After the recurrence of the dream, Caldrice’s mind eventually settled back into the monotony of everyday life around Delarin’s keep. It wasn’t that it was simple to forget what was on his mind – at least shortly after reliving the nightmarish scene – it’s that the details would slowly fade away into obscurity, no matter how tightly the young man tried to grip them.
“Perhaps it’s an explanation for why your Arcana was never able to flow through your body?” Master Delarin told Caldrice. It was a theory – not a very popular one – that suggested that Arcana, memories, and the human soul are interconnected in a trinity that initiates life, but it’s not a theory that ever-made sense to Caldrice.
Running his fingers through his hair, Caldrice shook his head, “That doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t the former come after the formation of the soul?”
The Guardian chuckled, wagging a finger at the youth’s face, “I’m not so sure.” From behind his salt and pepper bearded face, Delarin grinned, “Before his disappearance during the height of the plague, High Arcanist Delris proposed that very theory. Now, he wasn’t a conventional arcanist like Adelia or myself.” Delarin explained, “He could not manipulate the arcane forces of fire, nature, earth, water, or air.”
“You expect me to believe that a High Arcanist couldn’t manipulate any of the basic elements?” Caldrice laughed, an ugly rude tone, “Master, do you mean to tell me that the High Lord was so incompetent to appoint someone who put on a convincing façade to the highest arcane office of the land?”
Delarin rolled his eyes, “If you’d allow me to continue, my omnipotent student.”
Caldrice wrinkled his nose, his cheeks turning red, “My apologies.”
“Noted.” The Guardian said simply, a pleasant smile creeping infectiously across his lips, “Now as I was saying, he couldn’t manipulate any of those innate elemental attributes, but what he could bend to his will is objectively stronger than all five of them combined. What he manipulated was the inherent power stored within the human soul.”
“So, he was a necromancer? Those who manipulate souls to bring the dead back to life, correct?”
“The last great attempt at necromancy was the Ebonshroud Plague nearly two decades ago – and that failed.” Delarin explained, “No, the High Arcanist was not a necromancer – nor did he ever dabble in attempting to bring the dead back to life.” His gaze shifted to Caldrice for an uncomfortable moment – a stern look overtaking his eyes before it dissolved back into his usual, cheery demeanor, “No, what he did was far more noble than any of the basic five could accomplish on their own. Delaris was a healer – a man of miracles – one that was unmatched in all lands of our world – not just the realm of Kur where the High Lord rules.”
“Would people from, say, Erast or Genova come to seek him out?”
Delarin rubbed the bridge of his nose, nodding, “His gift gave him ties to most of the nobility within neighboring realms which has been a rather large boon as far as our neighbors across the seas are concerned.” Delarin paused, looking down at his oaken desk for a few moments before sighing, “A good man, indeed, one who served not only those who were above all others, but served the people as well.”
“How did he manipulate souls for mending purposes? Wouldn’t he need to use the soul in order to enact some transaction like any conventional arcanist would with Arcana?”
“You would think so, yes, but I’m not sure. Frankly, I doubt anyone else across the land or sea would know either. He was a kind man, but he also held his secrets – as all arcanists do.”
“Why do you mention him right now?” Caldrice said, lifting a brow, “A man who is presumably lost to time wouldn’t be of any use now, no?”
“I was planning on letting Adelia know before I sent her off to Kur for the Remembrance, but I’ve already sent word to the High Lord that you’ll be accompanying her and have preemptively asked for audience with him after the celebration has reached its conclusion.” Delarin clasped his hands together, leaning into his desk, “He’s already accepted.”
“So, what do I refer to him as, Master?” Caldrice leaned back into the soft cushioned chair, “The High Lord, although formal, is a bit of a mouthful. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Caldrice.”
“Hear me out. If I’m going to have an audience with this man, I’d rather not have to say High Lord every time I open my mouth. Is it truly that much of a crime?”
