The First Lesson

  The First Lesson

  Tales from Nōl’Deron

  Lana Axe

  Text copyright © 2017 Lana Axe

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Michael Gauss

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Prologue

  In a small wooden shack near the sea, Jeya gazed out the window toward the setting sun. It lit the sky in a blaze of orange, illuminating the smile on her face. Any minute now her husband would return from his work at the docks. She couldn’t wait to tell him the wonderful news.

  Soundlessly, the latch to her shack lifted, and a man stepped inside. Sensing a presence, Jeya turned to see a figure, hooded and cloaked, standing inside her home. The man said nothing. He stood tall, his piercing eyes fixated upon her.

  Jeya eyed the knife that lay just out of reach on her left. If only she could get to it without him seeing. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “That which you carry,” the man replied. His voice was soft but determined.

  “I carry nothing,” she replied. “If you think to rob me, you will be sorely disappointed.” Jeya knew she owned nothing that would interest a thief. Her young husband worked at the docks, loading crates onto merchant ships. Such work didn’t pay well. One day the couple hoped to save enough money to purchase a vessel and become merchants themselves. That day was far in the future. For now they lived a meager existence.

  “You carry something of immeasurable worth,” the man stated.

  As the cloaked figure approached, Jeya backed away. Within a few steps, her back was flat against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Each breath became shallower as she panicked. Her eyes once again looked to the knife, but her body was too stiff to respond. Fear ran through her veins as the man moved closer.

  “Why do you hide behind that hood?” she asked.

  The man allowed the hood to fall back, revealing black scales along each side of his face. He continued to advance.

  Closing her eyes, she flattened herself against the wall. “Please!” she shouted.

  The man extended a hand, placing his palm flat against her midsection. A beam of white light glowed beneath his fingers. Before her eyes flashed a vision of a child, a swaddled infant with violet eyes. Instinctively, her hand moved to her belly, soothing the child within. The image lingered a moment before fading, and only the hooded man stood before her.

  Moving his hand away, the man took two steps backward. “The daughter you carry has a great destiny before her. I will return to claim her when her powers begin to manifest.”

  Jeya found her courage and stepped away from the wall. “You will never take my child!” she shouted. Lunging for the knife, she gripped it firmly in her hand. Though her body was shaking, she would not back down. No one would take away her child.

  The man held up both hands in a gesture of peace. “No harm will come to either of you,” he said. “I promise you that much. Your daughter will one day become a powerful sorceress. She will need guidance that you cannot provide. When the time comes, you will beg me to take her.”

  “Who are you?” Jeya asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “You may call me Taren,” the man replied. Without another word, he swirled his cloak, disappearing within its blackness. A faint cloud of black swirled momentarily where he had stood before vanishing.

  Jeya stared where the man had stood. How did he know about her child? She had told no one that she was pregnant since realizing it herself this very day. The man was obviously a sorcerer, but was he good or evil? Was her daughter destined to study magic as well? Jeya shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Only children of the richest lords studied magic. Poor children who showed magical abilities were forced to become servants to wizards. It was a way of keeping their talents in check without allowing them to have power over those who were considered superior by birth. This man must have been a representative from the Mage’s College. Perhaps all parents of gifted children received such a visit.

  The young mother did her best to return to her cooking, but she could not shake from her mind the image of the cloaked man. He said I would beg him to take her. What mother could possibly be willing to hand over her child? I would never do such a thing. Feeling the child inside her move, she placed her hands protectively against her belly. Looking down, she observed the tips of her fingers glowing with a pale white light—part of the white magic had been left behind, a trace of the man who had placed it there.

  Chapter 1

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” Sekai asked.

  “Not at all,” Pia answered. It wasn’t true. She feared the dark above all other things. Squeezing the younger girl’s hand, she kept her close to her side. The docks could be a dangerous place for a young girl, especially when sailors were returning to port.

  Those sailors never bothered Pia. Not since she was ten years old. They feared her, and her odd violet gaze. Touched by magic but rejected by the Red Council, they considered her an ill omen. It didn’t matter to Pia. If the Council had decided to educate her, she would have been forced into a life of servitude. Her family was far too poor for tuition, and her status would have been the lowest of the students. It was the Red Council’s way of ensuring only those of high birth became true wizards.

  The two girls strolled along, their bare feet leaving footprints in the dust. The docks were never swept clean, save by a blustering wind.

  “This way,” Pia said, tugging on Sekai’s arm.

  Sekai grumbled. “I want to see the ship.”

  “Which one?” Pia asked. There were a dozen ships docked along the port.

  “That one, with the dragon,” Sekai said, pointing ahead.

  Pia sighed. “All right.” Quickening her pace, she moved toward the ship with the figurehead of a dragon on its bow. Without turning her head, she shifted her eyes to her right. “Don’t take too long,” she urged her companion.

  Sekai paid her no mind. She stood beneath the wooden dragon, her mouth open. Its carved eye stared down at her unblinking. “Hold me up,” she said, lifting her arms.

