Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (16 page)

Silbane faced the door, observing his apprentice. He could see the fear in the boy’s eyes, the scroll clutched in his left hand. Turning, he motioned for Arek to come in and sit, while he himself stood in front of his window.

“What brings you by my chambers?” Silbane asked.

Arek licked his lips nervously, all thoughts of the council’s message having fled from his mind. To disturb an adept, a
master
at that, he did not let himself finish the thought. Instead, he held out the scroll, hoping Silbane would understand once he’d read it. Silbane’s next words drowned any small hope Arek held in his heart that this might have been a mistake or some cruel joke played on him by the other Browns.

“I already know what the scroll says. I assisted in drafting it. Why does it bother you?”

Arek looked at his master incredulously, anger lending him voice, “What do you mean why does it bother me? Why cancel my test?”

At first, his master’s eyebrows knitted in consternation and he said, “I would have thought you most relieved of all.”

The comment set Arek back on his heels, the truth an arrow into his heart. He had been
dreading
the Test, why not now rejoice?

Then it was the dark secret, the one he knew he could not give voice too, that raised its head. The cancellation spoke to their lack of faith in him, and his desire to be the best and prove himself rose again, trumping his fear of failing.

Silbane’s eyes softened, as if he read Arek’s mind, and he gestured to his apprentice to enter. “We have a mission. One that requires our immediate attention.”

“We?” asked Arek, disbelieving the change in topic. “What about?”

Silbane looked out his window, across the Shattered Sea. “You have studied the lore of gates.” It was not a question.

Arek nodded and Silbane continued, “The lore father fears a rift may have opened in the land, connecting our world to another. You and I are being sent to investigate.”

Arek shook his head, his eyes darting about as he sought to understand what his master was saying. “Why me?”

“Are you not apprenticed to a Master of the Way? What else is your purpose?” When Arek did not answer, Silbane added, “Your Talent to disrupt magic makes you important for this mission. I wish it were different, but you and I are the best choice to go.”

“What help would I be?” Arek asked, his self-doubt taking control and pitching his voice in a whisper.

“Why do you ask that? You know the lessons, your combat skills are good, and you seem to have a natural ability to strategize, a rare skill in anyone. Even Master Kisan has a difficult time across blades with you, and she is one of the very best. You should be more confident.”

“More confident?” Arek let out a short laugh. “I cannot cast even the simplest of spells! How could you consider me ready for a mission like this, when a second-year Green can do something as simple as lighting a candle and I—” He remembered the last time he’d tried to light a candle. Adept Dragor had spent considerable time in darkness, trying to coax a flame out of anything in the spell room. It had been as if a force had snuffed the light-giving nature of everything in Arek’s vicinity.

“A moment ago you were arguing you had the skills to Test. Now you tell me you don’t. Which is it to be, apprentice?”

Arek dropped his head, not knowing what he wanted. He was thoroughly confused, and did not know how to answer. As the silence stretched, he heard an indrawn a breath.

“The Way has many manifestations Arek,” Silbane paused, then came and stood next to his apprentice. Placing his arm around the boy’s shoulders, he said, “You and I are being trusted to do something very important. It is an honor the lore father even requests us, a service for the land. It is what you are trained to do, whether or not you have the Way. Besides, not everything we do requires magic.”

Arek, so caught up in his own misery and confusion, did not at first hear what his master had said. Then the words registered, and he slowly turned unbelieving eyes to his master, “Not required... how?”

“I cannot aid you in passing, but it suffices to say when you finally do test for the Black, you can pass
without
casting a single spell.”

Arek rose and walked to the door, hesitating for a moment.

“Where are we going?” His voice came out low, but Master Silbane seemed to have heard it.

“Why do you insist on asking questions you already know the answers to?” he replied.

Arek let out a sigh. “Bara’cor.”

The word had lost all meaning, as if it were just something he had seen written on a piece of parchment. Nothing made sense anymore, but he didn’t know what else to do. Bowing, he made his way from his master’s chambers, the echo of his leather-soled feet somehow magnified in the silent corridors of the Hall of Adepts, underscoring the palpable dread he felt growing in his heart with each step.

* * * * *

Silbane wondered once again if telling Arek was the correct decision. The boy had without a doubt some kind of power in great magnitude, mused the mage. He had not been lying when he told Arek the Way of Making manifested itself differently for each person. He remembered when the boy had taken his Test for Potential.

The test itself was simple enough. After passing their written examinations for Green, the students assembled outside in a specially prepared testing area. Four concentric circles of increasing diameter stood carved into the stone ground. At a gesture from the administering adept, a barrier sprang up at each circle, made of one of the four elements.

It was the student’s task to find a way through each barrier: water, earth, air, then fire. Since most were on the Isle because they had already demonstrated some magical ability, the Test for Potential gauged the intelligence of a student.

It was rare a student could defeat all four barriers, their untrained strength not up to the task. They usually found themselves trapped between the second and third circle, mentally and physically exhausted until the watching adept banished the spell and escorted the student out.

Piter, another student testing on the same day had managed to pass the first three barriers only to find himself trapped behind the wall of fire. Finally, Silbane had banished the final barrier while congratulating him, knowing the boy was destined to be a powerful adept. He then instructed Arek to stand in the hexagonal tile marking the testing ground’s center. With a gesture from the adept, the four circles had sprung up again, hiding Arek from view.

