The First Lesson Page 3

  “We’ll be ready in an hour or so,” Leko replied, unconcerned. He took a bite of a strip of dried jerky and chewed it, his feet stretched in front of him.

  “I want to reach the city by sunset,” Taren replied, annoyed. The white-haired elf always had a relaxed manner, even when the situation called for urgency.

  “The road takes two days to walk,” Leko pointed out. “So unless you’re planning to fly us there, we won’t reach it tonight.”

  “I’ve located another path,” Taren replied. “It’ll be rough, but it’s much quicker.” He glanced at the sun. It had risen almost an hour ago. They had to get moving.

  Embyr situated the bow on her back and fussed with an arrow in her quiver. Taren had delivered the feathers for them, but several had been bent. She’d done her best to smooth them, but some would need to be redone. Was it possible for a dragon to hunt a hawk without damaging every one of its feathers? Apparently not. She sighed and turned her attention from the arrows. “I’m all set,” she announced.

  Taren looked at his red-haired companion. She was still young, but she was strong. Her deep brown eyes reminded him of his own, and he smiled at her. She was as much a daughter to him as he could have hoped for. For many years he’d regretted not having children of his own. Though they would have brought him great sadness. He could not augment a life the way his own had been extended. Witnessing their deaths would have crushed his spirit. He couldn’t think about it. The future. The inevitable loss. The immense loneliness. Were there any benefits to immortality? Such long life brought only pain.

  Leko kicked dirt over the fire to smother it. Wrapping himself in his jacket, he checked the daggers in their sheaths. Touching both edges with his thumb, he made sure they were sharp. Who knows what they might meet in those woods? Magic was well and good, but a solid weapon was far more dependable.

  “All set then?” Taren asked.

  His companions nodded. “Then let’s get moving.”

  * * * * *

  “You’ve hardly said a word since we left camp,” Embyr said. “What troubles you?”

  Taren turned his eyes skyward. “It’s getting late,” he commented. It was well past midday. The trio had been walking for hours without stopping. Luckily his companions had youth on their side. Taren found himself burning magic to keep stride with them. His human body wasn’t meant to last so long. It was only through the symbol’s gift that he managed to go on. Its power surged through his veins, providing him with the stamina he needed.

  “We’ll be there by nightfall,” Embyr said. “You never said why we’re in such a hurry.” She glanced back at Leko, whose light steps narrowly avoided catching in the low brush. He moved with the same easy manner he would on a well-maintained road. He was always like that.

  “We’re in a hurry because we must be,” was Taren’s reply.

  Rolling her eyes, Embyr sighed. “A typical Master Taren reply.”

  “I think we should stop,” Leko said from behind.

  “No time,” Taren said, looking at his feet.

  “Let’s make time,” Leko said, tossing his pack to the ground. Finding a soft patch of grass, he plopped down, removed his right boot, and began plucking thorns from his stocking.

  Embyr chuckled and reached for Taren’s arm. “It’s only for a moment,” she assured him.

  Leaning against a nearby tree, Taren crossed his arms. “Fifteen minutes,” he said.

  From his pack, Leko retrieved two apples. After tossing one to Embyr, he bit into the other. “Nice juicy apple, Taren?” he asked, grinning.

  There was no reply. Taren wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten fruit. A year? Ten? He could not remember the taste, only that it was repulsive. While the others ate, he looked around at the numerous plants of the forest. Within sight were seven he could use to craft potions and medicines. When was the last time he’d bothered to do so? Probably not since training Leko in the art of herbalism.

  The young elf had taken to the profession easily, despite his lack of magical skill. He had learned a trade that would serve him well, should he choose to pursue some other existence. For now, the young man did as Taren requested, always eager to share in an adventure.

  With their apples consumed, the trio resumed their trek through the dense woods. The trees closed in around them, the path narrowing as the sun moved west in the sky.

  “You’re sure this is the right person?” Embyr asked.

