

Traphis:  
A Wizard's Tale

## JAMES D. MAXON

Traphis: A Wizard's Tale

Copyright © 2011 James D. Maxon

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781310498978

Requests for information should be sent to:

books@jamesmaxon.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced electronically, mechanically, by photocopy, recording, or any other method except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. References to names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

# DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the founder of all worlds, who has many names, yet only one truth. Special thanks to Karen Steinhaus, Svetlana Maxon, Evelyn Hall, and others for helping to provide a much-needed polish.

# CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

About the Author

# Chapter 1

THE CAVERN WALLS became visible before fading back into the darkness. A surge of power flooded through Traphis' fifteen year old limbs and then vanished. He wrenched forward, dropped to his knees, and gasped for air. Breaths echoed throughout the cavern as sweat trickled down his cheeks. When he regained his composure, he leaned against his father's staff and wiped the dampness from his brow.

_At this rate, I'll never become a wizard._ Traphis tensed at the thought. _He always made it look so easy_. Why his father had prevented him from learning magic, Traphis never understood. It only seemed natural for a wizard to pass down his secrets to his son, but that no longer mattered; it was too late for answers. He bit his lip. This was not the time for sorrow—he would take his father's place and become the greatest wizard of all time.

A soft breeze ran through his dark brown hair. He tightened his grip on the wooden staff and stubbornly pulled himself upright. Despite the pain and fatigue, he would try again. He had come too far to give up now.

Traphis breathed deeply of the cool cavern air. He sat down, shifted on his makeshift wooden chair, and then closed his eyes once again. Deep in his mind he pictured a three-dimensional realm, a fathomless, empty void. A moment later his father's face surfaced, which exhibited a variety of expressions; some happy, some sad. For just a moment, Traphis fixed his gaze on his father, cherishing every smile, smirk, sneer, and grin. And then his father was replaced by a field of flowers, which withered and died. New images formed and came at him in a flood of confusion like wasps attacking their prey. He tried to push them aside, but as soon as he averted one, two more took its place.

"No more!" Without opening his eyes, a sensation of foolishness fell over him, but he knew no one would be within earshot. His cave was too far away, or at least he hoped so.

Regardless of what the images showed, they were blocking his path, and he knew he would have to push past them in order to move forward. A furrow appeared on his brow as he ventured back into his mind. Like before, the images came at him, but this time he pushed them away. His awareness strengthened and the images faded into the background like mere shadows. In less than the count of three breaths, his vision had cleared and the images were nowhere to be seen.

Only empty white space remained. No objects, no images, no hints of anything at all.

_What now?_ he thought. Then, as if in answer to his question, a dark cloud materialized. The massive bulk towered over him like a twisted, gnarled tree. He stared up at it. Goosebumps ran across his arms and he gripped his father's staff more tightly. It wasn't the lurid appearance of the smoky, overshadowing surface that bothered him; it was the feeling of a presence, one that felt threatening, sinister, and cruel. It seemed as if the cloud was a living entity. And if that were true, what did it want from him? The dark object stared down with faceless eyes, mocking him, challenging him to move forward.

And then, just as he thought it was going to attack, another presence made itself known over the menacing aura of the cloud. It was faint, but enduring. As if it was the polar opposite of its rival: warm and kind.

Traphis wondered whether the cloud was guarding something, whether it was keeping this other presence a prisoner, or merely blocking the path. Whatever it was, he had to find out. There was no good to be had by remaining where he was.

His thoughts traced along the edges of the mass, outlining its shape one section at a time. He imagined the cloud moving, but it did not budge. With renewed effort, he tried again, focusing on the object in his mind, but still nothing changed.

And then another idea occurred to him. You don't have to move it, just move through it.

Traphis pushed his thoughts forward. He sensed himself moving closer. A flash of light emitted as he submerged into the cloud's fathomless depths. _Lightning?_ He couldn't tell. The darkness was like smoke all around him. Then another flash and he saw something blue. _A clearing?_ Energy surged through his body and then he heard a snap!

His attention lurched back into the physical world. The walls of the cave appeared before him, and warmth rested against his hand.

He could see? He could feel warmth?

With a glance at a small fire pit, to his amazement, he noticed that the pile of twigs was burning. The small flames danced before his eyes like welcoming friends.

"I did it!" Traphis jumped to his feet so fast that he hit his head on the low ceiling. He winced at the bump and brushed loose dirt from his hair. Was it possible? Had he actually started a fire using magic? He looked again, worried that the flames had been an illusion, but to his relief they continued to burn.

Even though a true wizard might not have regarded this accomplishment as any great feat, excitement washed over him; it was a magnificent breakthrough. He could not imagine anyone forgetting his first use of magic, and he knew he never would.

Traphis sat back down and gazed at the fire's hypnotic beauty. The hungry flames crackled and snapped before him, casting shadows along the stony walls. Reaching down, he picked up a dry twig and tossed it atop the burning pile. Orange sparks flew into the air. Traphis wished his father could see him now, though he did not know whether he would be angry or proud. It did not matter. He would have given just about anything to hear his voice again.

Bending down, Traphis picked up one of the many books scattered on the ground. He shook it and blew the remaining bits of sand from the cover. The cool, moist air of the cavern did not help the drying process any, but at least the precious books were safely hidden from his mother.

He held the text in his youthful hands. Some of the words were smeared, but legible enough to read. His mind absorbed the letters, driving them further into the recesses of his memory.

Time passed. Motionless, he sat on his wooden chair until at last he put the book down. He stood and stretched his stiff legs. The fire had faded to glowing embers and his eyes ached from the dullness of light. Next time he would bring more wood, even if it was a nuisance to carry it up the side of the cliff.

Traphis pushed a pile of sand over the top of the glowing embers, which smothered the coals. It was better not to risk catching something on fire, particularly the books he rescued from the creek just a few days ago.

The cave became pitch black once again, but he did not have far to go. He sprinted through the cavern, hopping over protruding rocks and gliding his hand along the wall—with as many times as he had been there, he could have easily found his way in his sleep.

He reached the entrance and gazed down into the forest below. The setting sun made the trees dark and eerie. It was later than he thought—his mother was sure to be angry.

The grooves in the rocks guided him safely to the ground. When he stood against the dirt, he peered up at the cave and tried not to feel as if he was abandoning a friend. The small hole in the cliff's surface was deceiving. No one would guess at the sizable cavern inside, and he hoped it would remain his secret for years to come.

A woblock hooted its deep and chanting melody, sending a chill down Traphis' spine.

_It's only a harmless bird_ , he thought to himself. _It won't hurt you_. Just then, he noticed a fresh pile of dung only a few steps away. His heart skipped a beat when he realized what type of beast had left it. A learcat. The wing-like ears, long tail, and narrow face had left a distinct impression in his memory the last time he saw one. But that was at a distance; having one nearby was a far greater danger.

Branches lightly brushed against his brown weathered sleeves. With each step, his feet softly compressed the dirt and sticks beneath him. Traphis knew these woods; their twisting paths and strong trunks had been his playmates for as long as he could remember. Traveling through the forest at great speed was usually easy, but he was not about to take any chances at giving away his position. The terrible feeling that a learcat was watching him, following him, persisted in his mind.

Cool night air nipped at his lungs while he continued his steady pace. The woblock resumed its haunting call over the chirping of various bugs. Small creatures darted under logs and bushes as soon as he approached. The occasional glowing of eyes from unknown beasts intensified his alertness until at last a sound of trickling water came within earshot. It was not much farther now.

Traphis made his way across a tree that had fallen over the creek. The thick trunk and bark made it easy to balance on. A fish jumped and splashed, producing a ripple in the water, which not long ago was filled with his father's books. Traphis was thankful that he had seen his mother hurling them into the creek; otherwise he would not have been able to rescue them in time. Safely hidden behind a bush, he had waited. Once she left, he had leaped into the water, pulled them out, and brought them to dry in his cave. Once again, Traphis wondered why his parents wished to keep him from learning magic.

After crossing the log, he passed by several more trees. A welcoming light beckoned from the windows of a small, two-story cottage. He sighed with relief.

A whinny filled the night air as he approached the barn. He opened the doors and walked to Neha's stall. She bobbed her head both in welcome and seemingly in hopes of receiving a pat on the nose. To her obvious pleasure, he did just that. She sighed in ecstasy, blowing through her nostrils as he gently rubbed her brow.

"It's okay girl," he said. "I'm home now."

"And about time too," a voice said from the doorway. Traphis' mother looked at him with steady brown eyes, the same color as his own, but a frown of displeasure pulled down the corners of her mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stay out so long."

"You need to be more responsible Traphis. You know what type of creatures and beasts come out at night. What if something happened to you out there? I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too . . ." Her firm mouth trembled a moment, but she turned to look at something in a nearby stall and when she looked back, her face was steady again. "Well, at least you're home now. I'll heat up your dinner for you. You'll need your energy to finish harvesting tomorrow. How you can go so long without eating is a mystery to me."

"Thanks," Traphis said, knowing better than to argue with her.

She turned and left him to finish saying goodnight to Neha.

He patted his horse lightly on the nose one last time before making his way to the house. After locking the doors behind him, a smile crept across his face.

I used magic today!

* * *

The sound of a tara bird's call woke Traphis early the next morning. "Karooooouk!"

He wanted to kill it. Morning was his least favorite time of day.

"Karoo, karoo, karoooooooooouk!"

"I'm up, I'm up," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He forced himself onto his feet and then stumbled over to the sunlit window. Staring out at the piles of potaras in the fields below, a moan escaped his lips. How many more potaras did they have to dig up already? All he wanted to do was go back to his cave and study his books, but that would have to wait. If only his father was still with them, then Traphis would not have to work so hard. But there was no use in wishing for the impossible.

Sitting back down on his bed, Traphis lifted his feet off the cold wooden floor. He knew that if he were to lie back down, it would be risky. Sleep would surely take hold of him again, and so he resisted the temptation; there was just too much to do.

After tying his sandals, he staggered down the stairs that led from his cozy room. The sound of eggs sizzling and snapping on the stove met him at the bottom as his mother, Anjetta, busily worked in the kitchen.

He plopped down on a chair at the kitchen table.

"Traphis," she said. "Please set the table."

He sighed, not wanting to get up again, but did as his mother asked. Once everything was in place he sat back down.

"Here you go," his mother said while scraping a tara bird egg from the pan and setting it onto his plate. Next she took out a potara that was cooking in the fire; poking it first with a wooden stick to be sure it was done.

"Aww, not again," he complained. "When are we going to eat more than potaras and eggs?" Of course, he knew the answer to that question, but it felt good to propose it all the same.

"Be thankful we have what we do," Anjetta said. "If there's a good turnout this festival we'll have plenty more to eat."

Anjetta sat down at the table. "Traphis, will you say our appreciation?"

He hated to be asked, but he knew better than to protest. Complaining never worked on her in the past and would not likely do so now.

"Thank you for this food," he said, "and for watching over us." Then he threw in, "And please provide us with something better to eat."

When Traphis opened his eyes, he thought he saw a smile pull back from his mother's mouth.

"After breakfast don't forget to feed Neha and gather eggs from the tara birds."

"I know. I won't forget."

After inhaling his food, he asked to be excused from the table. She nodded, still chewing with a mouthful of eggs. Traphis pushed back the chair and sprinted through the door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

Traphis entered the barn. Neha bobbed her head in greeting and her hooves impatiently stomped as he climbed the ladder to the upper level. Gathering an armful of dried grass, he tossed it over the edge of the loft. It stirred up a haze of dirt when it hit the ground. Then, as was his routine, he took a few steps backward, ran to the edge, and jumped over.

"Umph!" Traphis landed hard on the ground. He stood and rubbed the soreness out of his elbow. "I've still got to perfect my landing," he said, looking at Neha. Her brown coat shimmered from the light in the doorway. Was that a smile on her face? It could not be; she was just a horse after all.

Traphis gathered up the grass and placed it in her trough. "Looks like we have something in common girl, you and I are both stuck eating the same old stuff." She did not seem to mind; her lips happily caressed the bottom of the trough as if enjoying every bite.

Traphis brushed her coat and pulled burs out of her long black tail. "How do you find these things?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

A sneeze shot out of his nose. _I'll never get used to the smell of this place_ , he thought, sniffing and rubbing his sore eyes. Something in the barn always seemed to trigger his allergies.

"Waaaaa, waaabula, waaaaa, waaabula," chanted the tara birds when Traphis entered their coop. He reached under a bird and grabbed two green, blue-spotted eggs. He went from nest to nest, finding some empty and some with one or two eggs. For some reason, one hen in particular did not like him. Leaving the unpleasant one for last, he finally reached under the bird, and as expected, it pecked his hand. "Ouch! Come on. This isn't fun for me either," he said, scolding it. "Stop trying to be the queen. No one likes you anyway." She stared at him, head bobbing front to back.

"Waaabula," she scolded as he pushed under her again only to find there were no eggs. "No wonder you're always crabby," he said to the bad-tempered fowl while rubbing his sore hand. "You hardly ever lay anything." He was met by her beady eyes and bobbing head.

After leaving the barn, he walked into the kitchen and handed Anjetta the basket of eggs. "Can I please go for a walk before we start?"

Her expression told him that she wanted to tell him no, but she also had a sympathetic gleam to her eyes. "Okay, but don't be long."

"Thanks!" The door slammed shut behind him.

Traphis ran past the potara patch, and then he entered the woods. Glad it was daytime, he never got over how different the forest looked. Night predators were out of sight, sleeping, allowing smaller creatures to emerge from hiding. He could have wandered forever, losing himself amongst the trees and solitude, but there was only one thing on his mind now: the cave. He might be able to read a few chapters before going back to work. Dodging branches, jumping over logs, and running as fast as he could, Traphis felt he could not get there soon enough.

A little skimpit darted across a branch, stopped, and blinked its reptilian eyes at him. Traphis stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Then suddenly the creature cocked its head and dashed away.

Traphis' heart skipped a beat as soon as he smelled smoke. Where there was smoke, there was sure to be a fire. He looked around in all directions, but saw nothing unusual. With a hint of caution, he followed the smell until at last he came to the side of a cliff.

To his horror he discovered where the smoke was coming from: his cave.

# Chapter 2

LOOSE STONES FELL as Traphis climbed the side of the cliff. An eerie silence accompanied the strong scent of smoke, which tasted bitter against his tongue. His hands gripped hard against the well-worn grooves, and his heart pounded with each forward thrust. Images of his father's books ran through his mind. He imagined their pages burning and their covers smoldering into lumps of ash. Other than his makeshift wooden chair, nothing else in the cave was likely to burn; the walls and ground were made of stone and sand. If he were to lose the precious words of his father, after finally getting his hands on them, he felt he would fall down and die.

When he reached the opening of the cave, an onslaught of smoke stung his eyes. He forced himself inside, covered his face with both arms, and breathed through his sleeves. Each step brought him closer to the frightening mystery.

The passageway felt longer than usual, as if it were willing itself against him—his cave betraying him when he needed it most. It had been a friend that did not taunt him, or tell him he was foolish. It was always there for him, always dependable. But now it seemed like a stranger. Like a foreigner that meant to do him harm.

Light shimmered through the puffs of smoke like rays from the sun. Warmth brushed up against his flesh, and with it came a host of fears. His pace quickened, and for a moment he nearly believed he was dreaming, but as soon as he entered the main chamber, reality struck him hard.

Squinting his eyes, Traphis stared into the face of the fire. The light coming from it was so bright that he could barely see it, yet its form was unmistakable. Below a volley of billowing smoke, a single flame stood. White. Unnatural. Peculiar. The flame was too fine, too exact, and too perfect. Its edges sharp as a knife, and the tip ready to stab anyone who dared approach.

He knelt down on the sand, cupped his hands around his eyes, and edged closer. Heat nipped at his flesh. Sweat streamed down the inside of his shirt and beaded on his face. The tart taste of smoke nipped at his tongue.

Then he saw something below the flame. It squirmed as if writhing in pain. Crawling closer to get a better look, Traphis gasped. Under the flame, a book lay open. Its pages fluttered below the sparkling inferno, slapping together in a blustering wind. The whiteness of the flame bounced from page to page, dancing like a demon. Yet the pages seemed unharmed.

Without thinking, Traphis reached out his hand and plunged it into the sand. His fingers moved just below the front cover, and with an upward thrust, the book snapped shut.

All became dark, still, and silent.

Traphis' ears rang with the hollowness of the cave. He coughed out the remaining smoke from his lungs, and with a shaking hand, wiped the sweat from his brow. It had all happened so fast that it took several breaths before his thoughts caught up to him. He sat there and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out what happened—but one thing he did know: this wasn't a natural fire. Only magic could do such a thing. _How else could there be a colorless fire or a single flame that produced so much smoke?_ It was as if the book contained a power of its own. _Perhaps this is why she threw the books away_. But still, he had to learn. He needed the books in order to train, and he would not give up on them yet.

It occurred to him that someone might have seen the smoke. If they discovered his cave, they would find his books and put an end to all his plans. No more magic, no more studying to become a wizard. Regardless of what caused the fire, he wasn't about to get rid of the books. But he also wasn't going to take any chances.

Still shaking—but not as badly as before—Traphis felt around in the darkness. He grasped the end of a book and then set it next to him. Repeating the process, he piled all the books together, making sure they were shut tight, and then he dug a large hole in the sand. Once it was deep enough, he placed the books inside. With a push, the cool sand washed over them, burying their contents from any possible tampering. Hopefully, if someone did find his cave, the risk of his books being found were minimal.

