The Second Symbol Page 5

  “I spent a few years on ships in my youth,” he said. “Long ago, before I became a master sorcerer.”

  Taren had never thought much about Imrit in his youth. To him, he’d always been a father figure, one who was larger than life. It never occurred to him that there was a time before the man was a sorcerer. But all wizards started off the same until they showed magical talent. They were normal children with hopes and dreams like any other. “Were you a deckhand?” he asked.

  Shaking his head, Imrit replied, “My father was a ship’s captain. I fell overboard once during a storm. I managed not to drown. That’s how I found out I could perform water magic.”

  “So why did you master air first?” Taren wondered.

  Imrit shrugged. “When I grew into my teens, I had more of an affinity for air. And my mentor told me I’d be able to manipulate the weather. What young wizard can resist such words? I spent a lot of time wandering and daydreaming, picturing myself performing great feats of magic.”

  Taren’s own approach had been more practical. With an affinity for earth and a love of plants, his career path seemed cut and dry. Merging with the symbol had been a surreal experience. Unlocking its potential was even more so. This was far more than he’d ever imagined, even in childish fantasies. Meeting a dragon was too. In his wildest dreams, he’d never pictured himself near one. “During any of your daydreams, did you ever think you’d be headed off to meet a dragon?”

  “I doubt it,” Imrit admitted. “What with dragons being so rare and all. It never occurred to me that I’d need one until my most recent studies of the symbol and its origins. When I heard the rumors of a dragon on Ayumai, I knew I had to see for myself.”

  “Wait, I thought you were sure about the dragon,” Taren said, concerned. Was Imrit taking them on a wild goose chase?

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Imrit replied. After a pause, he added, “Mostly.”

  Taren stared open-mouthed at his former master.

  “The Cultists are definitely there,” Imrit said. “Even if there’s no dragon, they’ll have the tome I’m looking for.”

  “And the book is more important than the dragon?” Taren asked.

  “They’re equally important,” he replied. “Unless, of course, the dragon could explain things to us without the book. Then the dragon would be the more important of the two.” His tone was casual and unconcerned.

  Taren couldn’t believe his ears. “So if there’s no dragon, what are we supposed to do with the book?”

  With a shrug, Imrit said, “We’ll have to go off in search of some other dragon.”

  Throwing his head back, Taren nearly lost his balance. Grabbing the rail to steady himself, he groaned in frustration. “I can’t spend my life searching the globe,” he said. “I have responsibilities. I’m the main supplier of potions for the Mage’s College.”

  “Yes, but the symbol will allow you to be more,” Imrit said, his eyes wide. “I can’t do this alone, Taren. It’s too much work for one person.” He squeezed the younger mage’s arm. “If this trip turns out to be a failure, we’ll return to Ky’sall and do our research from there. You’ll be able to tend your duties while we figure out where to go next.”

  Satisfied with the answer, Taren grew quiet. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He couldn’t swim back to Ky’sall, so he was stuck aboard the ship until it made port. Besides, he was still eager to find a solution to his problems with the symbol. But now he wasn’t as confident they’d find what they needed. Imrit had seemed so sure of himself that Taren hadn’t thought to question him further. All he could do now was wait and hope.

  Imrit spent most of the journey reading and muttering incantations in strange languages. Always one to continue his studies, Imrit created a makeshift library out of his three books. There were spells beyond count in the world, and the old wizard desired to know them all. That meant learning new languages and methods of casting those spells. Whatever it took to suit his needs. Until his symbol was unlocked, he would continue as he always had. It helped ease his anxiety and pass the time aboard ship.

  Taren, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed learning everything there was to know about the ship itself. After a week on board, he was climbing the rigging and helping with the sails. He used magic to keep the deck clean, freeing up the crew to tend more important matters. Purifying water barrels was as easy as adding a few drops from one of his vials, though the crew were less happy about that. They strongly preferred adding rum to purify the water.

