Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ashira woke to the sound of Ivarus's voice beside her.

“The praefectus has given his permission. We will leave in thirty minutes, after breakfast,” he said.

She rolled over and opened her eyes, watching his back turn the corner out of the room.

Breakfast was fresh fruit and biscuits. Ivarus prepped Ashira on what the plan was.

“We'll first find the cellar you were locked in. That was the last known location of Salam,” he said. He took a bite of his biscuit, swallowed, and continued. “I'll use my magic to track the path he took. Hopefully it will take us through the city and verify that his captors did indeed go north to Vento Pass.”

Ashira had never heard of somebody being tracked by magic. She was interested to see what he did.

The two set out, Ashira with her bag over her shoulders and Ivarus with a bag of provisions, a one-man tent, and various other supplies. She wore her traveling tunic like usual. He was dressed in strange tight-fitting clothes. Leather straps tied his shirt and trousers shut. The sleeves were short on his tunic, as were his leggings. He wore the same sandals as the day before. A sword hanged from his waist.

All the weight that was on his back would crush me, Ashira thought.

They walked back to the East Plaza, where Ivarus had met her. She found the street she had taken and they followed it along. Ashira had not been paying much attention to where she was going while she had been asking for help. Now she wished she had. They reached a fork, but she did not know which way to go.

“We'll go down one for a way. If it is familiar, we keep going. If not, we stop and try the other route,” Ivarus said. They chose the right path, walking along it for five minutes before she shook her head. They backtracked, took the left fork, and followed it. A few minutes later, Ashira was lead him down the alley to the cellar door.

“I came out of here, but it was locked when I tried to go back in,” she said, pointing at it. He tried the doors, but they were still locked.

Ivarus squatted down and placed his hand on the cobblestone street. He began to hum, then he sang.

“Stone below which paves our way, in a cube now break away.”

The cobblestone cracked. He pulled his palm up and a cube of rock came free, half the size of his hand. He grabbed hold of it, then smashed it against the lock on the door. The lock broke, and he pulled the door open.

“Be wary,” Ivarus said, descending the steps. Ashira grasped her dagger, nerves on edge.

They walked along the tunnel, making as little sound as possible. Ivarus held up the cube that was still in his hand and whispered something to it that she could not hear. It started to glow softly, lighting the walls.

Ivarus held up his hand and Ashira stopped. He had heard something move ahead. He hummed a note quietly and the light went out.

They could barely see. Ashira could hear Ivarus breathing softly ahead of him. He moved forward and she followed.

Ivarus felt something resist against his shin. Too late, he stopped and walked backward. Something clicked to their right and the tunnel began to shake. Rumbling sounds came from ahead.

“Go back! A trap!” Ivarus shouted, turning and pushing Ashira along. They broke into a run. Ivarus hummed again, making the rock glow. It was just in time; the tunnel turned and they followed it.

A crash rang from the tunnel ahead.

“We're caved in!” he said. They came to the rock pile that formed the barrier between them and escape.

“Can you use magic?” she asked desperately. Rocks were still falling behind them, down the way they had run from.
“Let me think!”

He hummed, a few notes, then shook his head.

Ashira tried to think of a rhyme he could use.

“Rocks that block us from escape,” she whispered, thinking of something that rhymed with 'escape'. Drape. Cape. Ape. No. Scrape? Maybe. . . Shape? Yes!

“Into pebbles, change your shape!” she finished triumphantly. “Ivarus-” she began, but something happened. The rocks responded to her words. The two backed away as the large boulders broke into pieces and rolled away, revealing a hole at the top of the pile of debris.

“Rocks move fro and to. Move aside and let us through!” Ivarus sang the words he had thought of. The debris obeyed, pushing up against the wall. Ashira and Ivarus ran through, climbed the steps, and burst through the cellar door.

Crashed rang behind them. Dust billowed out from the hole as they backed away.

“It was booby-trapped,” he said, he and Ashira walking out of the alley. “They must have expected you to come back looking for him.”

