Kastali Dun
Claire finished her lunch and walked arm in arm with Saffra through the keep. They made their way to the royal library where she would take her first lesson with Mage Targa. Since meeting him, her nerves had gotten the better of her.
"Mage Targa can be...intimidating," Saffra said.
"Intimidating?" Claire shook her head. "He's downright terrifying."
"I know what you mean, but really, he is not as bad as he seems."
"Ha. I disagree with you there. And don't get me started on his appearance." Mage Targa's long-faced sneer swam into Claire's mind.
"Yes, he really is quite awful to look at, isn't he?"
They burst into laughter, though Claire's was more of a nervous laughter. Their voices echoed off the stone walls of the castle. There was no denying it, Mage Targa was not a looker. Had he a better attitude, Claire might have pitied him for his appearance, but with such a frightening disposition to match his face, he would get no pity from her.
Saffra led the way up another grand staircase. They took a left turn and continued down a wide hallway lined with painted portraits. Claire glanced at each of the faces they passed before stopping short in front of one. She stood staring for a moment before saying, "I've seen her before." This woman had Sprite markings, golden hair, and sparkling blue eyes. The longer she studied her, the tighter her eyebrows pulled together. Then her eyes widened. "Is this—"
"Queen Isabella? Yes."
Claire's jaw dropped. "I saw her in the Marble Dragon's mind once. I didn't realize...she looks so much like me."
"Indeed. The similarities are uncanny. Your likeness has always intrigued me."
"And who is the girl beside her?" Standing beside Queen Isabella in the same portrait was a young girl with sandy brown hair and hazel colored eyes—eyes only slightly darker than Claire's. Her gaze flicked between the two faces. "They have similar features. The same thin nose, the same shape of the eyebrows... Is she...? Did Queen Isabella have a daughter?"
"She did. Princess Irelia. Hers is a sad story. I will tell you sometime if you would like to hear it. But for now, we had better not be late. You know Mage Targa..."
At the mention of Mage Targa, Claire's fascination shattered. "Yes, we had better get going, and quickly."
They rushed off, hurrying through the castle. At last Saffra came to an abrupt stop. They stood before two large oak doors. Each was carved with little figurines of men on horseback riding into battle. Saffra turned to look at Claire. "Try to relax," she said. "You have Cyrus's magic now. That must count for something."
Claire nodded, swallowing. Some things were easier said than done regardless of whose magic she had.
You will be fine. Magic is in your blood...
Cyrus's words offered some comfort, just as Saffra's smile did.
She hugged Saffra. "I don't know what I would do without you," she said. Their embrace worked wonders on her nerves.
"I meant what I said last night, Claire. I am at your service for whatever you need, and I am happy to be your friend." With that, Saffra left her standing before the doors.
She stared apprehensively at them. She had heard of the royal library, but her duties as a servant never included it. The library had its own dedicated caregivers, who knew exactly how to preserve and maintain the books.
Without lingering any longer, she pulled the doors open and entered. The first thing she noticed was the light—it was different. It felt as a library ought: open and airy. Generous amounts of daylight found even the darkest crannies. She inhaled and a smile crept to her face. She could smell so much! The decay of old books, the scent of varnished wood, the lingering hint of musk—these all washed over her, reminding her of impossibilities and imagination, of all the things libraries were associated with in her mind. It felt like home, like her old bedroom. For a moment she was saddened by the reminder of how much she missed her home, her parents, the simplicity of her old life...
She couldn't afford to think of those things right now. She needed to focus. It was time for her lessons.
She stood in an entrance chamber filled with little alcoves hosting arrangements of furniture. Beyond this she could just make out the vast library. Mage Targa and his pupils sat in a nearby nook. She hastened in their direction. Amongst them she spotted her least favorite person: Lady Caterina.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered as a scowl erased her happiness. Now some of Mage Targa's earlier insinuations made more sense. Without a doubt, he had heard about the scuffle between them.
When she joined the group, Mage Targa introduced her. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we have a new student joining us. This is Lady Claire."
Mage Targa's students appeared to be a number of years younger than her and Caterina both. There were two males and two females (including Caterina). She gave the group a nervous smile but refrained from looking anywhere near Caterina.
"How about some introductions?" said Mage Targa. "This fellow is Jaycel. He is in his third year of instruction with me."
"Call me Jace," the young man said, jumping up to offer her a bow. He couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. She was instantly taken by his outgoing personality. He had dark skin and hair that was tightly braided in cornrows. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and she found herself gazing into them, transfixed.
