Fire Mage (3 page)

“You know that’s not going to happen. You’ll taste our blades soon enough. Are you so anxious to have your blood spilled? Mara will be better quite soon, just you see.”

Nikulo chuckled. “You’re lucky that House Lei hasn’t sent an assassin after you.”

Talis waved him away, as if the idea was ridiculous. “I’ve got to go. Be careful with that poison… Another failed alchemy experiment and you’re likely to kill someone.” But then maybe that was Nikulo’s idea, poison merchant after all…

The next morning Talis awoke to spindly shadows dancing across his blanket as the wind knocked the shutters back and forth. He hated waking this way. His cat, the yellow and white Tobias, pounced on his bed, tail jerking crazily, staring above at the amber feather flipping in the breeze.
 

Talis had mounted the feather on a strand of leather tied to a wood beam that spanned across the ceiling. But the cat leapt anyways, trying to swat the feather, but missed it by a few inches.

“You little devil.” Talis tried to scoop up Tobias, but the cat darted about the room as if possessed by a ghost. “You can’t have Mara’s feather, it’s not your toy to play with… I’ll get you a duck feather or something. Come on now.”

The shutters slammed suddenly opened and Talis spun around. Mara was perched on the windowsill, grinning viciously at him.
 

“Miss me?” She jumped inside and dove into his bed, wriggling under the covers. Her hands were uncomfortably near his pants. Tobias immediately pounced on the bed, leaping high into the air every time Mara moved. The cat meowed, a complaining meow, and Tobias stared, as if trying to figure out what was going on.

“You’re all better!” Talis sighed, relieved to see her healthy and so active.

“Way to state the obvious. No”—she coughed and clenched her stomach, falling back to the bed—“I’m about to keel over and die.” She laughed maniacally and pulled the blanket over her head.

“Be serious, I thought you really might die. We were all so worried! I prayed so many times to Tolexia…”

“You can’t kill a cat that easily. Though you sure did try!”

“Me?”

“Just kidding!” She stretched her arms wide. “Somebody is so in love with me. I bet you couldn’t stop thinking about me, right?” She looked up at the feather. “Is that for me?”

Talis nodded, then jumped up to grab the feather.

Mara squealed when he handed it to her. “It’s gorgeous! I bet it cost a small fortune… It’ll look great in my green hunting cap. I can’t wait to wear it.”

He smiled, and braced himself as she flung herself onto him, giving him an enormous suffocating hug. From the look on her face, it was worth every silver piece getting her the feather.

She motioned towards the window. “Why aren’t you offering to take me to breakfast? Can’t you see I’m hungry?”
 

“I’m so glad to see you… Whatever you want, it’s my treat, thank the gods you’re all better.”

“Well, if you want to know, I’m craving dumpling soup from Fiskar’s Market. Hurry up, already.” She pulled her cloak over her head and jumped out the window.

Usually royals never went down to shop or eat in the lower part of the city. That’s why Talis and Mara almost always went there, to escape prying eyes. Especially now that if they were seen together, it would mean trouble for them both. Mara informed Talis that her mother was still furious at him.
 

Mara ran ahead, as if daring Talis to catch her. She took the traders’ way to Fiskar’s: around the upper shops, down an alleyway stacked with crates, inside a warehouse door, past workers loading crates, until they reached the dark corridor winding down to the lift.
 

The workers always averted their eyes from Talis and Mara when they used the lift, as if they thought it wasn’t their business to notice a few royal children skulking around in the darkness. Talis and Mara hopped on the lift, and Mara grabbed Talis’s hand as the lift jolted, and they started their descent several hundred feet down, until the way opened up to Shade’s Gate, next to the upper part of Fiskar’s Market.

Today was Hanare, sacred day of the Goddess Nacrea, the eighth day of the week, a day free from study and work. At least for the royals. In Fiskar’s Market, most commoners still toiled, preparing for Magare, first day of the week and market day. But still, children chased chickens lazily through the market stalls, and old men played Chano, staring at the chipped granite pieces as if waiting for a mystery to be revealed. Old women gossiped, casting curious eyes at Talis and Mara as they sat at a flimsy table next to a boiling pot of dumpling soup. The broth smelled of garlic and chives and roasted hare.

Talis handed the cook a copper coin, and he stared at it suspiciously, then grunted and filled a ladle full of cabbage, bits of meat, shimmering dumplings, and piping-hot clear broth. Talis salivated as the man placed Mara’s soup on the table.

“Can I start?” she said, dumping so much chili sauce in her soup it turned red.
 

“Torture me…”

She slurped the soup and made a face of pure joy.
 

“Can I have a dumpling?” Talis’s stomach grumbled.
 

“Yours is coming soon enough. So impatient!”

The cook scowled at Talis, as if contemplating serving him or not. Finally, he slopped the soup into a bowl (skimpy on the dumplings and meat) and plopped it down in front of Talis.

“I’ve got news.” Mara held up her spoon like a professor giving a lecture.

Talis slurped the soup, wincing at how hot it was.
 

“Mother wants me to marry Baron Delar’s son—”

Talis spewed the soup onto the ground and coughed. Him? Baron Delar’s son was twenty-eight, how could she marry him?

“The soup is hot, you should be more careful.” Mara lifted an eyebrow, smirking at the look of horror that must have been on his face. “Don’t you approve of the engagement?”

“I don’t know…I guess it’s good news. Congratulations?”

“You idiot! Are you kidding me? I’m not marrying that pig-faced, smelly old wart-hog. He wears frilly silk blouses, a man dressed like a pampered child!”