  To rectify the situation, they held parties every fourth night, allowing half the crew to partake of straight rum and become entirely sloshed. They would sing and dance until they could stand no longer, then they camped out on deck under the stars. Taren allowed himself to partake once or twice, enjoying the camaraderie among the sailors. He would not become drunk, thanks to a few sips of a bitter orange tincture, but he could learn new songs and listen to tales of the sea. For a few moments, he forgot all about the symbol, dragons, and his responsibilities to the Mage’s College. He was simply Taren, a man of the sea.

  Taren had seldom participated in those sort of activities. He had studied elemental magic and herbalism his entire life and moved straight into his career. There was little time for close friends or revelry, and being aboard the ship made him realize what he’d missed. Once this business with the dragon was concluded, he decided he would make more time for friends and learn how to have fun. There was always plenty of time for work. Never again would he allow a friend to become a stranger to him.

  Expecting to eat rations the whole trip, Taren planned to portion the food he’d brought and mix it among the fare he’d be served from the ship’s galley. To his delight, the ship’s food turned out to be far beyond expectation. Not having lived near the water, he had never eaten truly fresh seafood. What the men hauled on board was beyond delicious. If a meal thrown together while sailing could taste this fine, he wondered what a brilliant chef like Olak could do. He decided to devise a way to have fresh seafood delivered to his cottage on occasion. It would certainly be worth the expense.

  Evenings filled with silence, when no parties took place, affected Taren the most. He enjoyed the company of the crew, but he relished his moments alone. Lying back on the deck, he could stare up at the stars, silver lights sparkling like nowhere else in Nōl’Deron. The sky over the sea was darker somehow, contrasted stronger against the twinkling lights. Mesmerized, Taren spent hours staring up at them, wondering what sights they might have seen. Dashes of pink, yellow, and gray trailed off somewhere behind the stars, traveling to places unknown. A world like no other, he could lose himself in the immensity of the night sky.

  Sleep also came easier while traveling. The motion of the waves soothed him, and the symbol remained calm as well. His arm occasionally itched with anticipation, but even the ancient artifact inside him knew he could not make the ship travel any faster. Imrit could have augmented the wind, of course, but at the risk of tearing the ship to splinters, he had chosen a simpler enchantment upon the sails. Taren didn’t mind.

  These weeks spent sailing were the freest he’d ever felt. He would have to make time for more travel in his future. Staying at home would no longer be enough. Now he had seen too much, though there was still far more to see. He had traveled only once before, and that was at the request of his master. Now he was doing the same. Next time, he would travel for himself.

  It was nighttime when the ship finally reached La’kerta, spring having given way to summer. Taren was sad he hadn’t seen the dense jungle island from a distance, instead waking at dawn to find they had made port. Looking toward the docks, he saw dozens of La’kertans. Reptilian bipeds, they seemed almost human. In place of skin, they had scales of various color. With far more diversity in color than his own people, Taren found them pleasing to look upon.

  As much as Taren enjoyed observing its people, the island itself was breathtaking. The land appeared to rise and fall, a mist settling upon th
e valleys. Trees stretched on for eternity, every shade of green imaginable beckoning him toward it. What it must be like to be an herbalist on this island. One glance, and he could hardly stop himself from running toward the jungle to collect samples. Knowing he would likely lose his way and perish was the only thing stopping him.

  Imrit trotted up the steps, appearing on deck with a satisfied smile. “You might as well see if you can find that friend of yours,” he said. “No time to waste. I’ll book our passage to Ayumai.” He stood tall and proud, certain that he’d be able to convince another ship’s captain to take them where they needed to go.

  With a nod, Taren headed down the ramp, his feet planted on solid ground for the first time in weeks. It was firm but confining. “Excuse me,” he said to an orange-scaled La’kertan. “I don’t suppose you know of a man named Zamna.”

  The La’kertan shook his head. Taren knew it was a long shot, but he had to start his search somewhere. “Can you tell me where the nearest town is?” he asked.

  Pointing north, the La’kertan replied, “Follow the road. It’s only about two miles. Largest city on the island.”