Traphis staggered to the entrance of the cave. The skin on his face, arms, and hands stung with pain. As soon as he came in contact with sunlight, he looked down and gasped. His hands and arms were bright red. The heat from the flame must have burned him.

How was he going to explain this to his mother? She worried about everything.

He grasped at the rock surface and lowered himself from the entrance. A surge of pain ran through his fingers as the rock pressed hard against his tender skin. By the time he reached the ground, the stinging had turned into heavy throbbing.

It was a long walk back to the creek. His pace slowed considerably by the time he arrived at the log. When he made it halfway across, he stopped and gazed into the water. The reflection staring back at him looked like a stranger's. His cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin all lit up the water with a beaming reddish glow. If only he was old enough to grow facial hair, then the redness could have been better hidden, but then again, the hair on his thin forearms concealed very little. He had to think of a way to cover up the burns.

Just then an idea occurred to him.

He stepped forward, faked a slip, and fell into the cool water with a loud splash.

Liquid sprayed as he kicked his arms and feet—the water was shallow enough to kneel in, but in order to gain the full effect, he needed to be completely wet. Moments later, he crawled out of the creek and onto a pile of mud. He smeared it all over his clothing, skin, and hair before looking at his reflection once again. The clay and mud covered him like a large scab. It worked; it was enough to hide the redness.

Traphis walked up to the field, and to his surprise, his mother was nowhere to be seen. Maybe there was no need for explanations after all.

If only his problems ended there. Gazing at the remaining rows of plants, he knew this was going to be a long day.

A nearby pile of potaras loomed over him, casting a shadow of dread. He grabbed a three-pronged fork, dug it into the earth, and pulled a potara out of the soil. After shaking the dirt from it, he tossed it onto the pile.

Yes, this was going to be a long day.

* * *

As the day dragged on, both his mind and body became weary. The layers of mud cracked under the rays of the hot sun, leaving a peculiar, but not unpleasant sensation on his flesh. He worried that his cover-up would rub off, exposing the redness, but it seemed to stay attached like a leech to its prey.

He plunged the fork into the earth and pulled out another potara. By now his knuckles were rubbed raw and dirt had wedged under his fingernails, but he kept on. As usual, he made a game of it, counting how many potaras he could pull during a specific amount of time and then trying to beat his record.

Anjetta joined him. Surprisingly, she remained quiet about his extra-dirty attire.

The two of them worked without speaking, digging into the earth and straining their backs. After awhile, Traphis forgot about counting the potaras. His thoughts turned to his books, and how he had almost lost them. Thankfully, they were untouched—even the one that caught fire had been unharmed—but how long would it be before he perfected his understanding of their contents? He only just learned his first usage of magic yesterday, but it seemed less impressive than it did before. And then he began to wonder if he could repeat the magic from memory.

Summoning the same vision from yesterday, Traphis found himself staring into the dark cloud. His thoughts became clear and the details more pronounced. He moved his mind closer to the cloud, this time without hesitation. A light flashed as he submerged into the smoky substance and he felt as if the world had suddenly been covered by a huge, gray blanket.

Deeper and deeper he traveled, unable to see anything but the dullness all around him. And then he began to feel the cloud's presence—cold and cruel—a barbarous brutality with a ferocity unequaled to anything he had known before. The sensation of floating suddenly stopped and he felt something jerk at his leg. He struggled to pull away, but it was no good; he was being forced closer to the heart of his captor.

Traphis felt his physical body jerking as he tried to pull away, struggling to force himself out of the vision, the nightmare. And then a voice spoke to him. Without sound, it spoke through sensations he never knew existed. Was it delight in his torment? Pleasure in his fear?

He felt fear, but the one he sensed seemed greater than his own. It came on so suddenly that at first it was unnoticeable. Not his fear, but the cloud's. Why? Wasn't _it_ the one pulling _him_ in? And then he felt it: another presence had come into existence. It flooded in like a storm of beauty. It was benevolent and gentle, yet powerful and strong. Darkness washed out of the cloud and a deeper color of blue appeared. It was the same blue he had seen the first time; the same presence that had rescued him before.

Like a muscle spasm, Traphis felt a surge of power flow through his body. Noise pierced his ears and he felt something slap against his face. The smell of a cooked potara entered his nostrils, and he opened his eyes. He was back in the real world and could see the familiar sight of the field, potara patch, and layers of dirt. He lifted his hands only to see a flat piece of brown skin covered in a white creamy substance. He flicked it off and wiped his palm against his leg.

Traphis touched the stickiness on his face and picked something off. His eyes widened; it was another piece of brown potara skin. What had happened? He looked down at the skin and tossed it away. It really was a potara, or rather, what was left of one. More pieces were scattered around him, and then it hit him—he had exploded the potara using magic.

He cringed. Did his mother see? A sinking sensation flowed through his stomach. He dared not look around, but he had to. With teeth clenched, he turned, but to his relief, no one was there. His shoulders dropped to his sides as he exhaled. She didn't see; he was safe. And then he noticed that the patches of mud covering his skin had rubbed off. He reached down into the dirt and smeared on a fresh batch. Hopefully it would stick. With the sweat pouring down his body, he knew it shouldn't be a problem.

A noise from the distance broke his concentration. Traphis turned toward the house and saw a horse tied up to a post. Brow furrowed, he looked closer at the animal. A familiar looking saddle caught his eye, and then he knew whose horse it was—Greagor's.

He forgot all about the potara. "Why does he have to be here?" he asked, with a tone of disdain. "If he cares so much, why doesn't he help us?"

* * *

"It will be almost a year now," Anjetta said, sitting down at the table and handing Greagor a hot cup of ketchem. He took a sip of the tart herbs and nodded.

"Yes, for the both of us," he said.

There was an uneasy silence. Anjetta stared down at the table, not sure what to say next.

At last Greagor spoke, "I appreciate all he did for us. If it wasn't for Mardin she wouldn't have lived as long as she did."

Anjetta looked up at him. "That stranger took away what was dear to both of us. I'm sorry that I couldn't help Sarahn. If only I had Mardin's skills, I might have been able to keep back the effects of her illness."

"You were a good friend to her. That was what mattered most; there was nothing else you could have done." The Mayor held out his hand.

She took it.

Tears glazed her cheeks. It was true, only Mardin was able to help Greagor's wife. If only he could have healed her completely, but even his powers had limits. The man who came and took her husband's life away was the one to blame. If only Mardin hadn't accepted the challenge. If only he would have kept to his promise and left that life behind him. But that didn't matter now; she had lost both him and her friend. She had to be strong. She had to be a firm foundation for Traphis, but right now she would allow herself to be weak, and she would allow Greagor to see her this way.

Traphis walked in and stopped by the doorway. Anjetta retracted her hand and rubbed away the tears.

Traphis scowled at the mayor.

"I was just getting ready to make us some lunch," Anjetta said, standing up and walking to the stove. "The mayor kindly stopped by to visit with us. Say hello to the mayor, Traphis."

"Hello," Traphis said. The word sounded forced.

"The mayor was nice enough to bring us some meat and vegetables. Would you like to stay with us for lunch?" she said first addressing Traphis and then Greagor.

Greagor looked up from the table and into her eyes. "Thank you for the offer, but I'd better be going. A mayor's work is never done." A smile creased his lips, but it was tense like the atmosphere of the room.

"Thank the mayor for visiting."

"Thank you," Traphis said, moving from the door as if to indicate he was welcome to go.

Her son's rudeness disappointed her, but a feeling of guilt kept her from saying anything.

Greagor stood up, "I would like to visit you again, soon."

"I would like that," she said, and then turned to face the fire.

Greagor walked to the door. Did he look back at her? She didn't want to know; if he did, she might start crying again.

Traphis' steps thumped across the floor and he sat heavily on a chair. The door shut and the mayor was gone. Anjetta turned around and looked at her son. "How did you get so dirty today?" she asked, as if Greagor's visit had never taken place.

Traphis' expression suddenly changed. "I fell into the creek," he said, turning his eyes down toward the ground.

Was there an uneasiness she heard in his tone? "You need to be more careful," she said. You could have gotten hurt on a rock or something worse."

The meat snapped in the pan and the smell of it pleased her senses. As good as the cooking meat smelled, Greagor's visit was worth more than the food he provided. Through the passing days, she found solace and understanding in his presence, and it was one of the few things that kept her going.

"Do you think we will be able to finish today?" Traphis asked.

"I hope so," Anjetta said while turning the meat over. "But only with harvesting. As you know, we will have to load the potaras tomorrow."

She turned to look at Traphis, who appeared to be peeling something off his face. He quickly flicked it to the ground, looking guilty, but about what, she didn't know.

"We'll never finish in time," Traphis said.

"We just have to trust that we will."

She distributed the meat and vegetables before sitting down. "Let us ask for help, shall we?"

Traphis rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Anjetta lowered her head. "Thank you for protecting us and providing us with shelter and food to eat. Please fill the emptiness left by the loss of our dear one and help us to finish in time for the festival." A tear ran down her cheek, but she wiped it away before Traphis could see.

* * *

Traphis' tongue danced around the salty meat; it was delicious. It had been a long time since he ate such good food. He felt a little guilty for not being more thankful to Greagor, but when he remembered how the man had held his mother's hands, the guilt soon faded.

Traphis tried to think about the food instead. He chewed slowly, enjoying every bite as the meat's juices flowed into his mouth. It was hard to wait for the festival, with all the samples of food, but this made it easier. Besides, the festival was only a day away. He imagined the smells and the tastes. Hopefully, the potaras would be traded for good food, rather than more of the same. That way, the two of them would eat well until the next harvest, at which time he would have to do it all over again.

He sighed.

Someday he would be the main attraction just like his father once was. He would be the head wizard and entertain everyone with his skills. Children would watch with gaping mouths, the kids his own age would cower before him, and all the adults would tell him how masterful he was. Yes, no more long hot days in the field; he would be a wizard. That was the life for him.

Traphis closed his eyes in pleasure as he swallowed the delicious morsel. Thoughts of grandeur became minuscule compared to the enjoyment of his meal. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last ate meat. Though, in truth, he knew it was his own fault for not going hunting. After all, he knew how to hunt—that was something his father made sure of—but with all the extra time in the field, he didn't want to spend the remainder in the forest stalking some poor creature. As much as he was sick of just eating potaras and tara bird eggs, he knew that learning magic took priority if he was ever going to become a wizard.

A rattling broke his concentration. He strained the limits of his ears in an attempt to identify the source. Clearly the noise was outside, but the quiet air allowed for the slightest of sounds to be heard. At first he thought that the lorax were in their corral and engaging in another head-to-head brawl, but then he figured it was probably Neha stirring in the barn, wanting to go out for a ride. He wished he could take her, but he knew he had to go back to work after his meal.

The noise grew louder and a squeaking rose above the rattling, which sounded more like metal rubbing against metal. Recognition dawned on Traphis. It wasn't Neha at all, but a carriage, and it was coming up their road.

The pattering of hooves and jostling of reins echoed over spinning wheels. It grew louder and louder until finally coming to a halt. A door slammed and then footsteps came toward their front door. After a brief pause, there came a knock.

# Chapter 3

THE VISITOR'S IDENTITY was clearly unknown to both Traphis and his mother. They weren't expecting any guests, and rarely received visits—other than Greagor, of course. But Greagor had already come and gone. Company stopped over from time-to-time, but for the most part the two of them kept to themselves. With a hint of confusion, they exchanged puzzled glances.

Another knock rapped on the door and a voice spoke, "I know you're in there. You aren't going to make an old man stand out in the sun, are you?"

"Grandfather," Traphis said. He jumped to his feet and ran to the door. It swung open and a large, burly man scooped him up into his arms.

"Well, well," he chuckled, still holding on to Traphis. "This is more like it." He smiled through his gray beard, which prickled against Traphis' cheek. "And how's my beautiful daughter doing? No hugs for her old man?"

"Of course, Father," Anjetta said, shaking out of her surprise. She gave him a big hug.

He lifted her off the ground and squeezed her tight, turning her face red.

Traphis released a stifled laugh as he saw his mother suspended in the air by the bear of a man.

"It's been a long time since you hugged me like that," she said, gasping for breath.

After putting her down, Braun said, "You're still as tough as ever. I remember when you used to push all the boys around." He winked at Traphis, who smiled even bigger. "Sometimes I wondered if I didn't have a son, but she was too cute to fool anyone. I see you're still as beautiful as ever."

Anjetta blushed.

"Aah, I almost forgot. Here you go, my boy." Braun rummaged in his leather satchel, pulled something out, and handed it to Traphis.

Traphis held the black handle in disbelief, looked up at his grandfather, and then asked, "Is this for me?"

"It sure is," Braun said. "I'm sorry for missing your fifteenth birthday, but I made this dagger especially for you. It's forged from pure tolframium—took many days for the fire to soften it well enough to form. And the handle is made from a sturdy lorax horn, but not just any lorax horn; one from a beast that your father and I slew together. It was wild, not like the domesticated ones you use for labor, no, this one put up a tremendous fight. We struck him hard, piercing his side, yet even with the large wound he still ran from us." He motioned with his arms as he spoke. "It took us a day's walk just to find him, but finally the great beast fell. And this," he held out his hand, revealing a black leather sheath, "was made from the creature's thick hide. I treated it with sap from a gumunkin tree. No water or sun will be able to harm it." He looked deep into Traphis' eyes and said, "You are old enough to possess such a fine tool; take it and always remember to think before you remove the blade. Never pull it out in anger or with foolishness in your heart." He held the sheath out to Traphis, who looked at his mother for approval.

She nodded.

Traphis took the sheath from his grandfather, held it up to his nose, and sniffed the leather binding. It filled his lungs with a strong, but pleasant odor, which reminded him of Neha's saddle. Flame-like lines were pressed into the leather and wrapped around in an elegant design, but amazing as the sheath was, Traphis couldn't keep his eyes away from the dagger any longer.

The beautiful, double-sided blade was dark like the hilt, yet shiny as silver. He stared at it, fixated; watching his own eyes reflecting back at him from the surface. Beneath his fingers, imprinted text flowed along the blade from hilt to tip. A u-shaped cross-guard sat below the curly, finger-length handle. It ended with a sharp, pointy pommel, evidently designed to strike against an adversary's skull.

"What do the words say?" Traphis asked, examining the text on the blade.

Braun rubbed his chin and said, "In the ancient language of Ronum, it says, 'Always be true.' Do you know who said that?"

Traphis shook his head.

"Those were the words of your father."

Anjetta bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. A moment passed before she spoke. "Always be true, no matter what the cost, no matter what wrong was done, always be true." The words came from her as if they left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

"Yes," Braun said. "That is what your father said. Keep these words written on your heart, just as he did."

Traphis placed the dagger back in its sheath, making sure not to cut himself. "Thank you," he said. "I will be very careful." He realized his voice sounded overly noble.

"I'm sure you will," Braun said. "It is very sharp and can cut into almost anything, including the fingers of a fifteen year old boy." He smiled. "Oh, and there is one other gift I wish to give you, but you must first do something for me."

"What is it?" Traphis asked.

"My horses need tending. They had a long trip and will need water. When you are finished with them, you can pick out an axe from the back of my wagon. I saw that old rusty one sitting beside the barn."

An axe for chopping wood wasn't quite the gift Traphis hoped for, but right now he was too excited about the dagger to care. He held it tightly in his hand and thought of his father's words. Though he had no idea what they meant.

"Don't forget to thank your grandfather," Anjetta said.

Traphis looked up and thanked him, then made his way out the door without taking his eyes away from his new gift.

* * *

"Thank you for giving him such a nice gift," Anjetta said.

"He's a good boy," Braun said. He sat down at the table beside Anjetta. "I know you probably don't want to hear it, but he looks a lot like his father."

"I know," she replied.

"How is he taking Mardin's passing?"

"I don't really know." She lowered her head. "We don't really talk about it. I don't know how to talk to him. I know it hurts him, I see it in his eyes, but he keeps to himself."

"I see," Braun said. "Does he have any friends to talk to?"

"No, not that I know of. I don't think he really relates to other boys his own age. It's something that has always worried me. I've watched how he acts, he tries to be polite to them, but he's just so different. The only one he really talks to is Neha. Sometimes I hear him sharing things with her, telling her stuff that he keeps from me. Maybe he feels a bond because she was Mardin's horse—you know how much she was babied and treated like part of the family." She looked up at her father and lifted the corners of her mouth; though the smile was just for show. "He tries to act strong," she continued. "It's as if he's taking Mardin's place. I don't know what I'd do without him, but . . ."

"But?" Braun asked.

"But he hardly ever smiles anymore. When he laughed just now, I felt my heart jump for joy. But it was only because you came. He's so serious about everything. I miss his laugh; I miss both their laughs . . ." Fluid pooled in her eyes. "It's not like me to cry so much. I've never . . ."

Braun offered her his hand, which she took.

"I finally threw them out," she said, regaining her voice. "Mardin's books. I threw them into the creek. Their secrets will be washed away forever, and no more harm will come from them."

"I understand why you and Mardin kept Traphis from learning magic," Braun said at length. "But he has a restless spirit, and will probably find a way. You can't protect him from who he is, just as you couldn't protect Mardin. Anjetta, my dear daughter, he will follow his own path one day."

She tightened her grip, but then released it with a deep sigh.

"It will all work out," Braun continued, rubbing her hand. "Why don't you come and live with me and your mother? We'd love to have the two of you stay with us."

She pushed him away as if he had just slapped her in the face. "But I can't. What about the harvest? What about Traphis? What about—"

"Just let it go. We can take care of you. There's nothing to worry about."

