The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  Her footsteps carried her, while her mind swam sadly back and forth. Much of her understood the situation better now, but there was no going back to fix it. There was no way to repair the damage that had been done. This was a pain she would have to endure.

  The room before her was much brighter than the ones she kept hiding in. She had visited this place a number of times, seeking a reason for her recent flood of unwanted memories. The chamber was brightly lit and enwrapped on all sides with chambers that faced the central column. She knew she had awoken in one of these rooms several days ago and she understood that the resurrection of her pain had begun here, too. Yet as she entered the area, as always, her thoughts turned away from her own turmoil. It was one of the reasons she kept returning.

  The chamber itself was loaded with healing energies. Walking in to it was uplifting in its way, but she was starting to feel an emptiness with the slight euphoria, for it never lasted once she walked away. No, her reality came back to her outside these walls. But still she was lured within.

  Over the past few days, there were numerous people engaged in their own Trials. She recognized them as mages from their own small army, but she kept her head down and never spoke to them if they emerged in her presence. Most of them would spend hours or days thrashing about in whatever was presented to them, but all of them eventually left.

  Save one.

  It wasn’t a mage she visited. It was Gabrion. The protector. The one she had come to rely on without realizing it. He was a stronger version of her Joral. In many ways, he was what she envisioned Joral could have been as a man, or, rather, what she lamented he should have been. Nothing deterred the warrior from his quest. Not for long, anyway. When his hope for Mira waned, he still pushed onward, determined to find her, living or not. He would not rest until she was with him again.

  She ached with the thought, for she wanted such a man for herself. In her teenage frivolity, Joral was that man to her, though they were both too young to know they had much more growing up to do. But all of her childhood fantasies of a husband had been of someone as strong as this. Someone who fought for what he believed in, without fail.

  “So why are you still trapped in there?” she whispered, touching her hand to the thick glass that kept him enclosed. His body was at rest now, which was a welcome relief. She had seen him several times while he was in some sort of battle, jumping and twisting about. It was too much commotion for her right now. She needed peace and tranquility until she could find her center once again.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there before he moved. Slowly, he flipped over onto his back. His days of thrashing about with his shield and sword had torn his clothing in many places, but any wounds on his body had been healed by the energies in the room. She caught herself trying to catch random glimpses of skin as he turned about, wondering how it would feel if she could touch him. She tried casting the thoughts away, but they were persistent.

  Nor could she turn away as he launched into another aspect of his Trial. Rolling up onto his knee, Gabrion bent his head low in homage to an unseen power. She wondered who it was, but the glimpses that appeared on the walls offered no suggestion. The room filled with snippets of Gabrion’s recollections, and she always felt a wave of warmth when her own visage floated by.

  Two other women in particular appeared throughout her visits to see him. One, she assumed, was Gabrion’s mother. She had a strength to her, as well, and though she wasn’t classically beautiful, her inner power radiated like sunshine. Kitalla regretted that such a woman was gone from the world. Like so many others.

  The other woman who appeared in the images had to be Mira. The girl was pretty, Kitalla had to admit, and it made it harder for her to witness the moments that flashed by. There was usually laughter on the girl’s face with such innocence it made Kitalla’s heart ache. Yet there were also moments where the girl was curled in terror, with tears pouring from squinted eyes. Always at those times, Gabrion would pull her close and comfort her.

  Watching these scenes unfold again filled Kitalla with conflict. She wanted to take Mira’s place and be coddled by the warm farm boy. Yet at the same time, she despised the girl for taking all of Gabrion’s focus for herself. The tenderness in his projected memories were always of Mira. Kitalla and Gabrion had shared some tender times, too, but they were never represented in what she saw.

  “Your quest really is just for her, isn’t it?” she asked under her breath. Something within her tensed with pain and she grabbed her chest in response. “With all we’ve been through, I’m not there with you, am I?”

  Footsteps scraped up behind her, intentionally loud. “Kitalla, you’re here,” Dariak said softly.

  She shook her head. “I was leaving.”

  “We have to try to help him, Kitalla. He has been in there for too long.”

  She turned her head slightly so her words were aimed at Dariak, but she refused to turn and look at him. “I’m not his protector.”

  Dariak frowned at the remark. “Kitalla, I could use your help with this. Please, let’s do this together.”

  Her hair swished gently from side to side as she shook her head again. “I told you, I was leaving.”

  The way she said it irked him. The words cut through him in a way he couldn’t explain. “Kitalla…”

  Her chin sank until it rested on her chest and then she turned away, walking slowly toward the exit without meeting Dariak’s gaze. “If you fix him, tell him I wish him well.”

  “You’ll tell him yourself,” Dariak retorted. When she didn’t respond, he stepped forward and grabbed her. “You’re not leaving!”

  At last she met his eyes and he could see the anguish overwhelming her. Then she drew in a deep breath of air and a hollow mask fell upon her. She lashed out with her fist, knocking the wind out of the mage, crumpling him to the floor.