  Taren looked at her questioningly.

  “The person you’ve set out to find,” she said. “The girl. She’s the right one this time?”

  Taren had been searching for the same girl for centuries. He’d made mistakes in the past, and this could be another one. They might be hurrying for no reason. No. This time he was certain. “Yes,” he said. “This is the last time I’ll ever go searching.”

  Leko frowned. “What will we do with our time after you’ve got her?”

  Softening his demeanor, Taren slapped the elf on his back. “There’s plenty to be done,” he said. “You’ll never want for adventure.”

  “That’s a relief,” Leko said.

  The woods opened up into a glade, sand and soil mixing to produce a rocky hillside covered in yellow blossoms. Natural and untouched, few had passed this way, despite its proximity to Lyraeus.

  “Looks like we’ve arrived,” the elf said. “You want us to go ahead?”

  Taren nodded. He would wait at the glade until sunset. A hooded man in a small town drew the attention of every citizen. Superstition and ignorance ran rampant in such places, and he didn’t want to be the cause of rumors.

  Embyr and Leko proceeded into the town, drawing few glances from the citizens passing by. The pair were ordinary-looking and gave no one a reason to consider them. Only Leko glanced back to where Taren was waiting. He hoped the townsfolk wouldn’t venture that far. One look at Taren would put them all on edge, and every stranger would be scrutinized.

  Choosing a tavern near the docks, the two stepped inside. The room was filled with male sailors, and only two women. The scent of ale was heavy in the air. A song of adventure burst from the mouth of a drunken man, his words slurred but no less enthusiastic. It drew raucous applause from the gathered patrons.

  Leko looked at Embyr, his eyebrows raised.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Let’s see about a room.”

  A woman stood behind the bar, a friendly smile on her face. Streaks of gray ran through her hair, which was pulled into a tidy bundle on her head. “What’ll you have?” she asked.

  “Do you have any rooms for the night?” Leko asked.

  The woman glanced at Embyr. “For two?”

  “Three,” the elf replied.

  The woman did her best to conceal a smile. “All right then, three. It’s five copper and it includes a loaf of bread for the morning.”

  “A fair price,” Leko said, placing the coins on the bar.

  “You heading out in the morning?” the woman asked, tucking the money away. “I hear there’s a ship headed here from the Red Council tomorrow. You might want to stick around to watch.”

  “Why would the Council be coming here?” Embyr asked.

  The woman shrugged. “I hear gossip, but who’s to say?” She wiped a rag at an invisible stain on the bar.

  “Someone being tested for magic?” Leko asked.

  The woman only shrugged.

  “I’ll have an ale,” Leko said. “Two.”

  Smiling, the woman reached under the bar and produced two mugs that she filled to the brim with a frothy brown liquid. She leaned against the bar and held out her hand.

  Leko counted another five coppers and handed them to her before taking a sip of the ale. It was awful. “Now what more can you tell me of that gossip?”

  “Word is the witch child is to be looked over again,” she said in a hushed tone. “Someone sent word by ship last night. A Council representative lives across the bay and keeps an eye on the area. He said he’d come tomo
rrow to have a look at her.”

  Embyr grimaced and gave Leko a sideways glance. “Which room is ours?” she asked.

  “Second floor, third door on your left,” the woman said, sliding a key across the counter.

  “Thanks,” Embyr said.

  The pair didn’t bother finishing their ale, instead returning outside. “We have to tell Taren,” Leko said.

  Nodding in agreement, Embyr quickened her pace. Taren was waiting at the glade. He hadn’t moved an inch from the rock where he’d perched himself.

  “Are you asleep?” Leko asked, approaching with caution. He’d learned never to touch a sleeping dragon.

  “I’m awake,” Taren replied. “What did you find out?”

  “That a representative from the Red Council is on his way here and expected tomorrow morning,” Embyr said.

  “And something about a witch girl,” Leko added.

  Taren nodded. “That’s who I’m here to collect,” he said.

