Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (8 page)

“Your father traveled the land, prepared to pay the man whatever price or perform whatever service necessary to get what he wanted. He never considered the possibility that the Prophet would refuse to speak with him.

“He searched far and wide, plying people for information on the whereabouts of the mysterious figure and finally, though it took two years, he had the location pinned down to one small section of forest in the
land
of
Whippuol
.”

“Where is that?” Justan had asked.

“I don’t know.
Far
far
away, sweetie.
When Faldon got there, he searched the forest with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. He searched for two days without sleeping until he collapsed with exhaustion. When he awoke, there was a man sitting on a nearby rock.”

“What did he look like?”

“Well, your father called him . . . nondescript. He didn’t look like anyone special. The man just sat there and peered at him and chewed on a piece of grass.”

“‘Are you he?’ your father asked.

“The man gave him a questioning look, took the stalk of grass out of his mouth, and said, ‘He who?’

“’The Prophet’ Faldon said.

“‘Oh him.’
The man grunted and waved the suggestion away. ‘Well, he is known to roam these parts.’

“‘Well, man, where is he?’ Faldon snapped. He was tired of the way that every time he thought he was getting close to finding the Prophet, things fell apart. ‘I must find him!’

“‘Him?
The Prophet?’
The man chuckled. ‘Why do you want to talk to that old coot?’”

Justan laughed. “He was the Prophet alright.”

“Now you are smarter than your father was,” his mother had said approvingly. “Your father said, ‘There are things I must know and only he can tell me!’ He was angry by this time and shouted ‘Do you know where he is?’

“The man cocked his head. ‘Even if I did know where he is, why would I want to tell you?’

“Faldon snarled. He had forced his way through enough obstacles in the last two years and the last thing he needed was a balky stranger getting in the way. So he pulled The Monarch from its sheath on his back and lifted it threateningly toward the man, the magnificent blade glinting in the morning sun. ‘Here is one big reason to tell me!’ he said.”

Justan nodded. Now that sounded like his father.

“‘Well, with that attitude, I’m not telling you anything,’ the man huffed, folding his arms and raising his chin. ‘Why would the Prophet want to speak with someone so rude? Besides, if you would swing that sword at a defenseless man, how do I know you wouldn’t swing it at him?’

“Now Faldon was taken aback by the man’s lack of fear.
He wasn’t used to being treated this way and part of him felt like striking the man down for his impertinence. However, as rough as his tactics sometimes were, Faldon had never killed an innocent man.

“‘Don’t you know who I am, old man? I am Faldon the Fierce, a great warrior! Not just some thug looking for a fight!’ The old man still didn’t show any recognition, and Faldon sighed. He took a purse of coins out from under his jacket and tossed them at the man’s feet. ‘Very well, I see that your price is different. These coins are yours if you tell me where to find him.’

“‘I see.’ The man looked at him with disgust. ‘It is evident to me that you are not so much fierce as stupid. You assume that everyone is like yourself, either frightened or greedy.’”

Justan had gasped, his hands flying to his mouth. No one spoke to his father like that. Darlan had smiled knowingly at his reaction. 

“Faldon had enough. He surged forward and threw a wicked punch with his right hand, putting his back into the effort. As Faldon’s fist arced through the air, the old man shouted a single word.

“‘STOP!’

“Your father’s arm jerked to a stop so abruptly that it wrenched his shoulder and his fist came to a halt right against the man’s cheek. The nondescript man reached up with one hand and grabbed Faldon’s fist and squeezed. Faldon could feel the bones in his hand grinding together. He fell to his knees with the pain.

“The man looked down at the warrior with deep disapproval. Your father told me that there was such an aura of authority
about
the man that he practically glowed. As the man spoke, Faldon no longer had any doubts about his identity. His voice echoed with the power of a thousand wizards. This was truly the Prophet.

“’Faldon, son of
Gustaf
, what do you have to say for yourself?’ the Prophet said.

“‘I . . . I am sorry, sir.’ He responded. Faldon had finally found the man he had sought so single-mindedly, but instead of triumph, he felt only shame and he didn’t understand why.

“The Prophet released his hand. The air around the man crackled with invisible energy and your father had no doubt that the man could pull the entire forest down around him with but a thought.

“‘I have known that you would be coming, child.’ The Prophet crossed his arms and stared down at him. ‘It is no mystery to me what is plaguing your heart. You have lost something.’

“‘Yes!’ Faldon cried out, sure that now he would get his answers. ‘Please tell me what it is! When I struck out on my own, I was determined to make my mark on the world. Now I have finally secured my name, but there is still something missing. What is it?’

“‘Faldon, you have forgotten all that your parents taught you,’ the prophet said and those words struck your father like a blacksmith’s hammer.

“‘What? What do you mean?’ he stammered, though he knew what the Prophet was talking about.

