Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  The gnome stalked across the library to the stairs that led to the second level. Justan followed. “Vincent, what did the council say about me?”

  Vincent looked back with a hint of irritation. “How should I know what the council is saying? This library needs far too much work for me to keep up on those kinds of events.” Justan grasped Vincent’s arm, stopping him in mid stride, and twirled the gnome around to face him.

  “Vincent, listen to me. You were just speaking to me at the table and you said that you had been looking at the minutes for a high council meeting and they were speaking about me!”

  The gnomes jaw dropped. “Never have I been so insulted! Never would I pry into the affairs of the council! That is a sneaky and terrible thing for a person to d-”

  “The third hour of the pre lunch meeting, subparagraph four, line two.” he reminded.

  “Oh yes.” The gnome’s face once again split into that wide grin. Vincent looked around conspiratorially. “Well, the council is considering making you an apprentice early!”

  “W-what?” Justan sputtered in surprise. “Make me an apprentice? Why?” Most cadets took at least three years to advance to the stage of apprentice.

  “All they said was that there was some urgency because they had received information from someone they trust and I couldn’t read any further, I was so excited for you.” The gnome reached up to tug on his nose again and realized he had a book in his hand.

  “What is this doing here? Fool students never put these books away properly!” he cried and headed back up the stairs to put the book away, mumbling to himself. Justan shook his head and smiled as he watched his tall, thin frame continue up the stairs.

  “Thank you, Vincent. That is good news,” he said, though he knew the gnome wouldn’t hear him. He sat back down at his table and pondered what the gnome had told him.

  Once again, the wizards had plans for him. Why did they think him so special? Sure, he was in an unusual situation, but he didn’t feel that he had done anything in particular to warrant such unique treatment. He supposed that other students had risen to the level of apprentice just as fast, but from the very beginning, the professors had treated him differently than the other students.

  Justan knew that his talent was a mystery and had used that as an excuse in his mind before, but this latest news set him on edge. Valtrek had spoken of having great plans for him. Was he behind this? Was this a ruse to get him to stay longer than his obligatory two years?

  He felt a sudden tugging deep within his mind. It was Gwyrtha and there was a deep urgency to her thoughts. Justan was frightened. She had never tried to reach him like this before.

  He couldn’t speak with her in the library. There were too many students around. He would get quite the rumors going if he zoned out there. But it couldn’t wait. What disaster was befalling her? He fled from the library and took a side door out of the RuneTower. It was a little used exit that opened to the MageGardens.

  The gardens were a place of splendor during the day, filled with colorful flowers, bushes, and ornamental trees growing around quiet, wandering paths. At night there was a romantic mystery to the place. The wizards frowned upon twilight trysts, so they kept it lit with glowing orbs set on pedestals here and there along the paths.

  Despite the lights, there were shadowy places for those who wanted to find them. Justan knew of just such a place. Not far away was a bench placed under a fernwillow tree. The feathery fronds drooped down from the branches high above to touch the ground and only a small amount of light found its way through.

  Justan ducked under the branches and quickly sat down. He blocked out the heady smells of the flowering plants and dove into his mind to pull up his contact with Gwyrtha. He didn’t have to go very deep. Gwyrtha was right there waiting for him. He pushed aside her normal happy greetings and asked her what was so urgent.

  To his surprise, despite an overwhelming feeling of excitement, there was nothing in her emotions to indicate that anything was wrong. He was relieved that she was alright, but more than a little irritated that she had called him like that if it wasn’t an emergency. He dug deeper into her thoughts and could sense that she was cold and wet. She had been swimming. What have you been up to, Gwyrtha? he asked, and a flood of images came in response. His heart plummeted. She had swum over the river. Gwyrtha’s excitement was because she was on her way to see him.

  Gwyrtha, no! You must go back to the forest. You can’t see me yet. He tried to instill a great sense of command in his sending.

  All he received back was puzzlement. Gwyrtha’s equivalent of Why?

  He tried to give her all of the reasons that he could think of and used every technique he had tried in the past. He sent logical reasoning and loving pleas, but she still wouldn’t listen. Finally, he just demanded that she obey him and return to the elves.

  No, she answered with finality. I come. Then she pulled out of his thoughts.

  “She cut me off!” he said aloud. “Can she do that?” He tried several more times to contact her but she ignored him. Justan put his face in his hands and moaned. What was he to do? His promise to the elves was being betrayed and there was nothing he could do about it. What was he going to do when she showed up? What would happen if the wizards found out about her?

  He was bitterly searching his mind for something that he could do to change her mind, when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Excuse me. I was just passing through enjoying the evening breeze when I heard something. Are you all right?” A man was holding aside the fernwillow fronds to peer inside.

