Made it!

Just in time, too.  Whew!  I made fifty thousand words about twenty minutes ago.

Thanks for all who have supported me!  This has been tons of fun, creating this world and these people.

Look for the rest of the story to come, but perhaps not as quickly as it did this month.  It's Christmastime, and my time will be taken up by all the fun things going on.  Hopefully I'll have the story done by the end of the year, but we'll see.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ten minutes later, Kaias came in.

“You'll come with me, prince,” he said, pulling Salam up by the arm. “Time to put you to some good use.”

Ashira was left alone, worrying about her friend. She kept thinking of him as Salam, his minstrel alias, and not as Kirdan, the prince. Maybe he did not know she knew his secret. Maybe he did not know she was another steward.

She struggled to stand, then paced, trying to figure out a way to get out. She could feel the collarium around her neck. She had hated it last time she could not speak.

It came to her. She could take it off!

Ashira tried to recall what she had thought before the ring had fallen off in Iudes's residence.

I needed to write another note. Then I wanted this thing off my neck. Perhaps just commanding it will do the trick.

Get off my throat! She thought, focusing on the metal collar.

The warm tingling came to her neck again, and the ring fell from her neck.

“Oh,” she sighed, relieved to have gotten it off.

It occurred to her that she could have done that for Salam if she had remembered it sooner. She cursed her horrible memory.

Ashira's hands were still bound behind her. She tried to step through her arms to bring them around to he front, but the bindings were too high up her arms to make it. She looked around the tower room.

In one corner stood a stone table. There was a small window near the top of the room.

“Not much to work with,” she muttered.

She backed herself up to the stone table and closed her eyes, her hands touching the top. She pictured a chunk coming loose and falling on the floor near her. A thunk next to her foot told her it had happened, and she looked down at the head-sized rock. Sitting down carefully next to it, she put her hands around the chunk of stone. She closed her eyes again.

In her mind's eye, she imagined the rock shedding flakes until it resembled a dagger point stuck through the rock. She turned carefully and saw that it had indeed become such, flakes of stone covering the floor around it. She moved her arms closer to the newly formed blade and moved them up and down, trying to cut through the rope. She heard footsteps approaching outside, and positioned herself in front of the stone just as the young man entered. He did not look at her, but only set down a plate with a small bit of cheese and a hard biscuit, then left. She ignored the food for now and continued trying to remove the rope.

Ten minutes of struggling and the rope finally fell free. She pulled her arms around and stretched her shoulder muscles, which ached. She stood and approached the food. The biscuit was old and rock-hard. The cheese had spots of mold. She kicked the plate aside. Some hospitality for a senator of Camena, she thought.

She paced for a bit, deciding how to escape. She could manipulate the stone easily enough, she was certain. But once she got out, how would she escape the manor? Her dagger was still in the library, as far as she knew. And her flute, although she had it, was useless to her as something with which to cast magic.

She could wait until the servant came in, then take him hostage. But no, Kaias likely would not care if the young man died.

She could sneak through the manor, using a chunk of stone as her weapon. She approached the table, which now had a large hole in it. The rock was at her feet, the point sticking upward.

Or she could create a stone dagger.

She put her hand on the table again, closed her eyes, and imagined the stone falling away to reveal a replica of her dagger. When she opened her eyes, the stone had even turned the same colors. She grasped the hilt of her stone dagger and hefted it. It was much heavier than her real dagger, but she could wield it with two hands. She realized how much energy carving it had taken, and sat down for a few minutes.

The window let a few rays of sunshine through. She tried to see what time it was, but could not. She guessed it was around six in the evening. Sundown was only an hour away. She had to meet Ivarus in the West Plaza, but she had no idea where she was.

Ashira took a collarium from the peg on the wall. She pressed her hand against the wall next to the door. She could feel another person resting against the other side, the heat from his body emanating into the stone. She imagined the stone encompassing him, wrapping around his chest and arms and pinning him to the wall. She told the stone near him to split, and it did. She walked out onto the landing at the top of the spiral stairs. To her right was the young man, his chest and arms encased in stone. He was struggling to get free, but the stone held fast.

“Help!” he started calling out.

Ashira placed the ring around his neck, interrupting his shouts.

“Sorry,” she said, truly apologetic. She searched him, but her dagger was not there. She figured Mirari or Kaias must have taken it.

She turned and ran down the stairs, one hand holding tight to the hilt of the stone dagger. When she felt she was approaching the bottom, she slowed, cautious. She peeked quickly around the corner, but the corridor was empty. She stepped out and began to run quietly toward the end. The door to the library was on the right side. She had to pass it and turn left in order to go down the other corridor that led to the grand staircase.

She paused in front of it, trying to listen through the wood. She heard two men speaking. She closed her eyes and placed her hand on the stone wall next to the door.

“The ruins are far away from anywhere. The society will meet us there and we will perform the ritual, with the witch's help,” came Zagalis's voice through the stone.

“I see,” Mirari replied. “So once the prince has the relic, we'll take him and the girl to these ruins, then extract their powers?”

“Yes. I will take the powers to control both relics. Then I will be unstoppable.”

Ashira backed away from the door. Her foot caught on the rug behind her and she fell, grunting as she hit the stone floor. She stood quickly, preparing herself and stepping away once more.

Mirari opened the door and saw her.

She hefted the stone dagger with both hands. The maestro grinned evilly and raised her own dagger. Ashira struck first, her stone clashing against the metal. Mirari pushed her away and they stood facing each other.

“May the relic curse you, you evil slime!” she said angrily. She attacked again, but he knocked it aside easily.

“Seems your weapon is a bit heavy for you,” he said as she let the point rest on the ground for a second.

He began to advance on her. She backed away down the corridor, toward the tower stairs. Mirari began to sing a taunting tune, sneering at her.

“Little girl, so far from home, you've fallen for a trick. Little girl, so weak and frail, waving a little stone stick, surrender to my soothing voice, give up your little fight. Walk away back to your room and stay there for the night.”

Ashira felt the power of his words trying to affect her. She felt his will pressing against hers in her mind. She recalled the struggle with the man who had tried to kill Ivarus. She pushed back, resisting Mirari's will.

“I will not!” she said through clenched teeth.

She pushed harder and felt his will give way just a bit. In this state, she could sense all the stone around her, in the walls and the floor. She even felt the large stone that was Kaias's desk in the library.

Ashira stomped her foot, telling the stone below Mirari to shoot upward. It obeyed, ripping through the rug and launching the man back. Ashira felt his will break and she stepped forward.

“You will not control me! I am the stewardess of Celftsein.”

She commanded the stone to return, and it did. A large hole in the rug showed where the pillar had been. Mirari lay near the door to the library. Her dagger had flown from his hands, and lay a meter to his right. He sat up, dazed.

Ashira ran and took up her dagger, tossing aside the stone one. She held it to the maestro's neck. She felt her heart pounding and fury coursing through her.

“Encase this man completely,” she commanded the floor. Stone ripped through the rug once more, covering Mirari as he sat there. Within seconds the stone had enclosed him, matching his shape and features. It looked as though he had turned into stone himself.

She looked up and saw the open door to the library. She entered, but Zagalis had escaped.

Ashira turned away and walked down the corridor. She could feel the power of the rock all around her, begging to be used. She ignored it, walking down the grand marble staircase. A few servants who had heard the commotion stood to the sides and watched as the girl with the dagger walked to the door. She raised a hand and the doors opened, pulled by their metal handles.

The streets were still busy. People milled around, oblivious to who walked among them. Some eyed her weapon and shied away. Ashira sheathed her dagger and approached a man sitting on the ground against a building.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said. He looked up at her. “Can you direct me tot he West Plaza?”

“You're on the north side, dear,” he said. “You need to go toward the setting sun.” He pointed to the right. “Go that way to reach the nearest plaza. Take the road across from this one and follow it. It will take you to the west end.”

“Thank you,” she said, bowing slightly. She walked away, weary of those around her. Anytime she saw anyone with a hood, she avoided them, walking on the other side of the street.

She pondered what she had overheard. Kirdan was being used to steal the relic, while they planned on taking her and him to some ruins to perform a ritual that would strip them of their powers. Zagalis would control both relics. He would be unstoppable.

Ashira reached the first plaza. The sun was almost down, so she decided to run as much as possible. She made it through the crowd in the plaza and started running along the street beyond. Within ten minutes she had reached another plaza, but it was not as large as the one she needed to find. A vendor directed her toward the east. She ran to the next plaza.

Ivarus stood near the central fountain, waiting. He saw her coming from the west and looked confused.

