《Firesoul》 Prologue The shadowed man crept toward the guard who stood dozing at the dimly lit door. A yellow sphere on an iron bracket hung next to the guard¡¯s head, casting the corridor in sickly light. The man stepped into the light and the guard startled awake. ¡°Who goes¨C¡± The man moved and there was a glint of light and a soft ring of metal. The guard¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. He brought his hand up to his throat and looked down. He fell to the ground, staining the carpet red. The door was locked. The man placed a bare hand on the cool stone brick that made up the wall and beckoned. The stone beneath his fingers stirred and rippled, as though it were coming alive. The man pushed, and the stone flexed in, and out, and swallowed the man. It caressed him like a heavy chill, and moving through it was like moving through thick, glacial water. He stepped out the other side, and the wall settled back to its original form. A single blue flame flickered in a gold brazier next to another door at the end of the corridor. Perfume and incense hung thick in the air, but it could not mask the edge of blood and fear that permeated this place. The shadowed man strode forward, the stone tiles deforming beneath his bare feet like a soft membrane, silencing his every step. As he drew closer to the richly furnished door, he could hear the sound of a woman crying out in pain, accompanied by a snap. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The shadowed man reached the end of the corridor and turned left into a dark, smaller passageway. He walked three steps, then stopped. His purpose lay here, behind this wall, eight feet to the left of the richly furnished door and blue flame. He lay his hand against the wall. Here the stone had been carved directly from the earth, and it responded to his touch with little effort. The power within him was waning, but it would be enough. The stone rippled, and the man stepped into it. That familiar heavy chill closed in around him, and he probed the stone. It responded, whispering through his fingertips, and through it he could sense the shape of the room beyond the wall and the placement of the items and trophies within it. The sounds inside the room were amplified by the stone, and the shadowed man worked to ignore them, focusing on finding what he came for. It was easy enough; the dagger hung from a nail pounded into the wall on the far side of the room. The shadowed man strained and stretched his power out through the earth, coaxing the stone beneath the dagger to stretch out and swallow the blade. If either occupant were to have looked up at that spot at that moment, they would have seen the stone bulge out and envelope the dagger. But neither of them saw. The man pulled the dagger through the stone toward him, and as soon as he had it in his hand, he swam through the wall, and stepped back out into the corridor. Inside the room, there was a sickening crack like that of a bone breaking, and a scream pierced the walls. The shadowed man grit his teeth and ignored it. The power within him was waning, and he had only a few mistleaf fruits in his hidden pouch to restore it. He concealed the emerald dagger inside his cloak, and hurried down the corridor with silent footsteps and made his escape. Chapter 1 The wind sighed, and Cor closed his eyes. He was flying. His clothes billowed out as he soared above the tree on which he had been sitting, and soon he could see the whole village and the bright red roofs of the houses and the crimson forest that surrounded it all. Over to the east, where the sun was now setting, he could see the long patch of green¨Cthe only patch of green for miles and miles¨Cthat was the Garden. Walls of raised earth, shaped and maintained by the village men and hardened by the women¡¯s enchantments, surrounded it. He flew east toward the Garden, then past it, following the narrow dirt road that wound through the forest until he saw the little pond and the hut next to it; Old Shamon¡¯s dwelling. This was the furthest he had ever gone from the Village, but he knew what lay beyond: first, more crimson forest, then still more crimson forest, and then miles upon miles more crimson forest, until, like a sudden storm, the land became green hills and mountains. Just a day¡¯s journey further eastward and nestled between two mighty peaks was the great city Gol. On foot, the journey took weeks, but when you were flying, distance didn¡¯t matter. And so the boy soared across the forest and the green hills, and was soon at the foot of the mighty mountains. As he flew, the city came into view with its thousands of homes and towers and marble palaces¡­ ¡°Cor!¡± Hylan shook Cor¡¯s shoulder, and in an instant, he tumbled out of the sky and back onto the tree on which he was sitting. He opened his eyes and looked down. There was Mother, standing beneath the tree, arms folded, a gloved hand holding a wooden spatula. She was cross. ¡°Cor, get down here,¡± she said. ¡°Come on,¡± Hylan said, tugging on his shoulder once more. Cor followed her down the tree and felt a little betrayed¨Cas he always did¨Cwhen she scampered off, leaving him to face Mother alone. She regarded him for a moment before turning and heading towards their house. Cor looked up in surprise; he had expected a reprimand. Mother stopped and turned and struck the spatula against the palm of her hand. ¡°Come on.¡± He went after her. *** ¡°Cor! Stop fidgeting.¡± Enya grabbed both Cor¡¯s hands to keep them still. ¡°Mother, it fits perfectly. See?¡± Cor twisted his hands out of Mother¡¯s grasp and held his arms out to his sides, showing how the huge, drooping sleeves of the mitar ended right at his fingertips. ¡°The left sleeve is still a little long,¡± she said. ¡°Nobody will notice it.¡± Cor¡¯s mother glared at him. ¡°Look,¡± Cor said, putting his arms down. The white sleeves swallowed up his hands and melded with the rest of the robe. ¡°See? You can¡¯t tell.¡± Mother still did not look convinced. ¡°Mother, it¡¯s been three hours. Plyan¡¯s going to get hungry if we don¡¯t have dinner soon.¡± For a dreaded moment, Mother showed no sign of letting Cor go. But then she sighed. ¡°Go hang up your mitar.¡± Cor beamed and took off the white garment. ¡°And get some eggs from the pen.¡± Cor sagged. ¡°Can¡¯t Father do that?¡± ¡°He can,¡± Mother said. ¡°But if I let you go, you¡¯ll go out and climb trees until I come and drag you back.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be back before dinner this time,¡± Cor said. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here.¡± ¡°If I get the eggs, can I go?¡± ¡°No,¡± Mother said. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to get hurt before the Ceremony.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to get hurt climbing trees.¡± ¡°Cor.¡± Mother put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. ¡°The Ceremony is in three days. Can you be good until then?¡±. Cor did not reply; when Mother used that tone of voice, it was best not to. ¡°Go check on your brother after you get the eggs,¡± she said. Cor bit his tongue and nodded. *** Cor knew that Mother and Father were worried about him, and he knew that they had a right to be. He just wished they wouldn¡¯t make so obvious. He knocked on the door to Gimor¡¯s room before letting himself in. His older brother was sitting in bed, looking out the small window across the room. He didn¡¯t seem to notice Cor as he entered. Cor tapped him on the shoulder. Only then did his brother turn and look at him. ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready,¡± Cor said. Gimor stared. ¡°Come on.¡± Cor took his brother¡¯s thick hand and helped him out of bed. Gimor walked slowly, like someone in a trance, and Cor restrained the urge to pull on his hand¨CGimor was frail as well as slow. They headed out of the room and down the hall where the aroma of gravy and boiled chicken floated from the kitchen. Plyan was already at the dining table, sitting with her short legs swinging above the floor. She looked up as they entered. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Where¡¯s daddy?¡± she asked. Cor guided his brother to the nearest empty seat and helped him into it. ¡°He¡¯s coming home late today.¡± Cor sat next to Gimor, and Mother came in with the steaming pot of chicken. ¡°Mommy, when¡¯s daddy coming home?¡± Plyan asked. ¡°Your brother is right, dear. Daddy¡¯s coming home after dark.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°He¡¯s helping with preparations for the Ceremony,¡± Mother said. She sat across from Cor and next to Plyan and took Plyan¡¯s hand. Cor took Gimor¡¯s, and they all closed their eyes. ¡°Spirit of the World, we offer you our gratitude for this meal before us. Send us your strength through your warrior, Myor, and keep us safe.¡± Then she added, ¡°And bless our dear boy, Cor, as he prepares for the Ceremony.¡± She opened her eyes and smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s eat.¡± *** Cor sat next to Hylan on the steps in front of his house. On any other day, he and Hylan would have been in the woods or somewhere on the outskirts of the village, climbing trees and pretending to fly. But it was two days before the Ceremony, and Cor¡¯s mother was dead set against any kind of activity that might get him hurt. ¡°I wish my mother was more like yours,¡± Cor said to Hylan. Hylan shrugged. ¡°I wish my mother could cook like yours.¡± ¡°You can stay over for dinner today,¡± Cor said. Hylan shook her head. ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m to help the women at the Garden and have lunch with Aunt Yanna and Reya.¡± Cor made a face. ¡°I don¡¯t like the idea either,¡± Hylan said. ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± Cor said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about the Ceremony.