The first day of travel back south toward Krandaelyn was mostly silent. Acadian hadn’t even glanced at the rest of his companions when they emerged from the Halls to load into the readied cart. Gostor toyed with his gems and Flynn hummed his songs, but the others didn’t share so much as a Good Morning.

Keena (more so Pippy) had supplied them with food and refilled their waterskins before they left. The dragon told them they were welcome back anytime several times that morning; so many that they wondered if she had forgotten that she already mentioned it.

They took the same route down the edge of the Dalneau Mountains toward Konne, careful to skew westwardly away from the tower where Agaas had tormented them a couple of nights prior.

The group had made good progress during the day, being able to stick to the main road and not having to wander the forest looking for an old witch. They passed a few trade caravans on the way and one especially strange gnomish man who was riding an impossibly large rhinoceros he claimed to have bought from the continent of Pegres. Acadian and Flynn set up camp several paces away from the path.

When they had all settled down, Arsa tried to catch Acadian’s eye, but it was clear the older elf was avoiding his engagement. The evening sounds were beginning to fill the space, a symphony of cicadas and owls supplying a constant white noise to drown out the sighs and tired groans of the party.

“Can I see the book?” Flynn asked, eyeing Acadian’s bag.

“No,” he responded gruffly.

Frank was lying belly-down on his bedroll watching the interaction before rolling over leisurely to his side, “May I see the book?”

“Sure,” Acadian pulled the book free and handed it over. Flynn watched the transaction, giving an offended scoff. He sat cross-legged beside Frank as he cracked open the pages.

The tome was thick with brittle parchment that was jagged and discolored at the edges. It was first and foremost a journal, with several pages of notes and ramblings scrawled in various colors of ink. The penmanship was difficult to discern but retained just enough legibility to comprehend.

After each section of research and note-taking was a fully-formed spell laid out with perfectly measured runes and wordcraft. As Frank thumbed through the pages, each incantation seemed to be a different version of a unique and powerful healing spell, the likes of which he had never seen before.

“The Priestess was right,” Frank said while still flipping the pages. “This magic could fix a lot of the damage caused by the war.”

Flynn was leaning in closer, sitting up on his knees. He began to reach for a page, but Frank pushed his hand away.

“Why should their church keep this magic to themselves? We should hold onto this.”

Acadian snatched the book from them both and stuffed it deep in his bag.

“No,” he said as a command. “Our job is to return it, so we’ll do just that.” Flynn got up and pursued the bag.

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

“Then why don’t we just take out a page or two? We could take it back to my home, to my church and…”

Acadian looked down at the boy, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. His age and his tall, elven stature towered over him. Without a word, Flynn understood his answer. He backed away and sat with arms crossed near the fire.

As the night went on, Frank occasionally found himself staring at Circe. He was thinking at her, hoping she could somehow hear him. Eventually, he caught her eye.

If you’re trying to commune with me, it doesn’t work like that, her voice sounded like an echo in his mind.

He smirked, I would love to know how it works, then.

She shot him a knowing look, I don’t think I want you poking around in my head the way I poke around in yours. His smile quickly faded and his look turned skeptical. Those bracers you keep around your wrists aren’t just dreadful fashion choices, are they?

His face turned red and he looked away from her. He didn’t hear from her again the rest of the night.

~

Flynn stared up at the night sky, watching the moon slowly rise over the horizon and hang amongst the spattering of stars. His eyelids grew heavy, but his mind was racing. The thoughts in his mind had been burning with anger ever since Acadian denied him.

Who does he think he is?

Why won’t they listen to me?

Why isn’t Bane helping me?

Why?

Why?

Show them.

He shot up. The words rang in his mind over and over again. Peace and passivity were getting him nowhere. If he was to disciple those close to him, he would have to start acting on his faith.

The moon had crested over the top of the night and began to descend. Flynn looked around to ensure none of the others was awake. All seemed to be asleep, with Circe looking particularly unmoving. He had half a mind to check to see if she was still breathing, but couldn’t risk waking her.

Standing over Acadian, he knelt down to where the elf’s pack was leaning against a small stone. He carefully unlatched it and quietly rifled through his belongings.

The book was upright against the back, pressed against some letters and old military ribbons. He pulled it free and opened it. Unsheathing a dagger from his hip, he held it at the book’s spine to excise one of the spells. As he drew the knife down the seam, the ink on the pages began to glow red.

The words seemed to lift off the page and the already worn edges began to sizzle as though they had been dipped into a fire. Burnt tips of parchment began to fall, filling the air with a smell of sulfur. Acadian sniffed and began to stir. At once, Flynn drew back the dagger. The glow of the ink faded and the pages ceased to burn, but the damage had already been done.

All color drained from his face and an embarrassed heat wrapped around his throat. He could already hear Acadian’s disapproving shouts when he found out. The man rolled over in his bedroll but remained asleep.

Flynn shakily pushed the book back into the bag and latched it before rushing back to his place. He stayed up a little longer to make sure the book didn’t combust inside the bag. When nothing else happened, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Show them, he thought. Just not like that.