“Why didn't you come from the east, from the coliseum?” he asked when she reached him. She caught her breath, then answered.

“I was captured by Mirari,” she said briefly.

“What?!”

“He was working with Kaias Celsis and Zagalis.”

“Was?”

“I killed him.”

Ivarus's eyes were big, showing his shock.

“I think you better come with me to the king.”

“The king?” she asked, then realized he was talking about Kirdan's father. “Oh, yes. I know about Kirdan's alias, by the way,” she said, following him.

“Keep your voice down,” he said fiercely. He looked around. “People don't know he goes out on his own masquerading as a minstrel.”

Ivarus led her through the crowds toward the castle. They reached the portcullis and Ivarus spoke with one of the guards. He let them through and they walked through the gardens. Ashira could smell the pine trees and hear birds singing. The high walls surrounding the castle blocked most of the noise of the city, and it was good to enjoy a bit of peace.

Ivarus and Ashira walked up the broad granite steps to the door of the castle. Four soldiers stood guard.

“Ivarus, back so soon?” one said.

“Yes. I must bring this woman to the king. She has information about the whereabouts of his son.”

“You know an appointment must be set up to see him,” said the one on the far right.

“I do. But Prince Kirdan has been kidnapped, and Ashira knows where he is and who did it. We must speak with the king,” Ivarus insisted.

“I'm letting them through,” said the one on the left. He pushed open the large door behind him.

“Fine. But it will be on your head, not mine,” said the rightmost one.

Ivarus and Ashira walked into the castle.

She gasped. The entrance hall was huge, reaching at least six stories up. Wide, polished granite stairs led up to a balcony overlooking the first floor. Massive stone columns held the roof far above, upon which was a large mural. She tried to see what the painting was. It seemed to tell a story, starting with a battle on one side and ending with a large glimmering city on the other.

“It shows the history of Camena, from the battle of Radunio, to the giving of the relic, through the many years and accomplishments, such as the building of the coliseum,” Ivarus explained. He walked over to a guard standing at the bottom of the stairs. Ashira did not hear what he said, but a moment later the guard walked away.

“We'll wait here for a few moments and he'll get approval to see the king.”

She nodded and continued to look around. The walls were stone, which had started to feel comforting to her. She was admiring a statue of a deer when Ivarus came back and beckoned for her to follow.

They walked down a wide corridor lined with statues, suits of armor, and paintings. Tall golden doors gleamed at the end. Two guards opened the doors, allowing the pair to walk through into the throne room.

Ashira expected to see the king sitting on the throne, but he was not. He was nowhere to be found. Ivarus kept walking, past the marble thrones, to a door behind. He opened it and let her go past.

A man in his mid-forties sat at a small wooden desk, dressed in a simply royal blue robe. The room smelled like the forest, with wood panels and hardwood floors. It was simple and rustic, and reminded Ashira of home. She felt homesick, realizing just how far away Arthoir and Clarris were.

“Your majesty, this is Ashira,” Ivarus introduced.

Ashira realized the man was the king, and curtsied deep.

“None of that, none of that,” the king said, standing and gesturing for her to stand up. I may be king, but I do not hold to such formalities.” He walked around the desk and took Ashira's hand, kissing the top of it. “Welcome to Aetheris, Ashira. I hope all had been well?”

She looked at Ivarus, who answered for her.

“Actually, no, sir. That's why I'm back.”

“No? Well, sit down and tell me,” he said, going back to his seat. Ashira and Ivarus sat across the desk from him. The wooden chairs had dark violet cushions and were very soft.

“Oh, pardon my manners,” the king said. “I am Kaion Tabernarius, King of Camena.” He smiled kindly. “No tell me, why has your stay not been good? Ivarus told me about my son being kidnapped, and I know about your journey from Premoi.”

Ashira looked at him. He was a slim man, about the same height as Kirdan, with hair parted to one side. She could tell that this was her friend's father.

“I was captured by Mirari,” she said shortly.

“Mirari? The Maestro? How do you mean 'captured'?” the king asked in surprise.

Ashira dropped all fear of being in the presence of royalty and began describing her experience upon reaching the coliseum. She finished with her escape from Kaias's manor.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment as Ivarus and Kaion pondered her story.

“So Mirari was a traitor. I guess he got what he deserved,” Kaion said. He sighed. “It's too bad, really. He was a brilliant man.”

“One thing I don't get,” Ivarus said. “Why did the guard at the coliseum say Zagalis had been brought into the city as an ambassador?”

Kaion looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I'm certain you would figure it out if you gave it a bit more thought. There at Celfsteinian refugees that live here in Aetheris. They fled a few years ago after Zagalis came to power. We took them in and provided them places to live. Their resentment toward Zagalis would have surely driven them to do something drastic, even going so far as to attempt to assassinate him, had they known who it was being paraded through the streets. Kaias would not risk that.”

“But why even display him at all? Why not bring him in secretly?” Ashira asked.

Kaion looked at her.

“Do you know the current political situation here in Camena?” he asked.

“Sal- I mean, Kirdan mentioned some of it, but I don't remember very well.”

“I see you are still wanting to call him by his alias.

“Anyway, there are people here who want to see me dethroned. They are mostly senators and some judges. Why? For power. Kaias wants to take the throne, similar to what Zagalis has done in Celfstein. It seems he thinks that Zagalis, once he has all the relics, will be able to put him into this position. In the meantime, he has been trying to rally the people against me.

As we have been attacked by raiders from Chaelesta and Celfstein, Kaias has been lying to the populace, telling them we're under attack from Kadencia. Were I to say we are really under attack from the other two nations, he would jump on it and tell the people I am lying to raise up a standing army. He today published that the 'ambassadors' from Chaelesta and Celfstein are here to talk about forming an alliance to defend against Kadencia. This has gotten even more people to trust him, as they think he defending them against invaders. Really, he is lying to get them to not volunteer for military service. Now the people will think that we have the other two nations helping us, so they won't need to enlist. It's a nightmare, I'll tell you. My authority is being completely undermined. My subjects in Latena and Laritus have received no help from the raiding Chaelestans and Celfsteinians because nobody will sign up to help defend them. The small army we do have is being used to fortify other cities in case of attack.

“And then my son decides to wander off and gets himself kidnapped. I have not made it known, but do not be surprised if Kaias tells the public the prince is missing and blames it on my 'incompetence'.”

Ashira felt bad for the king. She felt his concern for his kingdom and his people, and she could see the frustration evident on his face that he could not help in some way.

“I wish there was some way for Kaias to be revealed for what he really is: a traitor,” Ivarus said.

“There will be a time eventually,” Kaion said. “He will slip up one way or another.”

“What about Kirdan?” Ashira asked. “They came and took him away. He may not even be at Kaias's manor anymore.”

“Did you hear anything about where they were going with him?”

Ashira tried to recall. She had overheard Mirari speaking with Zagalis in the study before Mirari attacked her, but she could not remember what was said.

“Maybe,” she said uncertainly. “I overheard Zagalis and Mirari, but I can't remember what was said. They mentioned me, though, as being part of a plan.”

Kaion looked at her, considering something.

“I have an idea, but if you don't want to do it, I understand,” said the king. He pulled a panel off his desk to reveal a large looking glass.

Ashira knew instantly what his idea was. Kaion saw the realization on her face.

“Like I said, you don't have to. But we can use it. Kirdan created it for me, just as he made one for Mirari. It is the same thing.”

Ashira got up her courage.

“I'll do it, as long as you promise me something,” she said. He nodded for her to continue. “Do not examine my emotions or any memory before Premoi.”

“I promise,” Kaion said. He stood and she mimicked. She looked into the glass and he began to hum.

Ashira felt herself falling into her eyes again.

She was back near the entrance to the Coliseum. She walked to the usher and spoke with him. She could feel another presence this time, but could see nobody, as though the person were standing just outside of her vision.

“It's me,” came Kaion's voice to her mind. “Don't worry. I'm just observing. I cannot affect anything.”

Ashira watched all of her memories unfold. Events happened just as they had earlier that day. She watched the symphony, then spoke with Mirari. She was inside the looking glass. She tried to save Verat, then ran from the maestro. Now she was in the study with Mirari and Kaias, then the tower with Kirdan. She knew the king was watching all of this, but did not mind. He needed to know exactly what had happened.

They reached the conversation and Ashira listened once again to what was said.

“The ruins are far away from anywhere. The society will meet us there and we will perform the ritual, with the witch's help,” came Zagalis's voice.

“I see,” Mirari replied. “So once the prince has the relic, we'll take him and the girl to these ruins, then extract their powers?”