¡± ¡°Just knowing my Talent doesn¡¯t mean the Ceremony¡¯s not important.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s what the Ceremony¡¯s for,¡± Cor said. Hylan got up and turned to face him. She held up her two hands, palms out, fingers spread apart. ¡°How many fingers do I have?¡± Cor frowned. ¡°Ten.¡± Hylan wiggled her ten fingers. ¡°Yup.¡± She tucked one hand behind her back. ¡°Now how many do I have?¡± ¡°Still ten, obviously,¡± Cor said. ¡°How many can you see?¡± ¡°Five right now. What¡¯s the point of this?¡± ¡°You can only see five fingers, but I really have ten,¡± Hylan said. ¡°It¡¯s like how we know I have one Talent, but that doesn¡¯t mean there aren¡¯t more hiding somewhere inside me. The Ceremony brings to light all the Talents that are still hiding.¡± Cor considered this for a moment. ¡°I thought people only had one Talent. The Spirit gifts to man two blessings: life and a Talent by which he lives true.¡± Hylan put her hands on her hips. ¡°Then what about the King?¡± ¡°Well¡­ he¡¯s the King,¡± Cor said. Hylan wagged her finger at him. ¡°It¡¯s not just the King. The Royal Enchanters and the Divine Warriors all have more than one Talent. It¡¯s a requirement.¡± ¡°How do you know that?¡± Hylan grinned proudly. ¡°Old Shamon told me.¡± Cor jumped up in surprise. ¡°Old Shamon¡­ talks to you?¡± Hylan bobbed her head. ¡°He talks a lot, once he¡¯s fond of you. He¡¯s been to our place a few times to teach me how to use my Talent. Did you know he used to work in the royal court?¡± Cor did not. ¡°Old Shamon thinks I have more than one Talent and that they might be strong enough to get me into a university.¡± ¡°University¡­¡± Cor was speechless. Hylan laughed and patted his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll write home every once in a while. And I¡¯ll come back during the summers.¡± Cor sat back onto the steps. Everyone in the village knew about Hylan and her Talent of Water. She was the first person in over fifty years who had discovered their Talent before their Ceremony; the last person before her had been Sculptor Isor who made a living selling dazzling stone statues to merchants. The money he had made over the last five decades had been responsible for the enchanted water pump that pumped water from the well to every home in the village, and the hard stone bricks that made up practically every building. ¡°You weren¡¯t going to stay and¡­ you know,¡± Cor gestured lamely at their surroundings. Hylan¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Stay? Are you saying I should stay?¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Cor said. Heat rose to his cheeks and he stood up again. ¡°Sculptor Isor stayed, and so did Uncle Unir, even though my mother says he could have gone to the city to train under a Master Warrior. Besides, you don¡¯t know if you have more than one Talent yet. You¡¯re getting ahead of yourself.¡± Hylan looked taken aback. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with wanting to study at a university? You¡¯re the one who¡¯s always saying you want to get out of the village and see all the cities and towns across the country. Now you just sound like my mother.¡± ¡°Well your mother and I are both talking sense,¡± Cor said. He was angry. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous in the cities. You don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen to you with all the bandits and thieves who live there. And I heard people die at university from learning dangerous magic. It¡¯s safer here. You¡¯ll make a good living. Everyone will love you. Everyone loves Sculptor Isor. And I¡­¡± He blushed. ¡°I¡¯d be happier if you stayed.¡± Hylan snorted. ¡°You¡¯d be happier if I stayed? So that¡¯s what matters; how you feel. You¡¯re just like my mother. Just like everyone else in this stinking village. Listen, Cor. I thought you were different. I thought you were somebody who dreamed, just like me. I guess I was wrong. You stay here and become a stupid Talentless lumberjack like your father and I¡¯m going to leave you behind to rot.¡± Then she was gone. *** Hylan didn¡¯t come visit again that day. Nor the next. Cor even managed to convince his mother to let him go over to her place, but when he went and knocked on her door, Hylan¡¯s mother answered and told him her daughter was sick. Hylan was not sick; she had the Talent of Water. And so came the day of the Ceremony. Even from inside his room, at the dawn of day, Cor could sense the excitement and restlessness of the village. Other than the Late-Autumn Festival, the Ceremony was the biggest event of the year. Cor was also restless, but not for the same reason as the rest of the village. He could do without the feasts and the dancing and the singing. He could even do without Old Shamon¡¯s fireworks and the sparring matches between the men. Cor jumped off from the top bunk, nearly landing on Plyan who was also just about to get out of bed. He ignored her protests and ran out the room and into the kitchen where Mother was frying sweet pancakes for the Ceremony. ¡°Mother, could I take a walk outside?¡± ¡°Good morning, Cor,¡± Enya said. ¡°Could you pass me the cinnamon?¡± Cor got his mother the little tub of cinnamon. ¡°Could I take a walk outside? I¡¯ll be quick,¡± he asked again. ¡°Cor, the Ceremony starts at noon. You need to bathe and get yourself ready before then,¡± Mother said. ¡°I¡¯ll be quick,¡± Cor said. ¡°Don¡¯t talk back¨C¡± ¡°There¡¯s my son!¡± Omor came into the kitchen and put two strong hands on Cor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°How do you feel?¡± ¡°I might feel better if I took a walk outside,¡± Cor said. Mother rolled her eyes, but Father didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°Fresh air does do wonders for the nerves,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s do a round of the village.¡± Cor hesitated; he wanted to go out alone, but he wasn¡¯t sure if Father would let him. He gave it another moment¡¯s thought, then replied, ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Be back before full morning,¡± Mother said. Omor grinned and gave Enya a kiss. ¡°We¡¯ll be back before you know it.¡± ¡°Where¡¯s Daddy going?¡± Plyan said, just now entering the kitchen. ¡°For a walk outside,¡± Omor said, rubbing the top of her head. ¡°Do you want to come?¡± Cor stiffened, but Plyan shook her head. ¡°I want to help Mommy cook.¡± ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± Omor gave her a kiss on the forehead. ¡°Come on, Cor. Let¡¯s go.¡± He couldn¡¯t have followed his father out faster. Chapter 2 The village was abuzz with activity. A quarter of the village men were out hanging white banners and lanterns between buildings, another quarter were wheeling lumber and stone to the central square where there would be more men putting together the last of the structures for the Ceremony. The smell of food was rich in the air, and already some of the women were bringing the goods they had baked out. Everyone was wearing their formal attire; men wearing tight-fitting doublets and sleek black gloves; women wearing sky-blue dresses with sleeves that covered their hands. Father also wore his doublet and black gloves, weathered and worn after years of use. He led the way to the center of the village where the village square was, greeting people as they went. Cor did his best to smile and be polite and restrain himself from tugging on his father¡¯s sleeve and telling him to hurry. Hylan lived in one of the larger homes two blocks south of the village square, and Cor wanted to have the time to drop by before they had to turn back and get Cor ready for the Ceremony. The village square was the busiest part of all. It almost seemed as though half the village had come out to help decorate the place. The fountain in the middle¨Cwhich drew water from the well directly beneath it¨Chad been adorned with white and crimson streamers and circlets of blue poppies. The homes surrounding the open village square had also been decorated in much the same way. And all around the perimeter of the open area were stalls where food and other goods would be sold. On the eastern side of the fountain a platform of wood had been erected, about five feet high with broad steps surrounding it on all sides. It had been painted white, and there was a low podium at the center of the platform with a marble throne sitting behind it. The throne looked ancient, with its weathered edges and almost impossibly intricate carvings, but it was new; created two years ago by Sculptor Isor. It was the sculptor¡¯s greatest work. It made Cor¡¯s stomach sink. Unfortunately, this was where Father decided to stay the longest. He spoke to the men who were painting the last of the wooden platform, laughing with them and giving instructions to any who asked. Then he went to the men on the ladders putting up the white and red streamers on the rooftops, greeting them and telling jokes. Cor hung next to the fountain, waiting and wondering whether it would be better to leave his father and go to Hylan¡¯s place alone. ¡°Morning, Cor!¡± Cor startled and turned. Uncle Berimor smiled, showing his broad, yellow teeth. ¡°Good morning, uncle,¡± Cor replied. ¡°You¡¯re up and about early today,¡± Berimor said. ¡°Too excited to wait, I suppose. I was like that when I was your age.¡± Cor nodded and remained silent. ¡°I see your father over there. He¡¯s been working hard these two weeks.¡± Berimor waved as Cor¡¯s father turned and saw them. ¡°Brother, the Spirit of the World is smiling upon us,¡± Omor said. ¡°Indeed, it is a beautiful day,¡± Berimor said, and the brothers exchanged an embrace. ¡°You must be anxious.¡± ¡°A little,¡± Father admitted. ¡°But I am proud of my son, and I will always be proud of him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s sure to become a good man like you,¡± Berimor said. He turned to Cor. ¡°No matter what happens today, hold your head high and be proud of your Talent.