Judas found Julie at a tailoring shop not far down the road from the inn. From the shop’s sidewalk, he could still see their hotel. Julie finished as he arrived.

Madam Rose handed her a receipt and told her not to lose it. “Pick ‘em up around early evening. Mind ya’, we close before Apor sets.” The apprentice handed the receipt to her master; she’d lose it long before her robes were ready. Judas pocketed the slip after eying the bold letters ‘Stitched In Time,’ on the front.

The duo managed to snag the last few moments of breakfast upon returning to the inn, dining on eggs, bacon, oranges, fried bread with mashed beans, and goat’s milk.

After all he had done, and all that the wild tales claimed, Judas accepted the stares and gawks. Even now, he rarely gave it thought. Julie, however, couldn’t focus on her plate, her eyes darting around the dining room, making eye contact with the few people who remained. Earlier, when they checked in, two dozen littered the dining room. Now, only a handful remained.

A welcomed surprise came to the warlock when Julie kept her mouth shut and finished her meal, despite the infrequent, furtive glances shot periodically in their direction. With their meal finished, Judas stood and ushered Julie from the room. With a warm and reassuring hand on her shoulder, he guided her past the gawkers. In his room, she plopped down in the chair Todd once sat in, her arms across her chest, her brow frowning.

“You shouldn’t let them get to you,” Judas acknowledged, his voice gentle.

“I don’t understand!”

The elder sighed. “You’re still new here. You need to experience all the offerings of life, to understand that each focal point isn’t made up of two sides but several. That’s the difference between intelligent people and fools, a closed mind or an open one. When you manage to, then make your judgment, and do so with sound logic, knowing you’ve analyzed all facets.”

Her eyes darted to his, her brow softened, and she abandoned her scowl. “Are you closed minded?”

The question took him by surprise. The elder expected her to fixate on the patrons in the dining room. Instead, she turned the conversation around and went analytical, a testament to how her mind worked.

Judas took the seat opposite of her. “More often than not.”

“Why?”

“I would guess for the comfort I find in order and conduct, valuing my morals above those of the law, yet I follow the law to maintain order. It’s the structure of symmetry that’s appealing to me. Magic is about structure, harmony. Only those who use it for personal means distort it and make it chaotic.”

“You’re a warlock, an exile. You’re above the law.”

“No,” he addressed. “Never above, outside.” He waved the comment away. “I think we should turn our focus to your training. We won’t have much time along the way, but when we reach our destination, we’ll have more. It takes a lot of time and energy to train, and I intend to devote all my energy, or as much of it as I can, to you. The hardest part is the first step. I cannot tell you what to search for no more than I can explain what it’s like to breathe. That must come from within. Once you sense your magic, the rest will come.”

“You trained others, right?”

“Yes,” he admitted, hesitant.

“But?”

“I’ve never trained someone from the beginning. In the past, by the time most came to me, they had finished their tutelage at school. Some even apprenticed under another master prior to seeking me out. I never taught someone the basics; it was already long established. A learning experience for the both of us, I think.”

He stood, his head swiveling, searching, and spying what he sought. He moved to snatch it up. With a candle and holder firmly in his grasp, he held it out towards Julie before positioning the small night stand between them and setting the candle down.

“You know how to do magic, why don’t you use it to move the things you want?”

“Just because something can be done easier doesn’t mean it should be. I learned many years ago there’s a certain pleasure in doing things the mundane way.” His eye twitched and a flame flared at the wick’s tip. “I’ll be learning as much as you.” He reached for her wrists, holding her hands up on either side of the candle. “I want you to influence the flame, and if you can, snuff it out. Reach within, touch the magic coursing through your body. Realize you have the ability to call on magic, command it, and influence the candle. Appreciate the heat, the energy of the flame. Absorb it, bask in the warmth, and then—” the wick went out. A thin, wispy coil of smoke filled the air. He smiled, and the wick ignited again. “Think you can do it?”

“So, that’s it?” Julie queried. “Just influence the candle?”

“Yes.”

She blew the flame out. “Done.”