"Traphis would never," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "This is his father's land, and he could never leave it . . . I could never leave it."

"Try and think about this. You need a fresh start. Places have a way of reminding us of things that are painful. Let me talk to Traphis, I'll see if I can convince him to come and stay with us. What harm can it do? Besides, there is just too much work for the two of you to do alone. You'll run out of strength."

"I don't know . . . Rema is so far away." A feeling of guilt sank in her as her thoughts wandered toward Greagor.

"It's only a few days ride. We can always come back and check on the place. Just think about it, you'll see it's the best thing for the both of you. And for us too; your mother's health isn't as good as it used to be and it will do her good to have her daughter around."

Anjetta didn't reply. Could she leave her home? The house that Mardin built with his very own hands? Could she just leave everything they worked so hard for? But he was right, every night she felt the emptiness in her bed—the place where her beloved husband once laid beside her. The walls constantly reminded her of what she was missing. They screamed of sorrow and absence, but what about her son?

As if sensing her thoughts, Braun spoke up. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him. He can help me in my shop. I can use a good assistant. I'm sure he will understand."

"But we have to finish the harvest. We can't just leave it now, we've worked so hard."

"Of course," Braun said. "I came early to help you. Something told me you would need an extra hand. We should have enough done for the festival."

She nodded. A sense of ease came over her, yet as soon as it did, a new tension formed in her chest.

* * *

Traphis strapped the sheath to a leather band around his waist. It hung over his left leg, resting comfortably as if it had always been there. He suddenly felt older, more grown, as if the knife was a sign of greater maturity. He had one of the finest works his grandfather ever made, and it would be a constant reminder of his father. Stroking it one last time, he made his way to the carriage.

The horses stomped their legs and swished their tails in an attempt to chase away the bugs. The pests nipped at them, landing between intervals, undisturbed by the horses' defensive tactics.

Traphis held out his hands at their nostrils in greeting. They sniffled in reply, seemingly noting the familiar and welcoming scent. He leaned forward, unfastened their harnesses and grabbed hold of their lead ropes. They followed behind him without question, keeping with his pace. Traphis made slight turns, moving in a circular pattern. As he did, the sweat on their backs started to dry and their breathing calmed. Once they looked properly cooled off, he tied their ropes to a post just outside the barn. Both horses bobbed their heads toward the water trough, gesturing for service.

"I know," Traphis said. "I'm getting to that."

He hastened to the opposite side of the barn and approached the well. The old, rusty crank lowered a bucket into the watery depths. Traphis was glad that his grandfather had come. It had been a long time, and it was nice to have another man around, even if it wasn't his father.

The bucket splashed down in the liquid. The crank groaned as Traphis turned it in the opposite direction. The bucket lifted little-by-little, and it wasn't long before his efforts were rewarded.

He unhooked the bucket and carried it back to the horses, slopping water along the way. They flapped their lips at the pail, forcing him to push his way through in order to empty the water into their trough. They wasted no time and went right to drinking as if it was the first time they had ever tasted water.

Setting the bucket down, Traphis walked over to his grandfather's carriage. He opened the back gate and instantly saw an assortment of knives, swords, hammers, spears, shields, chainmail, armor, and other fascinating weapons and tools. His grandfather's skills never disappointed him. Traphis reached over and picked up a war axe. The elegantly curved, double-sided blade caught his fancy as if it were ready for battle.

"That wasn't quite the one I had in mind."

Traphis flinched at his grandfather's unexpected approach. "I was just looking," he said, setting the axe down.

The old man smiled, reached into the carriage, and pulled out a different axe.

"Now this is a great piece," he said, raising it up to the sun. "It might not be good for killing wolvarks, but it can do damage to that pile of wood over there."

The neglected stack of wood stared back at Traphis from the far side of the barn. Time seemed to be something he was short on lately, and the woodpile was one of those things he always forgot to do.

Braun flipped the axe in the air, caught it with his opposite hand, and held it out to Traphis.

Traphis took it. His arm immediately dropped from the unexpected weight, but he strained his muscles to pull the axe upright again.

"One swing and it will split almost any log in two. After a week, you'll be twice as strong as you are now. Or . . ."

Traphis shot him an inquisitive look. There was something odd about the way his grandfather's tone had changed.

"Traphis, there's something I want to ask you. Are you happy working in the fields?"

Traphis blinked, hesitant to answer.

"You can tell me the truth. Just between the two of us. There's no one else here."

"It's not that I don't like it. It's just . . ."

"Just?"

"Just that . . . it won't always be like this, will it?"

Braun gazed into his eyes with an expression of sympathy. He placed a hand on Traphis' shoulder and said, "You can come and stay with your grandmother and I. Both of you. Then you can leave all this behind and start over."

Traphis inhaled sharply. Something inside him, something too powerful to hold back forced itself upward. The muscles in his face tightened. A power, greater than logic and reasoning was taking over. It was as if something he kept hidden inside could no longer be contained.

As if sensing his panic, Braun spoke up. "Everything will be all right. I can teach you how to work with metals. Wouldn't you like to learn how to make a knife like the one I gave you today? I think this is what your father would want. What do you say, Traphis?"

His whole body shook. Thoughts and feelings flooded inside of him. What was happening? Why couldn't he control this sensation? He wanted to speak. He wanted to sound strong and brave, but all he could do was spit out a few words, "I think I need to . . ." Traphis stopped mid-sentence. Tingles of numbness ran through his body. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to say; he had to escape. Only one word came to his mind: run.

As if another being was controlling the muscles in his legs, he turned and ran to the stable. Without bothering with a saddle, he jumped onto Neha's back and kicked at her sides. The barn doors flew open and he shot past his grandfather in a flash. He didn't look back, he couldn't look back; all he could do now was flee.

# Chapter 4

THE WIND RUSHED through Traphis' dark, brown hair. Neha bolted along the dirt road. Trees blurred at the corners of his vision and the ground streaked under him like a coursing stream. Neha must have recognized the smell of panic in him because she charged forward without a moment's hesitation.

What was he so afraid of? He wanted to be confident, in charge, and in control. He wanted to be strong like his father had been, but all he could do was run.

A sense of shame filled his mind. His grandfather must have thought he was crazy for running off like he did without saying a word. But if he stood there in front of his grandfather any longer, he didn't know what would have happened, or what he would have said.

It was true that Traphis wanted to leave the farm life, but he never expected it to feel like this. He couldn't put his feelings into words, nor could he find a reason behind his emotions. It was only land, only wood, only lifeless objects.

Traphis felt dampness on his legs. When he looked down, he saw sweat pouring over Neha's back.

"Whoa," he shouted.

Her pace began to slow and her sides heaved with exhaustion. Traphis' stomach dropped. He had pushed her too far. How could he have done this to her? Neha was his closest friend, perhaps his only real friend, and here he was running her into the ground. The very thought amplified the sickness in his gut.

When Neha finally came to a halt, Traphis dismounted and hurried to face her. "I'm so sorry, girl," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He pressed his head against hers. "Why didn't I tell him goodbye?" The words surprised him. They came out as if a stranger had spoken them, but no one else was there. The words were from somewhere within. From a place that normally kept silent. It was just as well it happened here and now; no one would see his weakness, and no one would laugh at him. Neha was there, she was always there, and she understood.

Without moving, Neha stood steady as Traphis held tightly around her neck.

* * *

The familiar smell of greenery filled the forest air. Unlike in town, there weren't many landmarks to go by on the path. Even if there were, Traphis rarely found himself this far from the farm. If his mother found out where he was, she would be angry. It was true that she let him ride Neha all the time, but only with the understanding that he would stay close to home. The last thing he wanted now was to give her another reason to be mad at him. The prospect of going back and facing her made his stomach twist, yet, sooner or later, he had to. He had to find a way to make everything right.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, or how far they traveled, but if it wasn't for Neha, he'd be lost. Walking beside her, he allowed her to lead the way, deciding to remain on foot until she had ample time to recover from the harsh ride.

Not long after, they ascended the familiar path that led up to the farm. When he arrived at the top, he looked around for his grandfather, but only the man's horses were within sight.

He brushed past the horses—who were now resting with their eyes closed—and led Neha into the barn. The stall seemed to be a relief to Neha, who trotted over and took a long drink from her water trough. Watching her made him feel thirsty too, so he hugged her one last time, and then headed to the outside well. Once there, he grabbed a bucket and dumped the refreshing liquid over his head. It flowed through his hair and down his cheeks, bringing a rejuvenating wave of energy. He felt lighter for some reason, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Yet, what that weight was, he couldn't tell.

It was another moment or two before Braun and Anjetta appeared around the edge of the barn. They looked dirty, apparently from working in the field.

Their arrival startled him at first, but he took comfort in knowing that there would be an end to the matter. It wasn't until he noticed the immense look of horror creasing their faces that he began to worry.

"Traphis?" His mother sounded confused. "What happened to you? How did your face get so red?"

His heart jumped. Traphis looked down at the bucket. The water must have washed all the mud off him, which had been covering his burns. His magical burns. How could he have been so forgetful? His latest outburst made him completely forget the earlier incident with the flame in the book. What could he tell her? She would be even more furious if she knew he had rescued the magic books and then tried to use them.

Braun narrowed his eyes, giving Traphis a knowing glare. "It must surprise your mother to see you so clean for once. All these extra hours in the sun must have really affected you."

Anjetta's features softened. "I'm sorry Traphis. I know I've worked you hard this year. I've really had to depend on you."

"It's all right," Traphis said. His shoulders dropped with relief.

"Glad you could make it back," Braun said. "We've got a lot of work to do before the day is over. What do you say we get back to it?"

Traphis nodded. His mother looked as if she wanted to say something else, but then turned and headed toward the field. Traphis followed behind her and was thankful that nothing more was said about his childish departure, and even more thankful for not having to come up with a lie about the magical burns.

* * *

The tara bird's call resounded in the cool morning air. Traphis rolled on his bed and groaned.

The bird persisted as if knowing its victim had not yet awakened. "Karoo, karoo, karoooooooooouk!"

Traphis opened his eyes and blinked at the light from his bedroom window. A pulse of pain shot down his aching limbs. The three of them must have worked until sundown.

"Karoo, karoo . . . KAAAAALAKKKK!"

Traphis never heard the bird produce a noise like that before. It sounded as if it was in pain.

Then a voice came from the next room. "Be quiet you obnoxious fowl!"

A window closed, and shortly after, footsteps pounded across the floor. A moment later, his door opened and an elderly and disheveled looking man walked in.

"That will teach him," Braun said as he sat on the edge of Traphis' bed—the whole thing leaned to one side. "Next time I'll bring in something heavier to throw. Perhaps that war axe will do."

Traphis felt a drowsy smile form at the corners of his mouth, but was too tired to think of a good response.

"There are no tara birds in the city," Braun continued. "You won't have to listen to that noise every morning. Have you given any thought to what I said yesterday?"

Traphis' smile wilted. The truth was that he had given it a great deal of thought, but no matter how much he wanted to leave; there was something he had yet to understand. "You don't think it would be betraying him do you?"

"My boy, whatever would make you think that?"

"It's just that he worked so hard to keep this place going. And if we abandon it—"

"You fear you will be abandoning his memory," Braun said, finishing the sentence for him. "I understand what you are going through. We all miss him. I let him marry my daughter, didn't I?" Braun put a hand on Traphis' arm. "Why do you think he worked so hard? What was he doing it for? It was you, Traphis—you and your mother. Mardin loved you both and wanted to make sure you had a good place to live. Your father's memory will always be with you; you don't have to worry about that. This is just a place, it's not as important as your well being. Mardin would have wanted you to do what was best for you and your mother."

Traphis turned toward him. "Will we be able to come back?"

"Of course, you can come back anytime. It's only a few days ride, and we should check on the place now and again. The lorax will have to be sold once we get to Rema; we won't need cattle in the city. And I'm sure we can find a buyer for the tara birds in town—I bet you'll be happy to get rid of them," he gave him a wink. "And you can bring Neha with you. I know better than to try and separate you two. Now what do you say we get ourselves some breakfast? We'll need our energy to load all those potaras today."

Traphis nodded his head in agreement. He knew his grandfather was right. It really was time to go, even if it did mean leaving his cave behind. He would be sure to find another place to continue his magical studies, and who knew; maybe he would find someone there to help him.

Braun assisted Traphis out of bed and they made their way down the stairs. The familiar smell of cooking eggs met them at the bottom.

"It's about time you two got out of bed," Anjetta said.

"That's my daughter. She spends hours working outside and still has plenty of energy."

"Sleep will do that for some people," she said, giving them an accusing smile.

After breakfast they spent the rest of the day carrying buckets of water, washing potaras, and loading them into the carts. Though tired and sore, smiles and cheerful banter were exchanged. Braun's presence lightened Traphis' spirit and made him feel like a unit of three once again. By the end of the day they finally completed the job. All that was left was to acquire a good night's sleep, for tomorrow they would leave for the festival.

* * *

A cool breeze glided through the forest trees. Creatures arose to a new day and scampered about in search of food. A skimpit darted from rock-to-rock, snatching up bugs with its long, red tongue, and the sound of a droning lorax filled the air.

"Sweeeme!" Braun shouted at the beast. The big, black hulk moved backward at his command. "Traphis, get that rope tied securely to the cart."

Traphis pulled as hard as he could, fighting against the stubborn creature.

"It needs to come back a little farther," Traphis said. "It won't reach."

"Sweeeeeeme!" Braun nudged the lorax with the tip of a rod. The creature thrummed a deep throaty noise and then moved another few steps.

It was enough; Traphis knotted the rope as fast as he could and then looped it around the metal bracket. "That should hold."

"Good job, my boy, now just one more to go."

"Do we really need to bring two carts?" Traphis asked.

"We can't let all our hard work go to waste now, can we?"

Traphis had to agree. The last two days of increased labor were enough to motivate anyone. He rubbed his red palms together in preparation.

The two of them made their way to the lorax corral. As the gate opened, the creature's eyes rolled to the side of its head and glared at them.

"I'll leave this one to you, Traphis." Braun handed him a rope.

A strong wind blew loose dirt and sand across the corral. Traphis reluctantly took the rope and approached the beast with caution. He felt like an expert, having done this all year on his own when plowing the field, but that didn't make the process any more desirable. The lorax stood still, gazing at Traphis as he drew nearer. The rope soared through the air and landed around the beast's neck. Traphis quickly wound the end around his wrist and pulled to tighten his hold.

"Sweeeme!" The beast obeyed Traphis' command and followed behind him as he tugged on the rope.

When Traphis neared the gate, Braun said, "Nicely done."

Traphis' proud smile vanished when a sharp cry pierced his ears. "KERROooooOWL!"

Before Traphis knew what was happening, the lorax leapt forward. Not knowing what else to do, he held tight onto the rope, but soon found himself flat on his face. Another cry forced the beast forward in a run, dragging Traphis behind. Dirt rubbed against his skin and ate into his already reddened flesh. A sweet metallic taste filled his mouth as muffled yells echoed in the distance.

He tried to look up, but dust—kicked up by the lorax—forced him to lower his head in order to shelter his eyes. The ground vibrated from the weight of the pounding hooves and a heavy thumping throbbed in his ears.

His burning fingers fumbled down his leg until they wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. When he pulled it free, he forced it forward and cut the tangled rope from his wrist.

The binding released and the hammering hooves faded into the distance. Traphis lay still, sharp pain throbbed throughout his body, and a ringing echoed in his head. He rolled onto his back and took a deep breath of air. A peculiar sensation washed over him and he suddenly felt warmth. Not against his flesh, but against the inner walls of his consciousness. A bright glow of light flooded the corners of his hazy eyes, and then there was a sound like gentle waters flowing over stones in a brook. The harder he focused on the noise, the more it sounded like a voice.

Haunting, yet elegant words floated in the air. "Traphis, Son of Truth. Stand up."

Bewilderment befell him. Was he unconscious? Was he dreaming?

"Prepare yourself," the feminine voice continued. "There is one who seeks. One who wishes to destroy. Be on your guard. Traphis, you must stand. Stand to your feet."

A blurry round shape appeared before his eyes. The glowing light faded and the warmth turned into an icy chill. Fear struck his heart as he blinked harder to see the form before him. A low growl rumbled and the shape increased in size. Traphis held his breath, trying to keep still, but his trembling legs wouldn't stop shaking.

He tightened his muscles and tried to move, but he felt a force holding him down. Was it invisible? His eyesight was so cloudy he couldn't tell, but this felt like something unnatural, something extraordinary, something mystical. He strained and flexed his arms, but they wouldn't lift. He told his legs to kick, but they didn't respond. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move.

A dark shape streaked over him and the growling stopped. The blurry figure disappeared, and a moment later, two more shapes became visible.

"Traphis, are you all right?" Braun spoke in his ear.

He felt a soft hand grab his. Was it his mother's?

Traphis' vision was clearing, as if some supernatural force had blinded him. He leaned forward without resistance and turned his neck to look around. Pain shot through his spine. His limbs throbbed and his head pounded.

Lifting a hand, he instinctively swept at the dirt covering his hair. Blood trickled down his chin from scrapes on his face, and when he touched his burning skin, he pulled back from the pain. He imagined how he must have looked to his mother and grandfather, but rather than feel embarrassed, a smile of triumph creased his face.

Anjetta release her grip on his hand as he staggered to his feet.

"I think I just need to clean up and I'll be fine."

Traphis noticed a knife lying on the ground a few feet away, but it wasn't his. He looked down and saw that he was still clenching the dagger.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Braun said. He bent over and picked up the knife. "Who ever heard of a learcat appearing in broad daylight? Never before in all my years."

