With some food in his belly, Sarien felt much improved and was filled with optimism. This director of research they were heading to meet would surely know what was wrong with him. Perhaps she’d even know where his father had disappeared to. He expected a person with a title like hers would need to be knowledgeable, after all.
Sarien and Tre turned a corner and halfway down the corridor, two young men about Sarien’s age pressed in close to a young boy of perhaps eight years old. One of them, a red-haired lad with freckles, clutched onto the boy’s tunic, flattening him against the wall.
The boy turned to Tre, his eyes lit with desperation. “Help!”
“You bastards!” Tre shot off before Sarien had a chance to react. Just as quickly, Tre lay on the floor groaning after a punch in the gut from one of the boys. A boy with long, greasy hair the color of horse crap and a pockmarked face towered over Tre as the younger boy clutched his stomach.
“What are you doing?” Sarien demanded.
“None of your business,” the red-haired one barked. “Get lost!”
The spotty one turned to his friend. “Hargul, is that the new ember?”
Sarien remained silent.
Hargul eyed Sarien with malicious curiosity. “Well, are you?” Hargul asked. You didn’t see many redheads in Eldsprak. It was a trait more common in Vatnbloet, where Sarien had heard they were all pale with freckles to go along with the fire-colored hair.
“I am,” Sarien answered. “Let the boy go.”
“Or what?” Hargul asked.
Sarien refused to be cowed, despite his hands shaking. He couldn’t help but think back to his pathetic attempt to help during the fight with the monster, to his spear breaking and him having to be saved by Trillian.
“Or I’ll make you,” he said, his voice only wavering a little as he brought the white flame forth in the palm of his hand.
Hargul and his friend doubled over with laughter. “What in fire’s sake is that supposed to be?”
“Let him go!” Sarien reiterated, his face burning.
“You call that a flame?” the bully asked, holding up a hand. Fire erupted in his palm, licking the stone ceiling. Hargul created one of his own, even taller and about as wide as the trunk of a tree.
The heat was blistering, forcing Sarien back, and he lifted his arm to shield his face. At least they’d forgotten about the young boy, but his own prospects didn’t look good.
A gust of fire roared into existence from the other side of the corridor. Tre stood, barely keeping himself upright.
“Don’t touch him,” he said, his voice flat. The young boy’s flame didn’t conform into the pillar shape Sarien had seen already. Instead, it danced and flickered in the bullies’ direction, almost like it was being drawn to the two smaller flames. Tre’s burned bright and hot, its power undeniable.
“I think that’s enough, now.” An old woman stepped into the corridor from one of the rooms lining the hallway. She looked sympathetic, like an innkeeper or perhaps baker with a dusty white apron tied around her waist. Small spots of white dotted her otherwise iron gray hair, like snowflakes. Her hair was tied back into a bun at the nape of her neck.
Both bullies extinguished their flames in the blink of an eye and Tre wasn’t far behind. Their eyes were wide, like startled deer. “Hargul and Hestskit, don’t you have somewhere to be?” the old woman asked, one eyebrow raised. They mumbled some excuse and then brushed past Sarien to escape down the corridor.
“Rescued by a child and an old crone,” Hargul muttered as he left.
“Sorry, Madge,” Tre said once the bullies were gone.
Madge put a hand on the young, bullied boy’s shoulder. “You can go, Fingal.” The boy scurried away with a grateful glance to Sarien and Tre.
The director of research shook her head at Tre. “You should know better than this, Tremalian.”
“What about them?” he asked, pointing the way the bullies had disappeared.
“Their rule breaking does not excuse yours,” Madge said. She sounded like a kindly aunt admonishing an unruly child. She sighed. “Let’s not dwell on that.” She turned her gaze to Sarien. “You’ve brought me a friend.”
Sarien cleared his throat. “Sarien.”
“I know who you are, and I saw that interesting flame of yours.” She turned to walk back to where she had come from, waving for them to follow. “Why don’t you join me and we’ll see if we can’t figure out what’s going on.”
“You coming in with me?” he asked the Tre.
The boy nodded. “Yeah. They said I had to.”
The old woman shooed them inside, then closed the door behind them. A peculiar, thick smell permeated the air. She flung open a window and Sarien peered down. His head spun at the sight of the village below, tiny like a child’s toy.
Had they really climbed that many stairs? It hadn’t taken long for him to get utterly lost in different corridors and floors, but Tre kept going, confident in where they were headed. The fresh air coming through the opened window helped chase the worst of the smell away.
“Come boys, we’ll clear a space over here. Let’s get started right away! Tremalian, you move those books!”
Tre grumbled but moved stacks away from the area she’d indicated.
“Want some help?” Sarien asked.