  “Stop me,” she challenged sarcastically, dropping a leather-wrapped object in front of him. It was her shard of jade. Without a backward glance, she stalked from the room, winding her way through and out of Magehaven.

  Chapter 19

  The Mage Council

  There was nothing Dariak could do to stop Kitalla from leaving. Even as the healing energies swirled around him, he felt that she needed to go. Keeping her would only make her resent them all and she would truly be lost forever. Perhaps she only needed some time apart.

  He wished he knew the contents of her Trial, but with the internal method the mages were using, there was no telling, only speculation from the projected images. Even the mages powering the Trials had no knowledge of the actual inner workings that took place. It never used to be that way. Previously, the Trials were well-controlled by the mages, who took active part in administering them. The mages who supplied their strength through the pinnacle diamond once had some influence. But no longer.

  Dariak stood before the rest of the Council, feeling more like a visitor than a past member. His own mage robes were tattered in places and ripped along the seams, acting more like a pocket-filled cape, the deep crimson color of the fabric a misleading indicator of his strongest element. He wished he could have procured a brown robe for this occasion, but in the end, he didn’t think it would make the argument any easier.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Council,” he called once his presence was officially announced. “I come today to discuss with you the procedure in use among the Trials.”

  “What have you to say, Master Dariak?” asked a bored-sounding, older member named Kerrish. “Surely you understand that in your absence, you abdicated your voice with the Council in such matters.”

  Dariak kept his poise. “I did not realize that pursuing my father’s legacy would render me silent among my colleagues here.” The comment had its desired effect; a number of the older mages fidgeted in their seats.

  “Go on, then,” Kerrish prompted. “Better we get through this.”

  Pyron had warned Dariak of resistance, but he hadn’t even begun and they were chal
lenging him. “Days long ago, this tower was far grander than any other in any land. From here we could oversee the affairs of the nearby king and attend to the defense of this kingdom through the powers we extend to the border. We have secured the southern lands from intrusion as well, and no forces ever attempt to breach our walls. Within our own home, we have precautions in place to protect ourselves from harm. But I wonder at the new procedures.

  “Upon our arrival, my friends were taken from me and cast instantly into the Trials without so much as a request for their names. Since when have we cast aside humanity to treat every visitor like vermin?”

  Farrenok leaned forward in his seat, his eyes darting from side to side. He was younger than Dariak and his lack of worldly experience made him a curious choice for the Council, but he had apparently proven himself through the gauntlet of Trials in order to earn his seat. “Things are different, Master Dariak.” He stammered slightly. “Even when you left you knew there was a change in the air.”

  “It was why I left,” Dariak agreed. “We all sensed a shift in the energies. It was our time to act. To strike out and gather the shards of jade so that we could reunite them and find peace for our realm.”

  “Our lands are cursed,” sputtered an old mage, Lorresh. “There will never be peace here. Better we turn our energies toward what we can.” Some of the others rapped their hands on the table in agreement.

  “With attitudes like that,” Dariak reprimanded, “you’ll only prove it to be correct. But I have another belief.”

  Kerrish yawned loudly. “We’ve heard your diatribes all before, young master. Find the jades, bring about a semblance of peace, and somehow convince the Kallisorian fools that we can all work together if they’d only let mages into their midst. And we’ve choked over the arguments that have followed, that if we did put mages into their midst, then they will assume they are spies and they will rebel. It is an endless cycle and we are done entertaining the idea.”

  Dariak’s jaw set. “You’re right about one thing, anyway. It’s an endless cycle the way it is now.”

  Farrenok saw an opportunity. “And we daresay that the feeble-minded mages of Kallisor really made certain that the citizens of Pindington will yearn for mages among them.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Quereth shouted from the audience area. A silencing spell was immediately placed over him to prevent any other outbursts and he sank back to his seat in utter outrage.

  Dariak had warned the mages not to speak under any circumstances. “I apologize for my friend’s outburst, dear Council members. Were it not for the work of Quereth and the other mages with us, all of Pindington would have been lost to the unleashed power of the lightning jade.”

  “Ha!” Farrenok barked. “And who was it that released that energy in the first place? Answer me that, mage,” he called to Quereth whose silence shroud was lifted.

  “It was our brethren, I regret to say,” the old mage answered honestly. “Yet it was not his intent to bring down the tower or to free the wild energies into the air.”

  “Intent or not, his actions were of severe consequence,” Farrenok said. “In your land, magic is basically outlawed, isn’t it? Yet it was magic that brought the tower down and killed a large percent of the populace.”

  “It is an error we can fix,” Quereth assured. “Until that moment, we were working well with the people.”

  “A lovely sentiment,” Farrenok scoffed. “But people cannot unsee something like the fall of that tower. Wild magic like that leaves a lasting impression.”