¡± Cor tried to smile. He knew Berimor was trying to reassure him, but his uncle¡¯s words only served to make him more anxious. Last year, Gimor had gone through the Ceremony and had received the Talent of Vitality. The crowd had raised the obligatory cheer and applause, but even Cor knew that the Talent of Vitality was the lowest of all the Talents. And it was the Talent both his parents had. ¡°Your uncle¡¯s right,¡± Father said. ¡°Any man can become great if he works hard.¡± Cor tried to believe it. At last they moved on from the village square and down south. Compared to the busyness in the village square, the area here was quiet. This side of the village was where Sculptor Isor and Uncle Unir¨CCor¡¯s mother¡¯s brother¨Cand most of the other well-respected people lived. The houses here were larger and of finer make, the stone bricks cleaner and the roofs made of ceramic tile rather than wood. But Cor always noticed with a little pride that none of their little gardens were quite as pretty as Mother¡¯s. Cor kept alert as they walked along the wide path. He could see Hylan¡¯s home up ahead with its distinctive sky-blue roof. There was no smoke above the chimney¨Cthere was no smoke above most chimneys here¨Cand he could not peer through the dark windows and see inside. ¡°Did you want to knock?¡± Father said. Cor pulled his eyes away from Hylan¡¯s house and flushed. He nodded. ¡°I forgot to ask her something.¡± ¡°Hylan?¡± Cor nodded. They went up the little cobbled path in front of the house and climbed the two dainty steps onto the patio. After exchanging a look with his father, Cor took the carved wooden knocker and knocked. There was the sound of movement inside the house, followed by silence. The door opened. Hylan¡¯s mother saw Cor¡¯s father and gave him a practiced smile. ¡°Good morning, Omor,¡± she said. Then she saw Cor and her smile faltered. ¡°What brings you here?¡± ¡°May I speak to Hylan?¡± Cor replied before he could hesitate. ¡°She¡¯s busy preparing for the Ceremony,¡± Hylan¡¯s mother said. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick, I promise. I just forgot to ask her something,¡± Cor said. He hoped neither his father or Hylan¡¯s mother could tell his cheeks were burning. Hylan¡¯s mother made no reaction. ¡°There¡¯s still four hours before noon,¡± Cor said desperately. ¡°And we¡¯ll talk right here. It¡¯ll just take a minute.¡± There was a painful silence. Then Cor¡¯s father spoke. ¡°My son¡¯s a man of his word, Healer Saya,¡± he said. ¡°Let them talk for a minute.¡± Hylan¡¯s mother sighed and closed the door. Cor stood completely still, not sure what had just happened. He looked up at Father who looked back at him and smiled. Half a minute later, the door opened again and Hylan appeared. Hylan¡¯s dark hair usually fell wildly about her shoulders, but today her hair was tied back in a clean bun. It had also been combed and slicked so that it looked almost black. She was wearing her mitar, and Cor could not help but notice it seemed much whiter and more elegant than his¨Chers looked like freshly fallen snow. ¡°What did you want to ask me?¡± she said. Cor found himself at a loss for words. ¡°Well?¡± Cor looked away and cleared his throat. ¡°I¨C¡± His voice cracked. He wanted to sink into the ground. He looked to his side and noticed Father had stepped off the patio and stood a few paces behind him, smiling. Cor shook his head. It only served to make him dizzier, but in a strange way that made things better. ¡°Are you really planning to go away?¡± Hylan made a face. ¡°Cor, not here.¡± Cor was about to protest, then he saw Hylan¡¯s mother standing behind her. His face fell. ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°Was that all?¡± I want you to stay here with me, he thought, but did not say. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°May the Spirit send his blessings upon you,¡± Hylan said. The sudden formality surprised him. ¡°May his servant Myor watch over you,¡± he replied automatically. Hylan flashed a smile, then closed the door, leaving him alone on the patio. *** Noon approached too quickly. The subtle chill of morning had quickly intensified into a sweltering heat and Cor¡¯s mitar was heavy and thick on his skin. The eyes of the people of the village behind him were equally as stifling. There were eight of them seated on the mahogany chairs in a row directly in front of the painted wooden platform. Both the wooden podium and the marble throne behind it were still empty, but it would not be so for long. Hylan sat two seats over on Cor¡¯s left. He had looked over at her twice, and each time she had not turned to him. Now, as the sun rose to its apex, a hush began to descend on the crowd, and Cor¡¯s heart began to thump hard against his ears. Sweat dripped from his eyebrows and onto his long white mitar, forming damp stains around his chest. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Somewhere behind them, a bell tolled five times, and a complete silence fell over the people. A jay chirped, and a chorus of rose beetles buzzed in their hidden refuges. An old man wearing a thick dark blue mitar seemed to materialize out of the shimmering air to the right of the platform. Old Shamon¡¯s head was bald save for a tuft of hoary white hair near his temples, and his beard was of the same color and gathered thick and messy around his mouth¨Cit looked as though it had not been combed for years. The Old Shamon carefully ascended the painted steps and the world seemed to hold its breath as he came to a stop in front of the podium. He looked out above the crowd, his head gleaming with perspiration. From within the dark folds of his mitar he produced a crystal dish atop which a small fruit of unblemished white sat¨Ca mistleaf apple. With great reverence, he placed the crystal dish onto the flat center of the podium and stepped back. The bell tolled once, louder this time, reverberating in Cor¡¯s skull. Old Shamon raised his sleeves and eyes to the sky and mouthed silent words. A girl in a white mitar, much like the ones Cor and the other candidates wore, approached the white platform with a stick of incense. She was not really a girl¨Cshe had served Old Shamon since as long as Cor could remember and had always retained her youthful appearance. She never spoke and she never showed herself in the village except for once a year during the Ceremony. Some people called her the Witch. The Witch bowed and held the stick of incense out to Old Shamon with hands hidden in the folds of her mitar. Old Shamon took it and as though on cue, the sky darkened as a cloud passed over the sun. Fire sparked from within Old Shamon¡¯s shadowed sleeves, and the incense burned. Smoke trailed like lazy tendrils from its tip. Old Shamon held the incense above the mistleaf apple, letting the smoke shroud it, and he closed his eyes. He may have been muttering something under his breath, but his mouth did not move. He stood in silence and the smoke from the incense spread over the podium and out, filling the village square and darkening it. Though the smoke was thick, the smell was not. It was a light and sweet smell that conjured up stories of ancient palaces and mystical creatures. And it made you feel as though you were entering one of those stories. Cor forgot his unease and watched, captivated, as the stick of incense billowed smoke and burned away. He had seen this before in years past, but being up front, it seemed as though the smoke was alive, pushing out from the tip of the burning stick and spreading itself out along the ground. The sky had turned an iron gray and it was hard to tell if it was from the smoke or from actual clouds that had gathered in the sky. The last bit of incense burned out and the air stirred. In a moment, the smoke had cleared, but the spiced aroma remained, and the sky remained gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the smell of rain mixed with the sweet of incense. Old Shamon lifted his cloaked arms once more and the bell tolled, the sound larger and more grave than before, as though the burning of incense had transformed it into a massive tower bell. The mistleaf apple shone white on its dish. ¡°My people,¡± Old Shamon said. His voice was airy but it carried well throughout the square and even echoed against the surrounding homes. ¡°The Spirit gifts to man two blessings: life and a Talent by which he lives true. We gather in the presence of the Spirit of the World to witness the gifts these young men and women have received. ¡± The bell tolled, its tone brash and majestic. Cor wondered who was striking it this year. ¡°Children, stand,¡± Old Shamon said. Around him, Cor¡¯s peers stood. And in a rush of anxiousness, Cor stood too. He glanced to his left and saw Hylan watching the white mistleaf apple. Cor turned to it. In a few moments, he would be stepping up to that podium. The crowd would be silent as he sipped from the tiny dish of silverworm venom the Witch served him. Then he would go behind the podium facing the crowd and place his fingertips on the mistleaf apple. And the apple would change color. Azure for water, supple and cool; Scarlet for fire, raging, unending; Ochre for earth, ancient and new; Clear-glass for air, fluid and flowing; Saffron for light, ever revealing. Strength begets iron, solid, unbending, Swiftness is violet, bestowed upon few. Keenness glows verdant, sharp and untiring, Pale is vitality, where life ever pools. Virgin unblemished shall the fruit be; A black mark of darkness, and death thou shalt meet. Cor hoped the white fruit would change color. In his head he knew it was no shame if it did not¨Cit had not changed color for his parents¨Cbut in his heart he didn¡¯t believe it. Pale is vitality, where life ever pools. Even the line seemed to admit that the Talent of Vitality meant little else than simply being alive. Old Shamon had been chanting, and now he stopped, and the Witch said, ¡°Pir Solin.