“Yes. I will take the powers to control both relics. Then I will be unstoppable.”

Ashira tripped on the rug again. She knew she was about to kill Mirari, but she let the king see. He needed to know everything he could.

“Your majesty,” came a voice to her mind. It sounded urgent. “Sir! Your majesty!”

Ashira found herself sitting on the violet chair once more. Kaion stood on the other side of the table, and Ivarus was next to her. A castle soldier stood near the desk.

“Sir,” he said. Kaion looked at him. The soldier looked a bit nervous as he spoke his news. “Prince Kirdan has taken the relic from the treasury, sir.”

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Mirari and Ashira sat across from one another once more.

“I saw how Zagalis came to be here. However, I am intrigued by this other woman you met in the alley in Barath,” Mirari said. “I have not seen her before. Judging by her magic, I'd say she is Chaelestan.”

“She gave me a fortune,” Ashira said. Her eyes were still red, but she had stopped crying. “She said I'd find two gifts while I'm here. I don't know what it means, though.”

“I'm sorry, I don't do divination.”

“So can you teach me anything about magic?” Ashira asked the maestro. “I came to you to ask whether you could help me learn how to use my magic.”

Mirari considered the question for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I have never taught a Celfsteinian. In fact, the only Celfsteinian I had met before you was Verat.”

His face showed sudden concern.

“Speaking of which, he was supposed to meet me after the symphony concluded. That was nearly an hour ago. Where is he?”

Ashira remembered what she had overheard.

“He's in trouble!” she exclaimed. “I overheard two people saying something about him being a target. You don't think they plan on killing him for deserting?”

Mirari nodded gravely.

“It would seem like it.”

“Then we must find him! I want to ask him about Celfstein, about my parents, about Zagalis,” she said hurriedly, standing quickly.

“You're right. I will call the soldiers to start a search for him.”

“I'm going to look for him on my own,” Ashira said with determination.

“Then take this,” Mirari said, picking up a smaller looking glass from a bench behind his chair. “I have a matching one. If you find him, say my name three times and I'll be able to see and speak with you. I'll do the same.”

“Thank you, Mirari. You've helped, just by writing my story.”

“Yes, yes. Verat could be in trouble. Now go!”

Ashira left the room and ran to the exit of the coliseum. There were a few people still milling about, but not enough to be in her way. She left through the main exit and paused, unsure of where to go. The forest around the coliseum was not vast, but enough that somebody could be attacked without it being noticed. She ran to the nearest path that led through the trees, calling Verat's name.

It took twenty minutes. She began to lose hope and planned on leaving to search through the city when she heard a faint reply to her right, behind a hedge.

“Verat?!” she called again, louder.

“Help!” came the weak voice again.

Ashira ran along the hedge, searching for a way through. Not finding one, she decided to crawl through the bottom. Branches tore and tugged, scratched her skin and caught her hair. She reached the other side and ran back to where she had heard the voice.

Verat lay on the ground, holding his side. Blood was seeping from between his fingers and had created a puddle on the grass.

“Help,” he said again, seeing her.

“Verat!” she rushed over to him. She was not sure what to do, but decided to wrap the wound as best as she could.

“Don't worry, I'll get help,” she said. She used one of the tears on her tunic and made it longer, ripping off a long piece with which she bandaged the knife wound.

“Who. . .you?” he whispered.

“My name is Ashira,” she said, working to tie the cloth. “I am the steward of Celfstein.”

“No!” he croaked. “You must . . leave. . . . Not safe!”

“I will not leave you alone to die!” she said with emotion. She wanted to cry, but her tears were spent.

“Zagalis. . . looks for. . . you.” Verat managed. She rested his head on her lap, keeping one hand on the wound to help staunch the bleeding. His face was bruised, his arm lay broken beside him.

“He has found me,” she said. “He traded me for my friend, Salam.”

“No. He. . . would never. . . give you up.”

“What? But he did. He wanted my friend, the son of a senator, to use against the king and those who are aligned with him.”

“He would never. . . give up the. . . steward. He . . . must not have. . . known.”

His breathing was becoming more labored.

“You mean, he didn't know he had captured the stewardess when he caught me?”

Verat shook his head slightly.

A voice came from behind her.

“But now I've caught you again,” Mirari said. Ashira turned her head to look at the maestro.

“What?”

“Idiot girl,” said the man, stepping forward. He took out a knife from his belt and stabbed Verat again, this time in the chest.

“No!” Ashira screamed. Verat coughed, then lay still in her lap.

“Gets rid of that traitorous vermin,” Mirari said, wiping his blade off on Verat's cloak.

“You killed him! You evil-”

“Save your breath, whelp,” Mirari said, backhanding her across the cheek. “Now I've found you, Kaias will have me as his right hand man once the king is finally dead.”

Ashira held her cheek. Now she realized why Mirari had wanted her memories. The man was working with Kaias Celsis and Zagalis to capture her and throw Camena into turmoil.

“The king will see you hang,” she said softly. “If I don't kill you first.”

“Kill me? The few times you've killed have been by pure luck,” he said with a chuckle, standing up. He grasped her hair and pulled upward. She screamed and followed his hand up. “You know no more magic than you do how to play the flute.”

Ashira looked around for any stone she could use against him. The cobblestone path was on the other side of the hedge, and she could not see it.

Mirari threw her against a tree and pinned her there. He put his face right next to hers.

“But you are pretty, girl. I could sell you for a lot of money.”

Ashira felt the heat of his breath and scrunched her nose.

“Boy, you need to wash your mouth,” she said, infuriating him further. He backhanded her again.

“Just wait until I take you to Zagalis!” he screamed. He pulled her away from the trunk and she fell, her knee falling on a fallen branch.

“Get up!” he yelled. She looked up slowly into his eyes, defiance shining in them. Her hand grasped the branch beneath her and she stood quickly, bringing it up between his legs. He howled as the wood made contact and released her hair.

Ashira made a break for it, running into the trees.

“Don't think you can lose me in here, Ashira! I know this forest. I grew this forest!” he called from behind her.

Ashira grasped her dagger hilt. Perhaps she could throw it at him? But then she'd be without a weapon. She dodged around trees and bushes. Ahead, she saw the solid stone of the coliseum.

Trapped, she thought. Then an idea came to her.

She raced ahead toward the stone. Placing her hand on the wall, she spoke softly to it.

“Split apart. Let me through to the other side.”

The wall obeyed, splitting open just wide enough for her to slide through sideways. She looked back into the forest and saw Mirari chasing her with a slight limp. She reached the other side and held her hand to the wall again.

“Now close and do not let him through.” The wall obeyed again, closing the gap before Mirari could reach it.

Ashira observed her surroundings. She seemed to in a backstage area, where props and stage items were kept. She wound her way through the maze of various objects, looking for a door. She could hardly see, the only light coming from a small skylight near the ceiling.

She tried to calm her breathing and get her mind wrapped around what had just happened. Mirari was a traitor to Camena! He was in cahoots with Kaias and Zagalis and the Chaelestan witch to overthrow the Camenian government. But why would they take Salam? Surely a simple senator's son would not be enough to ransom the king?

She found a door and opened it cautiously. It led to the hall of the coliseum. She saw the large circular stone slabs that had created the tiers for the performers to sit on. They were lowered now, leaving the entire arena flat. The hall was deserted, though a light still shone from the ceiling. She ran across the large open area, heading toward another door. She would exit the way she came in, by commanding the stones to move.

She had just reached it when she felt something hit the back of her head. She went down on one knee, dazed.

“Think you could escape?” Mirari said, his voice sounding distant. “Perhaps you forgot that I could see you through that glass on your hip. Again, idiot girl.”

She felt strong hands binding her arms behind her back and taking away her dagger. Mirari led her back to his quarters, where he locked her up in the dark. She sat on the red chair, trying to regain her focus.

Things were happening so fast. She tried to sort through the information in her mind. Zagalis and the Chaelestan witch had met her in Barath, but had not known she was the stewardess. Then Zagalis's men had captured her to use as bait to draw Salam into a trap, which had worked. Zagalis let her go, not knowing who she really was. But what about the men who had attacked her just outside of Premoi. They had known she was special, and surely they were Zagalis's men.

She pondered why the men would have known how she was the steward, but Zagalis would not have. Perhaps the men were on assignment and had not had the opportunity to tell him? Perhaps they were not his men. But no, the dying one had said his name.

“Ivarus,” Ashira cried into the darkness. “Salam. Malimu. Anyone, please. Surely somebody is looking for me.” Her head ached from the attack, and scratches covered her arms and legs where the branches had scraped her.