"Nice to meet you, Jace." She offered him a friendly smile.
"This young woman here is Renna," Mage Targa continued. "She recently completed her sixth year of instruction."
Renna, who looked to be just shy of twenty, did not stand, but she did plaster a phony smile onto her face. "Pleased to meet you, my lady." Her voice matched her fake smile. She was doll-like, with pale skin, dark hair, red lips, and delicate features. Her appearance reminded Claire of a china doll. Something about her was all too familiar. Her eyes widened briefly when she figured it out: Renna was one of the women with Lady Caterina during their little spat.
"Nice to meet you, Renna," she said, attempting to keep her voice light.
Mage Targa moved on. "This is Lady Caterina. She is in her seventh year of study. She has proved a most proficient student. Especially given her circumstances..." Mage Targa looked as if he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to say more. "She did not join me until she was seventeen." Here he shrugged. "Better late than never, I say." His black eyes darted between Claire and Caterina for a few moments before he added, "I believe the two of you have already met."
Claire's gaze locked onto Caterina's, whose eyes flashed dangerously back at her. At last Caterina acknowledged her with a nod. Mage Targa ignored the animosity between them. He quickly moved on, introducing the last student. "This young man is Devmont. He is in his fourth year, though some days it seems he is back in his first." Mage Targa offered Devmont a glare, which the young man ignored.
"You may call me Dev, my lady, as my friends do." He stood and bowed. She greeted him with a friendly hello as he reclaimed his seat. He had tanned skin, brown eyes, and hair the color of sand.
"Now, please take a seat so that we may begin." Mage Targa also sat back down upon the padded chair he had recently vacated.
There were two empty seats, one beside Dev and beside Jace. Claire decided that she liked Jace the most and sat down beside him. His grin at her choice of seats did not go unnoticed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him staring at her. His curiosity was obvious, but she was used to it now, so it didn't bother her.
"Let us begin. Having a new student affords us a wonderful opportunity to review old material." Mage Targa got straight to business. "All of you need a refresher anyway."
He looked directly at China Doll. "Tell me, Renna, what is the most important aspect of performing a cantrip, incant, or incantation?"
A deep blush spread across Renna's pale cheeks as everyone turned to her. "Um...the mind?" she answered.
"Yes, but why?"
"Because you have to believe it," Jace said, his rich tenor voice taking over. "You must exhibit power over the language you speak." He sounded sure of himself. "The mind of a Mage is powerful, but it must be exercised."
"Very good, Jaycel. It is one thing to speak the words. To command the words of the old language is entirely different. A Mage must have a strong mind—a dominant mind—and that is what sets him or her apart. We are the masters over the words we speak. The sheer power of our command is the reason magic chose us when it could have chosen others instead. Many have the blood; few have the control."
At hearing this, Claire's forehead furrowed. Unease crept into her gut, just as it had done the night before. The methods for carrying out magic were slightly domineering and entitled. That did not sit well with her. Surely if one changed one's frame of mind to master magic, one would become corrupt. She did not want to be entitled, and she definitely wasn't domineering or commanding. Her mind went to the Asarlaí. "I have a question," she said, interrupting the class.
Mage Targa's mouth twitched as if holding back a sneer, but he nodded nevertheless.
"If the old language is used to perform magic," Claire said, "and we must exercise dominion over the words, we must command them such that they obey, won't we become just like the Asarlaí?"
Mage Targa's eyes bulged. "Gods above! Do the Magoi strike you as evil people?"
"No! Well, that is...it's not what I meant. I just thought..."
"We do not use magic for evil purposes, Lady Claire. Even if we did, our blood is not as pure as the Asarlaí blood was in days of old."
Claire clenched her jaw in frustration. Mage Targa was missing her point. Worse still, his answer had everyone gawking at her. China Doll and Caterina appeared as though she had said something particularly offensive. She was forced to nod in submission and drop the subject. This was not an open-minded crowd.
"Now, moving on, once you have placed yourself in the correct frame of mind, what comes next?"
"The magic words—the old language." This time Caterina spoke. "You must have a thorough knowledge of the old language so that you can string together the correct phrases for the things you want."
"Wonderful!" Mage Targa cried, as if Caterina had achieved some immeasurable success. The look on his glowing face said a great deal. "Can you tell me more about the old language, Lady Caterina?"
