The Second Symbol Read online

  “Let’s hope your lady friend has something to tell us,” Imrit said, smiling. His mood was light, and he seemed more carefree than Taren expected.

  “She’s the High Cleric,” Zamna pointed out. “I wouldn’t refer to her as anyone’s lady friend.”

  “Whatever she is to you, then,” Imrit said. “I can sense magic in this place. I hope it’s coming from her.”

  Taren didn’t sense anything, and it was unusual for him. The symbol seemed quiet, having returned to partial rest after his attack on Imrit. He feared it might erupt at any moment. It was responsible for him continuing to grow scales, and that meant it wasn’t entirely dormant.

  Zamna opened the door and stepped inside. Ynaja stood at the center of the room, and he bowed to her in greeting.

  The High Cleric mirrored his gesture. As if floating, she approached the new arrivals without any sound of footsteps. Her white robe billowed softly as she moved, her blue scales glistening in the light. “Welcome back,” she said.

  Taren felt the gaze of her black eyes as they peered through him, leaving him naked and exposed. He wanted to shrink away, to run back toward the ship and stay there.

  Gently, the High Cleric placed her hands on either side of his face. “You are not well,” she said to him. Pushing back his hood, she leaned close to inspect his skin. “These scales are not your own.”

  Not knowing what to say, the herbalist held his tongue. Could she see the pain in his heart?

  Taking him by his right hand, Ynaja inspected his arm. “Your artifact has been blessed by dragon’s fire,” she said.

  “How do you know that?” Imrit asked.

  “I know because the Auk has told me as much,” she replied.

  Taren studied the woman in front of him. Magic radiated from her, but it was a strange force that he hadn’t encountered before. Zamna had been wise to bring them here. Every bone in Taren’s body knew that this woman held the answers he sought. “You’ve been thinking of me,” he said quietly.

  “I have,” she replied. “Since your first arrival here, I have held you in my thoughts.”

  “Why is that?” he wondered. “I did nothing to deserve your concern.” Why would she bother to think of him again after he’d gone?

  “I knew you would return seeking my help,” she said. “This symbol weighs heavily on your heart, and you come to me for a cure.”

  “I told them you practiced a different type of magic from theirs,” Zamna said, fearing he’d offended the High Cleric. “It’s only because of me they are here.” If she was going to be angry, he hoped she would direct it toward him, not his companions.

  “This is where they belong,” she replied. “It was good of you to bring them.” Gesturing for them to follow, she entered a small sitting room next to the main chamber. “Now, tell me your story.”

  The trio exchanged glances, deciding who should do the talking. Imrit made the decision that it should be him. “Both Taren and I are hosts to ancient artifacts crafted by elves and dragons. Taren’s was activated in the dragon’s fire, as you know. He’s had some strange symptoms since then, scales being the most obvious. Also he’s been eating insects and craving raw meat. He can’t sleep, and he perches himself like a gargoyle on the ship’s mast at night.”

  “And I tried to kill him,” Taren added.

  Raising one eyebrow ridge, Ynaja waited for an explanation.

  “Rather, the symbol tried to kill him,” Taren corrected. “We thought that since I’m turning into a dragon that my fire could activate Imrit’s symbol. It didn’t. He was burned, and Zamna had to intervene to save him. Since then I have difficulties being close to Imrit, and I fear that I might hurt him. I don’t have much control over my actions.”

  Nodding, Ynaja said, “You were given a gift from the dragon. Two gifts.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Imrit handed her the ancient tome without a fuss. “This book explains the symbol’s origins. It speaks only of Taren’s, not my own.”

  “I see,” Ynaja said, taking the book. Flipping it open, she looked down at the writing inside. “You were able to read this?” she asked.

  “Zamna was,” Imrit replied.

  “Indeed,” she said, a smile appearing on her lips. She dipped her head in Zamna’s direction. “Your lessons are coming along.”

  Puzzled, Zamna didn’t reply. He hadn’t learned any languages during his stay at the temple.

  “I will need some time,” Ynaja said. “I would like to take a closer look at this book of yours. After that, I must consult the Auk. It’s the only way I might be of assistance.”