Now Zagalis had Salam to use against the king. And the usher had said a Celfsteinian man had been welcomed with an old woman in some sort of parade. Why would they make pretense of being ambassadors? Zagalis and Kaias were working together; Salam's suspicions about the senator were correct. Mirari was working with them, and she had walked right into his hands. Why had she been so trusting?

She sat in darkness for what felt like hours. Her thoughts turned to the symphony. Mirari had shown her the past, her past, accompanied by beautiful music. Now she knew what her father and mother looked like. Then he had brought back memories that she never have remembered otherwise. She would cherish those for as long as she lived, however long that may be. Although he had betrayed her trust, he had still given her something else, something dangerous. He had given her hope.

The door opened. In walked a man in a green toga with medium length brown hair that fell straight past his ears. A patch of white hair could be seen as well on one side. He was broad and muscled, but not tall, standing only an inch taller than Ashira. His hose was hooked, his chin was chiseled. Had Ashira seen him any other time, she would have thought him handsome. Now all she saw was evil incarnate before her, hatred burning in his eyes. Mirari followed behind, lighting a lantern on the wall.

“She has brown hair,” the man said, his voice a husky bass. “You said she is blonde.”

“She is,” Mirari said, hurrying over to her. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to turn. The man saw her blonde strands at the back of her neck.

“I see. And her skin?”

“Dyed,” the maestro replied. “I saw it all in her memories.” He let go of Ashira, who stood tall, her hands still tied behind her back.

The man walked around her like a wolf circling its prey.

“You sure gave her a beating,” he said, looking at her black eye.

“She resisted.”

Ashira spoke.

“Who are you?” she asked softly. She wanted to know who the man was, for he surely was not Zagalis. She had seen Zagalis once before; this man was Camenian.

“Do not speak!” Mirari yelled in her face.

“Mirari, calm yourself,” the man said smoothly. “I am Kaias Celsis, Senator from Aetheris.”

Ashira's suspicions were confirmed.

“I have something to tell you, Kaias,” she said, getting up her courage. “Come closer so I can whisper it. Mirari cannot know.”

Kaias was interested, and gave in to the temptation. He leaned toward her.

“Screw you,” she whispered, bring up her knee as hard as she could. She made contact with his groin.

Kaias grunted and fell to his knees, holding himself.

“You'll pay for that, whelp!” Mirari shrieked, approaching her. Kaias held up one hand to stop him.

“She's fine,” he managed through clenched teeth.

“Curse you!” she raged at Mirari. “I trusted you! I thought you would help me! You traitor! You deserve to die.”

Kaias crawled into one of the chairs. Mirari folded his arms and looked at her.

“That reminds me,” he said, looking at Kaias. “Who is the Chaelestan witch?”

“What witch?”

“There was an old Chaelestan witch with Zagalis in Ashira's memories.”

“I'm not party to that information, it would seem,” Kaias said, his hand still holding his injured parts.

“Hm.”

Ashira looked between them.

“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked the men.

“Well, once we turn you over to Zagalis, he will rule both the Celfsteinian and the Camenian relics. He will conquer Acustia and Kadencia and set me us as king over all Amrahn. Mirari here will be my adviser.”

“How?”

“How what, whelp?” Mirari said.

“How will he have the Camenian relic?” she asked.

“He has the prince held captive, and he is the steward over Camena's relic. Once he has you, he'll be able to access Celfstein's relic. He has waited a long time to have you, Ashira,” Kaias explained.

“Enough questions. She doesn't need to know this. She'll find everything out eventually,” Mirari said.

“Fine. We'll take her to Zagalis. He should be at my residence now,” Kaias said. “Make her follow.”

Mirari took out Ashira's own dagger and held the point against her back, forcing her to walk forward. They left the coliseum and headed into the streets. Ashira tried to remember the roads and landmarks, but the turns confused her, and she lost her sense of direction. She thought about what Kaias had said. Zagalis had the prince, as well as Salam. The prince was the steward over the relic. If Camena's prince was a steward, was Celfstein's stewardess a princess? She dismissed the fanciful idea. But if Kaias held the prince captive, why did he need Salam? Surely holding the prince ransom was enough.

And then a thought occurred to her that had not before.

“What is the prince's name?” she asked Kaias, thinking that he was more likely to respond civilly than Mirari was.

“Kirdan,” he said.

Realization came over her. That was the same name Ivarus had called Salam while she was at Iudes's house.

“Salam is the prince?” she said aloud.

“Salam? No, Kirdan,” Kaias corrected her.

“Right.”

Ashira was in shock. The only thing that kept her moving was the dagger point at her back, which was carefully being concealed by Mirari from the eyes of passerby.

The whole time she had been traveling with the prince of Camena, and he had not told her. She had not known. Salam was the steward of the Camenian relic, just as she was stewardess of Celfstein's. She almost laughed at the strange coincidence that had brought them together in the first place, but held it back for fear of retribution.

They reached a tall, seven story building with marble facade. Two soldiers standing as sentries saluted Kaias as he approached the large double doors and entered, followed by Ashira and Mirari.

They entered a great hall, also made of marble, and ascended broad steps to a corridor. Kaias led them into a grand study, with books lining the walls for two stories up. Forest green rugs covered the floor, and a great stone slab formed the desk at the back of the room. Large stained-glass windows were on either side. Emerald green couches sat around a fireplace not far from the desk.

Zagalis sat next to the old woman on one of the couches. Salam sat on a chair near the old woman, his arms bound, a collarium on his neck to prevent him from singing.

“Zagalis,” Kaias said, smiling broadly and spreading his arms. “Welcome to my home. I hope you have been served well while I was away?”

“Indeed, Kaias,” the usurper replied. “Tell me, why have you brought this girl to me? I already rid myself once of her.”

“Zagalis, may I present Ashira,” Mirari said, stepping forward and bowing slightly, gesturing to her with the dagger. He stood erect. “She is the stewardess of Celfstein.”

Ashira watched Zagalis's eyes grow big. Salam's reaction was much the same. The old lady only smiled and nodded knowingly.

“This girl. . . “ Zagalis started. He had lost track of her so many years ago, and now here she was before him. Not just that, but he had actually captured her and let her go once before.

“I assume this changes plans a bit?” Kaias inquired.

“Indeed,” said the witch, standing now. “We can use her just as we are using the prince here.”

“Pardon, but who are you?” Kaias asked her.

The witch smiled again, this time showing her yellow teeth.

“I am Seren Tuwil, of Chaelesta,” she said, bowing slightly in greeting.

“Seren will aid me in acquiring the Camenian relic's magic,” Zagalis explained.

“I see. Let us take seats and we can discuss this,” Kaias said. He led them back to the couches to sit and called a servant over to him. A young Celfsteinian man hurried over from a dark corner, his face showing his nervousness.

“Take the prisoners to the tower. Place a collarium on the girl's neck,” the senator instructed.

The young man bowed, then took Ashira's dagger that Mirari offered him. He held Ashira and Salam at the point, forcing them to walk out of the room and down another corridor. They went up a winding staircase into a small tower room. Taking a ring from the wall, he placed it around Ashira's neck and held his hand on it.

“Seal,” he commanded, and it did so.

He left, locking the door behind him.

Ashira looked at Salam with eyes full of sorrow. He smiled sadly at her and shrugged. They sat on the stone floor and leaned against each other for comfort, their backs against the stone wall.

Chapter 12

Please excuse my tardiness.  It's been rather busy lately, and I'm writing furiously to reach the 50,000 word goal.  Here is the next chapter.  Sorry about the plot holes!

Chapter 12

The next three days were slow going. They pushed themselves to their physical limits, even Ivarus. He often took Ashira's pack and added it to his back, which already was laden down with the tent and provision. The first night they were still within the forest, and found another pine to camp beneath. However, the second night was out in the open. Ivarus instructed Ashira on how to create a distracting barrier so no animals or vagabonds would catch them unawares during the night. Then they set up the tent and camped the second night at the base of a small dale.

Aetheris could be seen in the distance by the morning of the third day out of the pass. The city was enormous, some of the buildings rising fifteen stories high around the central castle. The castle itself gleamed pink in the morning sunlight. Ashira commented on it.

“It's made of pink granite, quarried from the mountains to the north,” Ivarus explained, pointing to the mountains that could be seen to their right. “It took a hundred years to build the castle. The city has been around for over a thousand years.”

It was high noon when Ashira asked about something worrying her.

“How will we find Salam once we reach Aetheris?” she asked after swallowing a bite of venison.