Traphis gasped. "A learcat?" His mind raced back to the other night. Had there really been one following him in the woods? Waiting for him, stalking him all this time?

"Yes, and it nearly got a piece of you," Anjetta said. "If it wasn't for your grandfather throwing his knife when he did . . ." She trailed off, perhaps forcing herself not to show any weakness.

"What bothers me more," Braun said, "is that the creature wasn't after the lorax. I figured once you were free of the rope, Traphis, the learcat would forget about you and go after the beast. But it didn't. Odd behavior indeed."

_Why would it turn down a luscious piece of meat and go after a skinny boy?_ Traphis thought. Not only was it rare to have a learcat out in the daytime, but it seemed to be after him.

Traphis took a step forward. His knee buckled and he went down.

Braun helped him back up. "Are you sure you will be all right?" he asked.

"I think I just need to rest." _After all, it isn't every day a learcat tries to maul you_. He kept this latter comment to himself.

After a short, but painful march, they reached the well. Braun fetched a bucket of water and washed Traphis' wounds. Anjetta leaned against the side of the barn, watching, seemingly holding back her motherly instincts. She bit her lower lip as Traphis flinched in pain. He watched her, sensing that she wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him like she used to, but he was becoming a man now, and she knew it.

"There now," Braun said. "The blood made it look worse than it was. You just have a few scrapes. How do you feel?"

Traphis stood and took a few steps. "I'm better. We should get going or we'll be late."

"Are you sure you are up to it?" Anjetta asked.

"He looks good to me," Braun said, giving Traphis a wink.

There was a pause, as though Anjetta was going to argue the point.

A movement came out of the corner of Traphis' eye. He jumped and snapped his head around to see what it was. The escaped lorax strolled through the corral and wandered to the far end. It lowered its head and started eating a patch of grass as if nothing had happened.

"I knew the lorax would return before long," Braun said. "Domesticated beasts like them don't have anywhere else to go. Now let's try that again. Don't worry, Traphis, I'll fetch him this time."

Traphis was more than willing to let Braun retrieve the lorax. He had enough pain for one day. The prospect of moving to a new home seemed more desirable than ever.

Braun brought the lorax to the cart. Anjetta tied the rope that attached them together. Once everything was ready, Anjetta climbed onto the cart, grabbed the reins, and looked back at Traphis.

He stood up, staggered to the second cart, and climbed on.

Braun hopped into his carriage and looked back. Once everyone was ready, he flapped the reins to signal his horses. They jolted forward and headed down the path on their way to the festival.

# Chapter 5

A CLOUD OF DUST floated in the air—accompanied by the sound of jostling carts, squeaking wheels, and pounding hooves. Potaras vibrated at the top of their piles as the lorax pulled the carts down the bumpy road. Sunlight shimmered through the branches of nearby trees and flickered against the back of Traphis' hands, which held tightly onto the reins.

He watched the edges of the forest with suspicion. The way things were going, he expected a learcat to jump out and attack him at any moment. It would only take one big leap and a shove to throw him to the ground and crush him under the wheels. Even if he survived the fall, the long claws and sharp teeth would finish the job.

Keeping one eye on the forest, Traphis released a hand from the reins and felt for his knife. It was still there, attached securely to his leg, just as it had been the last time he checked. The effectiveness of the blade would be questionable, but at least it made him feel better knowing that he had some type of defense.

Anjetta glanced back from the cart ahead. This wasn't the first time she had checked on him. In fact, he counted at least ten times since they left the farm. He was already nervous, and her insecurities didn't make him feel any better.

Pretending not to notice, he shook dust from his hair. At the same time the cart slammed into a pit, forcing him off his seat. He landed slightly off kilter, but quickly returned to his former position.

The lorax kept walking without pause. There was something to be said for their brute strength. Traphis wondered how his grandfather could travel so fast with the road in the condition it was. The sound of metal swords and axes clinking together from the back of Braun's carriage was long gone. If it weren't for the markings left by his wheels, Traphis might have guessed that his grandfather had abandoned them. The man was probably miles ahead now, maybe even in town. The slow pace of the lorax was no match for Braun's horses, bad road conditions or not.

As they drove along, Traphis noticed that the road was widening. Soon they passed by openings to other roads, and out of them came a steady flow of people, carts, carriages, and riders—apparently all headed to town for the festival.

"Look, it's the moarock!"

Traphis felt his stomach drop. He turned his head only to see a smug grin meeting his gaze.

"Did you forget your wizard staff, moarock?" The boy rode atop a carriage that pulled alongside Traphis. "Aren't you going to do a show for us?"

Traphis glared back. Sure, like he would bring his staff with him. Only wizards were allowed to carry staffs in public, and he wouldn't risk losing the only magical object that his mother let him have. Before he could respond, the carriage passed by. Mocking laughter trailed behind it.

With fists clenched, Traphis spit out the bad taste in his mouth. He had known it would only be a matter of time before one of them showed up, but why Gaybec? He was the worst of all. So what if the boy was two years older, that didn't give him the right to always put him down. As if Traphis was really a hairy, nine-foot giant that couldn't speak. Moarock, indeed.

Traphis' thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a group of children ran in front of the cart. Out of instinct, he jerked back on the reins, which forced the cart to a full stop. The children continued running as if nothing happened. Traphis turned his head to shout at them, but when he took in his surroundings, he could no longer speak.

Merchant shops—set up on the side of the road—multiplied before his eyes. They ranged from simple wooden boxes to elegantly crafted stands. Masses of people flooded past, going in and out, exchanging goods, eating samples of food and testing products. Voices rang in the air, jumbling together as if creating a language of their own.

Finally, he had made it to the festival.

A sharp crack sounded above the voices and his body involuntarily jerked. Moments later, he found himself standing on his seat and scanning his surroundings.

And there it was, a wizard shop. It was no wonder the children were in such a hurry. A childlike sensation fluttered inside his chest. He wanted to jump off the cart and join them. To tell them that he would be a wizard someday, but they would probably just laugh.

An elderly man—tall with a long gray beard and wearing a purple robe with a pointed hat—stood behind the elegantly carved booth. Sparks cracked out of the tip of his staff, spread apart in the air, and glittered gently down into the crowd.

"Hurry up, Traphis."

The familiar voice broke into his world. His dream. He turned to see his mother's stern expression.

"I've already parked my cart," she said. "What's taking you so long?"

"Sorry," Traphis said, sitting back down.

Anjetta mounted the cart and took a seat beside him.

Traphis slapped the reins and yelled for the lorax to move forward. He wanted to look back to see more magic, but could feel his mother's sharp eyes burning into his skull.

"Thankfully your grandfather saved a place for us," Anjetta said. "Otherwise we'd be at the far end of town."

Traphis stared at the reins. "We would have been here sooner if it wasn't for me."

Anjetta's tone lightened. "How can you say that? It's not your fault a learcat chased you. We'll be all right. Your grandfather's booth always draws a crowd, and we'll be right next to him."

There was an uncomfortable pause before she spoke again. "And it really doesn't matter anymore," she said, as if spitting out the words.

"What doesn't matter?"

"We won't need anything where we are going."

Traphis looked at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. He had a feeling this conversation took on a new meaning. Up until then his grandfather had been the mediator, providing a comfortable distance between him and his mother. As he thought about it, Traphis realized he didn't know how she felt about leaving their home. He guessed that she wasn't sure how he felt either.

"We'll still need to help," he said, trying to sound more grown up than he felt. "We can't expect them to just take care of us."

Her face brightened.

"There you are," Braun shouted. "I was beginning to wonder what happened to you."

They pulled up beside Braun's booth and dismounted. Traphis stretched as Anjetta opened the back of the cart. The gate flopped down like a tabletop, spilling several potaras onto the ground.

"I wish it was that easy for me," Braun said. "I don't have an instant booth like you two. I just now finished setting up."

Braun's booth was unique in that nothing was made of wood. The frame, table, and top were all produced using metals. Several hooks brandished his best items, and Traphis recognized the war axe from earlier. Its double-sided blade and elegantly crafted handle shone in the sunlight.

"What do you say we draw some attention, my dear?" Braun handed Anjetta one of his short swords. She smiled at him and grasped the hilt.

Braun then grabbed one of the battle-axes, walked over to Anjetta, and swung at her.

* * *

It happened so fast that Traphis didn't know how to respond. He shut his eyes as the axe came down on his mother. What was his grandfather doing? A loud clang jerked his eyes back open.

Traphis' mouth dropped open. Anjetta was standing firm, holding the sword above her head, and pushing against Braun's axe. She then twisted to her side and forced the top of the axe into the ground.

Traphis couldn't believe his eyes. _How did she do that?_

Braun smiled, raised his weapon, and lunged toward Anjetta. Her footwork was instantaneous—moving like water to deflect the blow with one swipe of the sword. Sparks showered as the two metals brushed against one another.

A moment later, both combatants regained their stances. This time Anjetta advanced on Braun. Her sword came down on his axe like a hammer. It caught between the two axe blades, and with a slight twist, Braun spun her around. Her sword pulled loose, but she held tight, maintaining her balance until swinging back around to face him. Her eyes flashed with something Traphis had never seen before. There was a deep, alert, readiness to them. He had never sensed this kind of aggression from his mother. Nor had he known she could use a sword, let alone use one so effectively—this didn't seem like the same cautious person who kept him from learning magic.

By now, a crowd had gathered around them, watching the two opponents with excitement painted on their faces. Sparks flew and the crowd verbalized their awe. Anjetta stood her ground, but her chest rose and fell with each breath. Braun was wearing her down, yet he didn't show a drop of sweat. A permanent smile was etched on Braun's face, which seemed to agitate Anjetta further.

She took a few steps back, pointed her sword straight ahead, and then lunged forward. Her movements were so fast that Traphis only saw a blur out of the corner of his eye. A loud crack resounded in the air and Braun also disappeared into a blur. Clouds of dirt circled the area of battle. Sparks of light were the only evidence that they were still fighting. Traphis couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't see them at all. It was as if the two warriors had vanished into thin air, but yet they were there, dueling with greater speed and skill than he imagined possible. The crowd had a similar reaction—their faces were frozen as though hypnotized by the combatants.

A narrow groove formed on the ground and a pair of sandals appeared at the edge. Once the dust settled, Traphis was able to see Anjetta's entire figure. She stood motionless. On her opposite side was Braun, who also had come to a standstill. The old man looked almost as serious as Anjetta now. They stared at each other, not blinking, not budging. And then Braun appeared to relax the grip on his axe. He set the top of it in the dirt, leaned against the handle, and formed his typical smile.

Anjetta's stance relaxed as well.

"Do you see?" Braun turned toward the crowd. "You have witnessed the strength and durability of my craftsmanship. Come forward and see for yourself. You will not find a blemish on either of these blades, even after being used in direct combat."

The people pushed forward and examined the axe and sword, passing them from person to person and exhibiting their amazement.

When the axe was returned, Braun held it up above his head. "For only 50 eskarons, or 60 ronums, you can own this very axe."

A man in the crowd shouted, "I don't have enough money, but I'll give you my entire crop!"

Several people laughed.

"I'm sorry, I can only accept coins. I don't have enough room for cargo. Perhaps you would be interested in something a little smaller?" He motioned to his booth and began the negotiations.

Traphis watch his grandfather work. He wondered if that would be him one day. Working with metals, creating beautiful swords and knives only to give them up for money. Traphis looked toward the wizard shop and sighed.

"Who would have thought your mother was such a freak?"

Traphis felt his chest pound as he recognized the voice behind him. It was Gaybec. When he turned, he saw that the boy wasn't alone. The usual scoffing of laughter followed at his sides.

"Why don't you disappear like your mother," Gaybec said. "Only, don't come back."

More laughter.

Traphis held back his tongue, he wanted to tell Gaybec to disappear and never come back too, but he knew that would only make matters worse.

"What do you want, Gaybec?" Traphis stared him directly in the face.

The boy's bright-blue eyes darted at Traphis like daggers. His shiny, blond hair amplified them with an even greater contempt. There were two youths at his sides: a girl who Traphis didn't recognize, and a boy who always clung to Gaybec.

"Is that the way to talk to your superior?" The little, freckled boy said.

"You need your dog to talk for you now?" Traphis asked.

The boy's face turned bright red.

Gaybec put out a hand to hold the boy back. "Never mind him," he said, "everyone knows that a moarock can't say anything intelligent. Look at his face; did a lorax step on your head or something?"

Traphis didn't answer. Little did Gaybec know that he wasn't far from the truth.

Gaybec turned and addressed the red haired girl, as if showing her around for the first time. "At least there's one less freak in his family with his father gone. His weakling of a father wasn't even man enough to put up a good fight."

Traphis' fists clenched. A surge of emotion flooded into him and he couldn't hold back. His hand shot forward and for an instant, time seemed to stop. The next thing he saw was his fist against Gaybec's jaw.

Gaybec's head turned slightly from the impact, but otherwise remained still. He glared back at Traphis with a hate so strong that it forced him to take a step back.

"What's wrong, no magic spells?" Gaybec said. "What kind of wizard are you? I'll tell you, you aren't a wizard at all. You're a moarock, and you will always be a moarock." Gaybec spit on the ground, turned, and walked away.

"Just because you're the Mayor's son doesn't mean you can act like you own everyone!" Traphis' shouts didn't seem to have any impact, but they felt good to say all the same.

The pounding in Traphis' chest settled, but his hands still shook. When he turned, he saw his mother busily making exchanges. As his eyes fell upon her, she looked back at him. Her expression held a sadness that made Traphis look away. She must have seen the encounter.

Traphis jumped as the red haired girl stepped in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Traphis furled his brow. "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be stuck to Gaybec's side or something?"

"Is it true that you are a wizard?" she asked.

Traphis examined her, trying to find a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"I mean, that's really amazing if you are," she continued. "If I wasn't a girl, I'd become a wizard myself."

"What's stopping you?" he asked.

"You should know that, silly. The Committee would never let a girl use magic. And such an ignominy too, I'd have made a wonderful magician."

"Ignominy?"

The girl smiled at him. "I'm Titch."

Traphis blushed. For the first time he realized how attractive she was. Her red hair flowed halfway down her slender back, and two, large green eyes gazed up at him from her pale, slender face.

"I'm Traphis," he said as if he had forgotten how to say his name properly.

"Traphis, that's a funny name." She giggled.

"It's actually Traphandreum, but I prefer Traphis."

"Oh, isn't that a kind of stone? Yes, I've read about that. It's a mystical rock found in the lands of Ronum, which is very rare."

Traphis looked at her with what must have been a dumb expression.

She continued, "To be correct, the stone is referred to as thaumaturgic, but mystical is easier for most people . . . oh, look at your hand, it's bleeding." She reached down and grabbed it.

Her soft, tender fingers reddened his face—even more so than the burns, which by now, were beginning to fade. He pulled away and focused his attention on the ground, as if the dirt and gravel had not been there before.

"It's nothing—" he began to say.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father. Gaybec can be really mean sometimes."

"Why are you with him then?"

She giggled again. "He's my cousin; I'm just visiting for the festival. Would you like to meet my family?"

Traphis was taken aback. This girl wasn't like anyone he had ever met before. He couldn't understand why she was being so nice to him, particularly when, moments ago, she was laughing with Gaybec. Before he could say no, she grabbed him by the arm and led him away.

* * *

Traphis followed Titch to a doorway marked _Wizarding Committee Headquarters_. He knew it well; his mother used to take him there to visit his father. The many rooms and corridors always fascinated him. They were elaborately decorated and adorned with historical figures that had been carved into the ceilings and walls. It made him feel as if he were in a place of honor, and he hoped one day to have his own face carved next to the others.

Titch opened the door and Traphis followed behind her. He gazed down at her red hair, which danced against her back with each step she took. Its shiny glow reminded him of flames from an open fire—as if touching it would burn his skin, but even if it did, Traphis wondered if it would be worth the risk.

There were countless rooms in the building; many of which Traphis knew nothing about. He remembered seeing a glimpse of a library once, which made the collection of books in his cave seem like a grain of sand. One thing he did know was that wizards in training came to reference the materials and learn from the masters themselves. All so that they could acquire the official title of Wizard. If only Traphis could come there for more than a visit . . .

They walked into a room where a group of people were sitting at a large table. The members were so engrossed in their conversation that the two of them went unnoticed.

"Indeed," one man said. "This is the largest outcome we've ever had."

Traphis recognized the voice immediately. It was Greagor, the Mayor. He suddenly felt a strong urge to leave, but Titch didn't budge, she waited patiently—for what, Traphis wasn't sure.

"But that is what concerns me," a man said at the opposite end of the table. His white beard rubbed against his chest as he spoke. "If something were to happen—"

"What could happen? People come here to enjoy themselves. Who would want to cause any trouble?" Greagor sounded sure of himself, but from the looks of several people at the table, not everyone agreed.

"Do you so easily forget what happened last year?" The man with the white beard spread his hands against the surface of the table.

Greagor looked down, as if his confidence had suddenly vanished, yet when he spoke again, his voice didn't waver. "Few remember that day better than I. I lost a dear friend, and, soon after, my wife. But that was different; he chose to accept a challenge. You should know better than anyone that wizard law allows dueling so long as both parties give their consent."

"True, but that is what worries me. We all know it was Tyron who made the challenge." At the sound of this name, there was a murmur among the group. "If he comes back, there could be more than a challenge to contend with. There are rumors of wolvarks in the area too; do you know what that means?"

Traphis stiffened at the mention of wolvarks. He had never seen one in person before, but read about them in his storybooks. The frightful and terrifying images were enough to keep him from wanting to ever meet one face to face.