  Murmurs of gratitude and agreement sounded on top of one another as the trio spoke all at once.

  “Please make yourselves at home here,” she said. Without another word, she exited the room with the book hugged tightly to her chest.

  “She’ll know what to do,” Zamna assured them. “It might take some time, but she’ll know.”

  The others did not argue. Instead they resolved to be patient and allow Ynaja’s magic a chance to uncover what they could not.

  Zamna showed them to the modest quarters where the acolytes slept. “The beds are surprisingly comfortable,” he said. “There’s also a library that you’re free to use as you wish. I didn’t get much use of it, but I’m sure the two of you will.”

  With nothing to do but wait, the two sorcerers were grateful for abundant reading material. Taren helped himself to volumes concerning La’kerta’s flora, and Imrit went in search of every historical and magical text he could get his fingers on. The librarian scowled as the old wizard carried off dozens of books at once, aided by the use of elemental magic.

  Taren found himself surprisingly hopeful. Poring over the herb lore, he felt as if nothing had changed. It was almost like being on a vacation, or visiting with an old friend. He ignored the scales on his flesh and focused simply on being an herbalist. It was the greatest pleasure he’d known since his fateful meeting with Iracidae. He even began to think he might impress Lilla with his knowledge of her home island’s plant life.

  Zamna felt more at home than he had during his earlier stay at the temple. Perhaps it was the presence of friends that made it seem less intense. The first time he arrived, he’d felt lost and confused. Now he had a purpose: to bring his friends the peace they sought. He had great faith in Ynaja, and he knew she would not fail them. He planned to continue studying with her and the other acolytes until he found whatever it was he was seeking for himself. Figuring that out would be the first step.

  Three days passed in the blink of an eye as the trio focused on their studies. On the fourth day, Ynaja, who hadn’t been seen since the visitors arrived, finally emerged from her solitude.

  “I have consulted the Auk,” she announced. “And I have answers for you.”

  Chapter 22

  “There is a ritual you must perform,” Ynaja explained. “To perform it properly, we require a drop of elven blood and a drop of dragon blood.”

  Zamna groaned in frustration. “That means we have to go back to Ayumai and collect blood from Iracidae and one of those Cultists.” Another journey to the dragon’s island was the last thing he’d expected. Now that he was home, he didn’t want to leave again, especially not so soon.

  “The brethren won’t be happy to see us again,” Taren stated.

  “There is no need for travel,” Ynaja told them. “What you need is already here.”

  “You keep a supply of blood on hand?” Taren couldn’t help but ask the question.

  Shaking her head, the High Cleric replied, “No, we do not. The La’kertan people are the offspring of the union between elves and dragons. Each of us carries the blood of our ancestors.”

  “You’re going to have to explain to me how elves and dragons managed to mate,” Zamna said.

  “Acolyte Zamna, your view of the world is incredibly narrow,” Ynaja scolded.

  The former assassin shrunk back, embarrassed. He often misinterpreted Ynaja’s teachin
gs, but this time he felt plain foolish.

  “It was not through reproduction but through magic that the two melded into our kind,” she explained. “Any La’kertan may donate his or her blood to the ritual, but the same person must also participate in the ceremony. First, a choice must be made, for only one symbol at a time may be fully active in this world. It is an ancient enchantment, woven into the gold by its makers. It cannot be undone.”

  “I don’t understand,” Taren said.

  “You are already aware of a rivalry between your two symbols,” she said. “To put an end to that conflict, one must be calmed and the other allowed to flourish.”

  “Only one symbol can be active,” Imrit repeated. “That explains why Taren’s dragon fire wasn’t able to awaken my own. Our symbols oppose one another because they’re aware of the cost of allowing the other to thrive.”

  “But both symbols have power now,” Zamna said, confused. “They’ve both tapped into its magic. I’ve seen them do it.”