Silbane had closed his eyes to concentrate on reading the young boy’s state of mind. To his surprise, he could feel nothing from Arek, as if he was not even there. What happened next etched itself in Silbane’s memory forever.

Arek relaxed and prepared himself. As he did so, Silbane felt as if a great void had opened up and swallowed all conscious thought within the testing area. Casting his Sight, he could still see Arek, his head bowed in intense concentration, and Silbane had a sudden feeling of something immense building, like flood waters behind a cracked dam. Then Arek opened his eyes, pale blue and flashing with power, and the dam burst.

All four circles imploded inward and collapsed, flickering into nothingness. Silbane watched this in awe, unable to comprehend the resources it would take to be able to disrupt that much power. In all his memory, none had accomplished what Arek had done.

At his own test, Silbane had managed to pass by exploiting the intrinsic weakness of each element. To
extinguish
the energies of all four was a feat unheard of.

Arek looked about himself, confusion in his eyes, as if he had just awakened from a trance. Silbane rushed into the testing area, finding the boy dazed, but unharmed. Then Arek collapsed and fell into a deep sleep, one they could not rouse him from.

He slept for almost three days before waking and asking for eggs, as if nothing strange had happened. Between plates of food, he claimed no memory of the incident, and had at first refused to believe he had been asleep that long. The results, however, were too astonishing to ignore.

The council unanimously agreed they would watch and guide such power as Arek had demonstrated. Silbane had been appointed his guardian and teacher, and for the next four years served as his mentor. When Arek earned his Brown, Silbane had apprenticed him that very same day.

Since then, Silbane mentally grimaced, there had been maybe one or two minor incidents of Arek’s power. Dragor’s incident with the candle for one, but there had been no reappearance of anything near the level of energy the boy had channeled during his Test for Potential. It was as if the boy simply had no power except to disrupt magic. Perhaps, Silbane hesitantly began to believe, he had witnessed everything Arek had to offer.

Silbane shook his head, knowing that was wrong. Arek
had
Talent, albeit something they did not yet fully understand. It was this deep rooted belief that made him commit himself to this mission. He would have to help nurture the boy’s confidence and keep him safe if he were to survive the next few days, and during that time Silbane would have to find an alternative to the lore father’s solution. If he did not, Arek might pay with his life.

Journal Entry 3

Curse Thoth, the dragons, and their ilk. They knew what they did, and did it with pleasure. Imagine seeing things for what they truly are. The very firmament lies now before me, and I do not appreciate this “gift.” It makes little sense.

It has been some time since I last wrote. I am surrounded by my own anger, creating dangers I cannot ignore. They come in raids, formless creatures having no purpose except to terrorize and take from me whatever meager provisions I have managed to gather. Unlike our world, these manifestations are much more powerful.

I catch hints of them only, but even in these barest of glimpses, they are fearsome to behold and grow more sophisticated. They are cunning, taking that which I need most, coming upon me when I am most vulnerable.

It is as if they read my thoughts...

(I write this later this same day...)

I am a fool, the answer and reason before me. Of course they take what I need, for I need it and give life to that fear! They are like wolves or jackals, but made from my mind, like a child’s mistfrights.

They react and fulfill my fears and are exact in their punishment. Their master is me. They do only what I fear, to the letter. I am the key.

I must remain focused, I must stay calm...

P
OWER AND
D
EATH

When your opponent faces you,

Assume the same posture and wait.

When he begins his strike,

Step into the swing, striking his hands.

Follow with the killing stroke.

This technique must be honed,

Timing is crucial.

—The Bladesman Codex

T
he day went by quickly, with Arek busy finding other instructors to conduct his classes and preparing to leave the Isle. Part of him still could not believe the lore father had requested he go with his master, but despite his feelings to the contrary, he decided to believe his master would not lie to him.

Moreover, the fact that he was not testing had not yet sunk in. Because of this he went about his preparations in a wooden way, his mind watching as his body packed clothes and other supplies into a small, serviceable bundle.

As the afternoon waned, Arek found himself sitting on his bed, staring at his bookshelf, though his eyes focused on nothing. His master had been right. A part of him
was
secretly relieved he was not dealing with the upcoming test. Another part, however, remembered Piter’s words in the library, about how his master trained him in private because he had no faith.

Was that it? Was that the reason for this special consideration? Arek hoped not, for it implied his teacher and the council really did not have any confidence in him at all. Still, he argued with himself, his master shared what he did to demonstrate his faith. He would not have asked me to go if I did not bring some value.

Rising, he moved over to his closet and started to pick clothes for dinner. A sigh escaped his lips when he realized that everything, except the combat uniforms he had left, had holes in them. He looked to his closet and brought out more serviceable, if close-fitting, clothes: pants and shirts that allowed for freedom of movement but could be layered to keep him comfortable through the desert climate’s great swings in temperature between day and night. Throwing a few of these on his bed along with a pair of boots, he closed his closet and walked over to his desk.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a small sewing kit and a dagger, double-edged and keen enough to shave with. He would repair some clothes, then shave, a practice he had recently adopted as soft blond hair had begun sprouting from his cheeks and upper lip. He could then pack this away with his other travel supplies.

The sewing went quickly, and it was only near the end of his shave when a grumble from his stomach told him he had delayed his repast too long. He gave one last look at his face in the mirror to be sure he found all the hair, musing wryly that it wasn’t
that
hard yet, then he left his room to make his way down to the refectory.