¡± Pir stepped from the line and climbed the painted wooden steps up the platform and stood behind the podium. *** Cor was next to last in line and he watched as the other candidates went up to the platform to discover their Talent and receive their new names. Pir made the mistleaf apple turn a gentle green and became Napir; he would be a hunter like his father and roam the forests in search of rare creatures. Sahan turned the fruit a pale yellow and became Saha; she would join Lighter Thomor and Lighter Yana on their evening patrols around the village, restoring the little glass balls that glowed in the night to ward off demons. Then came Eor and Filan and Hwir, and they all made the mistleaf apple change color. After Hwir was Hylan, and she stepped up to the podium with her back straight and her head held up high. The village already knew she had the Talent of Water. What other Talent resided within her? The Witch gave her the delicate dish of silverworm venom and Hylan put it to her lips with great solemnity and sipped. She did not grimace like the others, but returned the dish to the Witch with a polite bow and turned to the mistleaf apple, which had returned to its perfect unblemished white. The crowd held its breath as she brought her hands onto the small fruit. Cor almost looked away. The apple flashed a brilliant blue. The crowd¡¯s silence seemed to rise in a crescendo as it waited. The apple continued to shine a deep blue, its color more vibrant than it had been for any of the other candidates. Even if it did not change to a second color, the village knew Hylan¡¯s Talent of Water was a great one. The blue fruit seemed to stutter, then turned as clear as glass. The crowd gasped. Cor¡¯s heart sank. Hylan became Shyla, and she beamed as she stepped off the platform and returned to her seat. She did not glance at Cor even once. The crowd did not settle back to silence even as the next candidate stepped onto the platform. The village had never had someone with two Talents, and there would be talk of what Hylan¡¯s (Shyla¡¯s) two Talents meant. It was a sign of good fortune, of course, but of what kind? A better harvest? A gentler winter? Or perhaps the King himself would come down to the village and make them all landlords and take Hylan (Shyla) as a concubine. Or perhaps a princess. Yes, whatever happened, Hylan (Shyla) could not remain in the village. At the very least she would enroll in the King¡¯s university and serve in the palace. Perhaps she would go to the far north and explore the ancient and evil ruins that were there. Perhaps she would go down into the Labyrinths and search for ancient magicks lost to time. Perhaps she would go to the eastern mountains and battle against the terrible monsters that lived there. The bell crashed and Old Shamon called for silence. The crowd settled down, slowly. The boy at the podium¨CNor¨Clooked embarrassed and small. He lay his hands on the white fruit and it remained white. He quickly took his hands off and practically scampered off the stage and returned to his seat. It was now just Cor and the girl next to him left standing. Cor felt his face burn red and his stomach squirm in knots. He stared off to the side, hoping the Witch would never call his name. But the strange woman did, and Cor stepped forward. *** Cor almost tripped on the last step, and his heart pounded at the thought of how close he had been to falling flat on his face. He made his way to the podium and tried not to look at the white mistleaf apple. He looked out at the crowd instead and tried to look for his family. He found them quickly; they were in the third row. Mother and Father were watching with what seemed like concern, Plyan was falling asleep, and Gimor stared at the sky with blank, stupid eyes. Cor tried to smile but found his mouth wouldn¡¯t move. The Witch approached him with the tiny dish of clear liquid. Her yellow eyes matched the golden color of her long hair, and they unsettled him. She was shorter than him, and at a glance she seemed to be his age, but upon looking more deeply into those strange yellow eyes, it was clear she had to be at least three or four times his age. Cor took the dish from her and tried not to spill it as he brought it to his lips. He felt the Witch¡¯s eyes on him and Old Shamon¡¯s presence behind him like a palpable pressure. He sipped. *** The liquid was cool and sweet and burned like fire in his mouth. He nearly choked and tears sprung to his eyes. The Witch took the little dish from him and Cor was aware of the crowd watching him. He was sure none of the other candidates had had such a visceral reaction to the silverworm venom, and he was ashamed. But he still needed to touch the mistleaf apple. The world seemed to spin as he brought his hands up to the white fruit before him. Silverworm venom opened your spirit and let your Talent bleed more easily through your body. That was how the mistleaf apple changed color when you touched it; it sensed the Talent flowing through your blood. It seemed that opening your spirit made you dizzy. Cor touched the apple. For a moment, nothing. Lightning bolted through him. *** The pain was excruciating and immediate. It was as though a hot iron needle had been driven through his fingertips and up his arm and into his brain. He flung his hands back and screamed a silent scream. He staggered into Old Shamon behind him, and the impact sent another flash of pain through his body. He collapsed to the ground. Spears of lightning heat shot through his hands and knees. His body throbbed painfully, but he could not cry or scream. He could hear the crowd murmuring, the sound loud up against his ears, and though he was sure his eyes were closed, he felt as though he were looking directly at the sun. He trembled, then stopped, then trembled again. His skin felt as though it were being torn from his body, as though he were being burned alive. Every moment that passed he thought he would die, but he didn¡¯t. And the pain went on and on and on. Then it was gone. *** Cor stood up, dazed and confused. He did not know where he was until he saw the crowd. They were staring at him, and they were silent. Cor felt a hot wetness between his legs. As he looked down, his eye caught the crystal dish and the fruit it held. And he realized that the crowd had not been staring at him, but at the mistleaf apple before him. The blood drained from his face. He stumbled back. One line of verse imposed itself in his mind. A black mark of darkness, and death thou shalt meet. Everyone knew the stories. Everyone heard the whispers. Everyone knew there was one color the mistleaf apple should never possess. Black. Cor turned and ran. Behind him, the crowd erupted into frenzy. Chapter 3 Dead space. This was what Rylin called it. A time between jobs. A time where he could do nothing but wait and think and bide his time. He had dropped off the emerald dagger at the secret place Enir had told him. Now he had to wait in the apartment he was renting until he was called. Rylin hoped this would be the last time he waited; he had approached Enir two years ago, thinking that working closely with one of the finest commercial enchanters in the kingdom would allow him to learn something interesting. But he had learned nothing. Rylin asked for jobs, and Enir gave him jobs. Mainly stealing. Some more subtle things, but mainly stealing. And not an ounce of knowledge. Oh, he had learned an obscene amount about the nobility¡¯s politics, and the dirty schemes being cooked in the luxurious rooms of wealthy families. But nothing about enchanting or Talents or magic. Nothing he wanted to know. Rylin plopped a blackened mistleaf apple into his mouth and chewed. He needed to get closer to the source. He needed to work with somebody who studied enchanting. Not the way inventors and engineers studied it, but the way a philosopher studied it. Deep and abstract¨Cgrasping at the truth of its essence. There were institutions like that; the Royal University, the Royal Archives, the Church. There was a knock at the door. Rylin swallowed and covered the pouch of mistleaf apples on the table with his cloak. He went to the door. ¡°A letter for you,¡± the mailman said. Rylin took the letter inside and opened it at his desk. He smiled. At last, the dead space was over. *** The streets of Gol were crowded with farmers and merchants and peasants all there to buy and sell the latest goods and autumn harvest. Anybody who had not stepped foot outside the city would not have known that this year¡¯s harvest had been a poor one. Gol was where the money was, and a farmer with a poor crop would rather drive a hundred leagues with his old rheumy horses to Gol than go to a closer town and receive a pittance. But there was still a tension in the air, and Rylin could feel it. As he made his way down the street, he put his hand against the pouch at his hip inside his cloak where the note for a hundred sterlings lay folded. He did not have much time, so he decided to cut through the slums. Decrepit wooden buildings rose up to either side and a human stench filled the air. Dark eyes peered out of crooked glassless windows and from hidden corners and shadows between the buildings. Rylin moved his hand inside his cloak and touched the hilt of the dagger at his belt. He was not afraid, only cautious. There was a shrill scream from somewhere nearby. Perhaps two streets down. The eyes around him seemed to shrink deeper into their shadows. He glanced up at the sky. He had some time to spare. Rylin put his hand in his cloak and reached into the pouch of mistleaf apples¨Che stopped. He did not need it now; he did not want to rely on it. He took his hand out of the pouch and began to run. The scream had come from the left. Drawing his