“I've been thinking about it,” Ivarus said. “The best thing I can think to do is to go to his father and ask some questions about his captors.”

“Think he'll know anything?”

He nodded.

“Yes. By this time, I'm sure they've sent him some sort of ransom note explaining they have his son. Of course, it will not be broadcast to the entire kingdom; he'll keep it under wraps unless something goes wrong.”

Ashira considered for a moment.

“How can I help?”

“Well, there is not much you can do initially. I will be able to have special conference with Salam's father. You will likely not be allowed to meet with him.”

“Maybe,” she started, thinking as she spoke, “I could find the person I was looking for originally, before Salam got kidnapped. Maestro Mirari.”

“Ah, the maestro. Why were you looking for him?”

“I thought perhaps my magic was not coming because I was meant to sing, not play the flute.”

Ivarus showed his confusion.

“I did not have magic before, because I was playing the flute and not saying anything. At least, I think that's why. I just want somebody extremely skilled in magic to look me over and help me. I think he could be the one to do it.”

“You're right about him being skilled. He has the best baritone voice in all Aetheris, and his magic is powerful,” Ivarus noted. “I will meet with Salam's father, and you can find Mirari. After we're both done, we'll meet at a yet-to-be-determined rally point. Does that sound good?”

Ashira agreed that it did.

They marched on through the snow, which was not as deep near the city. Ashira could see distant fields surrounding the city that were clear of the white blankets.

They began to see travelers on the road. Most were farmers and ranchers, some were traders. Now that the blizzard had passed, government workers were being sent to clear Vento Pass. Groups of ten to fifteen would pass, carrying tents and shovels and dressed in warm fur cloaks over thick tunics.

The end of the third day found them approaching the East gate of the city. Fifteen meter walls made of white granite surrounded the city. The duo approached the gate just before sundown, when they would close for the night.

The buildings just inside were much taller than the ones in Premoi; they reached at least two and often four stories high. Ashira could not see any single-story houses or shops. Most were made of brick or stone, though she saw a few wooden shops built in the alley between adjacent stone edifices.

The road they entered in on was broad, enough to fit seven carriages traveling parallel. No vendors had stalls along the storefronts, as they did in Premoi and Barath. They reached a large plaza surrounded by five story buildings. The crowd pushed on them, and Ashira had difficulty staying with Ivarus.

“We'll find an inn for tonight,” he yelled over the noise of the throng. He led her along a few side streets to the south of the plaza, which curved to the right. The crowds had lessened, but the roads were still busy.

Ivarus pointed to a sign hanging at the very top of a six story complex. It read 'The Singing Raven'. Ashira thought the name strange, as ravens did not sing, but caw instead. Ivarus pushed the door open.

The inside was no better than the street. People were at every table and bar stool. The room was hot from the two fires on either end. It smelled of alcohol and sweat. Ivarus asked the man behind the bar if any rooms were available. Ashira saw him not, but could not hear his response. She moved closer.

“Second floor, room two hundred and eighteen,” he said with an accent. Ivarus dropped a few pecuni into his hands, then took the key from his palm. He led the way through the boisterous, drunken crowd and up the stairs.

The halls above were quieter than the tavern below. They found the room. There was no window, only two twin beds with thin blankets. Ivarus did not undress; he simply put his packs down near the bed closest to the door. Ashira moved to the other bed.

“Do not undress. I prefer to be ready in case of anyone breaking in. Distracting spells are not allowed in inns, as they confuse people too much and could cause recklessness,” Ivarus explained.

They found the baths, which took ten minutes just to walk to, and cleaned up. Ashira walked back to the room alone to find Ivarus already asleep. She lay down and quickly drifted off.

Ivarus gave Ashira directions as they walked to the South Plaza.

“Take the main Broadway north from the South Plaza toward the castle until the third smaller plaza. Then go left, which will be west at that point, and walk until you reach another plaza. The Concert Coliseum will be just to the north. I will accompany you as far as the South Plaza, and then you'll be on your own. Keep your hand ready to grab your dagger at any time.”

Ashira was listening intently. She did not want to get lost in so large a city. Ivarus had explained how the city was laid out in concentric rings, and she understood the pattern. But who knew how many side streets and alleys there were? She did not want to end up beaten and dead at the end of one of them.

They reached a large plaza filled with vendors and citizens. Ivarus looked her in the eyes.

“Be careful. Use magic if you really must, but do not give yourself away. Meet me back at the West Plaza at sundown.”

Ashira nodded. She gave in to the urge and hugged Ivarus, reaching up just to reach his shoulders.

“Thank you, Ivarus. Thank you so much,” she said with emotion. Ivarus was taken aback a little, but returned the hug. “You have saved me, taken me in, and brought me here safely. There is no way I can ever repay it all.”

Ivarus was embarrassed, but did not show it.

“Just return to me safely,” he said.

Ashira backed away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you for being my friend through this, and for helping me discover my magic.”

She turned away and walked into the crowd, leaving the Camenian soldier standing nonplussed.

Aetheris was laid out in a wheel pattern, with four main broadways leading to the gates at each end. The city walls had been built many centuries ago, but rather than building outside the walls, the citizens built on top of the existing buildings. Many of the facades would change color as the stone went higher. Ashira was grateful the streets were so wide; the height of the buildings would have made her feel closed in otherwise.

She kept an eye out for anyone dressed in dark robes, but saw nobody. Everyone around her wore fancy togas of varying colors, bright tunics that reached beyond the knees, and elegant dresses of shimmering cloth. Men usually had short-cropped brown hair, thought she saw a few with nearly black hair. Women wore their hair long and flowing or tied up on the head in a bun. Ashira checked her own hair. The ends that she could see were still brown. Her arms were getting a little lighter, she noticed.

She counted the third plaza and selected the road leading left out of it, to the west. She walked for another twenty minutes before reaching another plaza. She realized just how large the city must be, even bigger than Premoi.

Ashira could see a large circular structure beyond the plaza to the east toward the castle. Streaming banners of gold and silver adorned the top. People mulled about, still as thick as they had been all day. Ashira walked along the designated walkways near the buildings as she headed east toward the coliseum.

Ten minutes later, she stood just inside a large park that surrounded the coliseum. The road continued eastward toward large wooden doors. Various trees lined the sides, with bushes and spring flowers decorating the lawn below. Footpaths led from the broadway into the man-made and well-manicured forest. Surrounded by all the vegetation, she felt at ease. A sudden desire to climb the nearest tree overtook her, but she remembered Ivarus's words to not draw attention, and so ignored the prompting.

Ashira walked a little more slowly as she approached the entrance. The crowd was not nearly as thick, consisting of only handfuls of people here and there. She reached the doors and stepped up to an usher dressed in deep blue tunic with gold edges and a gold square hat.

“The performance has already started, miss,” he said before she could say anything.

“Oh. I'm not looking to watch a performance,” she said. The young man looked at her, his hands clasped behind his back and his chest puffed out.

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see the maestro, and was told to look here first,” she explained.

“Which maestro? There are dozens,” he answered, rolling his eyes.

“Mirari.”

He raised an eyebrow. Ashira thought he was a very expressive person.

“Why Mirari?”

“I had a question I believe only he could answer,” she said shortly.

The usher considered for a moment.

“Well, he finishes conducting his portion of the performance in half an hour. However, I cannot just let you go in and see him. I can tell you;re armed, and no weapons are allowed in the coliseum. Not only that, but it is highly unorthodox for a random girl to just ask to see the Head Maestro in all of Aetheris.”

Ashira decided to try lying.

“You would dare restrict an ambassador from Celfstein from entering?” she said indignantly, drawing herself up and standing with an arrogant air.

The usher did not buy it.

“Please, miss. Don't embarrass yourself. Unfortunately for you, I saw the Celfsteinian ambassador enter the city a couple days ago. I was at the parade they had to welcome him. You are not he, nor are you the old woman he had with him. And all his bodyguard were men, not women. I'm sorry.”

So the Celfsteinians had sent an ambassador to Aetheris. Something seemed familiar about what he said, but she pushed it aside and continued on. She slumped her shoulders in defeat.

Ashira walked away and sat on a nearby bench. She watched as a young couple approached a small booth to the right of the door.

“We'd like to buy tickets for the second half, please,” she heard the man say.

“That will be fifty pecuni for the two of you,” said the woman behind the counter.

Ashira, excited, opened her money pouch and counted the coins inside. She had thirty pecuni Ivarus had given her for food. She could make it inside for the second half!

She got up and stood behind the couple as they paid.

“I'd like to see the second half as well, please,” she said.