Judas chortled and relit the wick. “With magic, my dear, not ingenuity. The task is as much about influencing the flame as sensing your essence, where your ability to call upon magic comes from.” With a hunch in his back, he slouched in his chair, his gaze never wavering while Julie moved her hands up to the sides of the candle. He hoped it wouldn’t take long, but he expected her to fail many times before connecting with her essence.

Even as he waited, Judas realized even this menial task might be too much for her. Those born in Ermaeyth grew up with magic. Everyone influenced their essence to an extent, and those better adapted to magic pursued lucrative careers in a respective field. By the time he and other children went to school at age five, they managed to perform small magics themselves. Growing up in Ermaeyth made it as easy as breathing, but she didn’t grow up here. She had no idea what to look for, and it’d take time.

To her credit, she didn’t whine or falter in her persistent efforts, the minutes trickling by without success. The wax of the candlestick melted like the hours. Lunch came and went, another candle acquired. The only time she moved from her post was to use the privy. She always returned to her seat, to gaze at the candle and study the flickering flame. By the time dinner came, her stomach growled loud enough for Judas to discern, and he insisted she accompany him to dinner.

They dined on a thick stew of potatoes, carrots, pork and mushrooms over a bed of dense, fried bread, the latter so thick it required a knife. Julie tore into her plate with enthusiasm, devouring her portion moments after she received her meal. While she waited for her second helping, Judas noted she glanced around the dining room. Some of the faces changed, some didn’t. The ones remaining still wore scowls of dislike, discomfort, and suspicion. The new faces were oblivious to whom sat in their midst.

“Why don’t they recognize you?”

Judas finished chewing his food and shrugged. “I’m recognizable in Ralloc, but outside? Only by a few. Anywhere else and none would be the wiser unless I announce myself. If I’m recognized by the few, the whispers will soon follow. Otherwise it’s almost like a myth. It’s quite nice to be left alone.”

Julie kept her eyes moving, dancing between patrons, memorizing those of disdain and those oblivious. She shuddered and rubbed her arms as if cold and glanced back towards the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I get the sense no matter what I see, hear, do … it seems so strange.”

“That is to be expected. You have amnesia.”

“I don’t remember this place, any of it, but the knowledge is there.” She tapped her temple.

“I believe that’s the point of amnesia, my dear.”

“It feels so strange, like I don’t belong, or the knowledge doesn’t belong.”

“Monachopsis.”

“What?” She blinked at his word.

“A subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place? That something’s not quite right?”

“Yes!” she confessed, latching on to the word like a lifeline. “That’s it!”

Judas nodded, knowing what she felt was his fault. With reluctance, he told her why she couldn’t remember everything, though he was careful to leave certain elements out. He told her of where she came from, why he brought her back. She took the tale far better than he thought.

“I would’ve died if you left me?” The elder nodded. “Because someone is chasing you, or me, or both of us?”

He nodded again. “I believe whoever acquired the books from your shop intended not to leave any trace or evidence, even unsuspecting witnesses. It’s my belief he or she would’ve returned to eliminate you. I may have killed the sheol while we retreated, but more were coming. The auras they gave off told me as much.”

“You used the Essence Transference to give me knowledge?” She shrugged. “I would’ve died or come back and been stupid. You made the right decision, especially under the circumstances, and I would’ve made the same choice.”

He smiled, relieved, but doubt crept in. The warlock knew they’d eventually broach the subject again after she had time to let it sink in. When they did, her view might not be the same. He’d face that obstacle when the time came. There was no sense in worrying about it now.

Her second helping arrived a few moments later, and they finished their meal. Judas saw Julie off to her room before going to his own.

The next morning he found her sitting in a chair in her room, the candle burning, her eyes intent on the flame. He regarded her progress for over an hour before he left her to her devices, unsure of how long it would take. He could help her but was afraid she’d grow dependent on his help. The first time was always best on your own, but if she didn’t sense her essence by the time they left for the Corridor, he’d help her. Retreating to his room, he realized he did not warn his friend T’son of their imminent arrival. He planned to stay with him or at the inn at Wizard’s Pass.

T’son was a long-time friend, but Judas hadn’t spoken to him in many full moons. Reflecting, he’d failed to visit him for many years. Now, he’d be lucky to call him an acquaintance. Some friendships were born out of want or need, some formed in youth, but those forged in war stuck forever. Like Meristal’s.