“But all the lands he owns, and the trading routes, titles…”

“I can’t believe you actually think it’s a good idea.” She drew in the stares of the cook and many others nearby.
 

“Settle down,” he said, softening his voice like he was speaking to a baby. He smiled at her. “I never said it’s a good idea. Eat your soup, will you? You can’t be married until you’re fifteen anyways.“

“It’s two years away! Besides, engaged is as good as being married…it’s like prison. Nobody breaks their engagement—well there was Lady Macela—poor thing, never got married, all on her own. But to that old pig? What are my parents thinking? I hate them.”

“Just tell them you don’t want to marry him.”

“I already did. You know they never listen to me. They claim they know what’s best for me. I’d rather run away than marry him. I simply won’t do it.” She cast a venomous glare at her soup, then sighed and looked up at Talis, raising a finger as if she had an idea.
 

“Let’s win the Blood Dagger competition. If we win, I’m allowed any wish I choose. That’ll keep me away from that ridiculous man.”
 

“But Rikar and Nikulo are undefeated…they’re brutal—”

“I don’t care! We can do it, I know we can. Ever since that old witch made me drink all her potions and tea I feel strangely powerful…like I can do anything.”

“We’ve had a string of bad luck, though. We lost two times in a row at the training arena, and then you almost got killed by the boar.” Talis lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s like the gods are angry with us.”

“There are rites of initiation we could try…a blood oath.”

“A blood oath?” Talis swallowed, not liking whatever was implied by her suggestion. “Would that be with the Temple of Nestria or Nyx?”

Mara glanced towards the vines that covered walls surrounding the Temple of Nyx, the God of War. “I know what we have to do. We must pray to Zagros, who favors the weak and fallen.”

Zagros? Why would they pray to the God of the Underworld? “I’ve not been beyond Nyx…”

“Listen, we know the rites of initiation. We’ve been trained, right? What are you afraid of?”

“The Temple of Zagros is for those bringing the dead…or those who worship dark magic. Why would we go there?”

“I’m not marrying Baron Delar’s son. We’ve prayed to the other gods before previous matches and we still lost. What have we got to lose?”

Talis imagined they’d have quite a bit to lose. “Oh let’s see, I can think of many reasons why it’s a bad idea. Demons. Curses. And just purely the wrong kind of attention!”

“You owe me. It’s not like it’s the first time in history people have performed the rites. We both read the books and were trained by the same priests. Many heroes in the past have done the rites of initiation to ward off death’s touch. We’d be doing it for victory.”

Glancing at the twisted black oaks marking the entrance to the Temple of Nyx, Talis frowned, but gave in anyways, despite feeling this was a terrible idea. Mara caught his eyes, and held out her thumb to touch his. They sealed the vow with this act. Now they could do nothing but follow through until they completed the Rites of Zagros.
 

After they finished their soup, Talis and Mara stepped hesitantly towards the blackened iron gate of the foul-tempered God of War. Once inside, the air seemed to darken, either obscured by the oaks or frightened by the shadow crows alive in the quavering branches above. Talis forced himself on, and Mara yanked his hand, leading him around the sword-shaped temple, through the onyx gravestones marking fallen war heroes.
 

The air reeked of sulfur. Mara puffed out her chest, eyes squinting, and faced a wall of tangled and twisted vines. She chanted words of passage to the realm of Zagros: “For there were four winds racing from the four corners of the world, four spirits and four demons, consuming all life in their path. Grant access to your dominion, yet hold your devouring fire till old age.”

With that the choke vines moved, loosening and untwisting, making a narrow path before them. Mara and Talis squeezed their way inside, where the power surged in the air, the power of dark magic, the power of death. The sky collapsed to a whorl of gray and black, tiny scintillating bolts forming an electric mesh in the sky. A barren ledge stood before them, with the Nalgoran Desert stretching across the sky. The wind rushed at their faces as they entered the ledge, the ledge where many chose to plummet to an early death.

Talis stepped gingerly towards the edge, mindful of the lack of railing, wishing he’d never agreed to perform the Rites. “All powerful Zagros, finish the deed, grind all matter to dust, from the remains the seed springs to life.”
 

He stared out over the vast expanse to the east, the Nalgoran Desert, with nothing but sand and whirling wind for hundreds of miles.

Mara tugged at his hand, pulling him to the left towards a cave set inside the massive granite cliff.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispered.
 

She frowned. “You vowed. Just whatever you do, don’t stare into the statue’s eyes for too long.”

“I know that already.”

“I’m just saying…people have died that way.”

Talis swallowed hard, and followed her inside the cave. Farther in, the darkness was suffocating. He knew he had to walk boldly to survive the initiate’s test, but as soon as he stepped onto a wet stone, the feeling of snakes slithered at his feet. Hundreds of spiders crawled along his shoulders, and cold, slimy hands grasped at his legs. He wanted to kick them away, but he had to keep going. When he tried to breathe, he couldn’t. It was like there was no air in the cave. This was an illusion…part of the Rites. He controlled his desire to gasp like a fish caught out of water. After he pictured the morning sun, the vision calmed himself, and he took deeper breaths.

Around a razor-edged corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his heart thumping hard. Two shimmering orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros, in a battle-stance, wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand, and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting.

A cloaked figure knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Mara grabbed Talis’s arm, and they hid behind the corner and bent down, straining to listen.

“…I vow,” the figure said, “my father, his soul find respite—the endless war of Nyx—spare him, oh great Zagros.”

Mara leaned close to Talis. “It’s Rikar,” she whispered.

As soon as she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?”

Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light hovering above the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body.