“It will be twenty-eight pecuni,” said the woman.

“But they paid only fifty for the two of them,” she said, confused.

“Couple's discount,” the woman said simply. She seemed bored.

Ashira shrugged and paid the money, leaving her with only a couple pecuni. It seemed she would be eating light tonight. She took the small slip of parchment that was her ticket

The usher reluctantly let her inside, rolling his eyes again. She was led down a long corridor with a low ceiling. The walls had red drapes covering the stone beneath. The carpet on the floor was a deep navy. Candles hanged from fixtures on the ceiling. Ashira could have reached up and touched one, they were so low.

The usher took her to a room where those waiting for the second half were seated. She sat next to the young couple and smiled at the woman, who responded in like.

They waited for twenty more minutes. Intermission began, and they heard many people standing above them and moving. The small group of concert-goers stood and left the room. An usher led them into the coliseum proper.

Ashira was in awe. The building was enormous. Rows of stadium-style seats surrounded the central ring, which had large circular slabs stacked upon each other to create a sort of tower. A symphony was positioned on the tower, each tier holding various instruments. The bottom tier had a large choir facing the center. The very top tier had a music stand, and Ashira guessed it was where the director stood.

She was led to a seat near the very top of the rows of seats. It was a simple wooden chair with cushions on the seat and back.

The intermission lasted for twenty minutes while people resumed their seats. Ashira felt a little out of place; everyone was dressed in their finest and she was in her travel tunic.

“Ladies, gentlemen, we will now start the second half of tonight's performance,” came an amplified voice from above the audience. “Please stay in your seats as the symphony performs the new piece 'Mirari's Symphony of the Lost Protector.'”

The candles on the walls extinguished all at once. Darkness filled the hall, and the whispers stopped. Ashira could feel the apprehension in the air, though she could not see even a foot in front of her nose.

A bright light shone down on the central tier. A man stood there dressed in a red toga. His white hair was brought back in a ponytail the went midway down his back. He held up a glowing blue baton and the topmost tier he stood on began to rotate slowly. He began to move the baton gently. A pair of cellos started, another light shining down on them. They played a few measures, creating a serene feeling.

What happened next was unexpected. An image began to form above the director's head. It showed a woman lying in a haystack. She had long blonde hair and was holding a newborn baby. Ashira watched as a blonde man approached the woman. He laid next to her and smiled at the baby, putting his arm around the mother. Ashira realized it was the father of the child.

Flutes and piccolos were playing a sweet lullaby now. The scene stayed on the couple. The father took a turn holding the baby.

Then all at once the music changed. Dissonant notes flowed around the main lullaby, making the scene feel apprehensive. The scene warped to the mother and father holding the child, now a few months older, and watching in fear out of a window. The view zoomed out of the window and down a few stories to focus on a man on horseback followed by a group of men in dark cloaks.

Ashira was watching intensely. The story felt familiar, though she was not sure why.

Now the music was dark, the basses on the choir humming softly as the other deep instruments created a minor progression. The man swung down from his horse and marched to the door of the stone building, banging the large metal knocker. The scene focused on his face a moment.

Ashira gasped. It was the man from the alleyway in Barath. It was the same man who had taken Salam. She was at the edge of her seat now.

The music began to pick up pace, but did not change from minor. The choir began to chant ominously. The door to the large house opened to a servant standing there holding a sword. The man cut the servant down in one quick motion and moved on, his cronies following him inside.

The music transitioned into the lullaby once again, this time sounding sad and hollow. The scene changed back to the mother and father. The mother was crying, shaking her head as her husband kissed their child, then her. He pointed to the door and it was obvious he was telling them to leave. He left the small room, drawing his sword. The brass instruments started up, playing a melody full of bravery and courage and purpose. The scene followed the father down the spiral stone stairs, through the corridors of the house, and to the grand front hall. His servants lay all over the floor, killed by the intruding men. The father held up his hand.

Again, the music changed. It spoke of desperation, love, and the last moments of a life well lived. Ashira did not feel the tears running down her cheeks.

The father used his magic to bring down a large portion of the ceiling. Rubble fell upon most of the men. Then he cast turned the swords the remaining intruders bore into cloth by uttering a simple command. The leader of the intruders stepped forward, drawing back his hand.

The melody picked up, drums beating an intense rhythm as the two men fought with magic. The intruder used the stones that were a part of the house, but the defending father cast magic unlike anything Ashira or anyone in the audience had seen before. Still, the intruder fought on, dodging shards of flying ice and evading blasts of fire that came from the father.

The music suddenly stopped except for the choir, which sang a simple eerie chord. And then the terrible thing happened.

The intruder made a rock hurl toward the father, but drew his throwing knife at the same time. The father, distracted by stopping the rock, did not see the knife. It stuck in his chest and he looked down at it, then at the intruder. He fell to his knees, his eyes glazed over.

“No,” Ashira whispered. Her heart ached and her eyes burned. She felt hatred come over her. Hatred for the man. Hatred for his evil.

The music died away, but the conductor kept beating out measures. Ten seconds passed that were filled with despair over the father's death.

The music and scene started up again. Now they watched the running mother, holding the child in her arms. The moon shone above, barely a sliver in a background of black. The music reflected her desperation as well as the fact that she was being chased. The sun began to rise behind her. She reached a river and entered it, her breath showing in the chilly air. She looked behind her a few times, but pushed on through the water. The few times that she nearly slipped, the music would crest intensely.

The mother entered a forest, and the music became soft and comforting, with an underlying urgency. She left the water, running as far into the woods as she could. The scene shifted. She was now lying against the base of the tree. The child was gone. The mother was exhausted from her escape, head to one side.

Ashira recognized the scene and closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. She knew what had happened to her mother. The symphony played on, expressing the sorrow for the lost protector, the lost stewardess, Ashira. The music ended sadly.

The crowd cheered and clapped for five minutes. The maestro lifted his hands for quiet.

“Thank you for your applause for my symphony,” he said, and Ashira realized he must be Maestro Mirari. “I would like to thank a special guest here today, without whose help I would not have been able to complete this masterpiece. Verat, please stand.”

A Celfsteinian man stood up on the front row of the audience. Ashira noticed how his hair gleamed as the light fell in medium blonde locks. The applause started up again.

“That is the target, then,” said a man to her right to his companion. The other nodded. Ashira noticed that, although they had dark brown hair, their skin was white like hers usually was.

“Follow him,” replied the other.

Ashira pretended not to hear them, cheering for the Celfsteinian below, who was now sitting down.

Twenty minutes later found Ashira inquiring the choir members about Mirari's whereabouts. He had been the one conducting the symphony, but she had not seen where he went. One of the women pointed her toward a door on the north side of the coliseum.

She knocked softly, then entered without waiting for a response.

Maestro Mirari stood talking with a violinist. He turned to look at Ashira as she walked in.

“Young lady, your actions are irresponsible,” he scolded. “Leave now.”

Ashira did not move. Her tears were dry now, but her eyes were still red.

“Maestro, I must speak with you-” but he interrupted her.

“I said leave, girl!” he shouted

“No!” she shouted back. He was stunned for a moment, and she took her opportunity. “I am the baby in that symphony!” she said quickly.

Mirari drew back a little in shock at her words.

“Selise, please leave us for a moment. I will speak with you later,” Mirari said softly to the violinist. She bowed her head a bit and left, looking at Ashira with interest.

“Please, maestro,” Ashira said.

“Sit down, young lady,” he said, gesturing to a soft red chair that matched his robes. He took a seat in front of a table with a large looking glass. “What do you mean by all this?”

“Sir, your symphony shows my history,” she said sadly. “I am the child who was taken to safety by my mother.”

“You realize this is the first time anyone has seen this symphony?” he asked.

“No, I did not.”

“Tell me more.”

She explained her farewell from Arthoir and Clarissa, and the tears started flowing again. She described the parting scenes her father had shared.

“You're father's memories complete the story and fill gaps in our symphony,” Mirari said.

“But how did you know my story?” Ashira asked.

“Ah. Well, I have been working on this symphony for some time. I knew some of the details about how Celfstein had lost its steward, like the fact that the usurper had been the one to do it. I knew that the mother had fled toward the west. I knew that the father had died defending his home. I went to visit the house, but it had been torn down.

“What I was missing were details, like how the house looked, and how the mother and father looked. I was even missing a description of the usurper. Last week, I got a lucky break. I was sitting in court with the king when a man was brought before him. The man was a Celfsteinian and claimed to be a deserter from Zagalis's inner circle. Zagalis, of course, being the usurper who now controls the throne.”