  “Then you’d better hurry if you don’t want to encounter the mage,” Embyr said.

  “I fear no mage,” Taren said. “Not even if he’s a member of the Red Council.” He paused and stared out at the field of yellow. “But the child will fear him, and rightly so. Her parents will be terrified as well, especially the mother. I must go to them.” He glanced at the sun. It couldn’t go down soon enough.

  “Do you think the parents will be willing to give the girl away?” Embyr asked. “It’s not a small gift you’re asking of them.”

  “They’ll gladly let her go,” Taren replied.

  “You sound so certain,” Embyr said. She sat down next to him, her hands on her knees. “I doubt I could give away a child.”

  “If your child’s life were in grave danger, and the only way to save her was to let her go, I think you would make the right choice.” Ever since he’d known her, Embyr had made wise decisions. She was smart and thought things through, even as a child. She saw that she was being used as a pawn, and she rebelled against it. Her life could have turned out very differently had she been one to obey rather than blaze her own path. He was proud of her.

  “I suppose,” she said. “Still, I’d want to flee with her, given the chance.”

  The trio waited until sunset, resting from the day’s march. When the sun dipped into the sea, Taren stood. “It’s time,” he said.

  “We’ll be at the inn,” Leko said. “You’re sure you don’t want us to find passage for tomorrow?”

  Shaking his head, Taren replied, “It isn’t necessary. The girl’s father will see us safely to the far shore.” Pulling his hood up to conceal his face, he strode into the city.

  Chapter 4

  Pia tried to busy herself with chores, scrubbing her laundry until her fingers were numb. She hung the garments on the line, her head constantly swiveling. Would the townspeople approach her? They feared her, that much she could tell. Each time someone walked by, they would look at her, meet her gaze, and quickly look away. And it hurt, more and more each time. It wasn’t her fault, so why blame her?

  The girl wasn’t evil. She’d never had an evil thought in her life. As she thought back, she wondered if she’d had any thoughts worth thinking. After all, she was only a child. Was imagination really so bad? She was forced to answer that it was. Her imagination had been the cause of all her sorrow. Every spell she’d accidentally cast, every wish that had come true, all of it had started with her own imagination.

  She wondered if there were other children like her. Surely those with magical talent experienced what she did. But the Red Council said she had no power. How did they know? She sat on the ground and looked toward the sea. It couldn’t be magic. The mages would have known. It is something else, she thought. Some creature of evil is working through me.

  The thought sent a shiver through the girl’s body. Why had it chosen her as its conduit? “Please leave me alone,” she whispered. “Whatever you are, I don’t want this magic. I want to be a girl, a regular girl.”

  There was no reply. Dragging herself to her feet, she returned inside to help her mother prepare dinner.

  “Let’s make something special,” her mother said, in an attempt to cheer her.

  Pia began cutting vegetables, counting the slices to pass the time. It was simple work, perfect for an ordinary child. In her mind she sang a song over and over, refusing to allow her thoughts to wander. She could control this. She had to.

  But soon her father would be home. What would he do? Had he made arrangements for her? The harder she tried not to think about it, the more the thoughts persisted.

  “How about some cookies?” Jeya suggested. “Would that make you feel better?”

  Pia headed to the pantry and peered inside. “There’s no sugar.” There rarely was. It was a luxury item her family could not afford. Danik worked hard and had little to show for it.

  “There’s honey,” Jeya said.

  Reaching for a small jar of honey, Pia smiled. “Can we make honey cakes instead of cookies?”

  Her mother nodded and wiped her hands on her apron.

  The two prepared the cakes together, standing side by side. There was no talk of magic, only of ingredients and proper measurements. Normal. The things a mother taught a girl child. Pia didn’t need the song to keep her mind focused. The sound of her mother’s voice was enough.

  Peering into the oven, Pia checked on the cakes. They were delightfully puffed and brought a smile to her face. “I think they’re done,” she said.