“‘I cannot give you back that which you have lost,’ the Prophet said. ‘But I will offer you one piece of advice that will help you find it. Every day, ask yourself if you are the type of man that your father would admire. When you can answer that question yes, you will find what you are looking for.’”

With that, Darlan stopped and stared into the fire knitting away.

Justan had scratched his head and waited with frustration until finally blurting, “Then what?
What did he say?”

She shrugged. “The Prophet left. Later Faldon would not be able to remember exactly what the Prophet looked like, or how he had left, but he never forgot his words. Your grandfather
Gustaf
had been a great and kind man. He had always taught Faldon to do what was right and treat people with respect.

“Your father changed after that. It wasn’t long after his experience with the Prophet that he entered the Training School and later the academy. He realized that he had wronged many people. You see, he had always thought that the thing missing in his life was something physical, something that he could touch. He had pushed everyone out of the way so that he could obtain it. But he discovered that it was something inside of him that was missing. It was in the academy that he found out what it was.”

“What was it, mom?”

“Honor.”

Justan shook his head, letting the memories fade. Faldon had always spoken of the Prophet with awe, but there was no way that the man his father met was the same man who had given the Bowl of Souls to the school. That would make him thousands of years old. Justan felt the theory that made most sense was that there
were
a long succession of wise men that took on the mantle of Prophet throughout the years.

This explained why Faldon never took part in the warrior naming ceremony. Faldon never truly forgave himself for his actions in the past, and Justan knew that deep down, his father still believed that he was not worthy of receiving a name. The fact that the Prophet was the one to deliver the Bowl of Souls to the
Mage
School
must have brought back those old feelings of shame.

Justan was beginning to see his father in a new light.

Chapter Five

The winter months grew quite cold in the
land
of
Dremaldria
, but the
Rune
Tower
seemed to radiate a presence that kept the worst of the winter weather away. If snow was falling softly inside the school, there was a blizzard in the surrounding lands. Justan was grateful for this, because it meant that he could continue to run all winter long.

His morning runs became a spectacle in the school. The students were dumbfounded. They couldn’t figure out why a person would voluntarily get up early in the cold and exercise. Some found it amusing, but many others were intrigued.

The six students who had started to run with him in the mornings turned into a dozen. Of course none of the runners could keep up with Justan, but they tried, and soon most of them could make an entire circuit of the school without stopping. By the time spring came there were over twenty people, both wizards and students that ran with him.

Professor Beehn was among them, his squat legs pumping and his lungs heaving as he struggled to get his portly body under control. He pulled Justan aside one morning after the run and praised him for the positive affect that his attitude was having among the other students.  

“But why are they running with me in the first place, professor?” Justan asked.

The wizard smiled. “Some of them come because I force them to. Others come because they honestly want to get in shape. But, you know what? I think that some of them just run because you do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t say as I do either. Not completely anyway. I had hoped that your dedication to keep fit would motivate others or at least give them the excuse to do something that they had been thinking about doing anyway. But I must say that I never expected this many people to come out.” The wizard frowned at Justan in contemplation and stroked his chin. “Do you want to know what I believe has truly caused this?

“The other wizards and I have been discussing it. I think that there is something about your presence that affects the people around you. It may be part of your magic ability or it may be something else, but either way
your
simply being there changes things. From the moment you walk into a room, the atmosphere is altered.

“Just about everyone within these walls has heard tales of Justan, the awkward boy who became a great warrior. The tales, both true and exaggerated, have spread like wildfire. Justan, the students look up to you, even the older ones, the mages that have been here for years. In fact, all of the wizards that have taught you ended up leaving the room liking you.” He paused for a moment,
then
clarified his statement, “well, almost all of them.”

Justan shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I went through the training school for years working this hard and none of the students there felt this way.”

Professor Beehn threw up his hands. “Believe it or don’t believe it, but you can’t deny the affect you have had on these men.”

Justan looked around at the other students that were winding down their run. They were physically tired, but mentally full of energy, gabbing back and forth to one another.

“You have helped me prove my theory, you know,” the wizard said, a gleam in his eye. “Most of us are so busy exploring the mind that we ignore our bodies. I believe that this is a mistake. I have been saying it for years. Our magical powers draw upon our bodies’ energy. My theory is that the
Mage
School
would be much more powerful if we kept our bodies in peak condition.” There was an excited gleam in the wizard's eyes. “The results in class are
support
ing my theory, Justan. The people that run with you have increased their power levels significantly.”

The wizard grabbed Justan’s shoulder. “You may not know this about me, but I have very little magical talent. The most rudimentary spells come to me only with great effort. That is why I am in charge of the school grounds instead of teaching classes on magic. It took me many years longer than normal to gain the level of wizard. My strength lies not in magic itself-.” He pointed to his head. “But up here.”