Ashira stopped him for a moment, but he was not bothered.

“You mean, that man who killed my father has taken the throne of Celfstein?!”

“Yes.”

“But he's here!” she exclaimed.

“Who? Zagalis?”

“Yes!”

Mirari sat back, concern on his face.

“We'll come back to that in a moment. Let me finish.

“The deserter met with the king in private. Then I pulled the man aside and asked him for details. He told me how he was one of the ones who invaded your parents' home, but had not been crushed. He also chased your mother across the countryside and into the forest. He was was there when she died. However, that is all he would tell me, everything else being stuff he would only tell the king.

“From his descriptions and voluntary memories, I was able to complete the story and the symphony that you saw tonight.”

Ashira was staring at the rug beneath his chair. Her father was dead, then. He had died defending her and her mother. Their house was gone.

“What is your name, child?” Mirari asked gently.

“Ashira.”

“Then I shall rename my symphony. It shall be 'Mirari's Symphony for Ashira.

“One thing. Do you mind if I look into your memories? I would like to get even more detail if I could.”

Ashira was not sure she liked the idea.

“How do you access my memories?” she asked cautiously.

Mirari gestured to the looking glass on his table.

“Look into here and I will be able to control your memories, showing them on the glass. This nifty little thing is a gift from the prince himself.”

Ashira considered it, then accepted. She sat in front of the glass, which was about a half a meter in width and height. She gazed into it, shocked at her own appearance. She had forgotten about her dyed skin and hair.

“I can see now that you're closer that brown is not your original hair color,” Mirari observed, standing behind her and looking at her roots.

“I'm blonde.”

“I figured.

“Gaze into the center of the glass. I will begin the spell.”

She did so, looking into her own eyes. Mirari hummed, and she seemed to fall forward into the dark pools that were her pupils.

At first she saw nothing. Then she felt a presence pushing on her mind. Mirari brought up the last potent memory she had, of her sitting in the audience. He backtracked, the scenes playing out in Ashira's mind as if she were reliving them. She saw her farewell with Ivarus just a few hours before. Then she saw the branched of the pine tree and felt Ivarus beside her. It skipped back to the moment when she stopped the rock from flying into Ivarus's head. She felt the warmth of magic once more.

Mirari took her further back, to the moment when she heard Salam's voice in the cellar.

The maestro took note of the voice. A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed.

Now she saw her last conversation with Salam and how she had avoided his questions. He memories went further back, to the morning in the inn with Malimu and Salam. She heard once again Salam's beautiful voice singing and felt her joy.

She remembered her last moments with Clarris and Arthoir.

Now the memories seemed to rush past. She saw various recitals, then the first time she had met Clarris, then the time she had moved to a new place with Arthoir. She remembered standing near the grave where Ilora was buried, then being held by a neighbor as Arthoir grieved over his dying wife. Mirari had now entered memories she did not really remember.

She seemed to be looking out of a cave at Arthoir's face. She realized it must have been the tree in which her mother had hidden her. Mirari took it slowly now, rewinding the scene. Details became less and less. Ashira's infant mind had not retained much detail, only emotions and feelings. She felt the warmth of her mother's arms, then the strength of her father's. She heard their voices for the first time in her life. Her mother's was light and high as it sang a lullaby. Her father's would have been a tenor had he ever sung.

Mirari ended the spell. Ashira felt herself return to her body. Her head rested on the table in a pool of tears.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ashira woke Ivarus a few minutes after sunrise. They set out, hiking the trail that led through the pass. They did not pass any other travelers until just after lunchtime.

“Stay wary,” Ivarus advised after they passed the first group.

They spoke little as they walked along the trail. Ashira felt a little more at home surrounded by the tall pines and undergrowth that lined the path. A few times she caught sight of a small creature skittering away as they came near. She and Ivarus did not speak much. She stayed in her own thoughts, trying to remember everything he had said the night before. As she walked, she saw many rocks along the way. Finally, she gave in and decided to try magic.

“Ivarus,” she said, and he stopped. “I'm going to try doing something to this rock,” she said, gesturing to a head-sized boulder by the way.

He nodded and stood aside, watching. Ashira approached it, trying to decide what she would do with it. She noticed a small song bird flit from the tree above her and fly onto another branch. It inspired her.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the rock. She imagined the bird, a spotted nutcracker, with white spots along its breast and neck and a slender black beak. Then she envisioned the stone and its rough shape. In her mind, she chipped away at the stone, revealing a replica of the bird. She opened her eyes.

The rock was unchanged, and she sighed.

“Perhaps you could try touching the rock, getting a feel for it,” Ivarus suggested, seeing her disappointment.

She crouched down next to the rock and put her hands around it. She looked up into the trees, saw the bird still on its branch, eying her. Closing her eyes, she thought once more of the rock turning into the shape of the nutcracker. This time she felt warmth spreading through her hands. She heard the cracking as the rock broke away. Still, she kept her eyes shut until she could see the stone completely turned into the bird.

“Whoa,” came Ivarus's voice behind her. She opened her eyes.

The rock had not just become the shape of a perched spotted nutcracker; it had become the colors of it as well. White spots stood out on a dark brown breast and mantle. Black wing feathers flowed into dark brown tail plumage.

“It's beautiful,” he said in awe.

Ashira picked the sculpture up and turned around, holding it carefully for Ivarus to see. She was a little stunned, but pleased. As her knees straightened, she felt light-headed. She swayed a bit.

“Careful,” Ivarus said, grabbing her arms to keep her upright. “I'm sure that took quite a lot out of you. Don't overdo it with magic or you may blackout and never wake up.”

He delicately stroked the bird's head.

“This leaves no doubt in my mind. You must be the stewardess. Only stewards have that kind of power!” he said, touching the tail of the stone bird.

The real nutcracker squawked above them, then flew away over the canyon. The statue mimicked the call, the sound coming from the small holes that formed the nares.

“It even sings!” Ivarus exclaimed in surprise.

“Who knew I could make something like this,” she said, admiring her work. They looked at it for another minute, then Ivarus indicated that they needed move on. Ashira placed the sculpture in her pack and they continued on their journey.

Her thoughts turned to Salam, as they often did. If they did not reach him before his captors took him into Aetheris, would they be able to find him in the city? They had no more of his possessions to track him with. Why were they taking him there anyway? Would he be killed?

The canyon grew darker as the sun hid behind the peaks and the day wore on. Travelers became fewer and fewer as evening grew closer. When evening came, a chill settled in. Ashira did not have any extra clothes, and Ivarus noticed her shivering as they walked. He decided they would make camp a little earlier than normal. After leading her to a small clearing off the road, he walked down to a nearby creek. Ashira worked on getting a fire ready. He came back carrying water in his canteen and a handful of river stones.

“Let me show you something,” he said, setting the pebbles in the newly blazing fire. He waited a moment, then sang a short verse.

“Warmth that comes from fire, stay inside these stones. Emanate as I desire warmth unto my bones.”

He picked the stones up and held them out for her to take. She looked at him, then slowly took one form his hand. She felt warmth coming from it, but it was not so hot that she could not touch it.

“They are calor lapilos,” he said, tossing one up in the air and catching it. “They will emanate heat for hours, depending on the prowess of the person who did the spell. Mine usually last twelve hours at most.”

She held the pebble against her cold arm and felt the heat warming her skin. It felt good, and not so hot it was uncomfortable.

“I'm going to try,” she said, suddenly determined.

Ivarus looked sidelong at her, a look of concern on his face.

“Fine. But please be careful. You don't want to incinerate the stones,” he cautioned.

Ashira ran down the hillside to the stream, grabbed a handful of pebbles, and returned. She placed them near the edge of the fire like Ivarus had done and waited a few minutes, thinking of how she would command the stones.

“You couldn't create the statue earlier by just looking at it,” Ivarus reminded her. “But, you did make the rubble move in the tunnel.”

She thought a moment.

“Maybe there is a difference in what I was doing. The bird was art, but moving the rubble and stopping the flying stone were necessity,” she surmised.

Ivarus was nodding.

“Yes. I have met another steward before. He could perform whatever magic he needed or wanted, but only after much practice with his talent. Perhaps you only need practice, then you can sculpt from a distance.”

“All this is so new, I have no idea,” she said, feeling overwhelmed. She focused on the stones, willing them to retain heat for hours. She imagined the heat flowing into the porous surface, getting stuck inside. Carefully, she removed a pebble and let it sit outside of the fire for a minute. She reached down to pick it up.

“Ah!” she yelled, pulling back her hand. The tip of her finger was turning bright red. “It burned me.”