Ashira was breathing heavily, a mix of adrenaline and shock making her eyes stay wide.

“I did magic. I told the rocks to change, and they did it.”

“Yes. I saw that. It can only mean one thing; you're Celfsteinian,” he said as they walked down the street. They did not go back the way they had come.

“I'm sure there are houses or shops above that tunnel,” Ivarus said, gesturing to the doors that lined the street on their left. “If we can find one that leads to the cellar, we may have a chance of me picking up on his trail.”

They tried the first three doors. One led to some sort of storage shed. There were no trapdoors or exits. The next two were abandoned shops, again with no way out of them except the entrance. The fourth however, was filled with pottery. They weaved through the pots and dishes. Ashira checked behind the small counter. Ivarus looked in the small room at the back of the shop.

“It's here!” Ivarus said, poking his head around the corner. “There is a trapdoor on the floor.”

They lowered the door. Stairs descended, attached to the underside of the door. They landed on the floor with a thump.

“This is it. I may have been blindfolded, but the stairs made that same sound when the man came down to talk to me.” Ashira said. Ivarus nodded, walking down the steps.

“It's empty,” he said, looking around.

Ashira followed him down.

“You're right,” she said sadly.

Ivarus walked over to a heavy wooden door. He pulled it open and stepped back. Rocks avalanched toward him.

“The tunnel was through here,” Ashira said, coughing. Dust filled the small room. The rocks stopped tumbling and all fell quiet. Ivarus looked at her and shrugged.

A soft twang came from somewhere beneath the rubble just outside the door. Then came another, and another.

“What is that?” he said, turning and looking at the pile of rocks in the doorway.

“It sounds like instrument strings breaking,” she replied. “Oh! Salam's guitar! I bet it's in there under the rocks!”

Ivarus looked at her and smiled.

“Excellent. We can use this to track him, then. This will be much easier than the other spell I was going to try.”

Ashira turned the pile into pebbles, and Ivarus moved them to either side of him. Sure enough, lying on the ground, was Salam's guitar case. It was mangled and torn. Ashira grabbed it and they retreated upstairs into the pottery shop. She set it on the counter.

“It's in bad shape,” she said sadly. “I enjoyed his playing.”

“But it can serve one last purpose,” Ivarus said. He placed the guitar on the floor, then his hand on the guitar neck and sang.

“Item owned by whom we seek, follow my command. Show us just a fleeting peek at he who played, Salam. Let us see from whence he came, and also where he goes. Show us who we are to blame, our enemy disclose.”

Images appeared above the broken guitar. They seemed to float in the air. They watched as Salam and a man with blonder hair entered the pottery shop. They could not hear the words as the man conversed with an old woman. Ashira gasped at the sight of her, but withheld her revelation. Salam left the shop a moment later. The scene changed and they saw him lying on the floor of the tunnel. Ashira was carried past, flung over the man's shoulder. The scene changed again and they saw Salam being carried by the man, followed by the old woman. They passed a large statue of a naked man posing with a sword in his hand. Ivarus took note of the statue. It switched, showing Salam sitting against a tree in the dark, hands and feet bound. A collarium was around his neck. A campfire was glowing ten meters away. The last scene showed Salam being lead by a rope into the Vento Pass, the man and the old woman walking ahead of him.

The images disappeared. The last intact string on the guitar broke, filling the room with a strange pitch.

Ashira wanted to cry. Salam had saved her at the cost of giving himself up to his enemies.

“We know now that they are in the Vento Pass. We must hurry if we are to catch them,” Ivarus said.

“How did the guitar know to show so much?” she asked as they left the shop, the instrument still lying on the floor.

“It was just the catalyst. After it started the vision, the earth took over,” he said simply.

“What?”

Ivarus led her through the streets, heading north to the gates.