  “Thank you,” Taren replied. If it was indeed the largest city, he had a good chance of locating Zamna, or at least finding someone who knew him. He set off down the road, a few loaded carts passing him along the way. None of them stopped to offer him transport, but the herbalist was happy to walk. He had sat far too much on the ship, and he enjoyed taking in the landscape. On horseback he would pass by the jungles far too quickly.

  With the path only wide enough for one cart at a time, Taren was forced to step aside for a laden wagon. Standing between two trees, a bright red flower caught his attention. It was only a dozen yards from the road, so Taren felt safe investigating. Taking careful steps, he avoided tangled vines strewn on the ground and made his way to the flower. It was massive. It rose well over his head, extending at least nine feet high. The edges of the petals were sharp, similar to an aloe plant, but its leaves were thinner. Gently he traced his finger along a petal, a waxy substance collecting on his skin. Retrieving a vial with his clean hand, he wiped the substance inside it and held it to his eyes for closer inspection.

  It was unremarkable. Milky in color, it appeared rather ordinary, but Taren knew there was always a chance it held medicinal qualities. Testing it, however, would have to wait until he returned home, assuming the sample lasted that long. He tucked it away and looked deeper into the forest. Vines draped from every tree, various shades of orange, green, and red tempting him to explore farther. Glancing over his shoulder, he made note of the road, committing its position to memory. I won’t go far, he reassured himself.

  Movement through the jungle foliage was slow. Wetness saturated the air, the summer heat oppressive. With every step he had to sweep vines from his path, their leaves brushing against the top of his head. Tiny insects buzzed in his ear, a few of them tasting his blood. Waving them away, he pressed on, despite the itching welts that appeared on his neck. Nearing a bright orange bloom, he reached for one last vine, which hissed in response. Taking a step backward, he looked into the eyes of a snake, its forked tongue wriggling toward him. In a flash of movement, it disappeared, ascending to the jungle’s heights. Taren was glad of it. Bright yellow diamonds on the snake’s back suggested it might be venomous.

  The orange blossom awaited, a sweet, floral aroma inviting him toward it. Kneeling, he breathed deeply of its scent and found it familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Collecting one petal and one leaf, he saved them in another vial and moved on. A cathedral of green spread before him, growing darker as the canopy closed in, blocking out the sun. In the distance, he heard the sound of tumbling water, likely a waterfall somewhere amid the green.

  Hoping to glimpse the waterfall, he continued on, still taking care with each step. As the water grew louder, the ground became wetter. An area of dark sand lay before him, devoid of vegetation. Quicksand, he thought. To be sure, he searched the ground for a fallen limb and tossed it toward the quicksand. In an instant it was swallowed up, disappearing into the earth. To his amazement, it didn’t stay down. Instead, it shot high into the air, striking limbs and vines as it went. A muffled plop in the distance suggested it had landed out of sight.

  Rather than crossing the quicksand, Taren decided to head back toward the road. There was no telling what else he might encounter that he wasn’t prepared for. It was best to return with a guide some other time. Retracing his steps, he moved through the foliage, wishing he hadn’t traveled so far. Without realizing it, he had completely lost sight of the road, and finding it again proved trickier than he expected. Step after step he felt his body temperature rise, the humidity and still air only making things worse.

  Out of nowhere, hands grabbed him, pulling his arms behind him. A blow landed on his midsection, doubling him over, a second blow striking his ribs. Pain radiated throughout his body. If it weren’t for the green-scaled arms holding him, he probably would have dropped to the ground.

  “Let me go!” he shouted.

  “Hold still!” a voice hissed. The La’kertan squeezed Taren’s arms tighter, twisting them behind his back.

  A second green-scaled La’kertan stood in front of Taren, lifting the sorcerer’s chin with one clawed finger. “Where in the world did you come from?” he asked, hissing with laughter. “You’re far from home.”

  “What do you want with me?” Taren asked, redness blossoming on his face.

  “We’ll start with your gold and jewelry,” the La’kertan hissed.