  “What?” Pia asked.

  “I want to touch it.”

  Pia wrapped her arms around the girl’s hips and hoisted her as high as she could. “You’re heavy,” she said, grunting. She couldn’t hold her long. The child began to slip, and Pia nearly lost her balance.

  “I touched it,” Sekai said, beaming. “I touched a dragon.”

  Pia shook her head. “A wooden one.”

  “Still a dragon,” Sekai said, sticking out her tongue. “You’ve never touched one.”

  “Touch a real dragon, then I’ll be impressed.”

  “Can’t,” Sekai replied. “My Papa says they all died out.”

  Pia turned her head to the sky. “He’s wrong,” she said.

  “How do you know?” Sekai asked.

  “I just do,” Pia replied. “Come on.” She took the girl by the hand and hurried along the docks, moving away from the dragon. This time she kept her gaze forward, her head tilted downward. It wasn’t enough to avoid notice.

  “Hey, witch,” a boy called out.

/>   It was Marcas, the boy she was hoping to avoid. At only fourteen, a year older than Pia, the boy was large and stocky. He took after his father, a hefty sailor who rarely returned home. The boy’s actions begged for discipline, but he never received it. He bullied every child in town and his own mother, but Pia was his favorite.

  “I said hey,” Marcas shouted.

  Pia didn’t slow down. Pulling Sekai along, she began to jog, then broke into a run. Marcas ran after them. Despite the girls’ best effort, the boy caught up to them, cutting them off with his presence.

  Stretching his arms out in front of him, he forced the girls to stop. “Pee-uhh,” he said, his tone mocking. “You know better than to run from me. You come when I call.”

  Pia crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “You don’t own me,” she said.

  Sekai pressed her clenched hands against her chest. She was shaking and didn’t bother to hide it.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Marcas asked. “Afraid of your little witch friend?”

  Sekai didn’t reply, but Pia did. “You’re an ugly little boy, Marcas. You don’t scare me.”

  The boy lunged forward, grabbing two handfuls of Pia’s silver hair.

  “Stop it! Stop!” Sekai shouted. “Someone help!”

  No one heard, or at least, no one acknowledged her plea. She paced around the two, her hands outstretched in desperation. What could she do? Grabbing Marcas’ right arm, she tried to pull it away. No use. He was too strong.

  “Use your magic, witch,” Marcas taunted. He yanked at her hair, forcing her to double over. Dragging her near the water, he threatened to throw her in. “Last chance before you’re all wet,” he said.

  Pia envisioned breaking free and wrapping her hands around the boy’s throat. He’d bullied her enough. If only she were truly magical, she could zap him with lightning or summon a hawk to rake his eyes. Anger swelled within her, but there was no magic. A sound erupted from her throat, a cry of anger and fear. She flailed her arms in a wild fit, then kicked with all her might. Her foot connected with Marcas’ shin, forcing him to release his grip and grab his injured leg.

  “Witch!” he shouted.

  Pia grabbed Sekai’s hand and ran. Marcas took two steps toward them but winced in pain.

  “Keep up!” Pia shouted as Sekai turned back to look at the boy.

  “Serves him right,” the younger girl said, continuing to run.

  Paying no attention to where they were headed, the two continued their flight across the docks. It was freedom, the wind tousling Pia’s hair. She had not performed a spell, but she had saved herself and her friend from that awful boy. He’d think twice before coming after her again. She was smaller than him, but she would fight. She would always fight.

  “Pia!” an angry voice shouted from the water’s edge.

  The girl stopped dead in her tracks, her friend crashing into her from behind. “Papa,” Pia said.

  “Whatever you two are up to, stop it,” Danik said.

  “Pia fought off that bully, Marcas,” Sekai said proudly.

  “Did she now?” Danik replied, his face unreadable. “Over there, now.” He pointed to a spot on the wharf near a set of baskets.

  Pia obeyed.

  “Both of you,” Danik said. He looked to Sekai. “Your parents wouldn’t approve of you running around like a wildling either.”

  Sekai turned her eyes to the ground and left them there, shuffling her feet as she went. Taking a seat next to Pia, she uttered not a single word.

  “There’s work enough for both of you,” Danik said. “There’s wool in those baskets that needs combing. It’ll fetch a better price that way.” He shoved a small basket toward them.

  Pia retrieved two metal combs and passed one to her companion. Neither dared utter a word until Danik walked away, returning to his work aboard ship.

  “I’m glad you kicked him,” Sekai whispered.

  Pia grinned. “I wish I really had magic,” she said. She’d have taught Marcas a real lesson.

  “You are magic,” Sekai said. “Everyone says so.”

  The silver-haired girl shook her head. “The Red Council doesn’t think so.” That was the end of it. The Council decided in all matters arcane, and they hadn’t chosen Pia. She’d shown no signs of magical talent when they tested her. Her mother had been wrong.