"Come now, we don't know if Tyron was ever here. It could have been anyone. The challenger wore a hood and no one saw his face. After all, Tyron is far away in the lands of Ronum. Eskaron is free of his rule."

"For now, but who else would have been able to kill Mardin?"

The blood flowed out of Traphis' face. Killed Mardin? Are they talking about my father?

The old man continued, "Times have changed since the rule of Golan. Members of the Committee, open your eyes. Tyron will not be content with Ronum; he will come after Eskaron too." There was a pause of silence. The man closed his eyes, folded his hands, and took a deep breath. "Let me tell you a story. It begins fourteen years ago, in the days of Golan's rule. As many of you know, I served under the king. Ronum was a land to be proud of, but the spirit of Tyron struck the people and seeped into their hearts. Good men became cruel, wise men became fools, and gentle men became monsters . . . the Kingdom of Golan was destroyed along with the hearts of its people. I managed to escape the destruction, but at what cost? We cannot ignore the inevitable. What happened to Golan must not also happen to us. Blindness my friends. Blindness is what caused the destruction of one of the greatest kingdoms the world has ever seen. And blindness is exactly what we must prevent from happening in Eskaron."

"You knew my father?" Traphis found his feet involuntarily moving closer to the table.

Heads turned and eyes glared at him.

Traphis' stomach drop to his ankles. It dawned on him that breaking into the conversation might not have been the best thing to do. He felt his face turning red as their eyes bore into his skull. Wizards had a way of looking deep into a person, and right now Traphis wasn't sure he wanted them to see. Their aged wrinkles, wise faces, and piercing glares amplified the foolishness he felt. If only he was back at his mother's side selling potaras . . .

"Traphis?" Greagor's voice projected a tone of confusion.

"It's okay, uncle, he's with me."

Traphis felt Titch's hands wrap around his arm. He turned to see her smiling face. It was as if a breeze of fresh air had swooped into the room.

"I thought it felicitous to introduce him to you," Titch said, "but it seems you already know each other."

Traphis turned away. He couldn't bring himself to look into Greagor's eyes.

"So this is Mardin's boy?" The old man stroked his beard. "Let me answer the young man's question. Yes, I knew your father. I knew him well. Please, come closer."

A man at the opposite side of the table folded his arms and spoke, "I don't see this as an appropriate time for introductions; we still have issues to discuss."

"Ah, but sometimes the issues get in the way of what matters most," the old man said.

The one sitting opposite looked as if he had eaten something sour, but gave no reply.

Traphis approached the old man. Oddly enough, something about him reminded Traphis of the comfort of his cave. It was as if an entity lived in the man that was beyond this world. A calm and pleasant force that could somehow see beyond the surface of his skin and into the depths of his being, but unlike most wizards, it didn't make him feel uneasy, on the contrary, it was welcoming. It was like . . . his father.

The old man stretched out his hands to Traphis. In normal circumstances, Traphis would never reach for a stranger, but he felt something driving him forward, and before he realized it, he was holding onto the old man's hands.

"My name is Falin. Your father and I served together for several years. He taught me things I will remember for the rest of my life."

"You were close to him?"

"Indeed. He and I were like family. I fear he never spoke of me?"

"He didn't say much about the past."

"I see . . . an understandable decision."

Someone at the table cleared their throat. It was definitely exaggerated.

"I fear, my dear boy," Falin said, "that we must continue this conversation when we can have a little more privacy. There are many things I would like to talk to you about, but for now, please accept my sincere condolences for your great loss." Falin took out a brown, weathered looking bag, and untied it. He sprinkled some shiny, glittering sand onto his palm. "Close your eyes."

Traphis hesitated, but then did as bidden. He heard the sound of breath and then something soft landed across his face. Whatever it was became warm and felt as if it were sinking into the pores of his skin. The sensation was not dissimilar to that of direct sunlight beaming against his face.

"Open your eyes," Falin said. "I leave you with a parting gift. Your wounds have been healed."

Traphis lifted his hands and pressed them against his cheeks. There was no pain there anymore. His skin felt smooth and soft like it did before he was burned, and before he was dragged against the earth. It was as if his skin had grown a new layer.

Falin smiled, tied the strap around the bag, and put it back inside his garment.

"Yes, now let's get back to our discussion." The gruff voice came from someone sitting at the table. Traphis guessed it was the same person who had complained before.

"Send your mother my greeting," Greagor said.

Traphis wanted to tell him to go and tell her himself, but then realized he didn't want to give an invitation, so he just nodded.

Titch squinted her eyes, tilted her head, and flashed a smile. "I knew there was a cute face under there somewhere."

Traphis blushed.

"Come with me, there's something else you have to see." She led him out of the room and down the hallway.

* * *

Titch pushed on a large wooden door.

Traphis had never been this far into the building before, and wasn't sure if he should be.

The door let out a soft groan and revealed a winding row of steps that led down into darkness.

Traphis took a step back.

"It's all right, silly," Titch said. "There's nothing living down there." She took something out of her pocket.

Traphis heard a ticking sound and then a small flame lit in her hand. "I came prepared," she said. "Who needs magic?"

The smell of burning oil filled his nostrils.

Their shapes danced along the walls as they made their way down the staircase. Their steps amplified against the extreme quietness, echoing with steady thumps. If anything was down there, then hopefully it would be scared away by the thought of giants coming its way. At least, Traphis hoped so. It was unsettling to think of being attacked by something he couldn't see. But then again, he was starting to get used to the idea of being attacked.

When they reached the bottom, he found himself standing in a room full of wooden boxes, items laid out on tables, and objects hanging on walls.

Titch walked over and lifted her flame to something hanging on the wall. Moments later a stream of light ran along the walls, brightening the large circular room.

"What is this place?" Traphis asked. "How do you know about it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Titch asked. "My uncle showed it to me. That's one of the benefits of having family in an official position."

Traphis bent down and picked up something lying on the ground. It wiggled, jumped out of his hand, and skittered under a nearby box.

"You have to be careful," Titch said. "This is a magical place. You never know what might have a seal on it."

"A seal?"

Titch raised an eyebrow. "You did say you were a wizard, didn't you?"

Traphis blushed. "I'm not really a wizard yet," he said, but then quickly added, "but I will be someday."

Titch giggled again. Her voice reverberated off the circular walls. "It's all right, I figured that out already."

Traphis suddenly felt a strong urge to hide inside one of the boxes.

"To answer your question," Titch continued. "A seal is used by a wizard to create a direct path between him and an object. Like an invisible thread tied to his finger. He locks a command in the seal so that if it activates, his energy flows toward the object, giving it a source of power so that it can operate. They use this technique for many different things. You probably found a monitoring device that warned someone we are here."

"Are we not allowed to be?"

"Not really, but my uncle won't mind. You're my guest."

Traphis visually followed a pattern on the ground, which ultimately led back to the stairs. It was as if they were inside a large, hollowed tree. "How do you know about seals?"

"I read a lot," she said.

"Then do you know if it weakens the wizard to create a seal?"

"Not anymore than running would weaken you. If you use too much energy you will become tired, but after you are rested, you can run again."

A sword hanging on the wall caught Traphis' eye. It was solid black everywhere but for a silver symbol on the blade. He reached out his hand to touch it, but the symbol suddenly glowed bright and the sword pulled itself off the hook, floated into the air, and landed on a different mount a few feet away. The glow of the symbol faded once it had settled.

"That one must have a command to keep away from anyone but its owner," Titch said. "I bet that's very useful in battle."

"I haven't seen anything like it before."

"I understand that seals are a very advanced technique. It is also very dangerous. If a sealing was to go wrong the object might turn on its master. Even with a successful seal, they can cause unforeseen problems to those around them. Why do you think everything is kept down here?"

Traphis had never seen so many fascinating magical objects in one place. He felt as if he could spend days examining them all. The thought of how much he had yet to learn was overwhelming. At least he was getting a good lesson from Titch. For someone who wasn't a wizard, she sure seemed to know a lot about them. And as long as she kept providing answers, he would keep asking questions. "So how long does the seal last?"

"As long as the wizard who commanded it is alive. If he dies, the seal loses its connection and no longer has anyone to power it."

Dust rose into the air as Traphis blew at the cover of a book. "So, a wizard powers the object when it is activated? And no matter how far away the wizard is, he will feel energy drawing out of his body?"

Titch giggled. "You really are a curious boy. Yes, assuming it is enough energy for him to notice. But the greater the distance, the farther the energy must travel. Depending on the strength of the wizard, the speed of his flow-of-energy will vary."

The book cover read, _Advanced Techniques for Agriculture_. Traphis picked it up and scanned the first page. This would have been useful at their farm, but his father did everything the hard way. It would have been much easier raising potaras with magic.

"Each wizard has his own mark," Titch said, "which helps to identify who the object belongs to. When energy is drawn from the wizard, the symbol glows as long as the object is activated. If the wizard was lazy, or inexperienced, he might have accidentally forgotten to command the object to shut off the flow of energy. As you can guess, that would cause many problems. Can you imagine running without ever being able to stop?"

Traphis brightened at the thought of a wizard having his own unique mark. "How does a wizard get—"

"His own mark? I figured you'd ask that. A wizard doesn't choose one; it comes out of him naturally, as if his energy has its own predetermined signature."

"How many—"

"Let me show you what we came down here for." Titch walked over to one of the boxes and opened the lid. Something floated out of it and hovered into the air. It looked like a square, glass container. Light gleamed from within, augmenting the shadows against Titch's face.

Traphis approached with caution. He thought nothing would surprise him down in a place like this, but when he looked inside, an expression of wonder reflected back from the surface.

# Chapter 6

TRAPHIS GAZED INTO the glass cube. The soft glow of light made him feel sleepy, as if he could stretch out on the floor and take a long nap. If it weren't for Titch—who held the cube upright—he might have done just that.

Smoke reeled within the cube. At least, it looked like smoke. The misty substance swirling within reminded Traphis of creek water being stirred by a stick. He wanted to reach out and grab the glass, but held back; something told him he would regret it.

"Go ahead," Titch said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's all right."

Traphis wanted to trust her. She had given him no reason to doubt her so far, but it could be only a matter of time before she sprung a trap. He had learned that people are not to be trusted, particularly those having anything to do with Gaybec. Still, there was something pleasing about Titch—she seemed different from the others.

With a note of caution, Traphis reached out with both hands and grasped the sides of the cube.

He held onto the flat surface, which was so smooth that he was afraid of dropping it—there would be no excuse for breaking something this magnificent.

His fingers tingled from the warmth of the light. As he stared within, he gazed into an endless sky: vast, open, and free. There was something familiar about the aura it gave off—like he had sensed this power from somewhere before. He longed to be pulled inside—to fly among the cloudy smoke like a bird without a cage. He felt as if he could go anywhere he wanted and explore the entire world. To be free to do whatever he desired—even if only for an instant.

Without so much as a hesitation, Traphis lifted the object closer to his face. The light radiated so brightly that he was forced to lower his eyelids. Then, without warning, the cube vibrated in his hands. Soon after, the smoke within spun like a tornado and the sky blurred into the shape of a funnel.

The room around him faded into the distance. All sound ceased. The smells of dust and mold were replaced with that of burning flesh. Smoke rose from between his fingers and pain shot throughout his entire body. He wanted to cry out, but his jaw wouldn't move. He tried to shift his arms, but none of his muscles would respond—he no longer had control.

An image emerged from the smoke like a bird from a cloud, but this was no bird. Traphis watched with horror as the face of a wolvark appeared. The creature's human-shaped torso and wolf-like head rotated amongst the smoke as the beast's yellow eyes searched back and forth, seemingly looking for something or someone. The wolvark moved closer to the edge of the crystal glass and sniffed at the air. Traphis wished he could run and hide, but his body was still locked into place. The heat against his hands burned so fiercely that it took all he had to keep from collapsing to the floor.

A snarl broke the silence and a voice spoke, "Yes, yes, he has used magic. We must find him and bring him to us. He has used magic, he is ours now." The beast's nose grew in size as it pointed at Traphis' face, and a smile creased its doglike mouth. "Yes, he is here. I can smell him. He is—"

A loud noise echoed in the air and Traphis felt himself falling to the ground. Pain swept over his body like fire against wood. Muffled voices surrounded him, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. The flat, hard surface of the ground was all that supported him. His body had never seemed heavier than it did now. The flesh on his bones would turn to liquid and spread out in a pool of water, and all that remained would float away.

"Traphis, can you hear me?"

Thousands of small creatures were crawling on his skin. He wanted to shake them off, but he couldn't move. They were going to eat what was left of his miserable flesh.

"Traphis, open your eyes."

That voice again. What did it want? Why wouldn't it let the creatures have their way?

The crawling feet stopped. Traphis could feel his cheekbone against the floor. It was hard, too hard; he had to move his head. He felt the lids over his eyes open on their own. An old man was kneeling down beside him. The man put a small bag into his robe and reached out toward Traphis' forehead.

"Do not move yet," the old man said. "It takes the magic a few moments to heal wounds this deep. Whatever possessed you to touch the Cube of Revealment?"

"Falin?"

"Yes, Traphis."

"How? Where?"

"A wizard sensed that his security seal had been activated, so I came. You are fortunate that I did, or you might have been discovered."

"Discovered? But you found me."

"That is not the kind of discovery I was referring to. Traphis, there is something you need to know about the Cube of Revealment. It can help you to see things that are important, but by doing so, it opens a path back to you. All magic is about opening paths. But that which you see can also see you and as long as the connection is active, the path will remain open."

Many questions filled in Traphis' mind. He wanted to know how this path opened, how someone on the other end could see him without also having a cube, why it burned his skin so badly, why it locked his body into place, and where the power came from, but the one question that nagged him the most was why he saw what he saw. A wolvark—and it seemed to be looking for him. For Traphis.

"Does it always show the truth?" Traphis leaned forward and touched his palm. There were no burn marks. It was the same as when Falin healed his wounds before.

"It showed you something?"

Traphis nodded.

Falin examined Traphis closely. He was probing deep into him like before, and Traphis sensed a seriousness from him that made him tense.

"Tell me," Falin said. "Have you used magic?"

Traphis felt the blood flow from his face. Should he lie? What if his mother found out? She would be angry with him. But he had to say something. "I saw a wolvark."

Falin rose to his feet, much quicker than a man his age would be expected. "I knew it. I must talk to the Committee right away. Please, come with me." He stretched out a hand.

Traphis hesitated. He didn't want to stand in front of those old wizards again. They would glare at him and accuse him of improperly using magic. Greagor would go straight to his mother and . . . no, he couldn't do it.

"I feel sick," Traphis said. "I don't think I can walk yet."

There was an expression of doubt on Falin's face, but he turned and made his way toward the stairs. "Remember that I made a promise to talk to you about your father. I will not forget."

"Titch?" Traphis just realized she wasn't in the room with him.

"Titch is safe," Falin said. "She is with her uncle now. You were the only one injured." With that, Falin climbed the staircase and left Traphis alone with his thoughts.

He knew he shouldn't have touched the cube, but Titch told him it would be all right. Had she known what would happen?

Gaybec.

The two of them must have planned this joke together. Get the moarock, make him suffer. Pretend to be his friend and then hit him hard. That was it. Traphis would never trust anyone ever again.

* * *

The sun sank in the sky and long shadows stretched below the nearby booths. The air, cool and refreshing, was almost enough to make Traphis forget the smell of his burning flesh. Even though his skin had been repaired, the scent permeated his memory. This was twice that Falin had healed him. A man he only just met, but somehow seemed to know more about him than he did himself. Were it not for Falin's help, Traphis would be a walking mess. That and the fact that he would have had to come up with another excuse. How many times could he lie to his mother? An unsettling feeling sank inside his gut.

_Always be true, no matter what the cost, no matter what wrong was done, always be true_. Traphis touched his knife. The message of his father, etched into the blade, was beginning to etch into his memory.

"That's the last one." Anjetta's words caught Traphis by surprise. She smiled at him as she brushed dirt from her hands. "Can you close the gate for me?"

He sighed, strolled over to the cart, and pushed against the wooden door. It was so full of food that he had to push with all his might.

"Let me help you with that, my boy." Braun finished packing up his own booth, and then strolled over to theirs. He put an arm against the gate, and without much effort, snapped it shut.

"It was a good outcome," Anjetta said. "We'll have enough food for a long time."

Braun looked puzzled. "Does this mean you are staying?"

Anjetta looked at Traphis. Her gaze was so intense that he had to turn away. It was as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and right now, he didn't want her to.

"No," Anjetta said. "We just agreed to help out. We can't come empty handed."

A broad smile stretched across Braun's face. The man seemed to have enough happiness for the three of them. He walked over and nudged Traphis against the shoulder. "You won't be disappointed. Just wait, you'll be making your own swords in no time."

"We better hurry or we'll be late," Anjetta said. "We wouldn't want to miss the magic show now, would we?"

Traphis looked up. He had almost forgotten. This was the one thing he waited all year to see, and it would take more than a crystal cube to stop him.

"I'll meet you there," Traphis shouted. His feet carried him as fast as they could go.

* * *

Traphis sat down. The tiered seats at the Coliseum were uncomfortable, but they allowed for a large group of people—not that space was an issue; the building itself was big enough to fit the residents of several towns. How long the building had been there, perhaps even the oldest wizard didn't know.

It must have been odd for a small town to have such a big meeting place, but then again, Traphis figured this was one of the reasons the wizards picked Hoshan. Students must have sat in these seats for hundreds of years, watching with awe and wonder at their elder instructors.

Traphis sighed.

