Olga McArrow - Hot Obsidian

Knew what it might betoken,

Yes, again I would give my word.

Max Milian, when he was a child

Einar Sharlou was enjoying the view opening from the college loftiest tower. He was alone there, on the balcony, alone with his thoughts.

Those were the last days of spring but the weather was summer-hot. It turned the whole city into a giant frying pan and made the college moat the only safe haven for everyone suffering from the heat. Einar could hear students and other kids splashing in the college moat and deeply regretted being unable to join them. A magister's status had its downsides, indeed…

With a tired sigh, Einar turned away from the city and gave the lush green of the Firaskian forest a long, yearning look. There was shade, beautiful, tempting shade under the ancient cedars; and quiet. If only that charming place weren’t crawling with dark creatures… like the one his young friend Kosta had killed recently. A twelve-year-old ambasiath.

The morok was about two centuries old. Einar was the one who had put its head into a formaldehyde jar in the college museum, so he knew that for sure. Just like most mages, Einar Sharlou usually considered the ambasiaths’ way a waste of magical potential. But sometimes, their deeds made him doubt himself. Kosta’s famous victory over the moroks was certainly one of those. And all when he, Sharlou, must finally decide what to do with Pai!

Pai Prior was a talented boy; even more: a boy living and breathing his dream of becoming a mage. He studied so hard, he shone so brightly! He was everything Einar dreamed of being and was never going to be, but instead of getting jealous, the junior magister wanted to help. After these months, the very thought of letting such talent go to waste became unbearable to Einar Sharlou.

But accepting Pai to the college was easier said than done. Mages and ambasiaths had an unspoken treaty that forbade either side from recruiting children from the other. Overcoming that was no laughing matter, especially for someone standing so low in the mage hierarchy as Einar did…

A scream interrupted Sharlou’s thoughts… a painfully familiar scream.

A Transvolo done properly looks like a ripple in the air for an outside observer, a slight blur similar to the one you see when hot air “dances” above a frying pan or a Firaskian street on a summer day. That ripple plays tricks with the observer’s vision, making it impossible to spot the exact moment when the Transvolo’s caster appears.

The Transvolo witnessed by Einar Sharlou above the college was wrong, horribly wrong. There was no peaceful ripple in the air, no gentle blurring of vision. No, the fabric of reality itself had twisted in a tight knot that burst with a sickening gurgling sound when the caster of that abomination appeared. Pai Prior.

If it wasn’t for Einar Sharlou who had happened to be there by pure chance, that fall would have killed the boy. Yes, Pai knew levitation spells: both his own and the classic one, but lifting yourself with a levitation spell is no easier than lifting yourself by your own bootstraps. Einar caught him with a hastily cast levitation loop just in time.

The magister lifted Pai to the balcony and released him there. The child mage was ghastly pale, his teeth chattered, he trembled like a leaf in the wind, clearly shaken by the experience. His saviour looked no better.

“Let’s go to my study and drink some coffee,” said Einar Sharlou. Pai nodded, a blank expression on his bloodless face.

A cup of steaming coffee and a chocolate cupcake restored Pai in no time – he even started laughing at his mistake – but did little to calm down his young mentor. Einar wanted details – how exactly Pai had cast that horrible Transvolo – and wanted them now.

“You are lucky, lucky kid!” he said, covering his face with his hands. “The basic principles… you don’t understand them at all. I can’t blame you – they take years to learn and comprehend – but attempting Transvolo without them is pure madness…”

“But master Sharlou! I noticed some similarities, patterns, and…” Pai tried to chime in.

“I know,” Einar stopped him and added softly. “I know. You are a very talented lad, Pai, and it shows. But, please, next time, take me with you. I haven’t built my bridge to casting Transvolo yet but I know the theory well. And another thing: don’t experiment with height yet, work on the ground level. Next time, no one may be there to catch you.”

…For many years, Einar Sharlou had been dreaming of this moment, the moment when he would see the stars of Transvolo for the first time. Of course, he had always imagined casting it himself, not just following a thirteen-year-old mage. But the stars were no less beautiful for that.

One of them was closer to them than the others, Einar could even see one of its biggest planets, a gas giant, slowly moving in front of it. So that’s why Pai’s Transvolo was wrong: its path came too close to a star, to an alien sun harbouring alien worlds. For a moment, Einar felt a burning desire to know what kind of worlds they were but he had no chance even to ask; the stars disappeared, replaced by brief darkness followed by the colours and sounds of the real world.

Einar and Pai crash-landed on the library floor and stood up, surrounded by students, magisters, and librarians, all looking at them with their mouths agape. Milian, the only smiling face in all the crowd, put his book aside and cheered the Transvolo mage who, he knew (unlike the rest of the crowd) was Pai and not Einar. Awakened by Milian’s hearty cheer, the library hall roared with happy voices, all praising Sharlou for what they thought he had done.

“Your targeting still needs work,” Einar whispered to Pai. “You missed the spot by four halls!”

“I know,” smiled Pai, almost glowing with pride and joy. “Sorry, master.”