  Since birth, Jeya had insisted that Pia was special. Danik had tried to tell her otherwise. He insisted her visit from the hooded stranger had been the talk of a madman, and nothing more. But then Pia began to exhibit strange characteristics. Tiny sparks of power could be seen in the night as the child slept. Was she the cause of it? Were her dreams the sort that summoned magic? Neither parent had the answer. There were no sorcerers for a hundred miles. They kept to themselves in the richer districts of Ky’sall. Here in the city of Lyraeus, there were only the poor. Magic was an oddity, something to be feared.

  But Pia didn’t fear it. Travelers came from all over Nōl’Deron, claiming to have witnessed great feats of magic, and she listened to each tale, fascinated by their words. She could picture the stories clearly in her mind. She knew what power looked like, even if she hadn’t seen it. She had felt it in the words of the travelers. They had brought it for her to enjoy, and she could never get enough.

  Pia and Sekai combed at the wool until their fingers were sore. There seemed no end to the work, even as the sun moved low in the sky, its rays reflecting off the surface of the water. Sekai groaned at the piece of wool in her hands and shoved it back in the basket.

  “I’m tired of this,” she said, staring out over the water. “Pia? Where does the ocean end?” Sekai had never been away from the sea. Neither had Pia.

  Pia raised her head, her violet eyes looking toward the horizon. A ship disappeared in the distance, moving ever lower until it seemed swallowed by the endless sea. “The ocean doesn’t end, Sekai. It goes on forever.”

  Sekai laughed. “That’s silly. Everything ends.”

  Furrowing her brow, Pia said, “Not the ocean.”

  “Prove it,” Sekai challenged.

  Pia felt heat rise to her face. Her throat tightened as she lost all patience. “Look at the waves,” she said, pointing toward shore. “See how they come in? Well they go out too.”

  “I know that,” Sekai replied.

  “They come and go, round and round, never ending,” Pia went on. “They never end. They go on in an endless cycle, visiting every inch of the world.” As she spoke, her words softened, her anger fading away. “What it must be like to travel that way.”

  “You want to go out on a ship?” Sekai asked.

  For a moment, Pia considered it. Life as a sailor might suit her well. She could travel the world, seeing new sights, and never going the same place twice if she wanted. But that meant no family, no home, no roots. She didn’t know what sort of life she wanted. All she knew was, it wasn’t here in Lyraeus. “I want to go somewhere,” she said. After a pause, she added, “Someday.”

  “Tell me a story,” Sekai said. “One about magic.”

  Pia smiled and sat her wool aside. “You know there are magical creatures in the sea, right?”

  Sekai shook her head.

  “They’re elementals,” Pia explained. “They pull magic straight out of the water, bending it and shaping it as they desire.”

  “What do they look like?” Sekai asked.

  “I…I,” she stammered. “I don’t know. The person who told me that had never seen one.”

  “So how do you know they’re really there?” Sekai asked.

  “I suppose I don’t,” Pia admitted. “But they say there are millions of them, living in every inch of the sea.”

  “I’d like to see one,” Sekai said.

  “Me too,” Pia replied.

  “I’d better get home,” Sekai said. “Mama will be worried.” She waved goodbye to her friend and then hurried away, careful to avoid Danik.

  Pia continued to look out over the sea, trying to envision
what a water elemental might look like. Of course they’d be blue, but would they appear as humans do? Elves maybe? She doubted it. They were likely a creature all their own, unique and beautiful. She closed her eyes and pictured the sunset in her mind. Were there creatures on the sun? Fire elementals? Did they provide this light to the world? What a glorious existence. She held the thought, imagining flames on the water.

  Screams of fright drew her from her daydream, her eyes snapping open. Flames erupted on the surface of the water, blazing uncontrolled. They were coming for her!

  Leaping to her feet, she shouted, “Papa!”

  Danik turned to see the flames approaching the wharf. Grabbing his daughter by the midsection, he threw her over his shoulder and ran. Setting her down at a safe distance, he stared wide-eyed at the fire.

  “Put it out!” he shouted, shaking her.

  Pia swallowed hard, her voice little more than a squeak. “I can’t.”

  “Do it!” he shouted again, squeezing her shoulders. “Like you’ve done before.” Laying his hand over her eyes, he blocked out the image of the flames. “Picture the water, and only the water,” he said.

  With her vision darkened, Pia tried as hard as she could to picture the sea, calm and blue, beneath a rising sun. It was an image of peace. Then all went dark. Her body went limp, collapsing into her father’s arms.

  Danik kept his eyes on the water. The flames receded, and then disappeared altogether. But it was too late. Sailors and dock workers alike had gathered, their accusing eyes fixed on the girl. Choosing not to argue, Danik said nothing. He lifted his daughter and carried her through the crowd, heading toward his small cabin near the docks. None followed.

  “What’s happened?” Jeya asked. Wiping her hands on her apron, she rushed to her husband and child.

  Placing Pia on her bed, Danik looked up at his wife, his face pale. “She set the harbor alight,” he said.

  Jeya gasped. “Was she hurt?”

  “No,” he replied. “She put the fire out before it caused harm, but there were witnesses.”