dagger, he sprinted down the alleyway and banked sharply left around the first corner. There was a grunt of effort and the sound of metal from behind one of the buildings ahead of him, and Rylin burst towards it and turned. There was a man pushing a woman¨Cno, a girl¨Cup against the crumbling wall of a lean-to. The man had a knife to the girl¡¯s throat and a hand below her waist. He had a blind, animal look in his eyes, and he did not notice as Rylin leapt towards him. Rylin hammered the butt of his dagger into the man¡¯s temple, and the man fell back in startled pain. Rylin kicked him in the head, and the man fell unconscious. Rylin turned to the girl. ¡°Are you¨C¡± The girl ran and disappeared into a narrow alleyway. All around him, it was silent. If there had been people watching the scene from their dark windows, they were not at their windows now. Rylin turned back to the man and crouched next to him. Rylin touched the tip of his dagger to the man¡¯s throat, watching his chest rise and fall. The man¡¯s face was gaunt and dirty, and there was the sickly sweet smell of alam seeds on his breath. He was dressed in a tattered soldier¡¯s uniform, the embroidered insignia on his breast weathered away to nothing, the leather ripped just short of shreds. The man twitched, and the tip of the dagger drew a small cut. Blood welled up and rolled down one side of his neck. Rylin sheathed the dagger and stood and kicked the man once in the side, then went on his way. *** In the center of the city of Gol, to the east of the central road, there is an open area on which stands a castle. It is a small castle, by noble standards, but a castle nonetheless, complete with gates and towers and spires and parapets. This is where the governor of the city lives. Next to the small castle is a mansion¨Cwhich looks small in comparison¨Cmade of solid limestone. This is the Mantel family¡¯s home. It was halfway between noon and sunset when Rylin arrived at the front doors of this mansion. He had healed the wound in his back and washed himself, and he had even bought a potion of strength, but his body felt like lead as he raised the iron knocker and rapped it against the right door four times. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The doors opened outwards and Rylin stepped inside. ¡°Welcome, Master Qsiphir.¡± Rylin made an attempt to smile at the butler and gave the man his cloak. ¡°I hope I am not too early.¡± ¡°Of course not. Master Enir is waiting in his study.¡± Rylin crossed the lofty foyer, noticing the quiet. The younger children must have been out today with their mother, and the servants must have been taking a break. Rylin turned right and headed down to the end of the short hallway where an old ebony door stood. He knocked. ¡°Come in.¡± Rylin let himself in. Enir stood with his back to the door. He was leaning with his elbows to his desk, looking at a complex apparatus that stood there. The papers that would usually have populated the desk had been swept to the floor, where they lay in a frenzied pile. There was a faint breeze in the room even though there were no windows, and it took Rylin a moment to realize that the breeze was coming from the apparatus itself. ¡°Qsiphir,¡± Enir said without turning. ¡°Come and look at this device and tell me what it does.¡± Rylin moved next to the man and studied the apparatus. It seemed complex at first glance, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was simply made up of a series of simple parts all lined up close to each other. The device was enclosed in an open wooden frame with a rectangular panel of wood at the top and an array of wet metal strips hanging down from the bottom of this panel of wood like so many stalactites. Heat radiated from the top of the device and air seemed to be being blown through the metal strips. Below the metal strips was a large metal funnel into which water from the strips dripped and flowed down into a glass jug that sat below the entire device. ¡°It¡¯s a water maker,¡± Rylin said. ¡°Indeed, that is what most people would call it,¡± Enir said. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t truly create water. It simply cools these metal strips, then pulls air across them, wicking moisture from the air and collecting it.¡± ¡°Is it a new product?¡± Enir laughed and stood up from the table. ¡°No, there¡¯s no market for it. One of my young engineers created it and wanted to show it off to me. But it made me wonder; is it possible to construct an enchantment that does truly create water? Or create anything out of nothing?¡± ¡°Light enchantments create light,¡± Rylin said. ¡°No, you see, light is not substance. I mean creating something of substance.¡± ¡°If you want me to investigate this, I¡¯m sorry, but¨C¡± ¡°No, no. Qsiphir, you¡¯re in an irritable mood today. You usually enjoy discussing philosophy.¡± ¡°I had a rough night.¡± Enir looked at him. ¡°You and I are both growing old,¡± he said. ¡°Those long passionate nights are behind us.¡± If only that were the problem. Enir sighed. ¡°You should find yourself a woman, Qsiphir.¡± ¡°Enir, I¡¯d like to terminate my work with you.¡± The large man grew silent. Then he leaned down and put his elbows on the desk again and gazed at the water making machine. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked. ¡°Absolutely.¡± Enir straightened and took the jug out from under the device and drank. ¡°Alright, I won¡¯t ask you why. A man like yourself must have his reasons,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll ask Vor to give you a one gilt lump-sum as severance.¡± Rylin breathed relief. ¡°Would you like a solid Royal or a certificate?¡± ¡°A certificate,¡± Rylin said. Enir pulled on the chain hanging behind his desk. Somewhere beyond the room, a bell rang. ¡°You¡¯re certain you don¡¯t want to go on one last excursion?¡± Enir said. ¡°I am,¡± Rylin said. ¡°If I am to find a woman like you suggest, I should find a more secure occupation.¡± ¡°I hope that occupation does not involve going to one of the other noble families,¡± Enir said. ¡°My pride would not allow me to betray a friend.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± Rylin would be surprised if the man believed him. There was a knock at the door. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± Rylin said. He went and let the butler in. ¡°Master.¡± ¡°I need you as a witness. I¡¯m signing Qsiphir a certificate,¡± Enir said. He opened a drawer and brought out a pen and ink. ¡°One gilt, was it?¡± Enir said. ¡°So you said,¡± Rylin replied. Enir brought out a strip of gilded paper, dipped the pen into the inkwell and wrote quickly. He handed the pen to the butler who signed his name at the bottom. ¡°I never thanked you for your work,¡± Enir said, handing him the certificate. ¡°I¡¯ll miss your children,¡± Rylin said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry they couldn¡¯t be here,¡± Enir said, and for a brief moment, the man almost looked sad. ¡°I¡¯ll take my leave.¡± ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Enir said, smiling. ¡°Vor, see him to the door.¡± They left Enir in his study, and as they closed the door and made their way to the foyer, Rylin heard a muffled crash like that of metal and wood smashing together. *** Rylin sat astride the horse and looked out at the plains before him. The gloves on his hands were too hot and the boots he wore were stifling, but they were necessary if he were to ride a horse, and to get to the Royal Capital before winter, he needed a horse. He held the horse at a trot, wondering if he had forgotten anything. He¡¯d brought food and water and clothes to keep out the rain. He¡¯d also brought what books he could fit in his sack as well as an enchanted sword he¡¯d bought the night before. If there was anything he was missing, it was money. Buying a full sack of mistleaf apples¨Che didn¡¯t intend to use them, but he bought them just in case¨Chad left him a little less than forty sterlings out of the full gilt he had received from Enir. It was a large enough sum if he intended to simply live in the Royal Capital for a few months, but he had grown used to having hundreds of sterlings with him. He¡¯d have to figure something out once he arrived. ¡°Come on.¡± Rylin spurred the horse forward and got it up to a canter. As the wind and the field rolled by, Rylin felt an easing of the heart, as though it had been imprisoned before and was now, after seemingly endless years, being set loose. Up to now, he had wondered whether he had made the right decision, whether cutting ties with Enir Mantel had not been a foolish decision. But now, as he raced toward the east, he felt this was right. More than that, he felt free. Chapter 4 It was Hylan who found him, though not before the sun had set and the sky had darkened to night. Cor heard her coming up the tree and knew it was her even before she climbed onto the branch he was crouching on, and he did not try to run away. Yes, he was tired, but he was also lonely. ¡°Your mum and dad are looking for you,¡± Hylan said. Cor hugged his knees to his chest. ¡°What about everyone else?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Some are still celebrating. Most left early. A few are looking for you too.¡± ¡°Do they want to kill me?¡± Hylan snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly.¡± ¡°Old Shamon didn¡¯t say anything?¡± Hylan hesitated. ¡°He said¡­ something. I don¡¯t really remember. It was loud,¡± she said. ¡°Besides, what does it matter? People are looking for you. You¡¯ve got to come home.¡± ¡°Hylan, you¡¯re lying to me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Shyla,¡± she whispered. ¡°Hylan, you¡¯re lying to me.¡± She went silent. Cor felt a chill run through his body and tried to hug his legs harder. ¡°It¡¯s true that your parents want you back home,¡± Hylan said softly. ¡°They love you.