  “Both symbols will always have some magical effect, but the potency is greatly affected,” she explained. “The symbol will bestow its host with a few gifts, even when inactive. Iracidae is young by dragon standards, but her power was enough to give Taren’s symbol a jolt. When he attempted to awaken Imrit’s as well, his symbol’s survival instinct came to life. Its shifting lines have become tangled, causing the unpredictable changes in Taren’s look and behavior. Once it is properly tempered, Taren will be able to control his transformations. Unless, of course, he chooses in favor of Imrit’s symbol. Then Taren’s will become dormant.”

  For Taren, it was an easy choice. “I choose Imrit’s symbol to be activated,” he said. “Make mine dormant again.” It seemed that he wouldn’t have to give his life after all. He need not part with the symbol, simply have its powers allayed in favor of Imrit’s.

  “I can’t agree to that,” Imrit replied.

  “Why wasn’t any of this written in the dragon’s book?” Zamna asked.

  “Because you lack the skills to read it properly,” Ynaja replied. “Continue your studies, and learn to read what is hidden.”

  “I knew there was more to it,” Imrit said. “She found all this information when we couldn’t. At least we know the trip to Ayumai was the right course of action. All we needed was a better translator.” Glancing at Zamna, he added, “No offense to you.”

  “None taken,” the La’kertan replied. He’d never billed himself as an interpreter of magical tomes. That he could read any of the words had been pure luck. He would have to consider Ynaja’s offer of further study very carefully before deciding. There might be hidden words he didn’t wish to read.

  “High Cleric,” Taren began, “I asked if you could help us before we departed for Ayumai. Why didn’t you tell me any of this then?”

  “I did not have the answers you needed at that time,” she responded, tapping a finger against the book. “And your trip to the dragon’s island was necessary. The ritual I offer would not work without the kiss of true dragon fire to spark life into your artifact.”

  “I choose Taren’s symbol to be activated,” Imrit said. “I would like you to perform this ritual, High Cleric.”

  “I will prepare the ritual and be present throughout it, but I am barred from adding my blood to it. That honor must fall to another.”

  “But you’re the most qualified,” Imrit argued.

  “I’ll do it,” Zamna said. “As long as she tells me exactly what I need to do.”

  “It is not overly complex,” Ynaja said. “You will prick your finger and place a drop of blood into a basin. Imrit and Taren will place their hands on the basin, and I will set in motion the ritual of blood magic.”

  Zamna wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “Then what?”

  “You will push the magic toward whichever symbol you decide to activate.”

  “Can’t you do that part?” he asked. It sounded too complicated for him. He’d never worked magic in his life.

  Ynaja smiled. “For the ritual to work properly, the one who donated the blood must be in control of the magic.”

  “But I don’t do magic,” Zamna argued. “Someone else will have to do it.”

  “There is magic inside you, Acolyte,” Ynaja told him. “You have chosen not to use it, but it is there, and it is enough to perform this ritual.”

  “Will you?” Taren asked, his eyes pleading. He trusted Zamna above all other La’kertans. No other would obey what he was about to ask of him.

  Sighing, Zamna said, “I suppose I will, but if I mess everything up, what then?”

  “You won’t,” Taren reassured him.

  “I will monitor every aspect of the ritual,” Ynaja said. “Have no fear, Zamna. You can do this.” Her black eyes sparkled with sincerity.

  Zamna felt like a crying child whose grandmother had come to comfort him. What was it about Ynaja that had such an effect on him? She had a gentle yet stern way about her that forced him to see himself in a different light. In her presence, he always felt like he could be more than he’d ever been. He’d never been a scholar, but she encouraged him to learn. Now she was encouraging him to perform magic. What else did she have in store for him? Only time would tell.

  Placing all his trust in Ynaja’s capable hands, Zamna said, “I will perform the ritual.”

  “Now there is only the choice to be made between the two symbol bearers,” she replied. “Have you chosen?”

  “I choose Imrit’s,” Taren said.

  “I choose Taren’s,” Imrit replied.

  “This is what you’ve spent your entire life trying achieve,” Taren argued. “I can’t take it away from you.”

  “This is how it must be,” Imrit said. “I reject the symbol inside me. It must cease its rivalry with yours.”