  “I have none,” Taren replied. All of his possessions, with the exception of the clothes he wore and a few potions and vials, remained on the ship.

  “You lie,” the La’kertan said.

  A mischievous grin spread across the wizard’s face. The only gold still upon him was the symbol. “I’d like to see you take it from me,” he said. Reaching into his magic, he pulled heat from the earth. Sparks of red erupted from his hands, searing the man holding him. The La’kertan released him and jumped back.

  The second La’kertan lunged at Taren, the blade of a dagger flashing in his hand. Taren didn’t hesitate. Forcing energy from the earth, he blasted a spray of wet dirt into the man’s face. The La’kertan stumbled backward, wiping at his eyes. The first man threw himself toward Taren, but the sorcerer was prepared. With a blast of energy, Taren sent both men flying, crashing into vines as they fell.

  Taren attempted to flee as both men wrestled in a tangle of vines. But the symbol would not allow it. The marks on Taren’s arm spun and swirled, taking on the shape of lightning in the sky. Reflexively throwing his right hand outward, a bolt of electricity flew from his fingers, splitting the air around them. The blast tore through vines and trees alike, toppling one and pinning the men beneath it.

  Stunned at his own actions, Taren could hardly breathe. Lowering his arm, he raced to the men, hoping they were still alive. Though they would likely have done him great harm, he did not desire to see them crushed. The symbol had forced his hand where he normally would have exercised restraint. But this was not the time to think about that. He had to help these men if he could.

  Both men lay on the ground, their eyes open, and to Taren’s relief, both were breathing. One man coughed softly, mouthing the word “help.” Reaching into his magic, Taren used the earth itself to tilt the branches off the La’kertan. Turning, he repeated the spell for the second man. Both managed to sit up, the dagger nowhere in sight.

  “Had enough?” Taren asked, straightening his back. They need not know that his spell had gone entirely wrong, or that he was not in control of his own magic.

  The men glanced at each other, and one looked back to Taren and nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “I don’t suppose you know a friend of mine. His name’s Zamna.”

  The men looked at each other again, both of them wide-eyed. “You’re a friend of his?” one man asked.

  “I am,” Taren said. “Do you know where I c
an find him?”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” the man answered quickly. “Let’s forget we were ever here. Accept our apologies.”

  Taren tried to hide his surprise. The men were visibly shaken by his mention of Zamna, both fidgeting nervously. “Tell me where I can find him,” he repeated.

  “Are you going to send him to kill us?” the other man asked.

  “If I have to go looking for him, I just might,” Taren replied, his patience gone. “Now where is he?”

  “He’s at the Temple of Auk,” the first man said. “We don’t want trouble with Zamna, so don’t mention us.” The man reached slowly into his pocket and produced a gold coin. Flipping it toward Taren, he said. “Take that for your trouble.”

  “Get out of here,” Taren ordered them. The men didn’t hesitate. Pulling themselves to their feet, they ran deep into the jungle. Taren knelt and collected the coin, the head of a La’kertan engraved upon it. Tucking it into his pocket, he observed his right arm. The lines shifted back to their normal pattern, and he felt no impulse to follow the men. With a deep sigh of relief, he turned toward the road, finding it with ease. He would not stray again.

  Chapter 6

  Shuffling his feet, Imrit moved slowly along the docks, his eyes scouring every ship for the one he sought. Reaching for his magic, he studied each one along with its captain and crew. Some of them would be willing to travel to Ayumai. Everyone had their price.

  Stepping along, his feet moving in time with the waves, he tasted the salt on the wind. He hoped Taren wouldn’t be long retrieving his friend. With luck, he’d have a ship waiting when the young man returned. Ayumai was beckoning, the dragon’s fire calling out to the symbol inside him. His heart yearned to unleash its power, but he could not. Soon that would change.

  An old woman approached, her back bent, a gnarled walking stick clutched in her hand. She lifted her head as Imrit approached, pointing a bladelike finger at him. “Your fate is sealed,” she said, her voice high and froggish.