Delarin shook his head, sighing, “No, I suppose not. He prefers to go by neither – if I’m to be perfectly honest.”
“Neither title, nor name?”
The Guardian nodded, “Correct. Though, in an informal setting like what you two would be experiencing, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you called him Photia.”
“Such a regal name – though, not as taxing on the tongue as ‘The High Lord’.” Caldrice mocked, clasping his hands gently together with a sly grin creeping across his face.
“I’ve let you get away with quite a lot, Caldrice. I’m fairly lax compared to those in Kur that have a similar station to myself. This isn’t a bit of friendly banter, boy, what I’m telling you now is an order.” A chill slowly drifted through the room as Delarin’s aura slowly began to envelop them, “You’re not a free agent during this audience. Everything you do will reflect on me, and if it reflects poorly then there will be consequences. Am I understood?”
“Of course, Master.” Caldrice said, his voice coming out sheepishly against the sudden shift in temperature, “I just thought, well, since he was eager to circumvent the normal procedure for an immediate audience that it would be suitable to know his name.” He shook his head, “I didn’t mean anything by it, truly.”
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The chill relented – the warmth permeating from the fireplace at the far corner of the room soothed the bumps that had begun to form along Caldrice’s arms, “Excellent.” Delarin cleared his throat, smiling pleasantly once more, “So, I believe we should talk about the route you two will be taking, but first how your training has come along. You’re quite good with a blade – for having absolutely no Arcana in your body. That’s why I’d like you to go with my daughter.”
“If I don’t have Arcana, then I’m at a natural disadvantage though, am I not?”
“Yes and no.” The Guardian said simply, clearing his throat, “You won’t be able to be detected by any Arcanists with ill-intent along the way – if any – which would make you the perfect bodyguard. A blade tends to swing faster than an incantation can be completed – something to keep in mind.”
Caldrice rubbed his face slowly, looking blankly at Master Delarin for several moments. Finally, his blue irises relented, clearing the silence with a light drumming of the office table with his fingers, “Can’t we just use a rune to send us to the Kur’s leyline?”
“I’m afraid not, Caldrice. You should know by now that teleportation magic becomes more unstable the closer you are to a Nexus.” He frowned, “It’s why all obelisks are a fair distance away from points of high arcane energy.”
“So, I assume the reason you’re sending the two of us alone is because we wouldn’t go too far before reaching the obelisk?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“Master Delarin.” Caldrice sighed, his head tilted. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
The canyons above the elder’s brow dug deeper as his thoughts darkened, “You can’t stay here anymore, Caldrice.” His glance shifted to a portrait of a young woman above the fireplace, “Neither can Adelia.” Delarin shook his head, “There’s a lot to explain, and not too much time for me to do it in, but there’s been abnormal Arcana detected in the Ruins of Midland, and in the surrounding Shrouded Forest.”
“How’s that possible? I heard that that region was devoid of life.”
“It’s supposed to be, yes. Nothing with Arcana can go through the region without quickly becoming afflicted with the Ebonshroud.” Master Delarin clasped his hands together – rubbing the weathered surface of them slowly, “I want you to escort Adelia to the obelisk and ensure that she’s sent to Kur safely. You will follow her on foot-”
“Through Midland.” Caldrice interjected, “You want me to go through Midland? Are you insane, Master? Alone?”
“I can’t send anyone with you, Caldrice! Midland is a forsaken region, filled with horrors that dwarf whatever may terrify you in your darkest dreams. If I send someone with you, they’ll become afflicted with Ebonshroud, and they’ll be met with a similar fate to those who perished so long ago.” Delarin rubbed at his face slowly, “You have NO Arcana, Caldrice.”
“How do we even know that the Ebonshroud only infects those with Arcana?”
“Because young children were spared, most of the survivors of that region had yet to undergo adolescence.”
“Will there be someone waiting for me on the border?”