  Through the dim light, Justan saw a neatly trimmed beard and brown hair. The man was dressed in normal attire for the school, with a plain brown robe, and sandaled feet. Justan didn’t recognize him, but he exuded such a sense of confidence and power that Justan knew he was a wizard.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt your stroll. There's nothing wrong. I'm just sitting here and thinking,” Justan lied, hoping that the wizard would continue on his way. The man didn’t get the hint. He stepped through the fronds to join Justan.

  “And a fine night it is for it, too!” The wizard took a deep breath and sighed. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  Actually it was the last thing Justan wanted, but he shook his head and scooted over on the bench. He wanted to leave, but something in the presence of the wizard made him feel obligated to stay.

  “It has been many years since I last walked this garden.” The wizard took a seat beside him. “Ahh, I had forgotten just how peaceful it was here. I hope that it won’t be too long before I am able to visit again.”

  “So you have been traveling?” Justan said, making some small talk until he could think up an excuse to leave.

  “Oh yes. Here and there. I’m always about some pressing bit of business or another.”

  Justan guessed that the man was one of the wizards that were always off on errands for the council. Arcon had told him that there were hundreds of wizards out on council business at any one time. Some were on fact-finding missions, while others were looking for student prospects. There were even rumors that the school had its hands deep into the politics of the lands and that wizards were influencing events everywhere.

  Normally Justan would have been quite interested at the prospect of conversing with such an individual, but too much was going on. Despite the tales Justan knew this man had to tell, he really wasn't in the mood to talk.

  “Well, it has been really nice meeting you, Professor . . .”

  The man snorted. “Bah! Don’t call me that. It seems like ages since I actually taught anyone here at the school. Just call me John. No one else is listening.”

  Justan stuck out his hand and the wizard shook it warmly. “Nice to meet you, John. My name is-”

  “I know who you are, Justan son of Faldon the Fierce,” the man said with a smile. “One can’t go three feet in any direction within this school and not hear your name. The council had much to say ab
out you.”

  “They did?” Justan was taken aback.

  “Yes indeed. Truth be told, I actually came out here in the garden hoping to find you.” Justin distantly felt that he should be alarmed at that statement, but he didn’t sense anything malicious in the man. In fact, he found a strange comfort in his very presence.

  “But how would you know to look for me here? I rarely come down into the gardens.”

  John chuckled. “It was actually quite easy. For one who knows how to look, a person with talents such as yours shines like a beacon.”

  “Talents like mine?” What could this man possibly know about his abilities?

  “Talents like yours,” John confirmed. “I hear that you are having a hard time finding out where your talent lies. I happen to be quite an expert in that field.” The man stood. “Do you mind if I give it a try?”

  “Why not?” Justan shrugged. “Just about every other wizard in this place has tried.”

  John nodded his head. “Okay then, just hold still.”

  Justan did as he was told and he felt John’s hands rest upon his head. He sat there patiently, as he had a score of other times as other wizards had done whatever they had thought they needed to do. They all had their different techniques for this sort of thing.

  Then John began to speak and his voice carried such a strong sense of comfort that it made the hair on the back of Justan’s neck stand on end. He spoke for several minutes but Justan could not hold onto a single word the man said. The words seemed to go through one ear and out the other. But instead of alarm at this loss of faculties, Justan felt a tingling warmth flow from the man’s hands through his body and suddenly he was more at peace than he had been in a long time. Perhaps the words didn’t matter. The only thing he was able to recall later was the end.

  “. . . so Justan, relax and open your mind. Let peace come to your heart and know that all things will be shown to you eventually.” John removed his hands and sat beside Justan on the bench again. Justan could not make out the man’s facial expression in the dim light, but he knew that John had learned something.

  “Well?” Justan asked. “What did you find?”

  The man sighed. “There are a great many mysteries inside of you Justan and unfortunately, I cannot reveal everything.” Justan began to feel a bit disappointed. Somehow he had allowed himself to get his hopes up.

  John continued, “What I can do for you, perhaps, is help lift the veil that is over your eyes that you might find something out for yourself.” The man folded his arms and looked at Justan through the darkness. “What would you say is the biggest question in your heart right now?”

  Justan sighed. “I don’t know. Where my magic powers lie, I guess.”

  “No, there is something deeper. Let’s try this from a different angle. What has been the biggest driving force in your life, Justan?”

  “Becoming a great warrior,” Justan said without hesitation.

  “Is that still what drives you?”

  “Yes.” Justan said stubbornly, but something didn’t seem quite right about that statement and he said something he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself yet. “Well, honestly I don’t know anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, ever since I got here, things have been changing. I mean, I still want to be a warrior above all, but something about magic fascinates me. I never thought it would happen, but sometimes I think about staying here for longer than the two years I signed on for.” Justan put his face in his hands. “I’m really confused.”