¡± ¡°What about everyone else?¡± ¡°They¡¯re¡­ afraid.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Hylan took a shuddering breath. ¡°I¡¯m afraid too.¡± ¡°A black mark of darkness, and death thou shalt meet.¡± ¡°Do you believe the stories?¡± ¡°Do you?¡± Cor asked and regretted it. Hylan shifted in the darkness. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m afraid.¡± A gust of wind caused the branch to sway. Cor put his hands on the branch and steadied himself. ¡°Here,¡± Hylan said, handing him a heavy pouch. ¡°I stole it from my mother. It¡¯s water.¡± Cor found the opening of the waterskin and drank. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted. ¡°And this.¡± Hylan handed him a thick piece of bread. Cor took a bite. It was buttered, and its creamy sweetness brought tears to his eyes. He cried softly as he ate. When he was done, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took another drink from the waterskin. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, ¡°For crying in front of you. I¡¯m not very manly, am I?¡± Then he laughed. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll never be a man anyway.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid,¡± Hylan said. ¡°Your Talent isn¡¯t what makes you a man.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what my father says.¡± ¡°Well he¡¯s damn right.¡± The remark sobered Cor, and he looked up through the branches above him and at the sky. There were whispers of clouds against the clear sky tonight, forming ghostly veils over the stars. It was beautiful. Hylan took the waterskin from him and drank. In the distance, the sounds of the village celebrations echoed. Hylan took his hand. In a bout of terror, Cor tried to jerk his hand away, but she held firm. Nothing happened. ¡°Come on,¡± Hylan said. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Back home.¡± ¡°But I thought¡­¡± ¡°No one wants to kill you, Cor,¡± she said. ¡°Not really. They¡¯re just scared, like we were. And it¡¯s dark now. We can get back without anyone noticing.¡± Cor looked into her eyes. They were dark and wide and strong, and they were looking at him. He looked away. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go.¡± *** They arrived at Cor¡¯s place. The celebrations had mostly quieted, and though there were people in the little streets, wandering back home, nobody noticed Cor or Hylan. From the outside, Cor¡¯s home seemed quiet and dark. There was no candlelight in the windows, no murmur of voices through the door. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you here,¡± Hylan said. ¡°Thanks for coming to get me,¡± Cor said. ¡°I¡¯m glad I did,¡± Hylan said. ¡°You would have stayed in that tree all night.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Cor said. ¡°Hylan, can I ask you a question?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Cor took a breath, and for a moment, there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from speaking. He took another breath and forced the lump out. ¡°Will you be leaving the village?¡± Hylan looked down. ¡°Yes.¡± Cor¡¯s heart sank. Hylan took his hands. ¡°But not for a long time,¡± she said. Cor looked up at her. ¡°How long is that?¡± ¡°At least a couple years,¡± she said. ¡°I need to study up first if I want to pass the entrance exams for university. That¡¯s going to take at least two years. Old Shamon told me.¡± She was smiling. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Really,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll still be able to see each other every day.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°Wonderful,¡± they said at the same time. They laughed. ¡°Hylan, I¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s Shyla now,¡± Hylan said. Cor nodded. ¡°Sorry, Shyla. It feels so strange to say it,¡± he said. ¡°But listen, I¡¯m sorry for being so mean to you when you told me you were going away. I was just thinking of what it¡¯d be like without you, and I felt so afraid.¡± Hylan shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for getting angry at you,¡± she said. ¡°I should have told you earlier that I wouldn¡¯t be leaving right away.¡± ¡°Hy¨CShyla, I think I love you,¡± Cor said, and blushed even as he heard himself say it. ¡°I know,¡± Hylan said, and kissed him on the mouth. She pulled away and giggled. ¡°Good night.¡± Cor was speechless as she skipped away into the night. *** Cor closed the door behind him softly and froze. There was candlelight from the kitchen, and Mother was sitting at the dining table with her head buried in her arms. For several moments, he waited, but Mother did not stir. Then he tiptoed forward, holding his breath for fear of waking her. She looked up, startled, and Cor stopped, suddenly terrified. ¡°Cor?¡± she asked. Her voice was raw and shaky, and by the flickering candlelight, Cor could see her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. ¡°Mother,¡± Cor said, his own voice trembling. ¡°Oh, Cor.¡± Enya got up and rushed forward and embraced him. A sudden warmth flooded into Cor¡¯s heart, and he wrapped his arms around Mother, losing himself in her embrace, and sobbed. The door burst open, startling the both of them. It was Father. His face was lined and haggard¨Cperhaps more so because of the dim light¨Cand he sagged with relief when he saw Cor. He joined the embrace, and for a long time, the three of them stood there holding each other tight as though letting go would cause the others to disappear. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. *** Cor did not have a new name; at least not yet. His parents did not tell him, but Cor knew the other people in the village did not believe he should receive a name, and Old Shamon was nowhere to be found. And without Old Shamon, the village did not know what to do. There were the stories, of course, of the ancient Shael who used to roam the world, killing everything they touched. Theirs was the only touch that made mistleaf apples wither and turn black. The only way to kill them was to tie them to a dead tree and burn them alive. But nobody knew when the last time that had happened, and nobody knew what a true Shael was capable of. Cor remained in his house for three days, doing chores and taking care of Gimor. He did not kill the things he touched, and he did not turn black and horrid. On the fourth day, Hylan¨Cnow Shyla¨Ccame to visit. It was a chilly afternoon (Cor only knew from Mother who had gone out to grab eggs from the chicken pen), and Shyla arrived wearing a thick woolen coat and a red knitted scarf. ¡°Hey,¡± she said. Cor looked up from his place next to Gimor; she was standing in the doorway to Gimor¡¯s bedroom. ¡°Hey,¡± Cor said. ¡°Gimor¡¯s sick. Can you wait while I finish feeding him?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± she said. She took off her scarf and coat and put it on the unused desk beneath the window. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. Cor continued to feed Gimor, trying to make sure his brother was really swallowing the porridge and not just dribbling it down his chin, but it was difficult with Shyla standing there right at the edge of Cor¡¯s vision. She had brought with her the scent of apples and autumn leaves¨Ca scent Cor didn¡¯t know he had missed until he smelled it. He wondered if the forest was now turning from bright crimson to a deep blood-red, and if the ground was covered in crisp, heart-shaped leaves. He had never felt such strong a desire to leap up and run outside, and he had never felt such strong a desire to take Shyla by the hand and bring her with him. Gimor finally finished the porridge, and Cor hastily wiped his brother¡¯s chin and neck with a wet cloth and turned to Shyla. ¡°I¡¯ll put this away and we can meet in my room,¡± he said. ¡°Will your mother be alright with that?¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Cor said, and got up and took the empty bowl and spoon to the kitchen. Plyan and Mother were at the dining table peeling potatoes, and Mother looked up when he came in. ¡°Your friend just flew through the front door. Did she come up to see you?¡± ¡°She did.¡± ¡°Did she want to stay for dinner?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t be long,¡± Shyla said from the doorway to the kitchen. Cor dropped the bowl and spoon in the washbasin. ¡°Are you leaving now?¡± A little tremor weaseled its way into his voice as he asked. ¡°Not now,¡± Shyla said. ¡°Mother, could Cor and I go out for a walk?¡± ¡°Can I go too?¡± Plyan asked. Enya frowned and put down her peeling knife. She looked deep in thought, as though she were searching for a word at the tip of her tongue, stubbornly refusing to surface. ¡°The people are afraid of Cor because they haven¡¯t seen him,¡± Shyla said. ¡°If the two of us are out and about and see us, it¡¯ll all settle down.¡± She took Cor¡¯s hand, and the touch was electric. She smiled at him, and Cor found himself looking up at Mother, desperately hoping she¡¯d let him go out with Shyla. ¡°Why are people scared of Cor?¡± Plyan asked. ¡°Keep peeling your potato, dear,¡± Enya said. ¡°Shyla, I hope you¡¯ll understand when I say I¡¯m worried for my son. Can this wait a few days?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Shyla said. She let go of Cor¡¯s hand and bowed. ¡°May the Spirit send his blessings upon you.¡± ¡°May his servant send you strength, dear,¡± Enya said. Shyla gave Cor a little wave and squeezed his arm before turning and heading out of the kitchen, across the little foyer, and out the front door. ¡°You should have seen her to the door.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one who doesn¡¯t want anyone to see me,¡± Cor spat. ¡°Cor!¡± Cor ran to his bedroom and closed the door and put his back against it, heaving. He half expected his mother to come barreling through the door behind him, wielding her wooden spoon, but there was only silence and the sound of knives against a cutting board. Cor sagged against the door and sat on the ground. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn¡¯t come. It was like there was just a big emptiness inside him, and emptiness that had been growing over the last four days. He was sick of being cooped up indoors, soaking up the acrid pensiveness that seemed to drip from his parents. He wanted to go out. He wanted to breathe the sharp autumn air and feel the wind from the treetops. And he wanted to be with Shyla. He got up and crossed his room to the window above his bed and pressed his face against the pane. Through the smoky glass, he could see the home across the narrow path¨CHunter Anir¡¯s home¨Cand a little ways to either side, but not much more than that. There were no people in view; the village may as well have been deserted. Cor kept his face to the glass a little longer before sinking down onto his bed and crawling under the sheets. He was feeling weak and had the beginnings of a headache; perhaps he was catching whatever Gimor was sick with. *** Cor awoke to a sharp rapping. It sounded like a bird at the window, but it was dark out. He sat up, shivering at the chill that slithered in underneath his clothes, and put his face to the window. Two eyes stared back at him. He let out a startled cry and fell back. ¡°Cor, it¡¯s me,¡± Shyla¡¯s muffled voice came through the window. Cor returned to the window and pressed his face against it. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he whispered as loudly as he dared. ¡°Are your parents asleep?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Can you check?¡± Cor went out into the hallway and tiptoed his way to his parent¡¯s room next door. It was silent. He went and checked the kitchen and living room, and they were dark and empty. He returned to the window and made his report. ¡°Then go for a walk with me,¡± Shyla said. ¡°Now? How late is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s to make up for this past afternoon,¡± Shyla said. ¡°There¡¯s something I wanted to show you.¡± Cor¡¯s heart jumped a little in his chest. He had never snuck out in the middle of the night¨Che would have never dared to¨Cbut at this moment, he wanted to, and the desire was terrible. ¡°Can¡¯t you give it to me tomorrow morning?¡± ¡°It¡¯s something you can only see at night, and it¡¯s meant to be a secret, just between you and me,¡± Shyla said. That was enough. ¡°Give me a minute,¡± Cor said. In moments, he changed into a new shirt and a fresh pair of trousers. Then he crept his way down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the foyer. With trembling fingers, he undid the little bolt that kept the door from swinging open in the midnight winds and slowly pulled the door open. Twice the door made a low creak that seemed to boom throughout the entire house like a war trumpet¡¯s blast. But nobody in the house stirred, and soon Cor was out and running around to the side of the house where Shyla was waiting. The air was chill and crisp and smelled of autumn leaves and apples. And when Shyla embraced him, he smelled spice and lavender and the scent of a woman. ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you,¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too.¡± She pulled away, and his arms felt cold without her. ¡°Come on,¡± she said, and took his hand. She led him to the western side of the village, then past it into the forest. They were following the path to the Garden, and presently the walls of the Garden came into view, tall and menacing in the midnight darkness. It seemed to be a giant beast lying asleep in the forest. A beast that smelled of basil and parsley and thyme. They went past the Garden and its fragrant aromas and continued down the path for some time before Shyla led them into the thicket. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Cor asked. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± Cor stumbled after her, tripping on unseen roots and scraping his knees on unseen brambles and branches. The night seemed to grow darker around them as they traveled deeper into the forest, closing in on them like a vise, and Cor began to feel a little nervous. He held tightly onto Shyla¡¯s hand and tried to focus on its strength and its warmth¨Con the electric tingle that seemed to buzz between his skin and hers. They came to a stop. Shyla released his hand and put a hand on his shoulder and the two of them crouched. It took Cor¡¯s eyes some time to register what was in front of them. They had arrived at a small clearing in the forest¨Cno more than a few steps across¨Cand by the faint starlight that filtered through the thin canopy above, Cor could make out the glossy ripple of a pond that filled the clearing. ¡°Is this it?¡± he asked. ¡°Hush,¡± Shyla said. ¡°Watch.¡± She dipped a finger into the water, sending a single ripple rolling across the pond. The ripple hit the end of the pond and rippled back in two smaller ripples that died before they could return to Shyla¡¯s finger. There was an instant where everything was perfectly still; there was not a breath of wind, not a single stirring in the forest. Then the next instant, there was light. Tiny points of light seemed to rise from the bottom of the pond and break above the surface, drifting away like hundreds of glowing dust motes. As Cor watched, the points of light rising from the pond multiplied until the clearing was as bright as a clear night under a full moon. Thousands upon thousands of tiny specks of light glowed all around them, casting the trees and the pond in an ethereal, magical light. Shyla lifted her finger from the pond, and though new lights ceased to rise from the pond, the glowing motes already in the air remained there, lighting up their surroundings. ¡°Did you do that?¡± Cor asked stupidly. ¡°They¡¯re light-algae,¡± she said. ¡°You enchant the water a little and they light up.¡± She passed a hand through the air and a few of the specks of light clung to her hand, making it glitter. Cor did the same, collecting light with his hand. ¡°What do you think?¡± Shyla asked. She sounded expectant, almost shy. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± Cor breathed. He met her eyes. ¡°Beautiful.¡± They held each other¡¯s gaze, a diaphanous veil of light floating between them, and Cor felt as though there could be nobody as angelic as the girl in front of him. He kissed her. It was a brief, almost insubstantial, brush of the lips, but he came away breathless. Her face was still close, and he could feel her soft breath on his mouth. ¡°Again,¡± she said. He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth, and a hot thrill seemed to pass between them¨Can electric thrill. She fell back and he fell with her, kissing her, and it was as though a sort of power was surging between their lips. A sort of Life. And that power grew, and it began to flow into him. By then, it was too late. Cor tried to pull away from Shyla, but something prevented him from moving his mouth away from hers. Something hungry that ravenously pulled power from Shyla¡¯s body. And the power burned like fire through his veins, at first merely hot and turbulent, then scalding and unbearable. The pain grew in intensity as power continued to rush into him, and he could no longer feel Shyla beneath him, no longer feel anything but agony. It was like that feeling when he had touched the mistleaf apple, but amplified into oblivion. Every fiber of his being screamed in pain as though he was being torn to shreds. There was no respite from it, no moment of rest; nothing existed but that pain, at once focused to a burning point, and dispersed across his entire body. The pain was so absolute that he could not even think of the possibility¨Cor the desire¨Cof dying. It seemed to last forever. And then, it was over. *** It was dark and everything hurt. There was a hint of smoke and sweet decay. Cor rolled off the lump beneath him and splashed into a puddle of shock-cold water. He jumped up and hit his back on a tree, which produced a flash of pain that nearly sent him back into the water. He felt weak, and his skin was tender, like it was when he was running a high fever. He sat down on the ground, wet and confused. Where was he? Why wasn¡¯t he in bed? Something flitted past him at the edge of his vision. He turned to it, and caught the fleck of light just as it went out. The sky had cleared and starlight shone down into the little clearing, making the pond glow an evanescent white. It was silent, almost too silent, and the only thing Cor could hear was his own throbbing heartbeat. There was something to his left; the thing he had gotten up from. It was close¨Chis left hand was almost on top of it¨Cand it was warm, but it did not move. Cor thought he heard it breathing, but realized after several terrified moments that he was hearing his own breath. He sat for another agonizingly long moment before he decided to look. He held his breath and turned his head, slowly, in case a sudden movement might startle whatever the thing was. The lump slowly came into view; long and slender¡­ Like a human body. He let out a scream. And the night exploded. Chapter 5 Rylin rode along the path, listening to the horse¡¯s footsteps against the carpet of dry autumn leaves and to the soft whisper of the wind in the forest canopy. The sun was setting, and the forest was settling into a deep red dusk. It had been months since he had left the city, and the quiet was unsettling. He felt as though there might be people watching him, concealed behind the shadowed trees. There weren¡¯t, of course. Though there were other things. Animals, yes. But not just animals. Rylin chuckled to himself and shook his head. Whatever creatures lived in this forest, they could be no more dangerous than him. ¡°Shael,¡± he