by Gregory Heal
Jen took the bottle and before she started sipping, she said, “Let me guess: water?”
“Precisely.” Victor was once again Mystra Huxley, her terramancy instructor. “Water is the key to life.” He led her to the man-made pond off to the left side of the arena. He knelt down and swished the placid water around with two fingers, sending ripples in every direction. “It is constant and dynamic, never still . . . fluid and responsive, always adapting. Terramancers strive to emulate these qualities themselves.”
Jen finished her water, not realizing how thirsty she had been, and placed the bottle down on a flat rock next to the pond. “All hydrated!”
Victor nodded. “Let’s begin with a simple exercise that’ll help you sense the presence of the water.” He told Jen to stay where she was while he walked around to the other side of the pond, then called to her, “We’ll start with a slow, swaying motion. I’ll demonstrate, and when you’re ready, fall into rhythm with me.”
Victor stuck his staff into the soft grass and swirled his hand above it; its orb glowed a light blue. In one fluid motion, he swung his arms forward like he was unrolling a tablecloth, then retracted them while curling his fingers into his palms. He fell into a rhythm, repeating that motion over and over again as a wave formed in the center of the pond, matching his movements exactly. “Push and pull. Push and pull. You see what I’m doing, Jen?”
Jen acknowledged that she did, noticing how Victor commanded the wave to roll forward then backward. She then copied his stance and waited for the right moment to join into Victor’s dance with the wave.
“Remember to focus on the individual hydrogen and oxygen molecules that make up the water. You can control them like you did with the air molecules.” Victor nodded, implying that he was ready for her to join him.
Jen closed her eyes and slowly breathed out as she pinpointed the individual molecules in the wave and noticed how smoothly they were moving under Victor’s influence. She reached out and felt them respond to her touch as a slight tickling sensation danced across her fingertips. With her eyes still shut, she could feel her nexus reawaken. Opening her hyper-focused eyes, she saw her charm illuminate with the same color. Feeling confident that she had control of the molecules now, she swayed in rhythm with Victor, feeling like an interpretive dancer, as she watched the wave grow a few inches in height.
Jen was completely focused. All she could sense was the water in the deep pond and her nexus’s power flowing through her charm. Curious to see if Victor was willing to take it to the next level, she brought her hands well above her head, watching in glee as the wave defied gravity and rose as a shimmering wall right before her eyes. Then, she made a circular motion with her index fingers and the wall of water effortlessly changed into two twirling cyclones, between which she could see Victor.
Jen noticed he had stopped his spell and she was the only one controlling the water. That sudden realization caused her to lose focus. Her eyes stopped glowing as she let the long watery spires crash toward the surface, sending forth a large wave in every direction. Not wanting to drench herself and Victor, she panicked and opened her hands toward the miniature tidal waves.
A weird crackling noise accompanied a waft of cold air that raised goosebumps on her arms. A large wall of clear ice loomed over her, frozen in place.
Jen heard a muted sound on the other side, and dread shot through her heart.
“Vic? Vic?!”
She bolted around the ice sculpture she had unintentionally made to check on her mentor’s safety, and was relieved to see him unharmed and laughing. With her hand on her chest, she sighed and walked toward Victor.
“What’s so funny?”
Victor leaned on his staff, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You just skipped ahead five lessons. You completely froze every square millimeter of this pond!” Victor slowly clapped his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.
Jen laughed with him, then scratched her head. “I don’t know how I even did it.”
“You let your instincts take over. That’s an important lesson to learn, no matter what kind of sorcerer you are.” Victor removed his staff from the ground and finished with, “Always trust your instincts.”
Jen mulled over what Victor had said, then conceded, “I don’t think my instincts can thaw out the ice, though.”
“That’s fine. You’ll melt it during your last lesson for today.” Victor pointed the tip of his staff at the last element Jen had yet to control: fire.