  “So let me ask again. What is the biggest question in your heart right now, then?” John prodded.

  “Where do I belong?” Justan said without thinking. Tears began to come to his eyes as he realized the depth of his struggle. “My whole life all I’ve wanted was to become a warrior. I tried and tried and failed and failed, until finally, when my dream was in my grasp, it was taken away! Then I came here and I have struggled to keep my sense of purpose strong, but lately, it has been getting harder and harder for me to stay focused. I . . . I don’t know what I want anymore.” His voice trembled with emotion and John rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yes, Justan. That is the great question that plagues us all. Everyone has those same questions and sadly, few find the answer.”

  Justan was desperate. “But I need to know. What am I? Am I a warrior? Am I a wizard? Tell me, John. What path do I choose?”

  “The answer is obvious if you know how to look. In fact you have been living the truth without realizing it.” That was the last thing Justan expected to hear. John sensed his disbelief. “Here, perhaps if I show you something.”

  He reached up and plucked the end of a frond from the feathery boughs of the fernwillow tree and bent down. With the end of the frond, John traced a circle on the ground. As he traced, a line of light followed in the frond's wake.

  “This circle represents the talents each of us are born with.” He drew a line through the center of the circle. “On this side represents physical talents, while the other side represents spiritual talents. Some people are born with talents like the strength or speed or the ability to fight. Those are physical talents. Others are born with the ability to ponder great things or perhaps even learn magic. Those are spiritual talents.”

  “I see,” Justan said.

  John continued, gesturing with the frond as he went, tracing glowing figures on the ground. “Now everyone is born with some talents on either side, but most people’s abilities are weighted heavily in one side of the circle or the other.”

  “Like how most of the students here are strong magically and weak physically or how most warriors are not great strategists.” Justan surmised.

  “Correct.” John said. “But every once in a while there is someone who does not reside on either side, but instead is born here.” He pointed to the line in the center of the glowing circle. “On the edge of might and magic.”

  Justan was stunned and shaken. He began to understand. It had been in front of him the whole time and he was so stubborn that he had ignored it.

  John stood. “I wish that I could stay longer, but it is time that I go. Let me leave you with one thing. You are who you are, Justan. It is accepting who you are that is the hard part.” With that, he parted the fronds and left.

  Justan was speechless. Frantically he pushed through the fronds after the wizard. “Wait, John! I need to-” But the man was gone. Justan hurried back to the RuneTower, hoping to catch up with the man, but he was nowhere to be found.

  He debated going back to the library, but instead walked along the trails in the garden savoring the smells and the night air and reveling in his new discoveries. He had never felt as good about himself as he did at that moment. Justan vowed that if he ever saw the wizard again, he would have to do something to repay him.

  After a while, he wandered out of the gardens and headed back to the dormitories. As he passed by the well-lit center square of the school and the sight of the construction of the new clock tower, a voice hailed him. An excited Qyxal ran up. The elf’s eyes were wide and full of excitement.

  “Justan, did you hear the news?”

  “The news about what?” he asked. It was rare to see the usually reserved elf in such a mood.

  “The Prophet was here today. The rumors are flying all over the school. They say that he burst into the High Council meeting this afternoon without being announced and gave the wizards a tongue-lashing! Now no one knows what it was about, but everybody is hoping to get a glimpse of him!” Qyxal said, and then looked worried as Justan abruptly sat on a nearby bench, his face drained and pale. “Are you okay?”

  Justan sat there in the center square, unable to answer. Surely it hadn’t been . . . but surely it was. He tried to recall the man’s features, but the details slipped from his mind. He was starting to understand how his father had felt when he met the Prophet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fist awoke in a panic, sitting up so fast tha
t Squirrel flew from his sleeping spot on the ogre’s broad, hairy chest. It skittered to a stop on the floor, chattering angrily. Fist ignored his little companion and padded to the door, mace in hand. Something was wrong.

  A lot had changed in Fist’s life during the last year. His boulder-lined shelter was now truly a house, with a thatched roof and comfortable fur rugs lining the floor. Tamboor had taken many of the furs that Fist acquired and sold them, using the money to purchase Fist the things he needed for his home.

  They had chiseled away the rough spots on the boulders and filled in the gaps so that cold air couldn’t seep in. They built a chimney. Tamboor had even taught the ogre how to cook inside and bought him a pot to use.

  Fist's life had grown comfortable. He got all the action he needed hunting the wild beasts that threatened the mountain town and in particular, Tamboor’s family. He now had a fine spear and massive steel mace that Tamboor had procured for him.