The person next to him didn't seem to notice he was even there. Everyone was busy talking amongst themselves, sticking to their groups, and ignoring anyone that didn't belong. One day he will stand in the center of the Coliseum. Everyone will come to see him, and then they will be the ones stuck in these uncomfortable seats, listening to trivial conversations. That is, until the performance began and all would watch in hushed wonder, gazing as he produced magnificent feats of magic.

Traphis looked up at the night sky, which peered through the open dome. He rubbed his skin and wished he would have had the sense to grab a jacket before running off.

A boy looked up at him from the seat ahead and smiled. When Traphis failed to return the gesture; the little boy turned around and hugged his father.

He must have appeared gloomy. It was the wizarding show after all; he had no reason to be sad. Then again, Traphis suddenly caught a glimpse of Gaybec a few tiers down. Titch sat beside her nasty cousin, and they were laughing. Probably at him. If that wasn't a reason to be gloomy, nothing was.

"There you are." Anjetta's voice sounded irritated. She and Braun sat at either side of him. The man next to Braun looked like he wanted to say something, but simply scooted over in his seat as far as he could.

Traphis glanced over at Titch, who looked back at the ruckus. Her eyes met his, but he quickly turned away and pretended to be interested in his mother's arrival.

"What do you suppose these jesters will do this year?" Braun asked. He relaxed his shoulders, which squished Traphis between him and his mother.

"Now father, just because you aren't a magic user, doesn't mean you should put them down."

"Dah, ever since Mardin, they are all jesters to me." Braun suddenly stiffened. "I'm sorry, Traphis, I didn't mean to . . ."

There was an awkward silence, which remained until a man on the other side of Anjetta grunted, got up, and moved to another seat. Taking his place was Greagor.

Traphis felt his insides stiffen. What made it worse was the stupid smile his mother held on her face.

"I'll go get us something to eat," Braun said. He was out of his seat before anyone could speak.

Greagor cleared his throat. "It's a nice day for a show."

"Yes, it is," Anjetta said.

"Jabool is a good performer," Greagor said. "I'm looking forward to seeing what he has prepared for us."

"We'll see." Traphis mumbled. The event suddenly lost its luster. He was now convinced that this Jabool would be inadequate in comparison to his father. In fact, Traphis suddenly wished that the wizard would do a terrible job. Better yet, it would be wonderful if a stray bolt of magic flew up and hit Greagor flat in the chest.

After imagining several other scenarios of this kind, Traphis was interrupted when Greagor leaned forward and spoke directly to him.

"Traphis," Greagor said. "I heard about what happened today. Are you all right?"

The tension in Traphis' stomach suddenly turned into a pool of water. Blood rose to his face and his heart stopped.

Anjetta's head snapped around as if someone had jerked it with his or her hands. "Traphis, what is he talking about?"

Traphis shot Greagor a dirty look.

The man blushed, turned away, and then leaned back in his seat.

"It was nothing," Traphis said, disguising the uneasiness in his voice. "It was just a little burn. Falin healed it right away."

"Falin?" Anjetta displayed a look of shock, or was it horror? "How do you know Falin? Where were you? What happened? Why were you with him? Where is he? Why is he here?"

Traphis guessed the latter part of her questions weren't aimed at him. If she found out what really happened . . . no, she can't know. That would be the end of his magic. His books would be destroyed for real this time, and he would be watched like a prisoner—she would never allow him to go out on his own again.

Just then, Braun thundered back down on his seat. Several people muttered to themselves, but not loud enough to be clearly heard. Braun passed down items of food.

"Sorry, Greagor," Braun said. "I don't have enough for you; I didn't know you'd still be here."

Traphis sensed sarcasm in Braun's tone. It seemed that his grandfather hoped Greagor would leave just as he did. Traphis wanted to hug him and tell him thank you for being on his side, but he could feel the daggers of Anjetta's eyes against his temple.

"It's quite all right," Greagor said. "I was just about to sit by my family. I'm sure they are wondering where I am." He looked at Anjetta. "I'll see you later?"

This time even Anjetta didn't acknowledge the mayor. It was as if nothing other than the news of Falin existed in her mind. Greagor must have sensed this and so he smiled, turned, and walked away. Had Traphis possessed a smidgen of fondness for the man, he might have felt a hint of sympathy.

"Did I come back at a bad time?" Braun asked.

"Falin is here," Anjetta said. "And he talked to Traphis."

"I see." Braun didn't sound surprised, but there was a sadness in his tone.

Traphis looked back and forth between the two of them. "What's wrong with Falin? He's a nice man. He knew my father, and he promised to tell me about him."

"Traphis . . ." Anjetta sighed. "Some things are better left alone."

"I'm tired of leaving things alone. It doesn't make any sense. Why can't I know more about my father? Why must everything be a secret? Why am I not allowed to learn magic?" Something told Traphis he had gone too far, but that didn't matter. He could no longer hold it in.

Anjetta didn't respond. Her eyes filled with an unrecognizable emotion.

She didn't understand. She would never understand. It didn't matter anymore. He would never be allowed to learn magic now. Greagor would tell her what happened and that would be the end of it. He could no longer stand to look at her. Every breath that passed through her lips made him want to be farther and farther away.

Traphis had to go. He had to escape. He had to . . . run.

Without hesitation, he jumped to his feet, turned, and ran out of the Coliseum. He would leave them there to plan ways to ruin his life. To take away any chance of happiness. Their life—not his. It was all about them. No, it was all about her. It always had been. Even when his father passed away, it was Traphis who took care of things. She lay in bed for weeks, not eating, not helping in the fields, and not making any meals. Why did he always have to be the one to make things right? Why wasn't he allowed to have times of sadness? Times of grief?

The night air filled his lungs. His knuckles clenched together as he swung his arms at his sides. The sound of voices faded until all he could hear was the pounding of his own feet.

He made his way across an open field and toward the forest. When he reached the edge of the dense woods, he hurled himself to the ground. He knew better than to enter the forest at this time of night, but being close to danger made him feel better. He almost wished that a learcat would come out and put an end to it all.

A voice inside him told him that he was in the wrong. That he was being foolish. That he should go back and apologize for his childish behavior, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Admitting defeat would somehow admit that he didn't feel like he did. And it would be wrong for him to lie. He was going to stay right where he was, even if it was in the dirt.

The stars glittered above and the cool air nipped at his arms, but he didn't care. _Let it bite_ , he thought. _Let it become so cold that I can't feel anymore. Let the darkness swallow me into its nothingness._ Anything was better than what he felt now.

The wizard show started. He could see the Coliseum in the distance, which lit up in flashes. Shadows stretched along the outside of the white, stone walls, and the sounds of magic exploded into the air.

Trying to ignore it, he took out his knife, reached over, and picked up a dry branch. He broke off the side branches and ran his blade along the stem. Slivers of bark coiled under the edge. Once the surface was bare, he pressed the tip of the blade against the wood and began to carve a picture of his father.

When at last the face was finished, Traphis frowned. It looked nothing like his father at all. He lifted the knife, clenched his teeth, and then thrust the blade downward. As soon as it struck the stick, a dark cloud formed in his mind. The tip of the blade glowed red and a trail of smoke glided from the metal. A moment later, a bright flame leapt from the knife and landed against the carving. Traphis pulled back. When the glowing faded, he placed the tip of the blade between his thumb and forefinger. To his surprise, it was cool.

He looked back down at the stick. The flame had spread across the surface and was creeping toward his fingers. He jumped up, threw the stick to the ground, and took several steps back. The flames licked across the wood surface like an animal tasting its prey.

There was something unusual about the flame. Of course, for it to have started in the first place was unusual, but this was no ordinary blaze. Unlike the typical yellowish tint that Traphis had come to expect from a fire, this one was a deep red.

An unfamiliar sensation flowed over him. This was magic—that much he could figure out—but what kind of magic, he didn't know. It was different from the spark he learned to create in his cave. No, this fire blazed red like blood, and it carried a presence of fear.

A gust of wind blew past and a piece of shaven bark spun into the air. It landed next to the stick and then burst into flames.

The stick glimmered in the darkness like a single star in the sky. Traphis crept closer to the fire and stared at it. A flat stone, sticking sideways out of the ground, extended its long dark shape to the tip of his toe. All around the ground had blackened. Everything burned within several feet, and soon the forest would be in danger.

He pulled the stone out of the ground, plunged it sideways into the earth, and scooped up a pile of dirt. With a heave, he forced the dirt on top of the stick and covered a small portion. The fire twitched, as if reeling back in agony.

He repeated this process—using the stone like a shovel—until the black soil completely covered the flames. Without taking any chances, he added several more layers just to be sure it did the job, and then he packed it down.

All was dark once again.

He lay back down on the ground and brushed the blackness from his hands. Whatever happened, at least the fire was contained now.

There was definitely more to magic than he first thought. Perhaps his mother was right. Maybe he would only end up hurting himself if he were to learn more about it. But he just couldn't quench his thirst, he had to try. He had to learn more. She would never understand. Maybe he would have to wait until he was old enough to be on his own, but one way or another, he would become a wizard. That much he knew.

As he thought about it, he realized it would be best to go back to the show. For the most part, the distraction made him forget about his anger, and at least he would be able to find out how good this Jabool really was.

* * *

Traphis instantly recognized the man in center ring. He couldn't forget the slimy expression of the one who had sat across from Falin in the meeting room. There was something about him that reminded Traphis of a horse. The man's long, skinny face stretched longer than his two hands combined.

This is my father's replacement?

Several children dashed past Traphis as he stood in a doorway of the Coliseum. They giggled and shoved treats into their mouths.

He wanted to go back to his seat, but this was twice he had run out on his mother, and he couldn't bear to face both her and his grandfather again.

Someone else brushed past him, but then suddenly stopped.

"Oh for horror, I touched a moarock. Now I will never be clean again."

Traphis felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

"So my cousin got you good, didn't she?" Gaybec said. This time he was alone. "What, nothing to say? It's too bad the old wizard was there, otherwise we'd be free of you."

A loud bang of magic sounded in the distance. Unfortunately, it was Jabool, and not Traphis who had produced it, otherwise it would have landed across Gaybec's smug face.

So it was true that Titch intended to do him harm. That didn't surprise him. There was little chance that someone like her would actually be his friend. He wasn't sure whether to feel hurt, sad, angry, or indifferent. Right now, there was only room for one emotion: hate, hate for Gaybec alone.

"How's your face, Gaybec? Maybe I should kick it this time." Traphis spit at the ground. Where this boldness came from, he couldn't tell. In a few days time, he would be leaving Hoshan for good, which meant he would be leaving Gaybec and his father, Greagor, behind. Perhaps this thought gave him greater courage.

"You were lucky last time because I didn't want to hear your mommy crying to my father. This time I will crush you into the ground." Gaybec tightened his fist.

"It would take a giant to crush me, but then that would make you the moarock, now, wouldn't it?" Traphis reached down and grabbed the hilt of his knife. He didn't intend to actually cut Gaybec with it, but he did mean to put some fear into the boy. When he pulled, the knife didn't move. A puzzled look must have formed on his face as he pulled harder. With each tug, the cloth on his leg flexed, but still, the knife didn't release from its sheath.

"What? That's all you've got?" Gaybec laughed. "I'm so scared. No, please don't hurt me; I'll do anything you say." He rolled his head backward and roared with laughter.

Traphis couldn't understand it. He had taken the knife out just moments earlier. What could be preventing it from releasing now? He looked down, grabbed the sheath in his right hand, and then pulled hard with his left.

A sharp pain pierced his stomach and he wrenched forward.

"I'd do worse," Gaybec said, "but you look so pathetic it just wouldn't feel right. Next time, moarock, I'll play with you a little more." Gaybec spun on his heel and then trotted away.

Traphis put his hand on his stomach where Gaybec had punched him. It felt as if he ate something rotten. He coughed and gulped in air.

Next time Traphis would get him back. Gaybec had pushed him around for far too long. So what if his mother was partial to Greagor? It was his battle and no one would get in his way. Perhaps by then he would be a wizard.

If only his knife hadn't gotten stuck.

Traphis reached down and grabbed the handle once again. He pulled and the blade came out without hesitation.

Of course, now it works, Traphis thought. Just in time for it to be useless.

A sequence of loud explosions rang across the Coliseum, followed by a loud cheer. Shortly thereafter, people left their seats and headed out of the building. Traphis leaned against the wall to keep from falling over.

The children from earlier passed by again. This time they looked sad, as if the show's finality had signaled the end of their fun. One of the boys looked at Traphis out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, turned around, and started to approach, but the boy's mother quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Traphis looked down and realized he was still holding his knife, so he returned it to its sheath.

After the majority of the crowd had left, he followed behind them, trying hard as he could to hide the pain in his stomach.

The stars greeted him once again on the outside of the building. In the distance, Braun's head stood above a jumble of people. Traphis knew his grandfather was big, but it didn't really occur to him how big until he was among so many bodies. It was a good thing that they were family.

The crowd pushed on, but Braun didn't move from his position. Traphis could now see that his mother was standing next to him. He expected to see her with crossed arms and a stern expression, but to his surprise, she wasn't looking at him at all. She was talking to Falin. Or rather, Falin was talking to her. Her face looked as bleak as it had the day his father died.

Traphis guessed that Falin was telling her what happened earlier. This wasn't going to be good.

When Anjetta saw him coming, she turned her back.

It was worse than he expected.

"What is it?" Traphis asked. He cringed in anticipation of the reply.

"Traphis," Falin said. "I talked to the Committee." He paused, looked at Anjetta, took a deep breath and said, "We agreed that it is time for you to learn magic."

# Chapter 7

THE NIGHT SKY loomed over four figures standing next to a large Coliseum. White, stone walls towered over the party as if each person was an insignificant pebble. Yet, from the seriousness of the silence that cut through the air, nothing was insignificant about the gathering at all.

At first, Traphis wondered if he had heard Falin correctly. Perhaps Gaybec hit him harder than originally estimated, or maybe he fell asleep at the edge of the forest, but this didn't feel like a dream.

In an attempt to weed out any doubt, Traphis looked straight into Falin's eyes and asked, "Am I really going to learn magic?" He shot a side-glance at his mother, whose back still faced him. Her body shook, but she kept silent.

"Yes, Traphis," Falin said. "It is out of necessity, not pleasure, that I bring you this news."

Excitement tingled throughout his body. "Magic? I'm going to learn magic?"

Falin nodded.

For a moment he couldn't speak. His mind wrapped around the situation as best it could, but it all seemed like a fantasy. What he had hoped for all his life, what he had dreamt about, what he had known he must do—it was finally happening. After all these years he would finally become a wizard.

"You will have to stay here," Anjetta said. Her voice trembled, but she soon regained control. "You will have to live with Falin now."

"But . . ." Traphis said. "You mean you're going away?"

A deep cough came from Braun. Traphis almost forgot that his grandfather was there.

"We'll save a place for you," Braun said. "After all, I still have to show you how to build with your hands. You can't do everything with magic." He winked, though the normally cheery action seemed forced. Then, grabbing Traphis in his huge arms, he said, "It will be all right, Traphis, Falin will protect . . . I mean, he will teach you what you need to know. It's better this way."

The arms squeezed him so hard that the pain in his stomach lurched, yet there was a feeling of security in his grandfather's embrace.

When Braun released his grip, the blood rushed back into his limbs. How something could be so fierce, yet comforting, was beyond Traphis' understanding. It was as though the man's arms had a power greater than magic.

Braun patted him on the back and motioned with his head.

Traphis took that as a signal to move forward. Cautiously, he approached his mother and placed a hand on her arm.

She quickly turned, grabbed him, and then pulled him close.

He felt her tenderness and the wetness of her tears. In that moment it was as if the past crumbled away. He didn't want to leave her, but he knew that he had to. She would be fine with his grandfather. There would be no more messing around with raising potaras. It was better this way. Better for both of them.

"When will you be leaving?" Traphis asked.

Anjetta released him from her grip and looked at him with steady eyes. "We will be heading back now. It will probably take a week to sell off the animals, pack everything, and make final preparations."

"Should I go with you?"

"No, you need to stay with Falin. I will bring your things, and we will watch Neha for you." She glanced over at the wizard who leaned patiently against his staff, waiting like a father for his son. "He will take care of you now."

Traphis opened and then closed his mouth. There was an awkward silence. He knew he should say something more, but didn't know what.

Braun grunted and then sauntered away. He motioned for Anjetta to follow. She hesitated, looked over to Falin, and then back at Traphis. She shut her eyes, turned, and then hastened to Braun's side. With one last look they disappeared down the road.

Traphis watched her go. It didn't seem real. The person who raised him and took care of him all these years was suddenly gone. Like his father, her presence in his life vanished in an instant. Yet she was still alive and he would see her again. It wasn't like this was the end. In a few weeks, when she brings him his things, he will be sure to say goodbye to her properly. By then the shock will have worn off. But, until then . . .

"When do I start?" Traphis asked.

"Please," Falin said, "come with me."

They walked along the path toward the main part of town. Carts, riders, and people on foot passed by in large numbers. It was wise to travel in groups during the night; the more people together, the harder it would be for beasts to target them. The worst creatures preferred to keep to the thickness of the woods, but one could never be too cautious.

"I know all of this is sudden," Falin said. "But I am pleased to be the one to train you."

"Does this have anything to do with my father?"

Falin stopped. "You have a good sense, Traphis. Be careful that it does not betray you."

"And my father?"

The wrinkles on Falin's forehead frowned—his mouth buried behind the bushy white beard. "I suppose this is a good a time to tell you about Mardin. Come, let us walk."