Ivarus got close to the pebble with a stick in hand. He held the stick to the pebble for a few seconds. It began to smoke.

“You made a fire stone, not a warming stone,” he said. He poured some water from his canteen on the pebble. It turned to steam upon contact. “You really warmed this thing up. But, you did it without touching, so good job.”

They removed the other stones from the flames and set them on a patch of dirt to one side of the campsite. Ivarus wanted to check on them in the morning to see how hot they would be then.

The next morning they found a dead squirrel not far from the pebbles, which were hot, but not so much that they burned on contact. It seemed the animal had burned its foot on the pebbles sometime during the night. Ashira felt bad that her magic had inadvertently killed an animal.

They had taken only a few steps when Ivarus paused. He looked up at the sky, turned in a circle, then sniffed.

“What are you doing?” Ashira asked.

“There's a storm coming,” he responded.

“What? How can you tell?”

He looked at her.

“Have you noticed that it's warmer this morning than it was last night?”

Ashira had not noticed, but did now.

“Then there's the smell. It's hard to describe, but it almost smells 'fresh'. Can you smell it?” he asked.

She sniffed, and could smell something in the warm breeze. She nodded.

“That means there is snow coming. It could be tonight, it could be tomorrow morning. I'm thinking it is most likely tomorrow morning.”

“That soon? But won't it snow us in?” she asked, worried.

“Yes. We'll need to pick up the speed,” he said. He looked in her eyes pointedly. “We'll need to jog in order to make it out of the pass before the snow hits.”

Ashira nodded. “I can do that.”

Ivarus smiled at her. “It's nice to see a girl who is up to a physical challenge. It gets stifling being around women who are primped and pompous all the time.”

Ashira assumed he was talking about the daughters of the senators and judges. She took the compliment graciously.

“What about the other travelers?” she asked, voicing her thought aloud. “They need to be warned about the storm.”

Ivarus was shaking his head.

“No. We cannot backtrack if we are to make it out in time before the heavy snow starts.”

“But they'll be snowed in. We cannot just leave them!” she said with concern.

“I'm sorry, Ashira,” Ivarus said tenderly. “I am, really. I don't like leaving my countrymen behind, but we must push on. If you are the steward,” he continued, holding up his hand to stop her protest,” then we must get you to safety. You may be the only person who can save Salam at this point.”

She considered that for a moment.

“I still want to help them,” she said.

“And Salam need our help,” he countered. “Let them find shelter in the caves around here. There are plenty, and if they have traveled this road before, they'll know where those caves are.”

She was not completely pacified, but gave in anyway. He had valid points.

“Where did you learn to smell an approaching storm?” she asked as they started out again, now jogging.

“I learned it in another country, far to the north and east of here,” he said.

That piqued her interest, and she wanted to ask more. Ashira had never traveled out of Acustia before this journey, let alone out of Amrahn. She decided she would ask about it some later time.

They traveled on, keeping a steady jogging pace for ten minutes, then slowing down to a quick walking speed for five. They kept on like this, repeating until lunchtime. They passed nobody on the road. Lunch consisted of a few pieces of dried venison and dried fruit. By the time evening came, Ivarus was sure they would be able to make it out of the pass by morning if they pushed on through the night. They took a half hour to sit and eat, stretch and relax. Then they pushed on harder than before.

The sun was just setting when the wind, which had been warm, turned chill. Ashira saw the clouds coming up the pass behind them.

It was near midnight when the first flakes began to fall softly from the muted sky. Clouds had overshadowed the mountains, concealing the peaks and the moon.

“It started earlier than I thought,” Ivarus said as they jogged. He was out of breath, but not nearly as much as Ashira. He was in top physical shape, being a soldier. She was a simple girl from the woods and did not have his stamina.

The flakes grew larger by the third watch. A couple inches covered the ground, causing the duo to slip a few times on the steeper hills.

The white covered the branches of the pines and firs around them. Ashira had seen snow only a few times in her life, and was enchanted by the beauty of the softly falling flakes and snow-covered trees. The wind, however, reminded her of the blizzard that was behind them, chasing them through the pass.

The stopped twice during the night to take ten minute breaks. Their constant motion kept the water in their canteens from freezing completely, but it did become ice cold.

“We may not make it,” Ivarus said. Ashira saw the very real concern on his face and felt apprehensive.

“We can. If not, we can survive somehow,” she said, trying to encourage him through her heavy breathing.

Her hands and ears were numb. Her nose was running, but she had stopped trying to wipe it with her sleeve. Her legs were warmed by her constant motion.

The wind began to pick up, and Ivarus stopped her. They went off the path and through the trees. He found what he was looking for: a medium-sized pine tree with snow piled against the south side, creating a small wall. The area beneath the tree was mostly dry, the branches blocking the incoming snow.

“We can take a break for a while beneath here,” he explained, crawling under the branches. Ashira followed.

It was surprisingly warm near the trunk of the pine. Ivarus took a few minutes and built up the wall of snow a couple feet higher, creating a stronger barrier against the wind and better insulation against the cold.

The end of the fourth watch came and the sun rose. At least, they were pretty sure it had risen. The clouds had become lighter. Within minutes, the blizzard was upon them with all its fury.. Ashira's ears hurt, the wind having bitten into them for so long that they ached.

“Can we light a fire?” she asked Ivarus, who sat in a tight ball right beside her. They stayed close to each other for warmth.

“I tested the needles. They are too damp now to light,” he said.

They were not far from the exit, he knew, but they could not go out in the wind for fear of getting hypothermia.

“Do you still have that statue?” he asked. Ashira nodded. She pulled it out and set it on the ground in front of them.

“We can use to as a calor lapilos,” he suggested.

“If we can get a fire going, sure,” she reminded him.

He crawled out of the shelter of the tree and into the furious wind and snow. Ashira tried to stop him, but he went anyway. About ten minutes later, he was back. He held something inside his tunic.

“I got dry needles,” he said, sitting next to her again and pulling out the kindling. Within a few minutes, he had a fire going. He used her statue of the nutcracker, turning it into a warm stone. They held it between them, sharing the warmth. Holding onto the tail, Ashira closed her eyes and focused. She felt a bit of warmth flood through her veins as she told the statue to maintain its heat for at least a few more days. When she finished the spell, she opened her eyes. Her vision was a little bleary, and had a hard time focusing.

“Are you all right? Ivarus asked, seeing her unfocused gaze.

“Yes,” she said simply. The truth was, she was tired after performing that magic.

The morning was gone and the sun was at high noon before the blizzard slowed enough for Ivarus to give permission to keep moving. They trudged through the snow, the last few kilometers declining slightly to the plateau below. The wind picked up again, and the snow was driven harder. The statue was passed back and forth between them.

She asked to stop again, but Ivarus denied.

“We are only a few kilometers from the exit of the pass. We have been going slightly downhill for an hour now. It's not long. Just try to make it.”

They emerged from the pass half an hour later, no longer jogging. They pushed through drifts almost two feet deep, keeping their heads down as the wind tore at their tunics and snow swirled around their faces.

“Aetheris is still at least two days of walking away, and that is when there isn't snow,” Ivarus explained.

Ashira groaned. She was tired of the snow. It had been beautiful at first, but now the whole world was white and freezing. She just wanted to be in a warm inn, sitting near the fire and listening to a minstrel, her minstrel, play and sing.

Ivarus finally let them make camp that evening. He found another pine tree to create a small shelter beneath. He piled snow around the branches while Ashira used the statue to dry enough needles to start a fire.

Ashira was exhausted. She ate a few rations, then laid down on the bed of pine needles. The small fire was nearly dead, and Ivarus did not stoke it. He lay next to her, close enough to keep her warm.

“My body is so exhausted I can't sleep,” she said after a few minutes.

“Mm,” he replied.

She looked over and saw that his eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow, and she was certain he was already close to sleeping.

Ashira lay awake for an hour, trying to get her mind off things. She kept thinking about magic. All her life she had been without it, but only because she was always trying to create it using an instrument and not her voice. In a way, she mused, coming to Aetheris had indeed helped her find her magic, though not in the way she had expected. She thought of the stone that lay between her and Ivarus. She could feel its warmth spreading throughout her abdomen. At that moment, she was grateful to whatever fortune had brought Ivarus into her life. He had proven to be a wonderful friend and a reliable asset to her survival.

Ashira drifted into dreams filled with Ivarus, her new friend.

*BTW, if you can't tell, having the characters fall asleep is one of the easiest ways to end a chapter, unless it's meant to be a cliffhanger.  Sorry it keeps happening. =P