The travel to Karham was less eventful than I had expected. By day, we wandered eastwards along the winding road. By night, we took shelter among the trees to rest. Once we reached the crossing, marked by a hefty monolith at its center, and I had suppressed a great urge to climb the damn thing, we turned south. A few groups of haggard mercenaries had camped not far from it, but they cared little for our trio as we passed, bar a few glances or a nod.

More of interest were the few moments each evening when Yarelic shared bits and pieces of knowhow about the so-called 'arts'. The well of knowledge he carried within, was far deeper than I could've ever comprehended, and the lessons deepened the more he shared. He explained how elements had a tendency to favor a person whose prowess and temper matched its will. It came then as no surprise that frost and chill were his specialty. He told me that fire was fierce and came from the warmth of emotion; often it flared in the heat of a moment, dangerous and volatile. Water, its opposite, mostly bonded with those of deep thought or grief. The element was many times a telltale sign of a sorrowful existence, but could also be found among those calm of heart. Wind was the most fickle, lustful, and wild, easy to use but impossible to master. Earth, on the other hand, was a strange one. The element was best used by folks with stable, rigid minds. But some chaotic magi, eons ago, was so fraught with madness, his earthen prowess changed and shattered. Instead of conjuring, he wrought the ground with ruptures, fissures, and breakage. In his madness, he eventually brought down a mountain from the inside, yet did not think to move out of the way. None after had ever been able to replicate such magic.

"A fool!" Urax laughed at the story of the mad conjurer.

Yarelic ignored him and continued his lecture.

There was also dark magic, sorceries that played and tampered with the minds of others, blurred shadows, and turned friends against each other. It wasn't per se outlawed, but the few mages that could be proven to have conjured, or even just had the aptitude for such spells, were shunned and rarely welcomed.

"A person who prides himself in digging inside the heads of friend or foe alike, none would want such a man as his friend or neighbor. They are ill wights!" Yarelic's words were sharp and filled with disdain. "Young one, listen well when I say you do best in never dabbling in the dark arts!"

I nodded vigorously in response. The thought of prying into someone's head, both disgusting and terrifying. Then there was the light. Light was to be compared to wind, easy to use for most, yet held little weight in terms of combative use. Principally, it was at the core of every living creature. Hence, it was also highly individual and changed from person to person.

"I've always been especially good with surveying my surroundings with it, yet my light is discolored and flawed."

"The blue gleam?" I asked.

Yarelic nodded in response. "Indeed. Not that it matters, the effect is the same, yet I have never managed to do much else with it. Let alone heal a living creature."

"How come?" I asked, curious to hear more.

"My light is impure, contaminated by my prowess for the cold. And so, while it heals wounds, it blackens the flesh with frostbite." His voice dropped and the last few words came out as mumbling. Absent-mindedly, he flung a twig into the fire and shook his head. "Young one, your light could be different entirely, how about you give it a try?"

Excited, I nodded, put my emptied bowl aside, and shuffled closer.

It was tough; fire simply came when I asked it to, wind seemingly did the same though less willingly. Light, however, showed little interest in giving me a hand. With Yarelic's instructions as a basis, I whispered the words given, yet nothing happened.

"Don't think of heat, and ignore the whispers of the fickle wind, young one," he said while a ray of blue beamed from his hand, lighting up the tree crowns above in a cold glow. "Look up at the cosmic bodies radiating on the veil, take from them the idea of light, and think of yours as the same. Then reflect what you feel outwards!"

Though I did as told, expecting at least the smallest of slivers to appear, my upturned palm remained barren of magic.

"It's not working!" I complained, and even through his wrapped visage, I could sense the concern. Clearly, his expectations had been the same as mine.

"Heck it works!" Urax suddenly burst out from his seat by the fire, his eyes sparkling with excitement as a tiny ray, the size of a child's finger, arose from within his giant mitten.

Pathetic as it was, it was better than the nothing I had produced, and my jaws clenched with frustration.

"I must say, young one, I've never seen someone have no talent with even the simplest of light. It is..." he paused and the cloth above his eyes wrinkled, "...odd." The light in his hand dissipated and he leaned closer, "I was convinced that what you did to those rattar we hunted, was some conjuring of light. An incidental spell, or perhaps a subconscious relic of undisclosed aptitude."

A blue flicker radiated from behind the fabric on his face as he prodded and poked his conscious against mine. I could feel it, tickling my skin, cold.

"It is there, I can feel it. It's like the light of mine is being drawn towards you, as if you are sucking it in." He shook his head and the blue gleam and the tingling stopped. "I could have bet a handful of silver that among the elements that have so opulently graced a child such as yourself, the greatest of them would have been light. It all makes little sense."

Stubbornly, I tried again and again, but eventually, as beads of sweat sprang from my temples, Yarelic placed a hand on my shoulder.

"The secrets of this world are many, and in my years, I have come to understand but a few. Practice with moderation, young one, lest see yourself maddened. Not everything is meant for everyone."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It was hard to tell if he was sincere, or took secret pleasure in my failure. I'd know, if only I could see that mug of his, I thought bitterly, before I made myself comfortable atop a mound of leaves. Secretly, I whispered, until I could keep my eyes open no more.

The following day, we saw the gray towers of Karham rise from the valley below. Forest landscape had begun to clear, with fields and farmland cutting through the trees with rising frequency. It was still early when we closed in on yet another mercenary group huddled around the fire, enjoying their morning meal at the roadside.

"Koliakk," Urax muttered as we neared.

"A friend of yours?" I asked, and in response, Urax let out a series of curses so vile they would have curdled milk and caused children to cry in their cribs.