Traphis counted the small holes that Falin's staff left in the dirt. Each one brought him one step closer to knowing the truth.

"I knew Mardin many years before you were born," Falin continued. "He was younger than me, but when I met him I knew that we would be friends for many years to come. We challenged, pushed, and molded one another."

A small creature crawled across the path and disappeared into a bush. Traphis continued to listen without making a sound.

"As you are likely aware, there are two major countries seated side-by-side. You live in Eskaron, but Mardin was from the eastern land of Ronum. In Ronum there was one central kingdom given the name of Golan, after the royal family line. Though there were other, smaller kingdoms in Ronum, it was the Kingdom of Golan who ruled them all. I was a part of a group who worked directly with the king. There were five of us: myself, Mardin, and three others. We called ourselves the Five Jinx." Falin chuckled. "The name was a way to keep ourselves from becoming too serious. Mardin loved to laugh."

"Why did he move here?" Traphis asked.

Falin's demeanor darkened and for a long time he said nothing. The night air turned colder, and then he spoke again. "A dark wizard came and put an end to the Kingdom of Golan."

Traphis thought back to the conversation he overheard in the meeting room. He seemed to remember something about a place named Golan, but he couldn't remember the name of the one who destroyed it.

"Several of us managed to escape," Falin continued, "but the damage was done. That is one of the reasons Mardin chose to remain here."

They came to the door of the Wizarding Committee Headquarters. Falin opened it and walked in. "We will have to continue this conversation later. Come; let me show you your room."

"My room is in here?" Traphis asked.

"This is where all the trainees live."

Traphis' smile brightened. He never thought he would learn magic in a place like this, let alone stay there too. It was all better than he imagined.

As if reading his thoughts, Falin said, "Do not thank me yet. You might have a different opinion once your training begins."

They walked down a long wooden hallway. Traphis gazed at what appeared to be magical beads of light, which illuminated the walls. After climbing several flights of stairs, they entered another hallway strung with doors on each side. Falin turned one of the doorknobs and went inside.

"This one was reserved for you," Falin said.

The room was small, but had a bed, desk, and a window looking over the edge of a forest.

"I thought you would like the forest scene best," Falin said, "but I can change the view if you prefer."

Traphis scratched his head, unsure what he was talking about.

Falin smiled. "There is much for you to learn," he said, "but for now, you must rest. Tomorrow we start early."

"But there's no lamp. How will I see?"

"Everything you need, you will have to learn to do with magic." The door shut and the old wizard was gone.

Traphis sat on the side of the bed and looked out the window. Did Falin really believe he would sleep on a night like this?

* * *

Traphis woke to the sound of chirping birds. Light was shining through the window and there was a fresh scent of rain. At first, he wasn't sure where he was, but a moment later, it came flooding back.

With a smile, he stretched and pushed himself to the side of the bed. It felt strange waking in an unfamiliar place, but it was nice not being woken by the call of a tara bird.

The sound of opening and closing doors broke the quietness. Feet strolled past his doorway and down a staircase. Young voices echoed in the hall accompanied by the giggling of girls.

He crept to the door, bent down, and peeked through the keyhole. There were youths, many of them, and they were carrying books. The giggling grew louder as a group of girls passed by. The doorknob twisted, forcing him back. When the door opened, an old wizard appeared.

"Good," Falin said. "I see that you are already awake. Did you sleep well?"

Traphis shook his head.

Falin smiled. "Being tired the first day is normal. I hope that your window greeted you to your liking."

An eyebrow raised on Traphis' forehead. "My window?"

"Shall we join the others and find something to eat?"

"Why are those children here?"

"For the same reason you are—to learn." Falin responded so nonsensically that Traphis had to smile at his own silliness. For some reason he thought only adults would be in the building, but it only made sense for trainees to be younger.

The hallway was easier to see in the morning; the windows at the ends brought in warmth from the sun along with the lights, which floated in the air like little magical bugs. The walls, floor, and ceiling matched the rest of the building with its deep, reddish-brown, wooden surface. Traphis counted twenty rooms on the level, and his was the closest to the stairs, which pleased him. Having a quick exit was much to his liking.

A random squeak came from underfoot as they made their way down the stairway. Traphis counted three stories before they finally entered the dining area. One thing was for sure, the building was much bigger than it looked from the outside. Scanning the room with his eyes, he tried to take it all in. The room was overwhelmingly large, and the ceiling was so high that he wondered if six grown men standing on top of one another could reach it.

An enormous table rested in the center of the room. Like most everything else, it appeared to be made of solid wood. The dining area was filled with youths, and the noise of their voices echoed throughout the place. Most of them looked to be several years younger than he, and Traphis couldn't help but feel out of place.

The ones sitting at the table were eating, or at least, that's what it looked like they were doing. All the children had piles of food in front of them, but there were no utensils. Rather, some used their fingers and others ate off the table like a lorax, but what amazed Traphis the most were the ones who used magic.

One boy floated his food into the air, directed it into his mouth, and then chomped down. Another used what appeared to be a magical string, which the food climbed like a ladder and entered between his lips. Next was a girl who forced her morsels to run around like mice before they hopped down her throat.

"What should I do?" Traphis asked. When there was no answer, he turned only to see that Falin was gone.

Under normal circumstances, he would have found the quickest exit out of there, but the display of magic was motivation enough to stay.

When looking around for somewhere to plant himself, he noticed a long line of youths shuffling beside a narrow table. They appeared to be grabbing items from the top and then setting each one down on something in their hands.

He joined the back of the line. A girl, who looked several years younger, stood just in front of him. Her hair was short for a girl, but that wasn't the first thing he noticed. This was the only time he had ever seen someone with blue hair. Then again, he had never seen a girl with red hair until he met Titch. Like Titch, this girl's skin was pale, but unlike Titch, hers didn't look natural; it held the similar tint of blue that was in her hair. In fact, she looked blue all over—her eyes being the darkest and her lips slightly lighter. With a slender figure, she stood almost as tall as he did. And to his amazement, her feet were bare, exposing webbed toes.

She must have noticed him staring because she turned around and stared back.

"So what kind of creature are you?" she asked.

The question took him aback. There was something odd about the way she pronounced her words.

"I see," she said. "You are the mute kind."

"Mute?" Traphis asked.

"Oh, so you can speak. Are you human?"

"Of course I'm human, what else would I be?"

"So you think humans are the only creatures who are un-mute?"

"No, but . . ."

She reached over, grabbed something off the table, and then set it down on her plate. That is, she set it down on what should have been a plate.

"What is that?" Traphis asked, pointing to her hands.

"Food," she said.

"I mean, what are you holding?"

"Are you hard of hearing too?"

"No." Traphis rubbed his forehead. "I mean, what is it that you are setting the food on?"

She looked down, and then back at Traphis. "Water."

By now, he was ready to give up, but another girl—who was several places ahead of them in the line—spoke up. "You have to create your own plate," she said.

"What do you mean?" Traphis asked.

"Like this." The girl lifted her hands up into the air. There was some sort of film stretching between each palm. She then closed her fists and the film was gone. The food fell to the table. When she opened her hands, there was a slight pause before the film returned. She then scooped the food back onto it.

A boy next to the girl said, "That's one way to do it, but mine is better."

It seemed as if Traphis was drawing attention to himself, which was the last thing he wanted.

The boy lifted his right hand, slightly, to show Traphis how he was holding his food. It looked like there was a miniature tornado on his palm. The food spun around in circles, but didn't fly off.

Traphis followed the line of youths with his eyes. It seemed that everyone was using a magical method to gather his or her breakfast. Then he looked down at his own hands. He sensed the expectant eyes watching him.

"I'm really not that hungry today," he said.

All three heads turned away as if disappointed.

The line moved down and he secretly grabbed a few things that he could carry. It amounted to some sort of meat and a clump of bread. When he reached the end of the line, he made his way to the large table in the center of the room. He stared. Now the real challenge began: where to sit.

The boy who talked to him in line patted the seat next to him.

Traphis took a step forward, paused for a moment, and then walked the rest of the way. He noticed how skinny the boy was—almost like a skeleton—and his black hair was cut so short that the shape of his skull was pronounced.

Traphis sat down and was about to set his food on the table, when he suddenly hesitated.

"Don't worry, they clean it after every meal," the boy said. "I'm Jack. You must be new."

Traphis rolled his food onto the table and sat down. When he looked around, he saw that the other two girls from the line were there too. They were sitting across from him.

"You get stuck at the end of the table when you eat last," Jack said, "but that's what happens to those who sleep longer."

"My name is Saleena," the bluish looking girl said. Her expression placid and unreadable.

"And mine is Kip," the other girl said. "And my brother's name is Skinny Jack, not Jack." Glares exchanged between the two, as if this had been a previous item of dispute.

"Traphis," he responded, acting as if he didn't sense the tension. And then he figured that he should say something else, but had no idea what.

"How long have you been at the WC?" Kip asked.

"WC?" Traphis asked.

"Wizarding Committee," Saleena said. Traphis noticed that she pronounced each word slowly, as if she had to think about them one at a time. Something about it reminded him of a calm stream. "That is what they call this place."

"WC sounds so much better than Wizarding Committee Headquarters," Kip said. "That's something a bunch of boring old men would come up with."

As slow and measured as Saleena's speech was, Kip made up for it in speed. She talked so fast that it took a moment for his mind to scroll back over the words and review them. If Saleena was a calm stream, then Kip was a rage of rapids. He couldn't help but notice her face was covered with little brown dots. They looked odd at first, but he could tell that underneath she had a cute face. Her hair was a little lighter than his, but her eyes were the same dark brown.

"I came in last night," Traphis said.

"Thought so," Skinny Jack said.

"I believe that would have been obvious," Saleena said. It looked like she blinked her blue eyes, but her eyelids didn't move. The action was creepy.

Traphis broke off a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

"That's so boring," Kip said. "You need to use your skill." Like before, she closed and then reopened her fists. A semitransparent sheet appeared—thin as the page of a book and as shiny as gold. She spread her hands apart and positioned them slightly above the pile of food. Then, while moving down, a solid gold outline gleamed against the topmost piece of bread. She lifted the bread into the air, moved her hands together—causing the film to sag—and then jerked them apart. The piece of bread snapped upward and flew straight into her mouth. She chewed it with a look of satisfaction.

"Dah, I can do better than that," Skinny Jack said. "Watch this."

The boy lifted his right hand, aligned his thumb with his forefinger, and then expanded his grip. Something formed on his palm. It reminded Traphis of the circles he used to stir in the creek. Only this looked more like wind than water. The funnel spun and grew in the boy's hand. Like Kip's magic, it was semitransparent, but unlike Kip's magic, it contained a greenish tint. Traphis realized that all the magic around the table was either a different color or different shades of color.

Traphis looked down at his own hands.

"This is the best part," Skinny Jack said. "You don't want to miss it."

Traphis looked back at Skinny Jack, who was holding his palm flat. He lifted it up to his face and blew. The funnel drifted down and landed on top of a hunk of meat, which instantly sucked into the whirlwind. Skinny Jack then aimed his two top fingers at the funnel and pointed upward. The funnel followed like an obedient child, which stopped a few feet above his head. When he rolled his fingers, the funnel dissipated, and the meat dropped into his mouth.

"I have yet to figure out how to make it bigger," Skinny Jack said while chewing. "But I'll get there. What color is yours?"

Traphis thought about the question. He recalled the first time he used magic, but it was in the darkness of the cave, and his eyes had been shut. The other time he used magic was in the field when the potara exploded, but his eyes were closed then too. Was the magic he saw by the forest his own?

"What about Saleena?" Traphis asked, finding that a distraction was the best response given the circumstances.

"Mine is aqua," Saleena said. She gazed at Traphis in a way that made him question her current state of mind. It was as if part of her was drifting in an imaginary world. Like she wasn't completely there.

"I probably could have guessed that." The sarcastic words jumped out before he could hold them back.

Kip and Skinny Jack laughed, but Saleena narrowed her eyes.

"I have a question," Traphis said, trying to make up for his carelessness. "How do you eat?" He looked down at Saleena's food. The best he could describe it was a pile of bugs. They had elongated bodies with well-developed abdomens, legs, antennae, and spine-like shells. If it weren't for the black, beady eyeballs, he might have tried eating one himself.

"That's what you eat?" he asked.

"Now you have asked two questions," Saleena said. "This is all I eat, though I do prefer them to be alive; they taste better that way. Unfortunately, this is the best I can acquire so far away from the great waters. That is the price I pay for becoming a lander." She snapped her fingers. "To answer your second question; I normally eat while swimming, but here I have to compromise." A bubble of water formed around the bug-like creatures and they began to float. She opened her mouth wide, wider than Traphis imagined a normal jaw could stretch, and then the water thinned, shot upward like a spear, and plunged into her throat. The bugs and water entered and were gone. She ingested both without chewing.

"And she wonders why she can't find a guy-mate," Kip said.

"I think the way she eats is fantastic," Skinny Jack said. "The rest of us have to drink water from the fountain, but she can create her own."

"Traphis," Kip said. "You never told us what color yours is. Why don't you show us?"

"Mine is lavender." The voice came from behind. "Can you move over a little?"

He felt himself nudged closer to Skinny Jack, and then someone sat to his left; which was at the very end of the table. The air suddenly became dense.

"Hopefully I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Skinny Jack said. He blushed.

Red hair brushed up against Traphis and he immediately knew whose it was. Where Skinny Jack's face turned red, Traphis' became as pale as Saleena's looked.

"Being here makes me feel old," Titch said. "I was glad to see you."

"Is she your girl-mate?" Saleena asked.

Kip brandished an irritated look. It seemed that she didn't like Titch anymore than Traphis did at the moment.

"No," Traphis said. He couldn't bring himself to look at Titch. Just the touch of her arm against his was enough to give him the shivers. This was the person who had almost killed him, and yet . . .

Kip narrowed her eyes and glared at the girl. Saleena looked blankly, and Skinny Jack dropped a piece of food into his lap. It was as if the boy's elegance suddenly disappeared as soon as Titch arrived.

"Is this your first day too?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Yes," Titch said. "How long have you been here?"

"Two years," Skinny Jack said. "I would have started sooner, but my sister left two years before and I needed to stay home with my father."

"How old are you now?" Titch asked.

"Only eleven," Kip answered for him.

"Almost twelve," Skinny Jack corrected.

"And where is your sister?" Titch asked.

Skinny Jack laughed. "I'll give you three guesses."

Titch looked up at Kip.

"Yep," Skinny Jack said. "She's my big sister. Almost fourteen. Until now she was the oldest trainee."

Kip blushed.

"You should never tell someone a girl's age," Saleena said. "That is one of those things that are incorrect."

"Oh, you must be a Claymear," Titch said. "I've read so much about your kind, but never seen one in person before. It must be really different for you here."

"And you must be one of those human kind," Saleena said. "No book could have warned me."

It got quiet all of a sudden. Traphis noticed that whenever Saleena attempted to talk faster than her normal speed, her words made even less sense than they did before, but there was no mistaking the negative tone. Titch didn't seem to be making friends with anyone but Skinny Jack. Maybe her magic only worked on guys.

"Anyway," Titch said. "I don't know how to use magic myself, but I'm sure it will be lavender when I do because that's my favorite color."

"That's not how it works," Kip said.

"Wait," Traphis said. Something important just occurred to him. "Titch, I thought you said women couldn't be wizards."

"Technically that is correct," Skinny Jack said. "Women cannot be wizards, but they can become wizits. It's only something the Committee started doing in the last few years. They say they need everyone they can find now. Kip was one of the first to join, but she still hasn't passed the tests."

Kip blushed when Traphis looked at her. At least, he thought it was a blush; the spots on her face made it hard to detect.

"There is a lot I still don't know about magic," Titch said. "They probably keep the newer books from circulating to hide their secrets. How surreptitious of them."

"I heard that in Ronum," Saleena said, "there are no wizards at all. They call themselves something else."

"Nekrin I believe," Skinny Jack said. "And I'm told you don't want to meet one face-to-face."

"They say they used to be men," Kip said. "But now they look like monsters. No one ever sees them because they keep themselves covered."

"It's because they use magic from the Cloud," Skinny Jack said.

_The Cloud?_ Traphis thought. Is that what he saw before? He could almost picture the dark outline and smoky texture of its large mass. Even more, he could never forget the feeling of dread that emanated from it.

A piece of bread rolled across the table. A little girl ran over, grabbed it, and then apologized before taking off.

Skinny Jack used this moment to reproduce his whirlwind. Kip followed his lead and used her golden sheet to gather another morsel of food. Saleena sat with a distant look on her face as Traphis and Titch picked at their meals.

Fiery, red hair brushed up against his shoulder. There was no doubt in his mind that Titch possessed a magic that could affect anyone she touched. It would disable their mind and make their bodies collapse into a pool of water. It was amazingly powerful too. Almost powerful enough to make him forget about what happened.

"Traphis," Titch said. "About the Cube . . ."

Three heads jerked toward them.

"Let's talk about that later," Traphis said.

Titch looked down and picked at her food again.

"Why aren't you with your uncle?" Traphis asked. He knew he should say something, and that was the first thing that came to mind. "I thought you were staying with him."

"When I found out I could learn magic," Titch said. "I decided to stay here instead."

The three heads turned from Titch to Traphis. They looked like hungry animals feeding on their conversation—something about it reminded Traphis of the tara birds when their food was brought before them.

"But I thought you didn't care about magic," Traphis said.

Saleena interrupted, "Men really do have a lot to learn about women."

"What does that mean?" Skinny Jack asked.

"I was addressing Traphis," Saleena said. "You should stay to yourself."