Jen reluctantly looked at the flickering fire as that traumatic childhood memory flashed before her eyes—just as it did in the Chimera Course. She absentmindedly tucked her right arm to her chest, remembering how terrifying it was.
“I-I think the pond can melt on its own. It’s pretty warm in here,” Jen stammered as she reluctantly followed Victor toward the fire section. She shuddered, finally stopping a few feet short of the charred ground that was strewn with hot coals.
He scrunched his eyebrows and looked at the frozen, curling wave behind him. “It’ll take days to fully melt. Besides, this’ll be a perfect target on which to test your fire spells.” He paused, seeing Jen’s uneasy expression, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey . . . you can do this, Jen. Just like how you overcame the Chimera Course.”
Jen was quiet for a moment. Seeing the burning coals—feeling their heat—transported Jen back to that night. The night she was burned. She bit her lip and looked at the ground.
“I haven’t told anybody this, but . . . I was burned once. Badly,” she confessed softly.
Victor turned his body so he was looking straight at her, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s just . . .” She trailed off, then forged ahead. “When I was a little girl, a neighbor of ours was hosting a party one night. They had a nice telescope set up in the backyard to view the stars and full moon, and liters of warm apple cider.” Jen grimaced. “I wanted to roast marshmallows, so my parents took me out to the firepit. Right as I stepped up to the fire, a gust of wind blew the flames right into me.” Jen rubbed one of the spots that had been burned. “It was pretty bad. Third-degree burns along my right arm and all the way up to the right side of my face.” She shivered, reliving the experience. “I went into shock, and my parents sped me to the hospital. Once there, they learned that I had been so badly burned that I needed to have skin grafts. It was too painful to move, let alone breathe, so I stayed the night. I remember waking up the following morning to a room full of doctors and nurses staring at me. They showed me to a mirror and, to my surprise, it looked as if I hadn’t been burned at all. I was completely healed.”
She looked up at Victor and placed her hand over his, which was still resting on her shoulder.
“They called it a medical miracle. No one could explain how I was able to heal so quickly. I couldn’t understand it, either . . . but now it’s clear to me that the Ring of Lancaster healed me while I was asleep. I can still remember the pain, though. So intense . . .”
Victor enveloped her in a hug and said, “That’s horrible, Jenny. I’m so sorry that happened to you.” He gently pulled away, holding her at arm’s length and looking into her eyes. “We can focus on fire another day, if you’d like.”
Jen drew in a long breath, then quickly let it out. “No. We have to speed up my training so I’m ready for whatever Draconex and his Dark Watchers have in store for us. What do I need to do?”
Victor looked ahead at the fire section. “We’re going to make our way to the central basin . . . barefoot.” He removed his long cloak as he spoke.
“Barefoot?” Jen shook her head after scanning the large area between her and the basin, which was densely packed with glowing pieces of hot coal. “Why can’t I cast an air spell and float over to the tiles right next to the fire?”
Victor finished unlacing his boots and looked up at her. “That would defeat the purpose of learning to control fire, but you are on the right track.” He slid his boots off and stood up. “And you have
nothing to worry about. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.” Victor surveyed the hot pathway. “It’s more of a mental block than a physical one. That’s why non-magical people have been known to calmly walk across hot coals and not get burned.”
“Those people are crazy,” Jen declared adamantly, feeling like her heart could not race any faster.
“They might be, but you have your nexus protecting you. Come on, take my hand.” He extended his hand and waited.
Rolling her eyes, Jen slid off her shoes and grabbed his outstretched hand. “Don’t let go.”
“You know I won’t,” Victor reassured her. “Make a straight line to the basin and focus your attention on the coals. Fire is comprised of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, sulfur, and nitrogen, and its molecules can stay burning for years thanks to the chemical reaction known as combustion. What I need you to do is to negate its combustion effect by adding more oxygen molecules into and around the coals so the temperature drops within a safe range to walk on.”
Focusing, Jen visualized her path toward the basin and pinpointed the oxygen molecules above the glowing bed of coals.
