Sarien and Tre separated from the others and headed toward Madge’s rooms. When they were out of hearing, Tre looked up at him with a grin. “Well, let’s go see about fixing your broken magic, then! You’ll need it for the next class!”

Sarien paid closer attention to the route Tre took them on and he found that he could follow along, predicting the turns they would take and the flights of stairs they would surmount before reaching outside the director of research’s study. Tre reached for the door, but Sarien stopped him.

“Before we go in, let me ask you something.”

“What is it?”

Sarien took in a deep breath. “When you bring out your flame, or spark, what does it feel like? Inside of you, I mean.”

The question brought out that wide grin of his again. “Like I’m on fire! Not like it hurts or anything, but there’s this feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

Tre thought for a moment, then continued, “Power, I think. It’s running around inside me, almost making me burst. When I bring it out, my spark, I mean, all I have to do is concentrate and think about that power turning into a flame. It wells up inside of me, burning bigger and brighter until I have to let it out.”

“And it’s inside all of you?”

Tre frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is it everywhere inside you? Not just on one side?”

“Everywhere. It’s like it’s running everywhere. My legs, my arms, over here,” he patted his chest, “and here,” and he let out a fart. Tre laughed so hard he hugged himself. The sound echoed through the corridor, apparently loud enough for the director of research to hear.

“Get in here,” she yelled through the closed door.

Sarien chuckled. “Thank you. I think I know what’s wrong with me.”

“What?” Tre asked, opening the door.

“Inside of me, I can only feel a part of my power. The other half is dormant.”

“Dormant?”

“Like it’s sleeping, I think. If I could just access it, I think my flame would become like yours.” They entered and closed the door behind them.

Madge met them at the door. “I’ve done some reading, Sarien, and think that we have some ways to really test what’s happening inside you.”

“Great,” he said. “I’m ready.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Madge replied. “A last-minute appointment has turned up and there’s a young woman waiting for me.”

Sarien’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“Don’t you worry,” she said, patting his arm. “There is still some reading I have to do. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

He nodded.

Madge smiled before shooing them away. Sarien thought he heard a grunt as she closed the door. Perhaps her new guest was already in there. He turned to Tre. “Now what?”

A secretive grin spread across the young lad’s face. “How about we go looking for you dad?”

“My father?” Sarien asked.

Tre nodded. “Sure! You said he might be here, right? We have some time before our next class. Let’s go!”

“Sure,” Sarien said, feeling grateful to the young boy. Tre’s enthusiasm was contagious and lightened the disappointment of leaving Madge’s office with his powers unresolved for the second time. “To the cells?”

“There’s no way they’ll let us in there,” Tre said, then he narrowed his eyes. “But I might know someone who can help us!”

“Absolutely not,” Yari said. They’d found him by the stables near the gate, readying the cart to head back out.

“But why?” Tre whined.

“For one, I’m getting ready to leave.”

“Are you going to get another pyromancer?” Sarien asked.

He shook his head. “Nah.”

Tre climbed up on the cart. “At least, give us your key! I know you have one.”

“Why would I do something so stupid as that?”

“Because you like me?”

Yari glared at him. “You might get a slap on the wrist if you’re found down there, but they’d burn me to a crisp.”

“No, they wouldn’t!” Tre protested. “They’re just grumpy, they wouldn’t actually hurt you.”

“Tell that to my partner.”

“What partner?” Sarien asked.

“Exactly,” Yari said. He prodded the horse into moving and Tre almost lost his feet, wheeling his arms in the air before grabbing hold of the side of the cart and jumping down.

“I won’t forget this!” Tre shouted after him, shaking his fist at the departing cart.

He looked deflated when he turned back to Sarien. “Sorry, but I don’t know any other way. Unless you want to make the old people real mad?”

“Let’s keep that as a last resort,” Sarien said. “Thanks for trying.”

“Better head to class then.”

“Right,” Sarien agreed. “Fire theory again?”

Tre winced. “Worse. History.”

They started back to the tower. “How is that worse?” Sarien asked.

“It’s boring,” Tre replied. “Don’t see the point in learning about what happened before. It’s already happened, you know? I’d prefer a class on adventuring or something.”

“Right.”

“You’re late,” Tor muttered, leaning against a rather small and shabby looking door in yet another empty hallway.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Sorry,” he panted. “Where are the others?”

He pointed at the door with his thumb, sighing. “Ylette is already inside. The magister sent me to get you and he’s not happy about it.”

“Sorry,” Tre said. “He’ll be sure to give us a terribly boring lecture now.”