Delarin shook his head, “No, not at the border, Caldrice. The roads of Midland have long since become overgrown – so it’s nearly indistinguishable aside from vague landmarks.” He cleared his throat, “There’s a small inn a fair distance South of Kur, Captain Trethos will meet you there to hear your report, as well as acting as your escort to Kur.” He leaned into the table, “I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t think you could do it, do you understand that?”
“What will you do?” Caldrice asked, ignoring the previous question, “If we can’t stay here anymore, then that means what’s in the Shrouded Forest could be coming here, right?”
“All signs are pointing to that possibility, yes.”
“Then what exactly will I be watching out for?”
Master Delarin leaned back into his chair, sinking slightly, “It’s hard to say, Caldrice. Truly, it is.” He shrugged, “We know that there’s been a string of disappearances in the area without any signs of struggle or human remains. One caravan moving along the outskirts described seeing a lone figure, robed figure moving with them just beyond the tree-line.” He gestured to his eyes, “They said their eyes were black around the iris, and white where the pupil is.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Caldrice remarked slowly, his lips pursing thoughtfully.
“That’s because you’ve never ventured beyond the safety of the keep.”
“So, what does it supposed to mean? It’s significant in some way, right?”
“A black soul.” The elder said slowly, “It’s unknown how it occurs in humans, but some speculate it’s reserved for a particularly malicious soul – one beyond redemption.” He shrugged, “Others believe it’s what happens when one transcends mortality and becomes something more – undead, or otherwise.”
“What do you believe?” Caldrice asked, glancing around the room uneasily.
“High Arcanist Delris – before his disappearance – was sighted in Midland just after it had been decimated. The accounts of what had happened there were conflicted – some said that he had saved them, while others called him the herald of their doom.” Delarin rubbed his temples slowly, “The last time I saw my friend, though? His eyes.” The man gestured towards his, “As black as pitch – and he was the most righteous man I knew.”
“Didn’t you tell me once that zealotry is just as bad as evil due to how extreme it is?”
“Righteousness isn’t the same as zealotry, Caldrice.” Delarin corrected, “He was a good man – always willing to help people – no matter who they were.” His lips curled up slightly, although no expression showed in his eyes, “He saved Adelia once when she was really young. A ravaging fever had its claws so deep inside her that we thought she would die due to how it threatened to burn her alive.” Delarin shook his head, “He came immediately and within a mere hour she was better – it was a miracle.” The man slumped back in his chair once more, sighing, “You’d think someone like that would have nothing but good things happen to them, hm?”
“It’s all a part of the wheel.” Caldrice recanted.
“The wheel makes exceptions.” Delarin stoically murmured, “He lost his wife and son to the Ebonshroud – it was quick – nothing he could do to save them.” He slowly erected his posture, leaning into the table, “So, you’d like you know what I believe triggers a black soul within a human? I believe a black soul is triggered whenever someone is completely broken with no hope of ever recovering as they are.”
“What of the concept of good and evil then? Isn’t black supposed to symbolize bad while white is good? That’s what most of the books in your library say.”
“A scholar shouldn’t obsess over the concept of good or evil.”
“Do you think the person in the Shrouded Forest is the High Arcanist?”
Delarin snorted, shaking his head, “No. Delris disappeared after our last confrontation over a decade ago. I don’t believe he’s still on Paelmun, and to be frank I’m not sure where he set sail to.”
“How can you be so sure that he’s not here anymore?” Caldrice asked.
“I’m not, I have a hunch that there’s other things that have caught his attention now.” Delarin cleared his throat, “Though, that’s not something we really need to talk about.” He turned his gaze to the window, shaking his head, “I don’t think we really have much time to discuss anything else, honestly.”
“Am I dismissed then?” Caldrice inquired, moving to rise from his chair.
“You are. I’ll send for you in a few days to discuss which armaments you’ll be taking.”
Caldrice gave a low, wordless bow before moving to push himself through the heavy oaken door – rubbing his face warily as he was finally left alone to his ravaging thoughts – left alone to dissect all he had learned today.