The smile on Caterina's face was priceless. She squared her shoulders, sat up straighter to speak, "The old language, or Aldinn Malasarlaí, was invented by the ancient sorcerers of old, those who walked the world before dragons. They used it to perform magic; they even used it bring the dragons to life."
"Well aren't you a right Hermione Granger," Claire muttered, unimpressed by Caterina's know-it-all personality.
"Excuse me?" Caterina rounded on her just as Mage Targa clapped his hands together and cried, "Excellent!"
She turned away from Caterina and pretended to have said nothing. Mage Targa also appeared oblivious as he said, "And who can tell me the root word of malasarlaí?" He looked around to each of them.
"The root word is asarlaí," Claire said, trying not to sound bored with a question she had already answered the night before. All eyes snapped in her direction.
Mage Targa gave her a curt nod but offered no praise. "The rest of you ought to have remembered that as quickly as Lady Claire."
They moved on to diction. Mage Targa had Devmont recite all the words he knew in the old language. Dev did not mind getting called on, though he was frequently corrected for mispronunciation throughout his recitations. Claire got the impression that he did not take these lessons seriously; she could not afford an air of nonchalance like his but she was still entertained by it. Each time Mage Targa scolded him, Dev simply shrugged his shoulders and moved on to the next word. She liked that he appeared unfazed by Mage Targa's corrections and disapproval. Anyone who was unafraid of Mage Targa would be a good ally. She also began to understand Mage Targa's meaning when he claimed that Dev was at the level of a first-year student. Something told her that he was merely acting, and that he knew a lot more than he pretended to, even though he continued to stumble over words.
"All right, enough! Enough of your painful recitations." Mage Targa waved his hand when he got bored of Dev's display. "Let us move on. Time to practice." He looked directly at Claire. She felt her skin crawl under his gaze. "Since you are new to our little group, Lady Claire, you may go first."
She hated the way he said her name, as if he mocked her title. Mage Targa picked up a small book from the table beside him and held it out before him so that it rested flat on his palm. "Without touching it, I want you to open this book to a page of your choice," he said. "Do you remember the word?"
It was one of the first words Dev had mentioned, so naturally, she had already forgotten. Thinking on the spot was nearly impossible, especially with Mage Targa sneering at her. She shook her head. "I cannot remember it, sir."
Just as she answered, the king's voice sounded in her mind. "Reyr, can we speak together this evening? I have something to discuss with you."
"The word, Lady Claire, is hinga."
"I plan to meet Claire before dinner. Can it wait until after?" Reyr's voice responded to the king's inquiry.
This was not the time to hear either of their voices in her head, but she was finding it difficult to focus on blocking while trying to learn magic.
"Very well, we can discuss it during the meal," King Talon said.
"Well, Lady Claire? What are you waiting for?" Mage Targa's impatient question reminded her to focus.
"Pardon my confusion, sir. You said the word was hinga, but what about ending the magic after I've performed it? Like with the word et?" Claire remembered Saffra's instructions about using et to end a command.
"Ah, I see what you mean," Mage Targa said. "The cantrip you will use, hinga, is a closed form of magic. It has a beginning and an end. When you tell something to open, it will not repeatedly open if you feed magic into it. Once it is open, it is open. For other magic, magic that is open-ended, yes, you would need to end the magic, or else it will continue to flow and exhaust you. Do you understand?" Claire nodded. "Good, then please proceed."
Claire took a deep breath and remembered Saffra's instructions. She visualized the book opening and put herself into a dictatorial frame of mind. "Hinga!" she cried. The word made her cringe; she didn't like it one bit. The pages of the book fluttered weakly. She feared it would not open, but at last it did. She breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back against her chair. As she exhaled, it felt as if every ounce of her energy fled with her breath.
"Very good, Lady Claire. Now, if I asked you to instead open this book to page two-hundred?"
His request left her wide-eyed. She couldn't possibly complete another cantrip, even if she knew how to say the word two-hundred. She couldn't even manage to sit straight in her chair.
Mage Targa must have sensed her exhaustion because he turned elsewhere. "Lady Caterina, would you kindly demonstrate?"
Caterina smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that makes a person feel good inside. "Of course, Mage Targa," she purred. "I would be happy to."
Miss Witch—that was what Claire decided she ought to call Caterina from now on. It seemed like a suitable nickname. Miss Witch and China Doll. They were perfect for each other.
"Hinga tivi-draun," said Caterina. The book flipped open and the pages fluttered as though invisible fingers flipped them, coming to rest on page two-hundred. "Hinga ein draun eindra." As if the first command wasn't enough, the pages fluttered backwards until settling on page one-hundred-and-eleven. "Lagar." The book snapped closed.