Crossing the room, he closed the cyan curtains, making it easier to see T’son without so much light. Once darkened, he approached the large, oval mirror hanging on the wall to the right of the fireplace. He waved his fingers minutely, and the surface swirled in a fog of green.

“Who’s thur?” the thick accent came from the other side before the image formed.

Instead of seeing his reflection, the image of Judas’s friend appeared. The shorter, stockier man filled the mirror. His gleaming pate sparkled with a sheen of oil. What little hair remained grew long and shaggy. His round face was covered with a long, coarse beard of dark brown and gray and hid his cleft chin. His nose hairs rivaled his bushy eyebrows.

“T’son,” Judas beamed.

“Judas? That ya? What ya doin’ callin’ s’late?” the other groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Late? It’s mid-morning, unless I’m interrupting a nap. What are you going on about?”

“Well, hooey, snooty. You run a pub all night an’ see ho’ ya fare.”

“Ah, I always forget.” Judas said nodding, smiling. The warlock learned long ago sometimes to get what you desired without directly asking was to offer a less desirable solution. Politicians taught him that, his first teacher, his brother. Guilt racked him. He didn’t want to invite himself to T’son’s house. “Listen, would you like to take some time off and go with me to Marcoalyn? I could use a vacation and get away from the arrogance of Ralloc. What do you say? It’ll be like old times.”

“Ah, Judas,” T’son said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’d like tha’, sure I would; but I can’t take off like tha’, not anymore. I go’ dut’es here now.”

“So, let someone else run the bar for you. I’m sure someone would be willing to mind it for a few days.”

“Nah, they’d drain all m’liquor, and I’d be broke. Besides, the crazy coots ‘ere gone an’ made me gov’nor. Why the hell they’d tha’ no one wi’ever knows.”

“Governor? You didn’t write to tell your old pal the good news? Did you forget about us up here in the mountains?” Judas chuckled.

“Hardly, snooty! Ya’ pompous arses up ‘n Ralloc can’t stan’ the stench down here, so ya’ forget ‘bout the likes of us is mo’ like it. If any one of ‘em council membe’s eva’ bothe’ed to leave thur chambers, an’ come do’n here, why they couldn’ tell tha’ difference between pig shit and thur own farts. Damn dotards! Jus’ come ’ere.”

Judas allowed himself a chuckle at his friend’s ramblings, not only because of their truth, but because of the way he talked.

“So, why ya’ callin’ fur? Got an’other ball ya’ wan’ me to attend so ya’ can get ya’r laughs in?” Judas’s chuckling dried up, and he became stoic. “Yeah, I knew why ya’ always invited me.”

T'son’s accent and lack of proper articulation made him high entertainment at balls and political banquets. Whenever Judas could, he always invited his friend along with him, if nothing else for a silent laugh as people squirmed while T’son talked with his bizarre accent.

“Damn, and here I thought I was clever,” Judas jibbed, smiling. A large crash and the sound of shattering glass made Judas look away.

Julie!

He’d forgotten about her as he talked with his old friend.

T’son heard it, too. “Wha’ the devils of the Abyss wa’ tha’?”

“A momentary lapse in remembrance,” Judas explained in a rush. “I did have a reason to call, but I got to go now. I’ll call back soon, I promise.”

“So, in ‘bou’ a fortnigh’?” T’son asked with sarcasm. “Fo’get vacation, jus’ come ’ere ta Wizard’s Pass.”

“Sooner, I promise, and sure, I’ll stop by!” Judas smiled and ended the transmission. The green fog swirled away, and the surface of the mirror cleared. Another crash of shattering glass, this time, accompanied by a curse. A chuckle escaped him upon hearing Julie’s failed endeavors. Perhaps he needed to rescue her from herself.

Judas entered her room, the door opening with haste, but found her in the same position as he left her. She turned at his entry, a puzzled expression on her face. “I thought— Didn’t you just— I mean— Did you break something?” Julie shook her head in silence and another glass shattered in the distance, a room across the hall. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robes. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. “I thought you hurt yourself.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Nope.”