  Instead of continuing to argue with Imrit, Taren turned his attention to Zamna. “May we speak in private?”

  Nodding, Zamna stepped outside the room with his friend. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you afraid I’ll mess this up?” The La’kertan feared the same thing, despite Ynaja’s reassurance. The only thing keeping him from running away from the responsibility was the knowledge that the High Cleric could likely fix it if he made a mistake.

  “I want you to activate Imrit’s symbol,” Taren said. “Push the magic toward him, no matter what he says. He’s worked his whole life for this. The symbol I retrieved was for him, not me. Promise me you’ll do as I ask.”

  Zamna swallowed hard. He remembered how loyal Taren had been to his master in his search for the symbol. He had every intention of gifting it to the old man to allow him eternal life. Taren wanted no more than to please his master. Though Zamna had wondered why Taren didn’t simply take the power for his own, he had come to realize that Taren’s loyalty was one of his greatest strengths. He would give up everything he had for someone he loved, and he loved no one more than Imrit. The man was more than a father to him. Taren would never be happy knowing that Imrit was denied his lifelong wish.

  “I’ll do it,” Zamna said.

  Taren smiled and squeezed the La’kertan’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

  With the decision made, Ynaja led them down a long corridor to an ornate wooden door. Carved with vines and leaves, it reminded Taren of the La’kertan jungle. When she opened the door, a small, darkened chamber awaited them. It was empty, except for a silver basin at the center of the room.

  “I will make preparations,” she said. “Please be seated around the basin.”

  The trio obeyed, spacing themselves evenly around the circular basin. Ynaja approached the basin and held her left hand over its surface. With her right hand, she held the dragon’s tome, opened to a page that the others could not see. Her eyes focused on the words as she began to speak in a language heard only in ages past. The words seemed dark and forbidding. All three men exchanged uneasy glances as the words were unleashed, finding their way into each man’s soul. Their bodies shook as ancient magic entered
them.

  Closing the volume, Ynaja set it aside. Holding both hands above the liquid inside the basin, she chanted softly to the darkness. Lines of white heat exploded from the basin, blinding flashes forcing the men to shield their eyes.

  Zamna jumped back instinctively to avoid the blast. Returning to his position, he realized he had overreacted. They were in no danger. The magic subsided, leaving an electric sensation in the air, as if lightning had struck inside the room.

  Soft moonlight trickled in through a domed glass ceiling. Taren stared up at it, wondering how the night had come upon them so quickly. He was sure it was daylight when they’d entered. Then he realized it was the combined magic of the High Cleric and the tome producing the effect. The ceremony required moonlight, but she was unwilling to wait for it to occur naturally. Her type of magic called to him, the symbol standing at attention. He felt its eagerness to awaken, but he tried to push it aside. It must sleep now.

  “Rise,” she commanded them.

  The three men stood at attention, forming a close circle around the basin.

  “Taren, Imrit,” she said, “place your hands on the basin’s edge, and grip it with your fingers.” Producing a dagger from a hidden pocket in her robe, Ynaja handed it to Zamna. “Cut the thumb of your right hand, and hold it over the basin. Allow the blood to flow.”

  Taking a deep breath, Zamna tried to steady his hand. No use. It shook visibly as he accepted the dagger. His throat went dry, his heart pounding in his ears as he pressed the blade to his scales. The blood did not flow. Of course the blade is dull, he said to himself. Digging it deeper into his flesh, he felt the cut. It was a dull pain with a slight burning sensation, and he knew the dagger must be enchanted. He could feel the magic flow into him, and it made his head spin. Doing as he was bid, he held his bleeding thumb over the basin. A large drop fell into the black liquid, instantly staining it red. As he watched, the blood branched into three red lines, one for each man.

  As if in a trance, Ynaja held her arms high in the air and fell to her knees. Her head turned upward to the moon, and she began to sing. Lulled by her song, all three men fell to their knees as well, their eyes closed and heads lowered. Taren felt the sensation of weightlessness, the symbol seeming to float freely in his body. He wondered if he could control where it landed, maybe even eject it from himself. But the sensation soon passed, and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.