  Dariak was trying to maintain his composure, but the arrogance was getting to him. “I recall a time, Master Farrenok, when wild magic was a common problem of a certain mage. Yet he overcame it and now sits upon the Council itself.”

  Rage flushed the young mage’s face and his twitching worsened. “You dare!”

  “Gentlemen!” Pyron intervened at last. His voice boomed over the muttering din, magically amplified.

  Dariak spoke into the brief pause that followed, cutting Farrenok off before he could speak. “I only raise the point to remind us that we can overcome all adversities when we set our minds to it.”

  Kerrish saw that Farrenok was fuming and so he responded. “Very well, Master Dariak. Let us say that the irreparable damage in Pindington can be overcome.” His tone clearly questioned the possibility. “It is only one step upon the mountain. How do you plan on convincing the king himself, who persecutes our kind in his land?”

  Dariak knew a question like it would arise at some point. It was one he had been thinking about through all of his journey in Kallisor. “I admit that it will not be easy. But the kings of Kallisor have always vested time into the research of magical powers. They have underground societies from which they pull experienced mages into their fold. They established the mage compartments in the Prisoner’s Tower so they could learn from other mages. The people know that the ban against magic is a farce, when it comes down to it. They adhere to the principles because their king says it is so.

  “But there are many who explore the magic anyway, and they will be the voices within the land that will support our call. I have met many of them along the way, and I have seen that they are respected by their fellows. When they join the ranks of the people around the nation, the king will see that it is pointless to deny his people.”

  Kerrish offered a slow, deep, mocking clap. “Beautiful sentiment, Master Dariak. If only the pride of man could be so easily swayed. His pride runs generations deep and you will see that you will fail, just li—” He stopped himself with a cough.

  It took a moment for the unspoken phrase to echo in Dariak’s mind. He looked around and a number of the other mages averted their gazes when he peered at them. Then it all fell into place. “You think I will fail… like my father failed, you were going to say.”

  With a sneer, Kerrish realized he had erred. “He did fail, did he not?”

  A dead silence fell over the room. Dariak struggled to hold his emotions in check. He had never heard a Hathren mage speak ill of his father. Now he was surrounded by several who thrived off what they had learned from Delminor’s research, yet still they were tagging him as a failure. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  When he composed himself enough, he spoke clearly and succinctly. “Since my return, all I have heard is how things have changed in the past year. I see that procedures are not the only changes.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Very well then. I will make two requests of the Mage Council and then I will be on my way.”

  “The Council will hear your requests,” Pyron said in his most official tone.

  “First, I would ask that my companion, Gabrion, be released from his Trial.”

  “That cannot be done,” Pyron denied. “The risks are too great.”

  But Dariak would not be swayed. “Then I will assist in his removal so that my failure will also be at my cost.”

  “It can’t be done,” Farrenok sputtered. “You will destroy the empowerers and your companion all in one.”

  Dariak bore into the youth’s eyes and quelled any further reactions, but he spoke aloud for the rest of the gathering. “The empowerers can leave their posts. I will replace them. From there I will do what is necessary to free my friend.”

  “It is suicidal,” Kerrish argued.

  Dariak turned a cold gaze on him. “Only if I fail.” He waited for Kerrish to challenge him again, but the determination in his eyes balked the older man. Dariak turned back to Pyron. “Once we are ready to leave, I will require the remaining pieces of jade for my quest.”

  “They are not yours to take,” said another mage among the Council.

  “They are mine by right,” Dariak said. “You base all your work on my father’s legacy. I will have those shards for my own work. As I learn more, I will bring my knowledge back to the Council for your use, as was always the intention in the past.”

  “Bold words,” Farrenok murmured. “And no way to prove their worth.” />
  “It is true that things have changed here, but until my departure, I was a well-standing member of the Council. It is with that word that I make this vow. I pray that trust has not left us among our own kind.” Having said his piece, he clasped his hands behind him and waited for the Council to deliberate.

  Pyron swept his hands about, tossing a bit of dust into the air. The tiny particles flashed in numerous colors and swirled around the Council table as the mages discussed their thoughts behind the silencing force field. No one on the other side of the table could hear, but they could still see the silhouettes of the mages raising arms and apparently shouting at one another.

  Dariak held his place and did not flinch or look at the assembly behind him. The mages who had joined him from Kallisor sat transfixed at the wild display of magic, but they realized that it wasn’t actually wild at all. Each fleck of glowing dust represented opinions and thoughts of the mages arguing behind the screen. The colors swayed from one hue to another as the tide tipped in favor of Dariak’s demands, and against them. After a while, the dust fluttered to the floor. The decision was made.

  Pyron stood up with the proclamation. “Master Dariak, the Council has decided upon your requests. In the case of your companion within the Trial, the Council feels that it would be prudent to discover whether a participant can indeed be removed safely from the challenge. However, we feel that you will not be able to accomplish this task on your own. We will ask for volunteers to empower the session.”