Judas pushed further into the room and sat opposite of her, noting the turbulence on her face. The flame burned calm, static, serene. Her eyes glittered not with intensity but angst. She had progressed beyond the desire to learn, to perform magic, to silent resentment. The warlock scrutinized the flame, hoping for a shift, a flutter, anything.

“To the Underworld with this!” she said, bounding to her feet, pacing. Her arms flailed about, emphasizing each word. “I sit, and I wait, and nothing happens! I feel nothing except anger and embarrassment at my stupidity!”

“Julie?” his soft voice called.

“I wasted my time and your time. A day and a half! That’s all it has been, but a long time to sit through, to wait for something to happen!”

“Julie?”

“Maybe I’m not meant to be a mage. The fairies are wrong, or they’re right, and I’m what’s wrong. I feel so … agitated.”

“Julie?” Judas spoke louder.

“I don’t know how or why, but I feel like I’m missing things, pieces of myself.” She stopped, locking eyes with him. “I know you aren’t telling me everything. You didn’t tell me everything when you told me why you brought me here. What are you hiding? Why are you treating me like a child?”

“Julie!” Judas nearly shouted, breaking through. His eyes tracked from her face to the candle, and she followed his gaze. The flame danced before their eyes, not the flickering of flame in the wind, but with a mind of its own. Julie’s mind. It bent and rolled, curling on itself, responding to her emotional state. He glanced up at his apprentice, but her gaze hardened. She ground her teeth and clenched her fist in frustration, the candle bursting as if crushed by an invisible force.

Judas sat as the shower of wax settled, impressed, but troubled by her anger. Though a natural attitude, a feeling of chaffing and irritation, she overreacted. Her eagerness to jump to the emotional spectrum, regardless if warranted or not, set him on edge. But he wouldn’tshadow her accomplishment by casting criticism. Julie’s raw power was hindered by her lack of affinity with magic. He had faith she’d succeed with time.

“Congratulations, my dear! Wonderful.”

“I did it?” she blinked, casting an apprehensive glance his way. “Sorry.”

“An impressive display, if I may say so.” Pulling his wand from his robes, he flicked his wrist, the wax disappeared, and the small mess cleared away. “Quite alright, my dear. Magic can fix almost everything, or at least, clear away a mess. Now, let’s try something else.” He shifted to the window and motioned her to join him. In the distance, a copse of trees formed the edge of a forested area.

“Magic’s more than bending a weak flame to your will; it’s a complex, binding entity of itself. Each of the five branches of magic has their rules, similar but different from each other. Magic can aid you, restore your health, help the infirm, educate and restore knowledge … limitless applications. Fun is but another aspect.” He pointed his finger out the window to the distant tree line. “Would you like to see them closer?”

“Teleport?” Julie asked, excitement filled her voice.

“No, not teleport. I’m talking about enhanced vision.” An eyebrow arched in silent question.

She nodded.

“You’re still a student, and you’ll need your wand for this.” He waited until she extracted it from her robes. Her clothing was a set made the day prior, a midnight blue outer robe with silver collar and lapels, and small white stars on the cuffs that matched her inner robe. With the wand in her hand, Judas instructed her on the finer points of how to hold the wand and the incantation to accompany the spell.

Julie spoke the incantation, focusing on her words and intent, but nothing happened. She sighed, dejected, her eyes narrowing.

“No, no. You’re trying too hard to make something happen. Let it flow. Be natural. It’s there, within, like a quiet whisper in your ear, or a spider crawling across your skin. You don’t notice it until you do.”

Julie sighed, her jaw working, setting her teeth, almost resigned to failure again when she tried the incantation. This time, as she spoke the words, the trees jumped, and her vision magnified. Judas cried out; the pain was sudden and unexpected. He saw through her eyes, his magic seeping into her as she used his essence to accomplish the incantation. Both of their visions swam, focusing on towering trees with twisting trails and thick underbrush, tumbling waterfalls spewing a fine white mist, and animals either hiding in the underbrush, drinking, bathing, or snatching food from the pooling waters.

“Beautiful,” she whispered with excitement.

