Night fell, soothing the humidity to a tolerable level. Huddled around the small, bright fire, Judas sat across from Julie. In the muted darkness, his back slouched against a fallen log, his knees high with feet planted firmly on the ground. He used his legs as a makeshift podium, a book laying against his legs. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his left temple, unnoticed. Lost in his thoughts, the book lay forgotten.

Why’s the Corridor presenting her with such rigors? She’s but a novice. Is it basing itself on her power or somehow latching on to mine? It shouldn’t, otherwise we’d be tasked together.

He couldn’t deny the troubling possibility. He’d watch for more signs that the passageway couldn’t distinguish between the two of them. If it became too difficult, he’d step in and stop her progress. The thought chaffed him. Interfering may do more harm than good, but if the erratic behavior continued, he’d be left with no choice. A dilemma he’d never faced before.

Another troubled aspect was Julie’s magical control. At times, she snatched her essence with ease, and in the next few moments, it evaded her like it never existed. Granted, she lacked the luxury of growing up in a magical world and learning as a child. What she grasped came in spurts.

She lacks control directing her aura. I need to find a way to unlock whatever’s blocking her abilities.

He knew it couldn’t only be the Corridor, but recognized it was part of the problem. Her troubles started at the beginning when she first attempted to harness her essence. It was only explanation he considered, at least, one he was willing to admit.

Another factor he failed to include, perhaps the fault didn’t lie with her, but with him. Though a master many times over, this was the first time he failed to find a connection with someone new. The blame, theoretically, lay at his feet. He thought back to Meristal and how she seemingly taught her with ease, the lesson coming to Julie almost immediately. The staggering majority of magic wielding civilization derived from the Plotus branch of magic. Her inability might stem from her focal point: her wand. If she didn’t make significant progress by the time they reached Wizard’s Pass, he’d reevaluate her and see if she was an Owlen mage destined to use an orb, or a Mussari user befitting a staff.

I don’t understand. A child should be able to go through here, has gone through here.

Taking part in this mental bombardment to strengthen her mind was the pinnacle of their journey. He hoped the rigors would churn her mind, enhancing her abilities, and the prowess to call upon them.

If she truly is the one in the prophecy and to has a steadfast chance against Xilor, this unfortunate place is a necessity.

Without this abhorrent site, the dark lord would tear her mind apart on a mere whim, regardless of magical abilities or lack thereof. Judas still wasn’t sure he believed the whole prophecy, but he wouldn’t deny the possibility either. It was a reality he hated to admit.

Sighing in frustration, he closed the book propped against his legs. He was no closer to understanding the secrets of the book, the Corridor of Cruelty, or Julie’s inability to harness her essence. He scoured the contents for years, ages, and was no closer to achieving an understanding than the day the book was pressed into his hands.

False nightlife filled the background noise in the stretching silence between master and apprentice. The faint sounds were both irritating and a welcome relief against nothing.

Judas tilted his head back and looked at what few stars gleamed through the dark shroud of clouds. Julie stirred uneasily in the silence. He felt the disappointment and frustration roiling off her, nearly palpable. When the need for small talk arose, Judas usually left the task to someone far more elegant than he: Meristal. He searched feebly for any subject to talk about, and when he failed to find a suitable topic, he returned to the last conversation they had.

“Have you given any thought to what I said earlier? About standing up for yourself?” he asked, his eyes still gazing upwards at the stars. His throat constricted, and he couldn’t help the mortification of his insecurity.

“No.”

Well, at least she’s honest. “No? Why not?”

“Well, I haven’t been thinking of that at all, but on what you said about society expecting things to be handed to them.”

“Oh; and?”

“Well, all told, I think you’re right. There are some people who want things given to them. They’d rather take what isn’t theirs than earn their keep like everyone else. I don’t know as much about Ermaeyth as I would like. I haven’t heard anything to make my next statement false, but if I’m wrong, I’m sure you’ll correct me. The elyves still work and do everything for themselves even after the goblins attacked them all those years ago. I mean, if anyone deserves something handed to them, wouldn’t it be them? They were innocent and yet attacked because—I don’t know why. They could have sat back and demand retribution for the past war crimes, but they didn’t, which reflects greatly on their society. I do, however, think the goblins should pay some penance.”

“You make some good points, all worth taking into consideration, but there are those who think the opposite and people deserve hand-outs. Most of us, including historians, agree the goblins were the aggressors. Some still believe they should be given money, positions, and power, simply because they think they were acting out at the injustices we placed upon them. That’s the root of the problem. They’re only the way they allowed themselves to be. Tell me, should we let you be the queen of the Ralloc domain because we exiled your ancestors so long ago?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. A quick dart of her hand pulled back a loose tress of honeyed hair behind her left ear.