Tre shook his head and grinned. “I’ve got it. Not that many. I’m strong, see? Not just the most powerful pyromancer in a hundred years!”
Sarien looked about the director’s room. The room, or rooms rather, for there was an opening in the wall that led to an adjacent one, looked just like he’d imagined. Strange bottles lined shelves on the walls. Opened books lay strewn everywhere and the bookcases were filled with objects he couldn’t even guess the purpose of. Small fires danced in one of the room’s corners, under a couple of colored bottles, boiling whatever was inside. The smoke coming out of them seemed to be the origin of the foul smell.
The director walked up and grabbed Sarien’s hand and peered into his eyes. Her own eyes were brown, warm, and inviting. Thin wrinkles at the corners made it appear like she was quick to laugh and smile. “Bjorn tells me there’s something wrong with you. I’m Madge, by the way. No need for director of this and that!” She was a short woman, no taller than Tre, and she craned her neck to look into Sarien’s face. “My, oh my. What large eyes you have. And that mouth! That is just lovely. You have to let me take a closer look after we’re done dealing with your little imperfection!”
“Can you fix me?” Sarien blurted out.
“We’ll see, we’ll see!” She looked behind Sarien. “Tremalian, come over here now!” Tre scrambled over to them.
“Now tell, what is wrong?” she asked.
“It’s my flame.”
“What about it, dear?”
“It’s, well, not like the others. It’s cold.”
Her eyes shone. “Oh yes, and white. That’s very interesting. May I?”
She held up her hands, indicating that she wanted to place them on his head. He nodded and Madge placed her palms on his cheeks, her thumbs near his temples.
She closed her eyes. “You can make a flame?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s cold?”
“That’s right.”
“Close your eyes for me, dear,” she said. “Now. Please manifest your flame.”
Sarien focused and drew the power inside him. He felt it manifest in his hand.
“Very interesting,” Madge said. “Describe what you’re feeling inside right now.”
“The power or sensations or whatever you call it—“ Sarien began.
“Your spark,” Madge corrected.
“Spark. Right. The spark is completely in the left side of my body. It feels white, somehow. Is that right?”
“Just describe it for me,” she said, her tone soothing.
“There’s this line right down my middle. The other side is just… dark.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Nothing there?”
“Something,” Sarien said. “Like a tight ball or a shell. A seed, maybe? Something is in there and refusing to answer.” He opened his eyes and saw the director of research nodding to herself.
“I understand,” she said, taking her hands off his face.
Sarien stepped back. “So, can you help me?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But we’ll need to do some more testing.”
“Whatever it takes,” he said.
Madge gave him a warm smile that made her eyes glitter in the flickering lantern light. “Thank you for lighting those, Tremalian.”
“I was bored,” he said, lounging on a chair. “You just stood there forever.”
Sarien blinked. The sun had set. “How long have we been standing here?”
“Hours! I’m hungry!” Tre complained.
Sarien looked to Madge in amazement. “Hours?”
“Yes. I had to give you a thorough examination.” She stepped over to Tre and swatted the back of his head with her palm. “Get out of my chair. You know better, Tremalian.”
The boy leapt up with a yelp and she fell into her chair. “I’m exhausted. Sorry to have kept you, Tremalian. I thought we would have use of you today.”
“So?” Tre said, glancing to Sarien. “Can you fix him or not?”
“We will need to continue this tomorrow. Go get some food and rest. Return after classes, the both of you, and don’t drag your feet!”
“Thank you,” Sarien said. Of course, she couldn’t just fix him in one session. Hope crept in and he had trouble keeping it reined in.
They said their goodbyes and left the way they had come. “We’re on the top floor,” Tre said, stretching his arms above his head.
“I’m staying with you?” Sarien asked.
Tre shook his head. “We have our own rooms. The embers are up top, I mean. You, me, Ylette, Tor, Fingal, and Freja. Those two last ones are brother and sister. He’s a heat mage. Fingal, the kid you met, that is, the rest are pyromancers.”
“Only five of you?”
“Six of us,” Tre corrected, shooting him another grin. “There are other places where they send embers to train, I’ve heard. Not sure how this whole thing works yet. There aren’t a whole lot of students around. There was another one, but he made it through and didn’t have to be an ember anymore.”
“What is he doing now?
“He was called to Fyrie.”
“The capital? Really?”
Tre shrugged. “Firemagi go wherever we please! Anyway, apparently some prince wanted him to take part in a game or contest. He said he would be fighting, so that’s great. Wish I could have gone too, but they wouldn’t let me!”
They stopped a moment to catch their breath on the stairs. Sarien’s thighs and calves burned. “How many floors are there?”
“Lots!”