  Her mother passed her a thick glove, which she slid over her hand before removing the flat stone from the oven. The sweet aroma wafted to the girl’s nose, sending her stomach rumbling. Placing the cakes at the windowsill, she fanned them with her hand.

  “Can I have one before dinner?” she asked, though she knew the answer. Her mother never allowed sweets before dinner, even on her birthday.

  “Yes,” Jeya answered.

  Pia didn’t waste time asking questions. She grabbed a hot honey cake and blew on it before biting down. It melted in her mouth, the flavor of the honey filling her senses with delight.

  “How are they?” Jeya asked.

  “Mmm,” Pia replied, her mouth full.

  Jeya pulled her daughter toward her and hugged her. A warm smile spread over her face as she released the girl. “Don’t tell your father,” she said.

  At the mention of her father, Pia’s good mood faded. Glancing out the window, she saw the sun beginning to set, the sky illuminating with a peachy-pink glow. He would be home any minute. The cake’s flavor went to ash in her mouth.

  Turning her attention back to chores, she set the table with bowls and spoons. Then she placed a pitcher of cool water at the center. After retrieving three wooden cups and setting them on the table, she slumped down into her chair. Her elbows rested on the table, her chin propped by her hands.

  Footsteps sounded outside the door, heavy boots against gravel. He was here. Shifting her eyes to the door handle, she watched it slowly turn. When the door swung open, her father stepped in, and she quickly looked away. She couldn’t look him in the eye.

  Her heart pounding in her chest, Pia didn’t move. Focusing only on her breathing, she hoped to calm her nerves. Could they hear the hammering of her heart? It was so loud, she could think of little else. Her hands began to sweat, and she fought the urge to wring them. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

  “Jeya,” he said, laying a hand on his wife’s back.

  The two shared a small kiss, nothing special. It was the same as any other day. Pia waited for something to happen. Anything. What was he waiting for?

  Sure that any moment now he would announce her engagement to a strange man from a foreign land, the girl’s throat clenched. Maybe it wasn’t marriage he’d decided on. Perhaps she was destined to be a slave girl, serving aboard a ship on some distant sea.

  “Vegetable stew,” Danik commented, looking inside the cooking pot. Glancing at the windowsill, he asked, “Honey cakes?” />
  Jeya shrugged. “It felt like a happy occasion.”

  Happy? Pia wondered how it could be so. They were sending her away! She thought the cakes were meant to cheer her. They’d done a lousy job of it. Frustrated, she fought the growl rising in her throat. Why doesn’t he say it already?

  Danik sat at the table, his expression unreadable. Jeya served stew into the bowls, and tore pieces of bread for each of them. Still frozen, Pia could not reach for the pitcher, though she normally would. Her mother did that as well, filling the cups with water. She barely spared a glance for her daughter.

  Both parents scooped spoonsful of stew into their mouths, chewing and then drinking. No conversation passed between them. After a few bites, Danik asked, “You going to eat?”

  Pia still hadn’t moved. Under her father’s judgmental stare, she slid her arms down from the table and picked up her spoon. Slurping at a small amount of broth, she kept her eyes low.

  “Eat,” her father commanded.

  Jeya placed her spoon in her bowl and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “She’s frightened, Danik.”

  He slammed his cup against the table, startling both wife and daughter. “Don’t you think I know that?” he shouted. “I’m scared too.” His tone softened a little. “There’s no way to know what will come of this…this…”

  Jeya reached out to him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll get through it,” she said.

  “It’s me,” Pia said. “I’m evil.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I wish I were normal.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Rushing to her daughter’s side, Jeya cradled her against her chest. “Shh,” she said, stroking the girl’s hair. “Everything’s all right.”

  “It isn’t all right,” Danik said, his tone serious. “A report has been made to the Red Council.”

  Jeya gasped and clutched her daughter tighter. An unexpected knock at the door startled her, and she nearly dragged the girl out of her seat.