“No, of course not! The crimes committed by the exiles isn’t my fault, nor is the punishment they received meant for me. It was just an unforeseeable side effect. I didn’t do the crime, so I shouldn’t be punished. You rectified the situation: you brought me over and tried to make things right. My ancestors, though, that’s different. They deserved the punishment, for whatever reasons those may be. Why should I reap the punishment of someone else’s crime? Besides, I shouldn’t take advantage of someone else’s labor. You and Ralloc did just fine before I got here, so why would I rule? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

He smiled to himself, evaluating her argument built on sound logic. “And there you have one of the greatest arguments in history,” he instructed. “Traditional people who are conformist prefer the longer view of life; then you have open-minded people who prefer the short-term view and are most generous with other peoples’ time and hard-earned money. It’s hard to find a perfect balance between opposites, but to achieve such admirable results, you need both. I don’t condone people starving, and I think they should be helped to a degree; but if a man doesn’t work, then he shouldn’t be allowed to eat at another man’s table or by another man’s ingot.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Julie asked. In the darkness, the firelight flickered across her face, her brow nettled.

“Well, you brought the subject up by admitting you haven’t been thinking about what I said earlier, but in a way, you have. By not thinking of yourself, you thought of others. I was curious as to how, what, and why you’d think it. If I can understand those things, then I can understand you.” He paused to give her a long, measured look. “You grasp modern society—the pulse of the people—as the younger generations say.” He waved his hand for emphasis, sharing a smile with Julie. “Let me ask you a question: if you received a million ingots and were told to spend it how you see fit but for the good of the people, how would you carry out such a task?”

“I don’t know!” she sputtered. “Certainly on something they needed. I don’t know the specifics of how your school works—Divinity Enigumas—but I would build another one, closer to Ralloc. Maybe for specialized study, for those who graduate the regular school?”

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Divinity Enigumas? I don’t remember telling her about the school.

He sifted through the short time they had spent together and found no recollection of telling her of the place. A cold suspicion settled over him. The only plausible explanation was the books he used during her Essence Transference, which only made him wonder what else managed to slip through undetected. The notion bothered him profoundly. He hadn’t been as careful as he thought. What other subjects managed to find their way into her mind because of his carelessness?

The warlock found his voice. “So, in other words, you’d build a school for higher learning and education, where people could go to learn more in-depth on particular subjects? Sound about right?”

She nodded.

“How would the school make money? Remember, we aren’t giving you money to run it each year, so how would you sustain the school without funds?”

Julie delved deeper into her musings. “I don’t know,” she said, put off by his sudden curiosity. “Probably a pay-as-you-learn deal. That’s the only thing I can think of. Why?”

“I just learned something else about you by the way you think,” he said, smiling. “You’d build a school for the betterment of the domain, and for the individual who chose to go there; but you didn’t say you’d force anyone to attend, and you didn’t make the service without strings attached. You gave everyone something for their use and could improve or enhance their stature for jobs and the community. Very good.”

“Why? What difference does it make what I’d do with the ingots?”

A gleam came to his eye, one he didn’t hide nor would he want to. He changed his posture, sitting up straighter. Regardless of the politics in the capital, he genuinely cared about the people of the realm. He wanted to help, inspire, make society a better place, and he hoped he could arouse Julie’s interest in his personal beliefs and devotions. Though made an outcast and feared by an underprivileged community, he cared for them and hoped to inspire others by leading the way. He embodied the change he wanted to see in the world, but was terrified of his eventual failure. Trying everything in his power to avoid defeat, he’d give up long after others lost their way. Judas hoped she distinguished his care for her wellbeing like everyone else’s. If he fostered this passion for the people who feared and rejected him, how would he feel towards her—someone who hadn’t rejected him?

He answered her. “Some people would do the same as you and build something for everyone to use if they chose to, but there are those who’d hand the money out, and let people spend their boon as they saw fit. In their defense, it wouldn’t necessarily be bad, but what long-term good would have come from it? What can people learn from having money just given to them? Sure, some businesses can turn more profit with extra funds, and some people could start their own business or plant more crops or sell more goods at the markets; all based on the assumption everyone would turn around and put their new-found money back into the economy. Not everyone would, so it wouldn’t do any good for the distant future. It’s just a short-term, temporary thing. A quick fix, if you will.”

Julie nodded absentmindedly. Her eyes shifted to him, a troubled look coming to her face. “What happened between you and the Kothlere Council? How did the animosity get started?”

“The Kothlere Council?” His eyes betrayed his surprise that she’d be interested in something so mundane and yet specific. “Well—” he cleared his throat. “The council hasn’t always been, nor did it go by the name Kothlere. Emissaries from various kings or rulers of races made up the first one. It was enormous, somewhere around a hundred and twenty-five people. We even had an esteemed guest from the Kran Empire on the other side of the world. War, poverty, and famine spread, severing ties. Not the Wizard’s War, mind you, but wars in general. Lands recalled their dignitaries, and it was disbanded. No one thought much of the slow and steady dwindling of members.