Mage Targa chuckled. "Always one to go above and beyond."
Caterina gave him a confident smile and said, "Perhaps, Mage Targa, I should demonstrate something that actually requires some skill?"
Claire rolled her eyes and caught Jace smirking. Their gazes met and they both shared what felt like a moment of simultaneous disgust towards the same person. She liked him all the more after that.
"I have no doubt, Lady Caterina, that you are capable of far greater feats. I have witnessed a few of them myself," Mage Targa said.
Claire stifled a sound of disgust. What the hell was going on between Mage Targa and Lady Caterina? Whatever it was, she had no desire to know.
After Caterina's show of superiority, the rest of the class took turns showing Claire one-word commands. They used various objects Mage Targa had brought to class, until everyone grew bored with the simplicity. Claire had learned that these simple displays of magic were called cantrips, which were often single words. Magic that took more than one word, such as a full sentence, was labeled as an incant, whereas magic that took multiple sentences was known as an incantation. Caterina was especially eager to show how good she was at stringing words and sentences together for incants and incantations.
Claire found herself both fascinated and frustrated. She wanted so badly to keep up with the group, but she hadn't the energy to try anything else. Meanwhile, each student demonstrated multiple cantrips, incants, and even a few incantations. How was it that they could perform multiple times without feeling the exhaustion she felt? Saffra did say it would take a while, but what if she was the one person who never got over the feeling of wrongness?
"All right, I think that is enough for today." Mage Targa brought everything to a stop. "My, my! Where did the time go? Tomorrow is a rest day, so I will see you the day following."
Everyone thanked Mage Targa for his lesson and departed. Claire was the last to leave the little nook. Her exhaustion left her craving a nap, though she had hoped to explore the library instead; it would have to wait. Reyr was supposed to drop by just before dinner, so she had just enough time to rest.
When she emerged from the library, she found Caterina leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, waiting for her. "You had no right to interfere with me the other day." Caterina moved forward and blocked her path.
"Excuse me?" Heat boiled to the surface of Claire's skin. "I had every right to act. You insulted us. You attacked Desaree. Don't expect me to stand down."
"You are nothing more than an outsider," Caterina hissed, turning mean. "An outsider who got tangled up with the wrong woman. You had better stay out of my way."
It took a great deal of effort for Claire to control her temper. She donned an air of neutrality and merely arched an eyebrow.
"Lay off, Caterina!" One of the boys called from down the corridor. Caterina ignored them. So did Claire, who said, "It sounds to me, Caterina, like you are threatening me. I certainly hope this isn't the case. But if you are, you saw what I did the last time you got in my way."
Caterina laughed. "Last time? Last time I let my guard down. I can assure you it will not happen again. Mark my words, Claire, if you cross me again, I will kill you. You wouldn't be the first to die by my hand." Caterina spoke with pride, as if she took pleasure in the threat.
Claire schooled her features and refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing her angry. Instead she said, "Caterina, somewhere beyond this keep is a tree diligently producing oxygen so that you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology." With that, she side-stepped around the horrid woman and walked away, smiling. Let Caterina chew on that one for a while!
A screech echoed down the corridor. Sighing with frustration, Claire stopped and turned. Caterina stood livid with her fists balled up and her face beet-red. The wicked witch was unwilling to let the situation rest. She lifted her finger and pointed at Claire. "This does not end here, Claire. I will get you. I will get you good! And stay away from King Talon. He's mine!" With that, Caterina turned on her heel and stormed away in the opposite direction.
When Claire returned to her chambers, she collapsed into bed. Her exertion with magic and her confrontation with Caterina left her completely drained. It took mere seconds to drift off to sleep. As she slept, she dreamed...
She was on the back of a red dragon again, flying south with great haste. This time she protected a different Dragon Stone. The green Stone was nestled within the folds of her cloak.
Stretched out beneath her, all the way to the horizon, was a large bay spilling into the South Seas. She was heading south along the Eastern Barrier Range, making for the left side of the Zaikar Bay. Zaikar had a unique appearance. It was not one easily forgotten. On its left side, mountains rose up steeply like walls; on its right, as far as she could see, desert extended infinitely west and as far south as the sea would allow.
As Wrath the Red descended in lazy circles, she caught sight of the cave entrance. She was certain this place would be an excellent location for her precious Stone. Yes, it would do very well.
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