three masters hopefully. It was a good idea, one he had given much thought to the last few days. They couldn’t object to its fairness.
The masters looked at each other for a moment. Rastar then gave a shake of his head and Joesal dropped his gaze to the table, as if interested in the pattern of grain in the dark wood.
Delife drew a deep breath. “I do not think so,” he stated firmly.
Caldan’s thoughts ran at a furious pace. They wouldn’t be in agreement so quickly unless they’d discussed this earlier. Most likely with the approval of the Supreme Master. The decision must have been made before he arrived, and they were going to do their best to induce him to surrender to their plans quietly.
Before Caldan could protest, Master Joesal raised his hand to forestall his response. “We have been over your situation thoroughly, and as far as we can see, the monastery can no longer have you attending classes with the paying students. Some have noted your presence in the classes in letters to their families, and questions have been raised. The parents of some of the students do not want their children associating with people of lower birth. We,” he gestured to the masters at the table, “have to protect the main source of income the monastery earns, however distasteful. We have decided you’re old enough you don’t need our wardship anymore. It is our heartfelt wish that, despite your desire to stay with us, there remain no ill feelings between us.”
“How many months do I have to organize myself? I was counting on being here until the end of next year! There isn’t much I’m trained to do that will help me to get work on the island if I can’t stay on with the monastery. That’s if…’” His words trailed off as he realized what was coming.
“What we think is best,” chimed in Delife, “is if you travel to the mainland as soon as possible. We have already arranged some references for you.” He pushed the bunch of letters bound in string across the table in Caldan’s direction. “You shouldn’t have a problem finding employment wherever you decide to go.”
“We recommend the city of Anasoma as your first port of call,” added Joesal. “It is one of the founding cities of the empire, and you could do worse than starting there.”
Caldan moved stiltedly to the table and leaned his weight on it. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach churned.
“As soon as possible?” he croaked. “What about my projects? What about the younger students I’m tutoring?”
“It’s all been arranged.” Rastar spoke for the first time. “Your projects you can either leave or take with you. The classes will be taken over by another promising student. You do not exactly have many friends or… any family… to say goodbye to.”
Caldan fixed Rastar with a hostile glare. “No, no family at all, as you well know.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Delife raised both hands. “Now, now, we can all agree this conversation isn’t pleasant, but there are some things you don’t know, Caldan. Please, stop frowning at us and calm down. There are reasons we have come to this decision, if you would hear us out.”
Eyes flicking to each master, Caldan ground his teeth and folded his arms across his chest. He breathed deeply as the masters watched him struggle to control himself. Trembling, Caldan tried to swallow, but his throat caught. “And there isn’t anything I can say to make you change your minds?”
“Hear what we have to say,” replied Delife. “Then you will better understand the situation we, and you, are in.”
At his words, Rastar and Joesal nodded, both favoring Caldan with a grim look.
“After what you just said, I think I understand the situation I am in.”
“I think not,” Rastar replied. “If there were anything we could do to have you remain with us we would have already done it. There’s no leeway in this. Once you hear us out, I’m sure you will realize why you cannot stay at the monastery.”
“You mean you would rather I stayed?”
“Of course we would!” exclaimed Delife.
“Yes, no doubt,” added Joesal.
“What’s the problem, then?”
“Normally,” began Delife, “you would be too talented for us to lose, and we would have welcomed you, had you decided to stay with us, helping out around the monastery and assisting with the classes.”
“But?” Caldan said with a frown.
“Ah, yes… this will be news to you, but your family was known to the monastery, one of the reasons, among many, we took you in.” Delife wrung his hands.
After all this time, they decide to only tell me now? Then ship me off as if nothing’s happened. “You… you knew my family?”
“Indeed. Both your parents came here often, for advice and to learn from us. And I have to admit, we learnt much from them. Considering their talents, that’s not so surprising.” Delife glanced at Rastar, who shrugged. He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have kept some things from you while you grew up, both for your own protection and because we didn’t think you would be mature enough to hear them until you were older. As it is, we have decided to tell you certain truths before sending you off. Hence this meeting.”
“What do you mean when you say my parents had talents?”
Rastar shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Much like you, they both had an aptitude for crafting, though your father was more adept at the Way of the Sword. You mother’s crafting was exceptional, especially her work with metals. And apparently your grandmother was also skilled at crafting, and your grandfather with the sword. It seems the talents run in the family.”
Caldan snorted. “Not with me. My sword work is middling.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad, and your crafting is far from it. You have a talent quite like your mother’s. I can see parts of both of them in you.”
Caldan rubbed his eyes. “You knew them well, then?”
“Yes. In fact, I saw them the day before the… accident. They stopped by to discuss a few things before heading back to their farm.”