***

“Juel! Pai's learned Transvolo!” That was Jarmin, greeting the team leader with a happy yell when Juel returned from his training on the college grounds. “And I’ve finished my painting!” added the little boy no less happily.

Juel took a deep breath, leaned against the wall and stood there in silence for a while. Then he slowly sank to the floor and sat there, cross-legged and bow-backed like a sullen stone gargoyle on a graveyard.

“Juel, are you okay?” asked Jarmin, all his mirth turned to worry in an instant.

“I’m just tired,” said Juel. He didn’t even try to sound convincing.

After that day’s excruciating training in the blazing sun, the news of Pai’s success became a final blow to the young Faizul. Reality shoved his true mission into his face again and there was nowhere to run. Indeed, if he were to try, his own master, Kangassk Abadar, would find him even beyond the charted lands and kill him, slowly. Same with Irin, Lainuver, and Kosta: their Kangassks took the Order’s oaths as seriously as Juel’s master did. The rest of the boys, those with more liberal masters… the rest Sainar would find and destroy himself.

Juel Hak had no choice. He had to go. And he had to make everyone follow him whether they wanted or not. Strangely, these thoughts helped Juel calm down, and when he did, a dream, fiery, rebellious dream, lit up under his heart again: to subvert the Order’s expectations and instead of sacrificing the boys to the mission, lead them safely to Benai Bay.

Juel’s breath steadied, his emotions stopped their frantic dance; the young warrior was at peace with himself and felt safe on his journey again. It was a false feeling of safety, he knew, but just like wild Faizuls, his people, the ones he didn’t even remember, he used self-deceit often to keep going and knew how to trick himself into believing the lie. So he did.

“Tell me about your painting, Jarmin,” he said, in a surprisingly good-natured way. “What kind of world is it?”

“Oh, it’s Primal World, of course!” Jarmin explained, eagerly.

“Primal World…” musingly repeated Juel and smiled, as sincerely as he could, sealing that dream, that lie of his.

***

In the library reading hall, empty in the evening, Einar Sharlou gathered the rest of the junior magisters. They didn’t even try to act serious. All of them were their usual selves, what senior magisters called “mere kids in mage robes”.

Einar made a nervous gesture asking for silence. His peers hushed up a little, half-curious about what he was going to say.

“Do you know why I’ve gathered you here today?” asked Einar.

His audience – four junior magisters – nodded.

“It’s about those Lifekeeper boys,” said Mariana Ornan, the youngest of them all. Young though she was, that mage was much closer to casting her first Transvolo than Einar.

“Exactly!” he said, trying to sound brave. That wasn’t easy when Mariana looked him in the eye. “I need your help, my colleagues and friends. Let us accept the boys into our college. We can do that even in the absence of the senior magisters…”

“Only if we vote unanimously,” remarked Ronard Zarbot (Aven Jay Zarbot’s younger brother was obsessed with laws; his growing up with the head of the Crimson Guard for a sister was showing again).

“Yes, I know…” Einar cleared his throat. “Well, Pai and Milian are young but we can help them catch up with grown-up students and…”

“Heh, I can already imagine the elders’ faces when they hear the news!” Mariana chuckled, not kindly at all.

Krynn and Leona Sarion – twin sisters – exchanged puzzled looks and nodded simultaneously. Einar always found their ability to understand each other without words uncanny.

“Listen, Einar,” Krynn spoke up, “don’t we have a kind of ‘non-aggression pact’ with the Lifekeepers? We don’t recruit their kids, they don’t bother ours, etc…”

“But…” Einar tried to say.

“The Lifekeepers from the Temple of Life will be even less happy than our elders. You realize that, right?” said Leona.

Einar felt a cold lump of fear growing in his throat and swallowed nervously.

“Good to know that you’re aware of the consequences.” Krynn nodded with an approving half-smile. “We get it. ‘Every shlak brags about its own swamp’, so to say. Ambasiaths are just a waste of magic, etc.”

“Yeah. She means that we’ll support you but only if the others say yes first,” translated Leona.

“Mariana, Ronard?” Einar Sharlou turned to the remaining two, unmasked hope in his eyes. “What do you say?”

“Yes,” said Ronard simply.

“All right, I’m in,” gave up Mariana.

“Good.” Einar exhaled, relieved. “I’ll speak to the boys.”

Einar had thought that convincing his fellow magisters would be the hardest part. He was wrong. Never before, in his whole life, had he been worrying and fretting so much as he was when walking the long, empty central corridor of the college, full of dying Lihts and echoes, on his way to speak to the Lifekeeper boys…

***

Everything had been packed a long time ago, everyone was ready to depart. The team sat on the carpetless floor of their dark flat, waiting for Pai and Milian to return. Time dragged, as slow and lazy as dripping tar. The boys ran out of jokes, stories, and ideas and were just silent now, each one brooding over his own thoughts and fears.

The evening light was playing weird tricks with Jarmin’s paintings behind the balcony door, flooding the alien world there with red and purple. More than ever, the little flat felt like home now. Everything there was a fresh memory: Bala’s kitchen niche, the long dining table, the bunk beds… the fat spider in the corner (she was a pet and had a name now!)… the potted succulent on the windowsill, the stain on the floor…