“Ready?” Victor asked, gently squeezing her hand.
Jen nervously curled her toes around the grass blades at the edge of the fire section and repeated, “Ready.”
Both took an exaggerated step forward, and Jen immediately felt the heat from the ground, causing her adrenaline to spike and her nexus to shut down. She lost her balance and leaned on Victor for support, all the while keeping her foot safely off the bed of coals.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Jen repeated, shaking her head vigorously as she placed her foot back on the green grass. She was squeezing Victor’s arm so tightly she thought his radius and ulna bones would snap, but for the life of her, she could not ease up.
“You can do this, Jenny,” Victor said evenly, barely grimacing at Jen’s grip. “Control the fire—don’t let it control you.”
He might as well have been speaking in a different language, because his encouragements were not getting through to Jen. She tried making her breathing less erratic. Finally, she opened her eyes and stared at the coals in front of her. Holding her breath, she held her bare foot over the coals, this time even closer than before, but she could not bring herself to touch the embers.
“I just . . . can’t,” Jen breathed.
Looking toward the Arbor Sacré, Victor said, “You know what? You’ve done a great job today. Let’s call it and try again tomorrow.” He put a hand on hers for both physical and emotional support.
All Jen could do was nod. She knew how important it was to not waste any time, but she needed to first overcome this debilitating fear of fire that had been following her around for her whole life. Sighing, she stepped backward, away from the blisteringly hot coals.
“Take your time,” she heard Victor say before he asked, “Would you like me to walk you to your hut?”
Jen shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine.” She glanced back at him and put on her best I’m okay, don’t worry about me smile.
“I’ll be with Skarmor at the griffin stables if you need me. You’ve made so much progress today.” He rubbed her shoulder before making his way out of the Pentarena.
Quickly, Jen became the only person in the Pentarena, feeling small and weak.
Alone, she stared intently at the basin that held the mystical eternal flame—her training objective. As the sun started to dip in the sky behind her, Jen wondered if she would ever get over her fear and master the element of fire.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Draconex waited in the interrogation room, his patience getting extremely thin.
How much longer would he put up with Charles Lancaster?
Ever since Draconex took control of the Dark Watchers, he’d purposefully increased the frequency of visits with Charles, hoping to learn the Halostone’s location quicker. Unfortunately, he underestimated the trauma Charles had incurred during the explosion and hadn’t received an iota’s worth of actionable information. Instead, he was forced to go after his long-lost daughter and the Ring of Lancaster, which he came to discover she no longer had. The aggravation that his meticulous plans had been subverted made the scar on his face throb.
To calm himself, Draconex pulled a vial of dark blood from the folds of his cloak and swallowed it with an intense appetite. He shuddered in delight as the smooth, coppery taste washed over his taste buds, down his throat, and into his stomach, quenching his thirst and honing his senses.
His pointed ears twitched as he heard the sound of unlocking latches.
The heavy door opened on rusty hinges to reveal two guards dragging a shackled Charles Lancaster into the interrogation chamber. The years since his capture had not been the least bit kind to the omnimancer. Charles was easily forty pounds underweight, with long, shaggy jet-black hair and a beard belonging to a man who hadn’t shaved or showered in years. His clothes were torn to shreds and his feet bore thick calluses that had formed from lack of footwear. Draconex’s scar flushed deeper when he set eyes on his emaciated prisoner, unexpectedly unconscious.
“What have you done to him?” the dark sorcerer demanded.
“He was being uncooperative, sir,” the tall guard breathed.
Draconex was losing his patience. “Do you know when he will wake?”
The guards exchanged dumbfounded glances before one stammered, “M-my best guess?”
“Rouse him!” Draconex shouted, towering over both guards, then became eerily quiet. “Now.”