“The guitar started the vision by showing the moments after it last had contact with Salam. Then the earth took over, showing what happened after.” He saw that she was still not fully comprehending, so he continued. “The earth remembers everything done by everyone. It is always keeping record, watching and remembering. As Camenians, we can access that memory with the right words.”

Ashira thought about that. Perhaps somebody could tell her what happened to her real parents and why she had been abandoned in the woods.

Ivarus and Ashira walked through the outer edges of Premoi, past the brick and adobe houses. They reached the northern gates of the city. As they passed through, Ivarus felt somebody watching him. He spoke quietly without looking at Ashira.

“We have somebody following us. Don't look around. Pretend you don't know. Just keep walking. Once we're a safe distance away, I'll take care of them.”

Ashira was anxious to take a break as soon as possible, but she was not sure Ivarus would give her one. She wanted to try her hand at more magic.

They walked away from the gate. Homesteads dotted the hills north of Premoi. To the east, their right, ports had been erected on the Pressans River. The river came down from the mountains through the Vento Pass, about ten kilometers Northeast from Premoi's north gate. This road was the only way to Aetheris and was well-traveled. The snows had just melted, letting intercourse renew between the cities.

“Who would pursue us?” Ashira asked quietly.

“Kaias's men, most likely. If he is in league with this Celfsteinian man we saw in the images, they could also be Celfsteinian. That would make them easier to spot. Or they could be Camenian, which will make it that much harder.”

They continued down the road, groups of merchants passing by. They had walked for an hour, the mountain before them growing larger. Little was said, for fear that somebody was listening. They came up to a small copse of trees on the right side of the road. There were fewer travelers at this point. The nearest were perhaps a kilometer ahead of them, walking toward the pass.

“Be wary of the trees,” Ivarus said under his breath. Ashira did not turn her head, but looked at the trees coming up.

They drew even with the trees. They did not stop or slow down. Ashira gripped her dagger, Ivarus his hilt.

They passed the trees and released their pent-up breaths.

“Whew,” Ashira said a few moments later. “Glad to be-”

A shout came from the trunks behind them. Ivarus turned instantly, unsheathing his sword. Ashira pulled out her dagger, her hair whipping around. Seven men ran from the trees, swords raised, shouting and cursing. They all wore the same robes as the men on the ferry.

Ivarus held up his saber. Ashira glanced at it. It was unlike any sword she had seen. It had a long curved blade and long black hilt.

Ivarus began singing in Camenian, a strong, warlike song. Pebbles and rocks that lined the road gathered together to create a large, rolling mass. It toppled two of the attackers, burying them in debris. Ivarus ran toward the attackers.

Ashira was not quite sure what happened. Ivarus's sword moved faster than she could follow. Within two seconds, two of the attackers had been cut down. One detached himself from the fight and came after Ashira. She blocked his blow with her dagger and retaliated. He evaded, bring his hilt down on her back. It knocked her down and she rolled away just as his blade came down. She stood quickly, getting her bearings. The man pulled his sword from the dirt, the came at her again.

She remembered the words she had said to the man on the ferry and recited them again.
“ Glazialis ferrum, morder carnim!”

The man dropped the in shock; it had turned ice-cold in his hands. On its way down, it hit a fist-sized rock. The hilt shattered into hundreds of clear pieces. The blade, which was still intact, had turned clear as ice. It moved toward the man. A large mouth appeared along the broad side, sharp teeth threatening to bite. The attacker screamed at the sword writhed toward him like a snake. He backed away, but he blade jumped, fastening onto his leg.

Ashira checked on Ivarus. He stood over four bodies, his sword stained red. He watched with furrowed brow as the man was bitten by his own blade.

One of the men had survived the rocks. He was standing now, chanting a spell. A rock near him rose into the air and shot toward the back of Ivarus's head. Ashira saw it coming.