Tor chuckled dryly, a sound that made him appear much older than he was. “Is there any other kind?”

Tor looked tired and serious and his short-cropped black hair and darker skin indicative of the citizens from the northwestern part of the kingdom near the border to Vatnbloet. A trader from those parts used to come to the Karm estate when Sarien was younger, bringing news from near the border, but he hadn’t returned in a few years. The last time Sarien saw him, his wife was expecting their first child. Perhaps a life on the road no longer suited him now that he was as a father.

“You don’t like history either?” Sarien asked.

He shook his head. “No. Not their version, at least.”

They entered a room not much larger than the stables back at the Karm estate. Just like the previous classroom, this one wasn’t furnished with any desks other than the one up front used by their instructor.

Ylette sat on the bench with her shoulder slumped and her long, pale hair bunched around her shoulders. The look she gave them when they approached said she was less than pleased at having been left alone with their instructor.

“So, you’re finally here, congratulations,” the man said, more exasperated than angry. He was much younger than Sarien would have thought. Twenty-five, perhaps? His hair was almost an exact match to Sarien’s in both color and style. Somewhere between sandy blond and light brown reaching down past his ears, indicating it was well past the time for a cut.

“I’m Jorgen,” he said. “History.”

Sarien sat down next to Ylette. “Hello Jorgen,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Sorry we’re late.”

Jorgen waved a hand. “Fine, fine. We’re talking about the prophecies. Do you know them?”

“The heroes?” Sarien asked, before catching himself. Tre, Ylette, and Tor threw nervous glances his way.

“Heroes?” Jorgen asked, sitting down on his desk. “I can already tell you don’t know much. Where are you from, Sarien?”

“The Karm estate.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s not that far from here,” Sarien replied.

“And what did you do on this estate? Not one of the Karm family, I take it?”

Sarien shook his head. “Stable hand.”

Jorgen snorted. “Right. Let’s educate you.” Tre sighed loudly enough for the Jorgen to hear.

“Did you want to say something, Tremalian?”

“No,” Tre squeaked.

Jorgen gave him a gracious nod. “Well then, why don’t you tell Sarien what you think of the Hamara Prophecies and share what really happened. Start with when, so I know you’ve been listening.”

Tre’s second sigh was more aggrieved than before. “Two hundred and fifty years ago,” he began.

“What happened two hundred and fifty years ago?”

“Eld, the god of fire and rightful ruler of Eldsprak, was murdered.”

Sarien frowned. “Murdered?”

“That’s right!” Jorgen exclaimed. “Go on, Tremalian.”

“Right,” Tre said, giving Sarien a pained look. His voice flattened as if he was reciting the next few lines from memory. “Together with the firemagi, Eld was on the brink of conquering the other kingdoms to bring peace and expel the other gods from our realm. Thieves and murderers, emboldened by the prophecies, stepped in and brought chaos to our realm.”

“Go on,” Jorgen said, rummaging through a stack of large, rolled up pieces of parchment paper stacked together in an open barrel.

“The firemagi did their utmost to strike back at the betrayers but retreated to preserve their numbers and their dignity. Thankfully, the lesser gods also perished during the treacherous rebellion or Eldsprak would have been lost.”

Tre fell silent, narrowed his eyes and then added, “To this day the firemagi search for a way to return Eld to his glory and position.”

Jorgen barked a joyless little laugh. “Where did you hear that last part, Tremalian? Unfortunately, our god is dead. Murdered, as you said. Otherwise, well done.”

He held up one of the scrolls and unfurled it. It was called The Conquering Heroes and showed the heroes’ triumphant return after defeating Eld. Sarien had only ever seen a much smaller rendition. On the scroll before him, he could distinguish the individual heroes and some of their features. “I brought you a fun activity. Today, you’ll each burn one of these.”

“You want us to burn paintings?” Sarien asked, confused.

“Today you will burn propaganda,” Jorgen corrected. “Tremalian, you will go first as a treat for finally remembering what I’ve taught you.” The teacher held it to his side. “Don’t hit me, mind you.”

Tre stood and held out his right hand, palm forward and pointing to the picture. With a deep breath, the boy drew fire from within himself and manifested a fierce blaze that roared across the short distance to the painting, obliterating it instantly. Bits of blackened paper drifted to the floor and the smell of smoke permeated the room.

“Well done,” Jorgen said, grabbing another roll. “Ylette?”

The girl didn’t even stand or hold out her hand. Fire sprung to life in front of her and a snaked its way forward in a thin stream. It burned the paper.