“How are the others? The embers?” Sarien asked, trudging on. It was difficult to focus on anything other than his own broken magic and the need to find his father, but Tre’s constant chattering helped a little at least.
“Oh, they’re fine for the most part. Ylette and Freja tease me a bunch, but that’s just because they’re jealous because I’m stronger.”
“Right,” Sarien said. It seemed he’d be surrounded by children all day. Why had he manifested his powers so late in life? If the others were the same age as Tre, that meant Sarien would be the oldest at eighteen.
“Hey, Tre.”
“Yeah?”
“Have you heard of anyone called Talc Wald?”
The boy stopped and thought hard, then shook his head. “Nope, sorry. Who is that?”
“My father. I think he might be here somewhere.”
“Oh, a mystery! Do you think they imprisoned him in the cells? Is your father a pyromancer?”
Sarien shook his head. “No, forget it. He’s not a pyromancer.” Cells? Was his father imprisoned somewhere inside the tower? The only way to know for certain was to explore the tower himself. He’d have to get there somehow. What a mess.
A few flights of narrow stairs later, they emerged on a floor that, for the first time, was not just a corridor. The room was dark and spacious, with lanterns placed on a few scattered tables. It was empty, but you could hear voices drifting in from behind the closed doors. Tre brought him to one located in the middle of the large space.
“This is your room,” Tre said. “I’ll come get you in the morning before breakfast. We have fire theory tomorrow.”
“What is fire theory?”
“It’s the dullest class taught by a pyromancer named Perz. All he talks about are how all other types of magic are inferior compared to fire. Then usually, about an hour in, he’ll switch and go on and on about Eld and the fight against the traitors.”
Sarien frowned. “What traitors?”
“The heroes,” the young boy whispered. “But don’t call ‘em that here, or you’ll be punished! Just go along with it, deal?”
“I’ll try,” Sarien said. Tre nodded and disappeared into another room down the wall, presumably his.
Sarien opened the door. The room beyond was tiny with barely enough space to move between a narrow bed and a side table topped a washstand. When squeezing through the tight gap, Sarien accidentally kicked the chamber pot, rolling in under his bed. Sarien bent down to retrieve it only to bang his hip into the side table. With a groan, he replaced the chamber pot and turned to hastily undress and wash before bed. If it wasn’t for him bringing a lantern from the other room with him, he would have to do it all in complete darkness. A change of clothing lay folded by the foot of the bed, but he ignored it and fell into the narrow bed. He called forth the small ball of white flame into his left hand, peering into it, his mind swimming with questions about his strange power and the disappearance of his father.
In the morning, Sarien woke suddenly from his door slamming open, showering his small room with light.
“Up we go!” Tre yelled. “Get dressed, or we’ll miss breakfast!”
Sarien’s stomach grumbled, but it wasn’t the soul-eating hunger he’d felt since discovering his power. “Give me a moment, Tre.”
The boy shut the door and Sarien dressed in the new clothes that had been laid out at the foot of his bed the night before. They fit him remarkably well, but it wasn’t until he exited the room that he got a good look at them. He groaned. Blazes of red, orange, and yellow. The pyromancers were single-minded when it came to their uniform.
“Looking fire!” Tre yelled from over by the stairwell. He stood with a bunch of others, all of them dressed in that same uniform. A simple tunic and trousers for the boys, and long dresses for the girls. Their ages varied, and it seemed like Tre was the youngest in the group, aside from Fingal, with the oldest only a few years younger than Sarien himself.
“Hi, I’m Sarien Wald,” he said when he joined them.
The group of embers greeted him with smiles and words of welcome, and they moved down the stairs together. Tre quickly made the introductions as they hurried down to the mess hall.
The oldest ember outside of Sarien was Freja. Sarien caught her glancing at him from the corner of her eyes and blushing, just as the maids had back at the estate. He made a point of not looking back at her, hoping she’d stop. A sixteen-year-old girl had no business looking at a grown man like that.
They ate breakfast in the empty mess hall, listening to Tre telling tales of all the adventures he’d go on. The girls did indeed tease him, but it was good natured and not malicious. The others shared tidbits of their pasts and who they were, but they spoke over each other and the information all mixed together until Sarien was sure he wouldn’t remember a word an hour later.
Once they finished their breakfast of bread, butter, cheese, and a crisp apple, the embers hurried to class. Sarien wondered if he’d ever figure out the maze of floors and corridors. Apparently, there was no map to use for reference, and Tre found it hilarious that he’d even ask.
“You’ll get it,” Tre said, moving along as if he could navigate the whole place blindfolded. Unlike the day before, Sarien passed several pyromancers making their way up and down the corridors and different flights of stairs, their steps hurried with purpose. Some carried books and others busied themselves with bottles of liquid or other unknown materials. One man held a small pig in his arms. All of them wore the same red pyromancer robes.