Judas grunted with pain. The longer she siphoned from him, the worse the pain. In moments, she would feel it, too. A dull pain crashed in waves through his skull, akin to a blacksmith using his head as an anvil. A sharp agony started in his temple, and he vaguely heard Julie cry out. He concentrated on his essence, watching the cascade between the two of them, and pulled, reigning back in. Once he wrestled control from Julie, the prevalent anguish receded somewhat.

The warlock reached within, calling on his magic as he had many thousands of times in the past, and rejuvenated his body. The familiar sensation flashed through him, like waking from a week-long slumber. A wave of unfathomable energy permeated his body, like water soaking into the sand at the beach. Hunger and weariness leeched from him, bolstering his health and vitality. Even at his advanced age, he felt ready to trek up a mountain.

The pain subsided as the spell worked its way through his body. A sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned to the right. Julie was slumped over, holding her head, rocking back and forth. He reached out a hand and touched her, sending his magic through her. She stopped moving almost at once.

Her eyes looked up, blinked a few times in disbelief. “That was incredible, whatever you did!”

“A rejuvenating spell. Comes in handy. A little too advanced for you at the moment,” Judas said with a soft voice. “You’d do well to remember the spell in the future. I’ll teach you when the time is right.” A smile crept over his face. “Before you ask, we both caused the pain. In an attempt to control your elusive aura, your mind reached out and snatched mine, a stronger, bolder one. You siphoned, pulled my essence without acquiescence or my help. The pain is a natural fail-safe. Your essence will fight off the invasion, similar to when your body gets an infection; your fever burns it out.”

She shuddered. “I’ll try not to let that happen again.”

“Me either. Painful for both of us, and I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

He returned to his seat, and she followed. “Is that common?”

“Pulling someone’s essence?” He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“First, the one siphoning must be strong to begin with, and though someone may be powerful enough to snatch it, the pain will be enough for them to let go. Second, there are two types, inadvertent and blatant. What you did was unintentional, so we’ll chalk that up to the former. The latter is when someone rips your essence away from your control. They must possess the strength and the endurance to fight off the inevitable pain while channeling: the latter. The stronger the victim, the stronger the agony. Enough practice for the moment, I think.”

She grew pensive and poised to ask a question, her face betraying her collective thoughts. “I have seen wizardkind and a goblin thus far. What about the elyfian? Why aren’t they among the people of the realm? Are they all in the Enclave? I don’t recall ever hearing about them doing magic, can they?”

He shook his head. “The elyfian residing in the Vikal Mountains are a portion of the entire population. They, like wizardkind, are scattered throughout Ermaeyth. There’s much history to be learned. Much of your studying, magical or otherwise, will be from scripts and other various compilations, as well as practical application. I can give you a brief summary, but I could never replace a book.” He smiled. “The elyves are the gods of mortality.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I say the gods of mortality, I don’t mean they rule over us. They’re the fairest people in the realm, docile. Elyfians don’tmake decisions in haste and are masters of art, crafting, and war, but rarely move to the latter. Elyfians are considered a pacifist race; bloodshed is shied from unless all other measures are exhausted. Once, long ago, they entered into battle and brought a race—the goblins—to near extinction. When they sound the war bell, best not to impede them.

“But more than war, they mastered magic and made an art form. They are near-immortal and keep away from the mundane and daily use of magic. You could say it bores them, is beneath them. They still have mages and teachers instructing the young, but most become artisans, builders, and craftsman. Only the dwaven out-shined them in the art of making weapons of war. But of making war itself, a caste of warriors called the Jaikari is outdone by none.”

“How’s that possible? How can they be second to the dwaven? An immortal race should have perfected their craft by now, right?”

“They refuse to make weapons of war. Only when they declare war is when they make their blades, and they are far superior to the dwaven’s weapons. After the war is over, each blade is destroyed.”

“Why don’t they destroy their enemies by magic? If possible to wipe out their foe, why hesitate?” she asked. The master considered her curiosity. If she possessed the power to destroy her enemies, she wouldn’t hesitate. Would she feel compelled or obligated to the people and the ones she loved to make sure their enemies never rose up against them again? The thought bothered him.