“No!” she yelled, pointing at the rock. It halted in midair, floating. Ashira felt something strange. The man's will was pushing against hers, trying to force the rock toward Ivarus's head. She pushed back, determined not to let anything happen to her friend. The rock quivered, stuck between the wills of two competing magi. Ashira screamed with effort and anger. The man's will broke, and the rock shot toward his head instead. It smashed into his skull. He crumpled.

Ivarus looked at the body, then at Ashira.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said over the remaining man's screams of pain. The sword had chewed off his leg and was working on the other one.

“Perhaps you could call off your pet?” Ivarus asked, gesturing to the biting blade of ice.

“Stop,” Ashira said to the sword. It did so, falling to the ground and lying still. “Melt,” she commanded, which it did, turning into a puddle.

Ivarus approached the crying man. The hood had come off his face, revealing his blonde hair.

“So, a Celfsteinian. What are you doing here, eh?” said the Camenian, squatting down near the man's head.

“I'm dying,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Well, obviously,” Ivarus said.

“I won't. . . tell. . . I'm dead anyway,” sobbed the man. Blood was pooling beneath his legs. Ashira looked away, disgusted that she had caused such a scene.

“You're right. And what a waste of a life it was, wasn't it?” Ivarus said.

“I fought. . . for my king,” said the man weakly. He was going.

“King? Celfstein has not had a king for seventeen years! Unless you mean that usurper, Zagalis.”

“Zagalis,” said the man. “Hail Zagalis. . . I'm sorry. . . sir.”

“Ha! How did you know to follow us?”

“The girl,” the man whispered. “Special. . . .”

The man stopped writhing.

Ivarus stood and walked next to Ashira, who was staring at the man with the crushed skull.

“Well, that was at least a little informative,” he said. He saw the look of shock on Ashira's face. “You haven't fought much before, have you?” he asked matter-of-factly.

She shook her head. The man's brains were strewn across the road behind his body. She could not take her eyes off the scene.

“I'm sorry. Let's go,” Ivarus said softly, taking her arms and turning her around. She stared into space, resisting the urge to vomit.

They walked slowly for a while, then picked up the pace as Vento Pass neared. Ivarus did not drop his guard, keeping one hand on his hilt and a song on his tongue.

Nobody else attacked as they entered the pass. As the mountainside loomed on their left, Ashira felt closed in. She decided to get her mind off the feeling of claustrophobia.

“The man back there. He said they followed me?”

Ivarus nodded.

“He said 'special'. I'm not sure why, though I have a guess,” said the young man.

“And what would that be?” she asked. This concerned her, and she wanted to know why the man thought she was somehow special.

“I would tell you, but it would reveal Salam's secret, and I cannot do that,” Ivarus said apologetically. “Still, it does concern your destiny. Perhaps he would be fine with it. I'll think about it.”

“Hmph,” Ashira replied. Somehow Salam's secret was tied to her destiny. Now she wanted to know more than ever what it was the young minstrel was hiding.

They wound through the mountains, the road twisting and curving. The climb became steeper as the day wore on. Forests covered most of the pass. At last they reached a campsite. Dozens of merchants and other travelers had already set up their tents. Some had even put wares out for sale. Fires could be seen between the trunks of the pine trees.

“We'll set up camp a way away from everyone,” Ivarus said. They walked about fifty meters away from the nearest fire, down the slope and toward the river. Ashira cleared away pine needles and placed rocks in a small ring. Ivarus gathered dead wood. Just before sundown, they had a fire going.

“Will we need to keep watch?” Ashira asked him.

“Yes. I'll start it. I'll wake you when the third watch starts.”

Now that they had a moment, Ashira decided to try more magic.

“You say I am Celfsteinian. Then how does my magic work?” she asked.

Ivarus looked into her eyes for a few seconds before replying.

“Celfstein has a relic, just as Chaelesta and Amrahn have relics. These relics came from stones that fell from the sky hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago. The Chaelestans discovered them in their deserts. They discovered the powers the stones had. They were at war with the men across the mountains and across the sea, which are now Celfstein and us. As a peace offering, they sent ambassadors with these magic relics to give to both nations. One granted the ability to create magic using music. The other granted the ability to create it using art and sculpture. Celfstein received the art relic.