muttered. He shook his head again. He stopped the horse next to a stream and a small clearing. He swung to the ground and tied the horse to a long branch. The horse dipped its head to drink. Rylin took off his gloves and boots, relishing in the coolness against his sweat-slicked hands and the raw earth beneath his feet. He untied one of the packs from the horse and found a dry place at the edge of the clearing. With a hatchet and a flint and steel¨Cnot one of those damned enchanted lighters¨Che built a small fire and made himself a potato stew. When he was done, he untied another pack and dug out a book. It was a slim leather bound, its cover worn from age, its pages beginning to yellow and wrinkle. A Collection of Antient Tales, compiled and edited by Gimenur Saqon. Old folktales and mythologies; stories that thousands of years ago would have been religion but now existed only as subtle influences on the superstitions of today. Gimenur believed there was some fundamental truth to these ancient tales that had been lost over the millenia, and Rylin believed it too. He believed it because they spoke to his soul. He believed it because they frightened and saddened and cheered and warmed him. He believed it because some of them spoke of creatures that could kill with a touch. But really he believed it because of one story; the story he flipped to now: Fiersoul. *** Rylin put the book down. He had been young the first time he had read this story; too young, perhaps. He had cried then. That had been the only time. Now he felt an ache in his chest, an ache that felt like agony. The fire had grown low, and the night was growing old. Rylin unrolled a blanket and a hard pillow from the larger pack and settled down next to the waning fire. It was a still night; not a hint of a breeze, as though the forest was holding its breath. Even the horse was quiet, and it was like the world had emptied. Rylin set his mind to other thoughts. To his plans. Getting into the Royal Archives would be ideal; it didn¡¯t require a man to demonstrate his Talents. Only knowledge mattered. The King¡¯s University would provide him with a wealth of information, but the Royal Archives would have what he was looking for; it was a treasure trove of ancient documents. In order to obtain access to the Royal Archives, you had to either demonstrate sufficient knowledge in a discipline and have a history of publications to be deemed a master scholar, or you needed to donate an authentic and valuable book that the Archives did not already possess. The second option Rylin had always dismissed, not because he believed such a book did not exist, but because he suspected it was not just a book that was required to obtain access. The first option he had never really given much consideration; he had never obtained any formal education, and though he could read well, he had never read much, and most of what he knew were things he picked up here and there throughout his life. It was the same problem with getting into the University. But the Church was different. From what he had heard, any strong Mage¨Csomeone with more than one Talent¨Ccould apply to become a priest. If Rylin were to do that, it would mean using his power¨Cusing his curse¨Cbut it might have been his best chance at learning about this curse. At learning about Shael. Rylin brushed clear a spot next to a tree and laid out his blanket. He tucked his arm beneath his head and closed his eyes. He¡¯d have more time to think about this. More time to decide what he would do. *** Rylin awoke to a bang. He started upright, right hand at his dagger, left at his pouch, even as his head spun with the remnants of sleep. Before he could stop himself, his finger brushed a mistleaf apple, and a thrill of warmth shot up his arm, snapping him awake. He cursed, but the power was in him now, so he focused it in his eyes and peered out into the night. There was a faint glow of light past the clearing and deep in the forest. He stared at the glow. It was bluish and fading, and it seemed to flicker like a flame. Were there creatures that let off blue light in the Crimson Forest? Rylin could not remember. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. He released the power from his eyes and grimaced against the brief pain as it rushed down to spread back throughout his body. He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, the glow was almost gone. The horse had disappeared. The branch to which he had tied it was broken, but other than that, there was no sign of the horse. Rylin got up and unsheathed his dagger and searched the clearing. There was no sign of the horse. No torn bridle, no fallen packs, no sign of a struggle. The warm power within him faded, and he shivered, vaguely disgusted. He began to search the forest surrounding the clearing, and in the dim light managed to find a trail. It weaved through the trees, and as Rylin walked, the smell of smoke began to fill the air. The trail abruptly stopped and Rylin saw the fire. It was not a large fire¨Cthe rain from the day before had dampened the wood and the leaves, and so only some smaller branches and leaves were alight. But there was a charred circle in the center of the flames where the undergrowth had been burned and flattened, as though there had been an explosion. But no horse or packs. Rylin picked his way around the flames. There was another trail leading away from the flames. This one was more faint¨Cjust the occasional broken twig and flattened plant. But dawn was beginning to break, and the forest was lightening. Rylin followed the trail. *** There were more signs of fire along the trail, though most of them had gone out by the time Rylin got to them. And then he began to smell the smoke. Previously, the smell of smoke had been a soft thing that grew stronger when he approached one of these charred spots in the forest. But now, it was as though smoke was filling the entire forest. And it was not just the smoke of burned trees. There were other smells; sweet and aromatic smells mixed in with the sharp rankness of tar and burnt flesh. As the sun rose, its light revealed the sickly yellow smog that had descended on the forest. Rylin wet a handkerchief in a stream and placed it over his nose. He was getting close. He soon struck upon a road. It may have been the road he had been traveling on the day before, but it was hard to say for sure. He got on the road, and though his instincts told him to stay away from the apparent source of the smoke, he surged forward. He broke into a run. A high wall loomed up in the smoke to his left, then fell away as he ran past it. A few minutes later, the trees began to thin, and he saw the shadows of buildings in front of him. The smoke here was thicker and stung his eyes, and the air was hot. Then he was in the village. It was burning. The smell of tar came from the burning roofs, and the smell of burnt flesh came from the people. There were people scattered by the burning homes, charred beyond recognition. Some of the homes¡¯ walls were broken and crumbling, as though something heavy had smashed into them. Rylin noticed most of them were made of stone. Strange, in a small village in the middle of a forest. It looked like a raid. Some of the local governors in the area were feuding. They accused each other of stealing and justified their own raids by citing the poor harvest. Raids like this were commonplace this year. Yet something didn¡¯t seem quite right. Rylin continued through the village, pressing the handkerchief hard against his mouth and nose. His eyes were watering, but he looked around, studied what he saw. And he realized what it was. It was too clean. In a raid, doors would be lying on the streets, ripped off their hinges, miscellaneous items and food would lie strewn along the ground, people would be lying bleeding and injured and dead. But here there was no human chaos, no evidence of violent indulgence, and each body he came across was burned with no other injuries. It was as though a force of nature had been through here; some kind of a storm. Rylin noticed streamers and colored decorations along some of the homes which had for the moment escaped the fires. There had been a celebration here. He noticed, too, that many of the homes were made of limestone, hewn with care, and put together with exact precision. The paths between the homes were also cobbled, like they would be in a large city. Like they would be in Gol. This must have been a wealthy village; the closest quarry was in the low mountains next to Gol. It would have been expensive to transport them this deep into the Crimson Forest. But the village was empty now. The village opened up into a square, and here the carnage was even more apparent. Burned bodies were piled on top of each other across the square, and they seemed to be centered around a marble fountain at the center of the open space. It seemed that half the village had gathered here and died. Rylin took a deep breath through his mouth. Even with the handkerchief he could taste the nauseating air in his mouth. There was movement. Rylin tightened his hand around the dagger. He crept forward, toward the fountain, careful not to step on any of the bodies. He saw it. There, just behind the lip of the fountain, was a flicker of flame. Blue flame. It sputtered out of existence as soon as it appeared, but there was no mistaking it. A chill went through him. He dropped the handkerchief. The crackle of flames seemed to grow louder, and the pungent, toxic smell of smoke seemed to penetrate his skin even as he held his breath. It was hot. Very hot. And sweat beaded across his forehead and came down in streams. There was no way to go around the pile of bodies in front of the fountain, so Rylin stepped on the bodies, careful not to slip, and peered over the lip of the smoke-blackened fountain. It was a boy.