I quickly dropped the subject.

"A wise choice," Yarelic whispered from behind, as the big man did his best to keep his face turned away from the group while we passed.

"Is that you, Urax!?" a burly voice rumbled from the camp, clearly recognizing the massive frame from behind. "What now, you've stopped greeting old friends, ya big lugger!?"

The man speaking tossed his bowl aside, and came stomping through the grass towards us. He wasn't quite as tall as Urax, but his frame was impressively broad and clad in a thick gambeson. The savage mace he nonchalantly held in his hand looked heavy, and still carried dried pieces of flesh and hair at the spikes. Urax turned to meet him, and for a moment, the air ran thick with tension. After a short staredown, Koliakk began laughing, a forced, unnerving sound that did little to ease the moment.

"What do you want, Koliakk?" Urax grumbled, his tone void of his usual warmth.

"What have I ever done to sour that curly mug of yours?" the ruffian said with obviously feigned confusion. "Oh!" He exclaimed, scratching his armpit with a greasy hand, "...must have been when I took that girl of yours. Gods be blessed, she felt good!"

His mouth contorted into a cruel grin as his knuckles tightened around the mace. "That shoulder of yours healed yet?"

By now, the rest of his men had begun lining up beside him, gripping wooden shields and a wide variety of iron weaponry, some sharp, others spiked. The face of Urax was neither smiling nor showing signs of joyous bloodthirst, yet the veins on his forehead bulged as his eyes had gone dark and murderous.

"Piss off!" He snarled, the words more beastlike than human.

"Don't be like that..." Koliakk gloated with an inviting whisper, spurring the big man on. But as his eyes wandered from Urax, to me, to the cloth-wrapped magi, some of the composure seemed to drain from his face. The blue glow radiating from Yarelic's face, the most likely cause for his faltering confidence.

"I knew your taste in company has fallen beyond saving, old friend..." Koliakk said, the grin now washed from his grizzled face, replaced by disdain, "...but the cursed one at that?"

He spat on the ground in front of Urax. "I'll have you know she begged for it, cried for me to give it to her like the dirty wench she was."

He gestured for his men to turn back, and stared long and hard into Urax's eyes, before he too walked off towards the camp. Urax stood in silence and glared at the man, and only when Koliakk and his men had seated themselves by the dwindling campfire, did he turn to continue down the road.

"You didn't have to do that!" Urax snorted after a long lasting silence. We had continued on without a word, but the strain on his face had finally begun to lessen once Koliakk's camp was out of sight.

"Yes, I did..." Yarelic replied, "...you were about half a taunt away from throwing that thick skull of yours into trouble. It didn't seem like such a good idea to me, old friend."

Urax grunted in response, "Seemed like a perfectly good time to split that filth open from ear to ear if you ask me."

Urax's face was still haunted by dark thoughts as we continued. The event made it very clear how little I knew about my companions. Seeing Urax's mood, I dared not ask the big man a thing of what this had all been about; instead, I turned my attention to Yarelic.

"Why did that man call you cursed, because you're a mage?"

Yarelic shook his cloaked head in response. He held up a cloth-bound hand to the sun, studied the yellowing fabric while we walked. "It's due to this, I guess."

Although it had felt like none of my business to ask, for some time now the curiosity had been overwhelming. During our lectures, I often found my eyes wandering across the thick straps binding his face and limbs. I could hold the question back no longer. "Why do you cover yourself with...that, is it truly a curse?"

To my surprise, he chuckled. "No, young one, and yes..." He pulled back his sleeve to uncover a thin, bony arm, and began unfurling a small knot, unwinding the wraps partly to reveal shriveled, black-blue skin at his wrist. "...It's a long story of sorcery and bad choices, but I'll keep it brief."

He again bound his arm with the fabric, but once done, he continued. "Many years ago, more than I have remembered to count, I was determined to keep someone precious to me alive. Knowing the faults of my light, I decided to practice on mine own flesh. It did not go as one had hoped..." with a deep sigh, he rolled down the cloak to again cover his harrowed limb. "...I was simply not as good as told by my peers, or I myself believed. In the end, this body of mine had all but shriveled up, blackened and cold to the touch. The one dear to me, long gone."

"How are you even alive!?" I blurted without thinking, but Yarelic's demeanor stayed calm and collected, his voice, if anything, felt saddened as he answered.

"That I've truly wondered myself for much too long. Perhaps it's the gods punishing me for my failure or hubris, perhaps it's the magic I injected myself with. Worry not, young one, I have since long lost interest in this faltering vessel. What I crave now is knowledge."

My face scrunched up, deep with thoughts of his predicament. Not dead, but not truly alive either, if anything a far worse curse than a birthmark.

"Keep me in your mind as yet another lesson, young one..."

"What lesson?" I asked, confused.

"...In all honesty, I don't know. Just try not to mirror these mistakes of mine." He chuckled sardonically, "Let's catch up with our lumbering buffoon before he leaves us behind."

"What was it all about back there with him and that man Kal... Koliakk, a girl?"

The fabric on his face wrinkled with concern, "That, young one, is not for me to gossip about." And with that, we rushed our steps onwards.

The walls of Karham stretched across the landscape as we neared, passing farms and small villages. Bubbling inside me was excitement, a thrilling feeling that had only grown since we left the last of the trees behind. To the south, the little rill that had accompanied me along my travels had parted with the road, and merged with others of its kind. Together they formed a far reaching lake that glistened like silver in the midday sun. Ahead, Karham's gate, crafted from iron, rock, and heavy wood, welcomed us with its daunting maw wide open. Surely, new sensations awaited within.