“The council’s primary purpose had been to keep neighboring lands informed of troop movements and make official reports so no one would assume acts of war when protecting their borders.” He sighed, deep and slow. “After the realm had recovered from poverty and famine, the consensus revolted at the idea of reforming what they considered a useless body, so no one sent their dignitaries back. In turn, sovereignties strengthened armies, borders tightened, and trade became restrictive. In short, the very thing the council had initially been created to ward against happened. And then,” he said, his words weary, “came the Wizard’s War and the fight against Xilor.”

At the mention of Xilor’s name, the warlock saw his apprentice shiver. She knew the summed up history of him, a vile monster and a mass murderer. He tried to restrict such knowledge.

“We were so uncoordinated,” he added, sidestepping her reaction. “We didn’t know who had what within their lands, the size of their armies, or whether they needed reinforcements or supplies. Xilor marched over us like we were ants, and uncoordinated ants at that. He had speed, numbers, magical strength, and communication on his side. We had none of those benefits in the beginning.”

“How did you overcome the communication problem?” Julie inquired, intrigued.

“We learned by spying—we stole the method from them. Xilor originally came up with the method he used against us during the war. We sent in a few of our most trusted goblins, and they watched his followers make contact with their then-unknown master. Xilor didn’t reveal himself to the whole realm until late into the war, almost at the very end. He worked in a cloak-and-dagger style fighting. When our goblins came back across the enemies lines, we extracted the memories and examined them for ourselves. I’d like to take credit, but no. I did help in the beginning, deciphering the memories, but during that time, I had a hard go of establishing myself because of my youth. People refused to listen, so I left.”

“Where did you go?”

“Well, much like you’re an apprentice now, I, too, was an apprentice. I left the master assigned to me in search of another. I’d heard of a being, and I vowed to seek him out.”

“With a war going on?” Julie queried, perplexed.

“The war isn’t what everyone thinks; it was sporadic—a skirmish there, a battle here, nothing solid or concrete, no declarations, and lacked solidifying forces wearing uniforms and armor. Each incident seemed isolated from the other with no linking factor between them. We thought the fights were just border disputes, but Xilor used them to weaken us and reduce our ability to counter-attack. He destroyed crops and towns, and even the carpenters’ and blacksmiths’ shops. Vampires devoured herds under the presumption of hunger. The list of the damage he instigated is endless, and we never suspected anything! The price we pay for being fools.

“And while we dealt with these small battles, which were occasional, he geared up for a massive assault. So during this ‘war’, I went and learned from the being, but my tutoring under him came to an abrupt end when Xilor made himself known. He committed many dark and sinister atrocities out of public view. The Great Wizard’s Circle, for instance, was all but destroyed. Xilor made a fatal mistake that ended up costing him: he revealed himself before he totally crushed us. The showing of his hand gave us the push we needed. It gave us a common enemy to focus on. Had he never revealed himself, today we might all be speaking Draconian or some other foul language.

“When the war finally ended, the council reformed but under a different banner. Each race argued about what it should be named, where to be seated, who should be on allowed to reside, and so on. Eventually, a few of my friends and I persuaded them to name it Kothlere and seat it in Ralloc, in the house of Kothlus. There were supposed to be seven members in all, including the consul: one wizardkind, an elyf, one goblin, a dwaven, one troll, a centaur, and the consul, who could be from any group. But unrest came with the decision.

“The dwaven refused their seat outright, saying they didn’t want anything to do with the outside world, but I suspect it had more to do with the xenophobic king than the dwaven themselves. The elyves declined their seat after deliberations, saying immortals mingling with mortal affairs would be improper. Most of the wizardkind were outraged about trolls being on the council, and the goblins refused if we permitted trolls. Long-story-short: the paper pushers moved legislation around, and they cut out the trolls, suddenly classifying them as animals and not sentient beings, making the majority happy but slipping down the slope of immorality.

“The goblins capitalized on the now-empty seat and pushed for two of their kind. Someone crafted devious legislation, ensuring that if a goblin consul were named, they’d vacate one of their seats indefinitely. Since then, there has been nothing but wizardkind as consuls. And thus,” he said with great arm movements like he presented a grand masterpiece to a crowd, “the history of the council, relatively.”

“Why did they go from over a hundred to just seven?”

“Insightful, aren’t you?” Judas smiled in the flickering orange light. “The decision came about that it’d be best for one representative per race instead of one representative from each kingdom or empire; in a sense, forcing all rulers to work together and influence the one or two members available to them. Thus, all the domains worked in unison. The initial thought is all but moot. Many smaller kingdoms combined to form a larger one, at least, the races that aren’t wizardkind. The smaller kingdoms of wizardkind formed a republic long ago, turned over by a monarch.”

He caught a minute movement out of the corner of his eye, Julie trying to stifle a yawn, but to no avail.

“Get some sleep,” Judas offered. “You have a big day tomorrow. I sense we’re nearing the end of our journey, and hopefully soon, we’llbe on our way. I’m going to get some sleep, too.”

“Nearing the end?”

“Get some rest,” Judas reiterated. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”