“Why would anyone wish that transgression upon any sentient race?” he chided her, breaking the silence. “But to answer your question, like wizardkind, most can use magic, but not to the extent of wizards. Elyfian can’t rely on their powers alone, few can. You, too, will most likely need to learn to use a blade or staff or even archery to keep yourself alive. But back to the elyves, even though they don’t make weapons of war, they do make weapons of defense and sporting. They make the finest bows and arrows, as well as light, sturdy shields. Who knows what they do up in the Vikal Mountains. They prefer living in solitude rather than mingling.”

“Why solitude?”

“Have a care, Julie. Elyves seek solitude because wizardkind fear them. We’re a nosy and fretting race. Why become involved with a race that fears you or tells you how to run your affairs? Wizardkind, more often than not, is closed-minded and prejudiced as a general rule. Why subject yourself to discrimination? So, their elusiveness makes wizardkind wary and fear will drive people to do shameful things.”

“Ever consider the reason they dislike elyves is because they are so distant?”

“Yes, young one, that argument has arisen on numerous occasions. The elyves, however, don’t want to be scrutinized like a child with a wand. They’re their own people and would rather be left alone. Sadly, it’ll take another war for the wizardkind to realize that.”

“What do you mean ‘they’re their own people?’”

“Long ago, elyves weren’t so different than wizards.” He held up a finger. “Let me back up to give you a better perspective.” He gestured with his hands as he recited. “The druids were the first race to walk Ermaeyth. The archangels fell in love with the race and began to breed with them, giving birth to the first new race of Ermaeyth, the nephiliam. From the descendants of the nephiliam came two dominant races, wizardkind and elyves. Of course, there were subcultures within the two races. The first markings of difference between these two races are minuscule, but over time, the gulf between the two became more prominent. Wizardkind sought to harness magic, mold it to their will. They also became scholars of magic, science, agriculture, and general knowledge.

“The elyves, on the other hand, became only wielders of higher mysteries of the arcane, learning enough to augment what they sought. From our perspective, they seemed like vain creatures, obsessed with beauty and the ability to change anything to suit their pursuit of elegance. Needless to say, they experimented on themselves and each other, drawing out aristocratic features and enhancing areas of attractiveness. For all their beauty and conceitedness, they soon saw they’d become easy prey to wizardkind. They took up the art of war, crafting weapons and armor of the finest caliber and honing their skills with augmented strength, speed, and agility to negate wizardkind’s magical prowess. Until the Wizard’s War, we never witnessed firsthand the beauty and ruthlessness of their prowess in combat.”

“Can you tell me of the Wizard’s War? I only know generalities but not specifics.” He noted the dripping curiosity and eagerness from his student. What part of the subject did she hunger for?

“There are many theories on the war, which is the first thing you must understand. I don’t profess to be a scribe of histories nor a historian. I’ll tell you what I learned over the years from my studies and first-hand knowledge. Again, if you want to learn, I recommend a good book. The actual Wizard’s War didn’t begin when wizardkind entered but long before. That is a crucial point to understand. Not many accept this fact.”

She leaned forward in her chair.

“The actual war started an age before my birth with the elyves and the goblins. Why the goblins and elyves went to war is still a mystery.”

“You have a theory, don’t you?” she guessed.

“I have theories like the next man, but now isn’t the time to speculate. The elyves rallied and pressed the goblins on all sides. Many thought the elyves would end the race—even the goblins. In the end, the elyves pitied them for pushing them close to the brink of extinction,and they found restraint. The elyves destroyed countless treasures of their artisanship, their weapons of war. Only a few pieces are kept in museums as a reminder of both their skill and lethality.”

“But it was warranted, right? The goblins struck first, didn’t they? If so, the elyves should hunt them down,” she spoke, an edge of resentment crept into her voice.

“That’s what history tells us.” he answered cryptically. The low fire danced lazily in the hearth. He scrutinized the turmoil rolling across her face, thinking about atrocities ending before her time. Judas pondered his new pupil. Though energetic and full of wonder, another side emerged, one not seen while she slumbered.

She was ruthless.

This wasn’t the first time Julie talked about taking a hard line against those who wrong others. In taking her stance, she skirted close to the brink herself.

Depends on where you stand yourself.

From where he stood, he found little difference between Xilor and Julie’s hardline approach, except the former was inherently evil while she flirted with a gray morality. Before he caught himself, he started talking about Xilor and the war.