“Wait. If my mother’s crafting was exceptional and my father knew the Way of the Sword, then why were they farmers?”
Rastar sighed. “They were hiding.”
“From what?” Caldan exclaimed. “Then… the fire… that means…”
Holding up a hand, Rastar forestalled Caldan’s words. “Before you jump to conclusions, let us finish, or rather, let us start from the beginning. Your parents came to us a few years before you were born, and though they mostly kept to themselves, it was obvious they were running from someone or something. On this island we don’t get people arriving to start farming; they usually travel in the other direction to get away from this place. We are isolated and, well… although some grow up here and stay, many others feel there is something better out there.” He waved a hand. “Anyway, I digress. Your parents were open and honest, and we welcomed them, as did the o
ther residents of the island they came into contact with. But still they were reticent to discuss some subjects and seemed to be always looking over their shoulders, and they took an unusual interest in people visiting the island.”
They were scared, thought Caldan. Afraid of what they’d left behind, and expecting to be found one day. “Running and hiding, and fearful that someone would come after them?”
“That is the conclusion we came to. And though we had come to know them over a few years, we decided, for the safety of the island and our Order, that we had to know why. In the end it wasn’t difficult for them to explain to us, once we assured them any secrets would remain with the senior monks. You see, we knew they were good people, and they knew we could be trusted.”
Caldan clenched his fists. “Were… were they killed?”
With a sympathetic look, Rastar replied. “I’m afraid so, though we do not know by whom.”
“They told you why they were hiding and who was chasing them, so you would know who did it.” Caldan’s eyes stung and he gave them another rub.
Rastar shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Your mother, Nerissa, told us that her parents, your grandparents, had also been killed when she was young, and she had seen it happen. Since then she had made her way as best she could and found some measure of happiness marrying your father and making a life together. Her talent for crafting was quite remarkable, so she had no trouble finding work. But she couldn’t forget what had happened to her parents. She began digging for information about them, innocent enough of itself, and a natural thing for a daughter to do. But what she found troubled her, very much so. People started asking after her and why she was searching for information.” Rastar spread his hands. “She didn’t tell us most of what she had found, only that your grandparents were both from the empire and worked in some capacity for the emperor. Not directly, of course, but for one of the divisions in the empire.”
They knew, thought Caldan. All this time the masters had known far more about his parents than they let on. Probably to shelter him while he was growing up, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he had been lied to, or at least people he trusted had withheld the truth from him.
“Please, Master Rastar,” begged Caldan. “Do you have any idea who killed my parents?”
Rastar shook his head. “We don’t know. All we know for certain is what we have told you, that your parents feared something they had uncovered and wanted to get away. They wanted a normal life, for you and for… your sister.”
All three monks’ eyes searched Caldan’s. They all looked drawn and worried, and he could see concern in their faces. Caldan turned his head and closed his eyes.
Joesal added hesitantly, voice low. “Should we give him the… er… rings?”
“Yes,” replied Delife. “Pass me them, would you?”
Robes rustled and a chair scraped across the floor. Caldan opened his eyes to a blurry room, he blinked a few times and his sight cleared. In front of him stood Delife, hand outstretched. In it sat the small package that had been on the table.
“Go on,” the master urged. “They are yours. Your mother left them with us to study and keep safe before the accident.”
Caldan reached out to take the package. The string felt rough against his fingers. Hesitantly, he untied it then unwrapped the paper and the cloth bundle inside with trembling fingers. Two rings lay on the cloth, one silver and as wide as his small fingernail, the other of bone, slightly larger. The silver ring caught his eye first; the outside surface was covered in a knotwork pattern into which two stylized lions with tiny onyx eyes had been worked, detailed enough that he could see tiny claws and fangs. Inside, the band was etched with unfamiliar symbols.
He frowned, peering at the metal the ring was made of. It didn’t quite have the color of silver; it was subtly different. His eyes widened and he glanced up at Delife, who gave him a grin. Is it real?
“Yes,” the master confirmed. “It’s a trinket. Your family’s, now yours. It was decided that approaching your majority you would be of sufficient maturity to be able to take possession of the trinket. As you know, they are valuable and not playthings for mischievous children.”
Caldan gasped. A trinket his family owned? And it was now passed down to him, as it would have been if his family were still alive to see him come of age. His mind swam with thoughts and possibilities. How had his family come to possess something so rare? Would it provide a clue as to who his family were and where they had come from?
He turned it a few times, still not believing it was his. “Thank you,” he stammered. “You could have kept it and I wouldn’t have known.”