“It’s not as awe inspiring if you don’t use your hands,” Tre muttered.

Jorgen ignored him and brought out a third scroll, holding it up to Sarien. “Your turn, Sarien.”

Sarien fidgeted on the bench. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Jorgen asked, frowning. “Of course you can. Even a heat mage could destroy paper.”

“My spark doesn’t work.”

Jorgen looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean? You can’t make fire?”

“It doesn’t work right,” Sarien said, his face heating with embarrassment.

“Show me,” the magister said, dropping the scroll to the ground.

Sarien brought out his white flame. It required nearly no focus now, like manifesting it was the most natural thing in the world. If only the flame could be natural too. “This is it.”

“Strange,” Jorgen said, examining the white ball dancing in Sarien’s palm. He brought up his hand and touched the flame. “Can’t feel a thing.” He stepped back and scooped up the painting and held the paper in the white flame. Nothing happened.

“Curious,” Jorgen said.

“The old lady is helping him,” Tre interjected, but Sarien barely heard him. Sarien’s eyes fell onto the painting and felt a sudden welling of emotion. Longing? No, that wasn’t it. Not exactly. Loss? The paper burst into flame in front of Sarien’s face and he pulled back, startled.

Jorgen extinguished his flame and straightened, a look of confusion masking his face whenever his eyes fell on Sarien. “We were going to talk about the effect of dreadful rulers on their kingdoms, but you are all dismissed for the day.”

Tre bounced to his feet and Sarien followed, along with Tor and Ylette. They were halfway out the door when Jorgen shot up.

“Hold on!” The magister tossed four small books at them that landed on the floor. “Divide the kingdoms among yourselves. Next time, you’ll tell the rest of the class about how each kingdom collapsed without its god. Sarien, I want you to read about Eldsprak so you know about our real history and not the propaganda fed to you at home.”

Sarien bent over to pick up the books and distribute them to the others. “I will,” he promised. The title read Rightful rulers and man’s folly in the wake of traitors. He grimaced. Delightful.

Ylette was first to speak once they’d closed the door behind them. “What is the point of classes if we never learn anything useful?”

“We did get to burn something today,” Tre protested.

“You do see what he is doing?”

“What?”

She made a small, dissatisfied sound. “Indoctrination.”

Tre stilled. “That sounds bad. What is it?”

“Is what he says true?” Sarien asked. “It’s not how I heard it.”

“About Eld and the heroes being traitors?” Tor asked.

Sarien nodded.

He shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Of course, it isn’t true!” Ylette hissed. “How stupid can you get? Why do you think people are scared of pyromancers?”

“I don’t care about gods and the heroes,” Tre said. “I’ll be a better hero than any of them!”

“Let’s just do what they say so we don’t get into trouble,” Tor replied, holding up his book. “I’ll do Loft. How their kingdom is ruled by a council instead of a king might be interesting.”

Ylette held up a hand. “I call Vatnbloet then. The priests are helping their people.”

“Don’t forget the assignment,” Tor said. “We’re supposed to say why they’re bad.”

She sighed.

“Wait, that just leaves Jordfaste,” Tre said, looking back and forth between the two older embers. “If Sarien got Eldsprak.”

“So?” Ylette asked.

“That place is burnin’ confusing!” he complained. “With their circles and their peasants and whatnot.”

“That’ll give you a chance to learn, then,” Tor said, patting Tre on the head. “Or where else are you going to go on your adventures? There are just the four kingdoms.”

“Five,” Ylette said.

“Tyriu doesn’t count,” Tor said. “No god and no magic. What’s the point of them?”

Ylette threw up her hands and turned to walk away. “You’re both terrible. Be careful so you don’t end up like them, Sarien.”

Tre shouted after her as she left. “I’m going to the dark continent! So there!” When Ylette didn’t answer, he muttered, “Stupid Jordfaste.” He turned to Sarien. “I’m starving, want to go get some food before studying?”

“Sure.”

“Tor, you coming?”

The young man shook his head. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“What’s better than eating?” Tre asked, clearly astounded.

Sarien was already lost in thought. He couldn’t just drift through the days the way he’d been doing, even if it was a nice change of pace. He was certain that his father was still trapped somewhere inside the tower. The cells, that had to be it, even if he couldn’t think of a reason they would incarcerate him. It was the only part of the tower that Sarien could not easily explore. Either way, he needed to find a way into the cells first. Yari couldn’t be the only one with access.

“Let’s go,” he told Tre. “Food sounds great.”