“You sure like red here,” Sarien said, as they entered a classroom.
Tor gave a weak smile and spoke in a deep voice. “Fire, fire. Always fire.”
Ylette, a twelve-year-old girl, grabbed the sleeve of her dress and held it up. “They make them out of fabric that resists fire better than wool or cotton. Not sure what it is, but it sure is handy!”
A man stood waiting for them at the head of the classroom, but Sarien couldn’t help but ask, in a low voice. “What do all these firemagi do all day?”
“Do?” Tre asked. “Work to get stronger, of course!”
Freja shook her head. “Most in the tower are academics. They study magic and research its history in different ways. Many pyromancers are out in the world, contracted to work with the local officials or carrying out tasks for the tower. I plan on staying and working to find a way to combine fire with another element.”
“What do you mean?” Sarien asked.
“Boring!” Tre interrupted. “Why stay here and read through dusty tomes and stupid bits of paper? You’re strong, Freja, you should be out there with me, slaying monsters!” The boy’s cheeks reddened, and Sarien saw the young boy’s crush plain on his face.
“That’s enough,” the man at the head of the classroom said. “Sit down.”
Sarien followed the others to a long bench and sat down. There were no tables and no quills or paper. What kind of studying would they be doing?
“Now,” the old man said. “I’m Perz, Magister of Magical History. You’re Sarien Wald?” Perz wasn’t as old as the director of embers, but still older than most men Sarien had met. He possessed a full head of gray hair and he kept his face clean shaven. Despite his age, he stood unaided and with his back straight.
“That’s right,” Sarien answered.
“Very well. In this class, you will learn of magic, fire magic in particular. Freja, you spoke of combining magic just now. Care to explain?”
She sat up straight and her whole expression shone brightly, like she’d been waiting to share her aspirations. “Of course, magister! We have all these different types of magic, right? Water, earth, wind, and fire. There has been some study in trying to combine different elements. Everyone knows of firemagi working with geomancers to shape and burn clay into bricks, but we shouldn’t stop there! The possibilities are endless.”
The teacher snorted, causing Freja to stop. She swallowed hard and looked down at the floor, but she kept speaking. “I think there should be more cooperation between the kingdoms and their magic users. We shouldn’t keep apart. That’s what I want to do. Cooperation.”
Sarien nodded in agreement. What she said made perfect sense. But then he saw Perz frowning and stopped.
The teacher shook his head. “This will be a good lesson for you, Sarien.” He pointed with his finger and drew a line in the air across the group. “To all of you. The growers have some use, I’ll give you that. But other than that, there is no point to the other schools of magic on Maydian, our world. Only fire has an infinite number of applications. Hydromancers just push water around and aeromancers ride in their little boats. Digging holes and building houses is not something you should use magic for. Let those without the gift use their backs for such trivial nonsense.”
Freja broke in. “Water mages find water in the ground for wells to be dug, and what about healers?”
“Enough!” Perz’s face reddened with anger, and Freja shied back.
Tor whispered something in Freja’s ear, just loud enough for Sarien to hear. “Don’t push him too far so quickly.”
Perz was breathing hard, his face flushed with rage. It looked like he was about to burst. “For tomorrow’s class, you all have to come up with a new use for fire magic. You are all supposed to be firemagi!” He threw an unmissable glare at Fingal, “it’s time you start acting like it! And you Freja, you better put those foolish ambitions to rest! You will spend the rest of the day keeping the lanterns shining down in the tunnels. No breaks!”
Sarien was about to say something, but Tre grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“Now get the out of here, for fire’s sake!” the magister barked. “Class is over.”
They all shuffled out in silence, Freja looking crushed, and closed the door to the classroom behind them.
Then Yvette, a pale girl of maybe thirteen years, startled to giggle. “You really know how to make him burn, Freja!”
Tor chuckled. “Yeah, nice one. Just keep a low profile for a while.”
Sarien looked around, confused. “What’s going on?”
“Perz’s short temper is legendary,” Freja said, trying to suppress her own giggles.
Fingal added. “We take turns to make him angry. He will often cancel class as punishment, and we get a bunch of time off before the next lesson!”
“And I don’t mind lighting the lanterns,” Freja said. “I can study at the same time, so it’s no bother, not really.”
Sarien grinned. “You’re quite devious, aren’t you?”
Freja blushed again, but she nodded. Instead of looking away, she kept her gaze steady at him. It was Sarien who looked away first.
Thankfully, Tre grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “We have to go back to the old woman. Madge will know we got out early.”
“Right,” Sarien said. “She said to come right after class.”
“See you later,” Tor said, waving while the rest of the group turned to leave.