“Ha! You know we wouldn’t do that.” Delife took the wrapping, string and cloth from him and placed them on the table. “The bone ring looks to be a poor copy of a trinket. I fear it is worthless, most likely of sentimental value to your mother. The trinket, though… the origin and function of yours is unknown to us, despite extensive and exhaustive examination using crafting. However, as you know from your lessons, this is not unusual. One of the symbols is a variation of the symbol we use nowadays for ‘shelter’, but we are uncertain if it means the same thing. Be careful with it, Caldan. Keep it on your person at all times and preferably out of sight. Possessing trinkets has been the cause of many troubles, thefts and deaths.”
Nodding, Caldan turned the ring on his finger, feeling the details on the surface as he pushed it around and around, touching to make sure it was real. The bone ring he slipped into his pocket. “Should I wear it?”
“Goodness, no. It’s far too valuable to leave in plain sight. Hide it somewhere until you can work out a better solution. Perhaps a chain around your neck would suffice?”
Caldan nodded. “This still doesn’t explain why you want me to leave the monastery for the empire.”
“No,” replied Delife. “It doesn’t. What we know, and part of what your mother found out, is that the emperor values talented people. Once they are in his service it is hard for them to leave, and it seems your family had some valuable talents.”
“You think my mother… no, my grandparents were killed because they left the emperor’s service?”
“It’s a possibility. One of many.”
Joesal cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “It is not unknown for generations of a family to remain in the emperor’s service, those of unusual talent, that is. Your mother and now you have shown an aptitude for crafting. I would imagine that the empire wouldn’t take lightly to losing a valuable resource. Perhaps the emperor’s agents would track them down and ask them to return, and perhaps others would be interested as well. Who could say?”
Caldan pondered the master’s words, nodding slowly. Though he found it hard to believe anyone would kill someone who simply refused to work for them, he had heard of appalling incidents occurring on the mainland.
“So,” he said, “you think someone might come after me as well? Should I go into hiding?”
With a sigh, Rastar rubbed the back of his neck. “It didn’t help your parents, and we think it wouldn’t help you, either. You have been safe here while growing up, but if anyone is keeping track of your family then they might know you exist. A boy is no threat to anyone, but a gown man with a talent for sorcery is another story.”
“So that’s it?” asked Caldan. “A few weeks, maybe a month, then I have to leave?”
“We can’t protect you if someone comes looking for you.”
“And I wouldn’t want to put you in danger after all that you’ve done for me.”
Delife pushed the brown paper envelopes across the table towards Caldan. “We can offer you a fine set of references and a small amount of silver ducats to help you along. You know, I remember when I went off into the world as a youngster…”
“Yes, thank you, Delife,” interrupted Rastar. “I am sure Caldan will want to question you later about your travels. There is much he needs to think about and to do in the next few weeks before setting out. We c
an discuss more at a later date, once he has mulled over what we have told him. It is a great deal to take in.”
“Well, thank you for your kindness,” Caldan replied, scooping up the reference letters. “I have to go. As you said, there is much I have to think about.”
Delife stood and offered a hand to shake. “We wish you all the best, young man. Despite the circumstances, I know this experience will benefit you greatly.”
Caldan glared at the offered hand and then softened. He had known these monks most of his life. He reached across the table and grasped Delife’s hand briefly but firmly. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Chapter Three
Caldan woke suddenly, his bare chest heaving and covered in sweat. He felt like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. A trickle ran from his brow and into his open mouth. The salty taste helped anchor him back to reality. With heavy breaths, he heaved himself up for a moment and then fell back, lacking the strength to stay upright. He shook his head to clear the feeling of dread that remained from the nightmare.
Even after so many years, time had not faded the memories of that day. Fire and blood. Ten years since he came home to find flames consuming their house. The front door was wide open and through the doorway we could see both his parents and his sister inside, lying on the floor, motionless. Try as he might to reach them, the heat was too much; he couldn’t even get close to the opening. He remembered crying, the smoke, a metallic smell.
He doubted he’d ever forget that day.
Late afternoon light shone crimson through the window, giving it a strange appearance, as if the light filtered through a pall of smoke. From Caldan’s position on the bed, hands clasped under his head, there wasn’t much to see. He had dwelt in this room for the last ten years. Sparse furnishings and a lack of personal belongings marked the chamber as somewhere he lived but definitely not a home. The only obvious personal memento was a figure of the Wayfarer carved from smoky quartz on the window ledge. He had purchased the carving a while ago on a whim from one of the more expensive purveyors of Dominion figures in the city. It had stood by the window gathering dust and watching him ever since. Though now he had his family’s trinket, safely tucked away in one of his shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe, along with the bone ring. He didn’t want to carry it with him until he could secure it with a chain, as the masters had suggested.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) Page 4