“Sixty-three hundred years ago, the war started between the elyves and goblins. Around twenty-nine hundred years later, Xilor announced himself to Ermaeyth. That’s the time most consider the beginning of the Wizard’s War, because we became involved. He reigned destruction, chaos, and death for a long time. But in the end, he was defeated—at least, for the time being.”

“What was your role in the Wizard’s War?”

“Various. I did fight on the front lines though. My first foray in the war came on the battlefield near Far Point. To reach Far Point, you must travel through the Corridor of Cruelty. The Corridor is in the mind of the perceiver, so I went through, and the journey took me ten years. At least, from my experience.”

“Your experience?”

“When we pass through the Corridor, you’ll understand.”

“What do you mean ‘when’ we pass through? Don’t you mean ‘if?’” Julie’s eyes narrowed.

“No, when,” he corrected her. “Anyway, my understanding grew from the knowledge of the Corridor, both about magic and myself.”

“You defeated the dark lord?”

Judas clarified. “I stopped him, so I guess you can say defeat, but he isn’t dead.”

“Why didn’t you track down the dark lord’s family and rid Ermaeyth of them or hold them hostage? That would solve the problem, right?”

Again, her hardline approach. Julie’s idea, though sound in logic, lacked morality. Her view walked across a chasm of difference from Judas’s own. The gnawing in the pit of his stomach didn’t abate, knowing his duty required instilling her with morals and magic.

“Julie, it’s much more complicated. Only a select few know of the dark lord’s true existence, who he is. His family, if he even has one, may be innocent.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“That information eludes me,” he revealed in a flat, defeated voice.

“Why?”

“I found no trace of evidence for my suspicions. In reversed roles, I’d erase such information. For a time, I thought I knew his identity. Many things about him seemed familiar to me, but the possibility seemed unlikely and improbable. I hated myself for many years thinking such a thing. I disgraced and dishonored someone’s memory.”

“Who did you think he was?”

“Someone from my past.”

He knew Julie waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she prodded him further. “Who? What did he do? Where is he now?”

“A good friend, and he’s gone,” he said with a finality.

She is intrigued by Xilor. Our conversation has turned dark. What does she hope to glean from him?

“So what happened, did everyone think you died in your ten-year absence?” she asked. He remembered that he hadn’t finished the story.

“No, my dear. That’s how I perceived my time in the Corridor. I was only gone for a season.”

“Three months? How do you get ten years out of a season?”

“Like I said, the Corridor of Cruelty is all in the mind of the perceiver. The curse of fear is similar, but you don’t fear the Corridor—you fear what it can do.”

“So, what happened during those three months?”

“I’ll withhold most events because you’ll pass through the Corridor soon. Within, you’ll find your strengths and weaknesses, your fears and hopes.”

“So, you told me nothing.”

“I can only teach you so much before you must experience things on your own.”

The warlock floundered, bolting to his feet. He fumbled, digging into his robe as if a hot coal burned his leg. From a pouch, he pulled out a small mirror. A swirl of green fog obscured the surface for a moment before the face of a wizard materialized.

“Judas Lakayre, report to Ralloc on the morrow. The consul has an assignment for you. Bring the Wcic,” he commanded. The face faded in the green swirling fog.

“What was that?”

“A summon from the Kothlere Council. If they think I’m going to come running back to them with you in tow, they’re bigger fools than I thought.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t until I find out who’s hunting me. Well, I assume me. That’s why we’re ‘on the run’ and not at my manor. Whoever is looking for you or me would go there first.”

“If they don’t know where you are, how did they manage contact with you?”

He smiled. “An astute observation. I linked my essence to this mirror instead of a fixed position like my residence. They can contact me, but not track me. You’ve got to be one step ahead always.”

“What’s a Wiz-sick?”

“What?”

“You called me one at your manor, telling me about the elder fairy.”

“Oh! A Wcic! It’s an acronym for someone like you: wizardkind caught in crossover. It means someone with magical abilities from the Other Side.”

Judas walked to her mantle above the fireplace and retrieved the sole candle. He rubbed his fingers near the wick and a flame appeared. He placed the candle in front of her.

“Let’s try again, but this time, with your essence.”