“The offering worked; there was peace among the lands. However, a war arose between three of the tribes of Amrahn. The Magaribi dwelt in the western desert. The Fir Thoir lived in the woods to the east. The Summis lived on the central plateaus.

“Each tribe wanted the relic of music to be in their own land. They met on the battlefield at Radunio, where the ambassador from Chaelesta found them fighting. Using all of the magic he had, he split the relic into three, ending the war, but killing him.

“Each relic has a keeper, called a 'steward'. The steward alone has power to control the relic. He can take away a person's power, or grant it to those without it. The steward can even destroy the relic, but they are the only ones who can. Others have tried; they have died. The man who split the relic was the steward, but that responsibility was passed on to. . . others.

“Celfstein has had no such war over the relic. At least, not until about twenty years ago. Then, the king of Celfstein was betrayed by his trusted advisor, Zagalis. Zagalis divided the nation, pitting many against the king. It was very similar to what is happening now with Kaias and our king. Zagalis killed the king, then took the throne. However, try as he might, he was unable to find the steward of the Celfsteinian relic. He wanted to have the steward on his side, to manipulate him and make him do what Zagalis said. But he has been without the steward for nearly seventeen years now.

Ashira interrupted him.

“Wait,” she said. “Seventeen years?”

He smiled at her.

“Yes. Why?” Though he was certain he knew why.

Ashira looked into the fire between them. Was she the steward, or stewardess, of the Celfsteinian relic?

“Maybe it's me,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he mused. “You are the right age, and you were taken from Celfstein to live here.”

Ashira was not sure what to say or think.

“Tell me, have you been to Celfstein before?” Ivarus asked her.

“No. Not within my memory.”

“That is interesting,” he said, looking at her.

“Why?”

“No reason,” he said, though she could tell there was a reason.

“That history was very informative, but how do I use my magic?” she asked, deciding not to pursue the other matter.

“Ah, yes. Sorry. Side-tracked.

“Celfsteinians will use art to create magic. The can carve something out of wood, or stone, or paint a picture, and it will have various magical properties. It could heal an ill person, or cause water to turn to blood. It can be any number of things.

“What limits them is the time it takes to create their pieces. Drawing a picture is not as fast as thinking up a rhyme or simple melody. Camenians can sing a ditty anywhere and have their magic usually work, while Celfsteinians are forced to take a bit of time. However, their outcomes are much more accurate than ours. While we can get the job done, it is often done hastily. They can get it done with a more perfect outcome, but it takes time. Even instrumentalists from Acustia and percussionists from Kadencia can get things done quickly with their songs.”

“But what about me? I told that sword to turn to ice, and it did,” Ashira said.

“Yes. This is a guess, but as stewardess, you may have abilities most don't. You may be able to command the very stone that you carve, or the brush you paint with, and it will follow your command. You don't even have to chant like most Celfsteinians do. You told that sword to be icy, and it became ice. You told it to stop, and it stopped. You told it to melt, and it melted. Your powers are far greater than anyone's I have ever seen.”

Ashira wondered why none of this had been taught to her in Ilora. She would ask her father when she got back why so much of their history and the way magic worked had been overlooked in their village's curriculum.

“Maybe I am the stewardess. Maybe that's what the man meant when he called me 'special'.”

Ivarus shrugged.

“It's likely. But it's late now, and we need rest. Go to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours.”

Ashira crawled into the small one-man tent. She rested her head on her bag and la y there, thinking about the day. If she was the stewardess, did that mean the usurper Zagalis was out to get her? Was she ever going to see home again, or would she always be on the run from him and his men? Was Salam safe? How had Ivarus learned to fight like that?

She thought of Clarris and the questions ceased. She remembered sitting above the trees, looking out over the fast forest with her best friend beside her. She fell asleep with that scene in her mind.