The guards clamped their mouths shut and nodded their heads incessantly before clumsily plopping the limp prisoner on a chair and charging their rings with their respective nexus. Draconex could have easily woken up Charles, but he liked pulling rank and instilling fear in his peons. He watched as the short guard rubbed his ring fingers together before placing one on each side of Charles’s sternum. Taking a deep breath, the guard willed his totem rings to illuminate and expel an electrical charge. Like a defibrillator, the jolt shocked Charles awake.
A smile curled Draconex’s lips, reveling in the pain inflicted to the shell of Charles Lancaster. It was hard to believe that he had once been friends with this shadow of a person, back when they were both tenderfeet.
Children make mistakes, Draconex thought.
After Charles’s eyes fluttered open, he locked his gaze on Draconex, who cocked his head to the side in mild surprise, sensing a change within the amnesiac omnimancer. Draconex slithered and stopped right in front of Charles’s face, trying to intimidate him. Charles didn’t even blink.
The guards noticed it too. “He could still be recovering from the shock, sir,” said the first guard.
Draconex sneered at the one who talked, baring his sharp teeth. He looked again at Charles. “Welcome back.”
Charles stared through Draconex, acting as though he didn’t hear him. The dark sorcerer stood to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back. “I think we’re making progress. Pray that I’m not wrong.”
If he didn’t move his chest up and down to breathe, Charles could’ve been mistaken for a statue. Draconex audibly exhaled all of the air from his lungs, feeling his blood begin to boil.
“What . . . is . . . your . . . name?” he slowly asked.
Charles pursed his lips and several seconds passed.
“Name!” Draconex demanded, this time louder.
“Prisoner 51493,” Charles stated.
With the speed of a coiled-up snake, Draconex pulled out a butterfly knife and, masterfully flicking it open, sunk it deep into Charles’s left thigh. He felt the knife blade nick his prisoner’s femur bone, sending a jolt of insatiable pleasure through his body. Charles flinched as he stared down at his leg. Draconex was hoping he would scream out in pain, but was disappointed when he saw Charles stay silent and close his eyes.
“Name,” Draconex whispered menacingly. He twisted the knife, tearing more muscles in the process.
; A single tear, followed by a shuddering breath. “You say that I’m Charles Lancaster.”
Draconex scoffed in frustration. “That’s because you are him, the last mystra omnimancer in all of the realms.”
“You’re mistaken. How can I be this Charles Lancaster if I can’t remember who I am?” Charles retorted, a look of utter indignance upon his face.
Draconex turned away and rubbed his temples with bony fingers, not bothering to pull out his knife from Charles’s thigh. “You sustained a severe head trauma when you and your wife were caught in an explosion on Ocuul twenty years ago. You survived by casting a protection spell, but the blast left you in a coma and your wife dead,” he said, turning to stare intently at Charles’s face.
Charles’s eyebrows raised but a millimeter—enough to be noticed by Draconex. A surge of excitement flowed through him. There it was, a flicker of recognition in those steel-blue eyes of his former friend.
The first real result in years. This changes everything, thought Draconex.
Switching tactics, he said aloud, “You don’t even remember your beloved wife? That’s probably a good thing, considering how she died.”
The Dark Watcher leader never took his eyes off Charles, who was visibly flushed and continued to stare at the ground. Draconex began to pace.
“The explosion was too much for her meager powers, so much so that it ripped her apart, but only enough for the real Charles Lancaster to hold her as she died in his arms.”
Draconex stopped right in front of his cuffed prisoner, pausing for effect.
“You can’t imagine the dread I felt when I heard of that tragic event . . . after all, I courted her when we were younger.”
That caused Charles to shoot a malicious look at Draconex, who let the side of his mouth twitch.
He’s beginning to remember.
“We were perfect for each other.” Draconex bit his lower lip and looked away, feigning sorrow. “But she ended up choosing an entitled, conceited, weak imp.”
Hoping for a reaction, Draconex turned back around once he heard the metal legs of the chair scrape the stone floor to see Charles seizing, fighting against his restraints.