"But I'm a man too," Skinny Jack said with arms crossed.

"No you're not," Kip said. "You're still a boy."

"Well, I guess that means you're not a woman."

Kip stuck out her lower lip and glared.

Titch giggled. "I like you. You make me laugh."

"See, she said she likes me," Skinny Jack said.

"No," Kip said. "She said she likes us."

"What's the difference?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Only a boy would have to ask that," Kip said.

Traphis felt his face reddening. "Do you two always argue?"

"You don't have a sister, do you?" Skinny Jack asked.

Just then a loud boom echoed across the hall.

"So much for our food," Kip said. "You better move your arm."

Traphis felt his elbow sting. He jerked it off the table and rubbed it with his hand. When he checked the spot where—a moment before—it had been resting, he noticed that the surface of the table no longer looked like wood. Rather, it resembled the top of a frozen lake. He could see his reflection staring back at him. It appeared so cold that to reach out and touch it would probably turn him to ice.

All across the table, the remaining bits of food became white. Crystals formed on the outsides, giving them a glassy texture, and then a cracking sounded. After a slight pause, the crystals shattered into little fragments and evaporated. The food was gone, and the table turned to wood once again.

"I told you it was clean," Skinny Jack said, and then pointed. "Who's that old man?"

Traphis turned. The man Skinny Jack referred to was waving at him.

"That's just Falin," Traphis said.

"Falin?" Kip said. "You know Falin?"

"He's my teacher."

"Are you lying?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Of course he isn't," Kip said. "Why would he lie about something like that?"

"You know Falin?" Traphis asked.

Skinny Jack laughed. "Me and my buddy Falin, we go way back."

"Just ignore him," Kip said. "You must be extremely special to learn from a great master like him."

"He wrote many of the wizarding books on history," Saleena said. She blinked again, or at least, that's what it looked like. "I have never seen him before; I do not think he comes around here very often."

"How did you get someone like Falin to train you?" Skinny Jack asked. "The rest of us have to suffer with Jabool."

"Jabool?" Traphis asked. "Isn't that the wizard who performed the magic show?"

"Yes," Skinny Jack said. "That's the one. Pity us."

"Jabool seems like a brilliant man," Titch said.

"You haven't known him for very long, have you?" Skinny Jack asked.

"That's true," Titch said, "but as long as he can teach me, I'm ready to learn."

"You better go to Falin," Kip said, addressing Traphis. "We'll see you at the next meal?"

Skinny Jack made a fist, and then pointed at Traphis with his two top fingers.

"That's his way of saying goodbye," Kip said. "Silly, isn't it?"

"Thanks for letting me sit by you," Traphis said, and he actually meant it.

Saleena gave a slight nod.

Titch grabbed his sleeve, leaned over, and whispered into his ear. "Let's talk tonight."

# Chapter 8

TRAPHIS LEFT THE dining table and approached Falin. The old wizard greeted him with a smile.

"I trust you had a good breakfast," Falin said.

"Where did you go?" Traphis asked. "I couldn't find you."

"Did you learn anything?"

Traphis paused to consider the question. His first impulse was to complain about being left alone, but after hearing what the others had said about Falin, he knew he wasn't in a position to question his master. The wizard was doing a lot for him, and he knew it.

"I guess I did," Traphis said.

"And what might that be?"

Traphis looked up. "I noticed that this room is larger than it should be."

"Good. Yes, the building is not in the physical world as you know it. We exist in a place not seen from the outside. It is only natural for you to assume the ground you stand on is within the same building you entered in Hoshan, but that is not correct."

Traphis raised an eyebrow.

"We will stick to the basics for now," Falin said. "What else did you learn?"

There were just too many things Traphis had yet to know about being a wizard: inner spaces larger than their outer shells, tables that cleaned themselves, and cubes that burned flesh. This was all too unfamiliar to him. Still, he knew he must go along at Falin's pace.

"Everyone is younger than me," Traphis said. "And they know more about magic than I do."

"Does that bother you?"

Traphis shrugged his shoulders.

"Do not see this as an unfair circumstance. It is better for you to look at it as a means to train harder."

Traphis glanced at the ground; he wanted to say something contrary, but knew better.

"Did you notice anything else?" Falin asked.

A boy bumped into Traphis, apologized, and then ran to meet up with his friends. By now, the dining hall was mostly empty. Traphis turned and looked around the room as if it would give him an answer to Falin's question.

"They all have their own colored magic?" Traphis said.

"That is correct. Each host has its own signature. A wizard is a host, whose body converts magic in a unique way."

"When will I know what mine is?"

"Given time. Now, what else did you learn?"

Traphis clenched his teeth. He wanted to know more about magic, not repeat what he had seen during breakfast.

With searching eyes, Falin gazed at him. It was obvious that the wizard wouldn't stop until he gave the correct answer.

"There was a kid who produced something that looked like a funnel," Traphis said, "but I didn't see him use anything else. And he had to use it to eat with, because there were no dishes." He paused to think further. "The table cleaned itself, too."

"Like color, each wizard has an element that comes naturally to him," Falin said. "There are many elements, and many colors. It is not uncommon for a wizard to share either the same color or the same element, but finding two that possess both is extremely rare. These are all very good observations, Traphis, but you are still missing the most important lesson."

Traphis shrugged his shoulders; he couldn't think of anything else.

"When I asked what you learned," Falin said, "you mainly mentioned things that had to do with magic. Do you believe that is the only reason you are here?"

Traphis nodded. "I need to learn how to use magic so that I can become stronger."

"And you believe magic is what gives you strength?"

"Only if I can control it."

Falin narrowed his eyes. "It seems that you view magic as a tool. So tell me. What is more important than a tool?"

Traphis look blankly at his teacher.

"A tool has no mind. It has no heart. It does whatever the one using it wishes. It can be used to do something great, and it can be used to do something terrible. If this is so, then what is more important than a tool?"

"The one using it?"

"An individual truly is more important, but a person by themself still has little to gain."

Traphis considered. He knew that Falin wanted him to come up with a different answer, but he was at a loss. "There were a brother and sister," Traphis said, continuing their former conversation. "I sat by them, and there was a girl who acted strange, but I liked her. And then there was Titch too . . ."

"Very good. The lesson of communing with others was one that I could not teach you alone. You will find that the line, which separates individuals, is far wider than you can imagine, so it is important to form bonds where you can. It is unwise to fall into the trap of solitude; it will only lead to your downfall. Come; let us move on to our next lesson."

Traphis followed behind Falin, unsure how his response had answered the wizard's question, but glad the training was continuing. They came to a barren room. Wooden walls—darkened with age—were all he could see beyond the entrance. There were no chairs to sit on or tables to set items atop. There wasn't even a window to look out of. The room was completely empty.

Falin lifted his staff and asked, "What is this?"

"A staff," Traphis said.

"No, what is it?"

"A piece of wood?"

"Are you simply a piece of flesh and bones?"

Traphis didn't answer.

"You are more than that, Traphis. Just as this staff is more than a stick of wood. Like you, each person has his own signature. So it is with a wizard's staff. Each one has its own style. In a sense, it is alive. Not the kind of consciousness that you know as life, but the living are not always self-aware. A tree grows and does not perceive its existence, yet it lives. And so a staff is the same, alive, but unable to think and act on its own. Therefore, it can be used as a tool."

"Like magic?"

"Magic is raw energy, chaotic, powerful, and destructive. It needs a channel to travel along for a wizard to use it. A staff has no power of its own. It is used to increase the wizard's ability to control magic. Without magic, a staff is useless, but with magic they become as brothers, working together to produce something that each cannot do alone."

"So a staff amplifies the magic?"

Falin laughed. "That's a simpler way to explain it."

Falin took something out of his pocket and flicked it to the floor. He propped his staff against a wall, closed his eyes, and then pointed a finger. Moments later the item on the ground twitched. Brown lines grew upward and formed pointy ends. Green leaves sprung out and a small bush appeared. He opened his eyes, picked up the staff, and then pointed it at the bush. A green light trailed from the tip. As the light touched the plant, the bush became taller, wider, and thicker. Buds formed on the branches. Within moments, blue flowers burst from the buds. The petals were small, sturdy, and shiny. Each flower was the size of a small bouquet; perfect for taking home to his mother.

"Can you see the difference?" Falin asked.

"That's amazing," Traphis said. "How can I do that?"

"You must first master channeling magic with your hands," Falin said, "but I wanted you to understand how a staff works. It is not the power of a wizard, but it, as you said, amplifies the magic. This is what is important to remember."

"I have my father's staff," Traphis said.

"That is good, very good. It may be greater than you can imagine, but for now your lesson is this." Falin motioned his staff near the bush. The flowers began to glow. Their light was soft, but more than enough to brighten the dark room. "I want you to improve your connection with the source of magic."

"Improve my connection?"

"You have already made contact; otherwise you would not be here now. There are two sources of magic and until you choose a permanent path, it will take time for you to communicate. The first layer is very powerful and easy to use, but it comes with a heavy price. You must pass through it and move on until you reach the second layer. It may seem difficult at first, but once you obtain a connection, you will be able to access it directly the next time you call for its energy."

Traphis mulled over Falin's words for several moments and then asked, "If the first layer is powerful and easy, why don't I just use it?"

"Let me ask you this. The first time you used magic, what did you see?"

Traphis remembered his father and the times spent with him. He remembered better times, when he heard his mother's laughter. He also remembered ideas he had as a child; childish thoughts of when he would be a wizard. Then he answered, "I saw many memories, and distracting thoughts. When I concentrated harder, they went away. Then there was this emptiness." He gulped. "A cloud. I felt as if it would consume me into its darkness. It was cold, but then I could feel a warm breeze and I saw a glimpse of something blue. That's when the magic came to me."

"The Cloud is the first layer of magic. It is powerful and easy to acquire, but as you feared, in time it will consume you. That is why it is important for you to establish a connection with the second layer. We call this the Blue. It may not be as predictable as the Cloud, but it holds a true power that cannot corrupt. The more often you connect to it, the stronger and faster the connection will become, but never forget, the opposite is also true. The more you connect with the Cloud, the more it will become a part of you . . . or rather, you will become a part of it."

Traphis cringed at the thought. He wanted nothing to do with the feeling that this Cloud brought, and he couldn't imagine anyone that would.

"I want you to connect with the second layer. When I return, if you have achieved this, we will move on to the next lesson." He closed the door behind him.

Covered in darkness, the walls closed in on Traphis like a prison cell. Yet he was used to the darkness of his cave; there wasn't any place he could concentrate better. Instead of a fire, he had the glowing plant, instead of sand, he had wood, and instead of cool air, he had warmth. Traphis sniffed at the petals and felt their heat on his nose. He knelt down. The wood was hard, but not uncomfortable.

He slowly released his breath and thought of a place without distractions, without consequences or guilt. One that didn't judge or condemn. One that was free from confusion. It was a place of stillness, of nothingness.

After a few breaths, he found himself staring into a white void. It was as if he had reached into the sky and been swallowed up by a white, fluffy cloud. But it wasn't this kind of cloud that worried him. The one he felt coming was of a much different nature. Its presence was dim, but became stronger by the moment. A dark speck formed in the distance, and the feeling of weightlessness overcame his body. The speck moved closer to him, or was he moving closer to it? He couldn't tell.

Hate. A feeling of hate so strong that his arms shook, but was it hate from the Cloud or hate from his own body? He couldn't tell anymore, it was as if the two were becoming one.

Rage. An intensity of pure anger flooded into his veins. Yellow light came at him, as if a fire were blazing through his chest. He clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists. The desire to lash out filled his senses. He wanted to attack, to release, to inflict pain. A growling sound came from his own throat, and his fingers coiled into the shape of claws. This raw, savage energy made him feel like a beast. Lashing out would give him pleasure—to kill would bring freedom.

The Cloud closed in like a friend welcoming its companion. He wanted it. He needed it. He longed to plunge deeper into its embrace, and to sink into its great mass. The white void was gone. It had been completely swallowed up. Now there was nothing but darkness as the moisture from the Cloud enveloped him. A flash like lightning spread across his path. He reached toward it. It struck again. He grasped it. Energy coiled and danced around his arm. It felt alive as it climbed up his shoulder—twisting and squeezing as it went. He felt power, raw power. It was as if he could do anything he wanted, and he could put an end to anything in his way. The energy squeezed tighter. His arm clenched. A sensation of pain forced his eyes open in the physical world.

Light was shining bright against his face. He squinted his eyes. A few moments later, the blue flowers faded back to their original soft glow. Traphis rubbed his arm where the energy had been. It felt as if a vine had tangled around it, but nothing was there.

There would be no passing through the Cloud at this rate. It seemed so easy the first time. Back then, he saw the color of blue, but now there was no hint of it at all.

If anything, he could tell Falin it was easier and much quicker to enter the white void—the place that existed before either the Cloud or the Blue. He remembered his father's book calling it the first gate, whatever that meant. If only he had more time to read, then perhaps he would be able to pass this test, but there was nothing he could do but try again.

He closed his eyes and entered the Cloud instantly. The smoky substance flowed over him like muddy water. It was as if he had skipped the white void all together, or simply passed through it quicker. He would reach the Blue, even it if took all his strength. Without questioning, he stroked his arms in the air like a swimmer. It was colder than any creek he had ever been in, but that didn't stop him. He stroked repeatedly; his arms passed over his head and around his back. He took deep breaths and kicked his feet, but there were no signs of movement. There must have been a light to reach; otherwise, he would not have been able to see at all. There had to be. What else was there?

A sound entered his ears. It was like voices, only they were faint and hollow, sweeping from his right to his left. He wasn't able to hear what they were saying, nor did he wish to. Then a yellow bolt of lightning streaked past him again. His hand reached out to grab it.

"No," he shouted, but his body moved on its own. The lightning coiled around his arm like a snake, only this time it traveled all the way to his chest, seizing his heart in a vice-like grip.

Traphis screamed.

* * *

Light from the flowers pounded against Traphis' face. He looked around the room, put a hand against the floor, and took a deep breath. It was useless; rather than passing through the Cloud he only sunk deeper into it.

When he regained his breath, he stood up and paced around the room. The boards under his feet let out a soft squeak with each step. He circled the plant, which had become dim again, and wondered if there was something about the bush that Falin didn't tell him. It seemed as if it grew brighter as soon as the Cloud reached out to him. It was as if the plant pulled him back into the physical world just in time.

He raised his hand to his chest and coughed. If he tried to pass through the Cloud again, there was a good chance that the power would spread further into his body. The idea of becoming a monster made him shiver.

The thought crossed his mind that he should go and find one of his new friends to ask for help, but doing so would risk being gone when Falin came back. Besides, they could be anywhere. Searching for them in this unusually large building would likely get him lost.

There was nothing else to do but to go back in. I hope that if I do turn into a monster, Falin will be able to bring me back.

Traphis knelt down in front of the plant. He closed his eyes and folded his hands. This time he sensed himself deeper in the Cloud than before. He felt the Cloud's presence and the voices returned, whispering like haunting ghosts. Their words jumbled together, but this time he could understand what they were saying.

"Fear, come, become, one, together, us," they said.

A chill ran down his back. He tried to speak, but no words came.

"Join, take, power, ours." A jolt of lightning shot past him like before.

"No!" Traphis shouted. "You have no power over me." His body shook.

"Take, join, become, one, together, us." The voices became fierce, like beasts growling the formation of each syllable, demanding rather than asking.

Traphis placed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes (that is, whatever eyes he had that enabled him to see in the Cloud). "Go away," he shouted. The air became like ice. He felt himself becoming solid, frozen. He pushed harder against his ears, as if it would free him of the voices, but his body shook so violently that it was impossible to keep still. And then, he no longer felt cold; rather there was pain, intense, harsh pain. He knew he would rather die than suffer this agony any longer, but then there was something else. A sensation of warmth. Not the kind of warmth one feels on the skin, but the kind of warmth that is felt within: lively and bright with a quality of intimacy. Intimacy toward something greater than himself—something not of the Cloud—something magnificent beyond words.

He opened his phantom eyes and found himself lying on his side. The dark, smoky substance of the Cloud was gone too. A cough escaped his lungs and he pushed himself to his knees. He rubbed a hand across his cheek and felt grittiness against his palm. Little bits of sand rolled off his fingers, and he paused. There was sand, pure white, unlike the brown he was used to seeing by the creek. He looked down. The sand covered a sizable space, and then there was water. Nothing but water, which was such a deep blue that it didn't look real. The whiteness of the sand and the blueness of the water were so rich and clear that he felt as if he were in a dream.

He got to his feet and gazed into the distance. The water extended into eternity. He turned, only to see that he was standing on a lone, treeless island. The sky above was blue; a much lighter blue than the liquid below, and it was free of clouds. No clouds. Traphis was thankful for that.

The heaviness and anger were gone. There were no desires to lash out, nor sensations to destroy. Instead, there was stillness—within and around him. The only movement he saw was the soft flowing of waves, trailing across the water's surface and calmly brushing up against the shore. Tranquility, unlike anything he experienced before, gave him a sense of peace beyond comprehension.

Amazingly, the pain in his arm was gone too. In fact, there was no pain anywhere in his body. It felt similar to the magic Falin used to heal his wounds, only this covered him entirely and produced a constant flow. He could almost feel the energy surging throughout his veins. It was invigorating and unlike anything he ever felt before. Where the energy in the Cloud brought pain, this one brought relief. Not only relief, but also it had another quality. A cleansing one. It washed away the heaviness inside of him. The tension, frustration, anger, uncertainty, doubt, and sorrow . . . they were removed. No, they were satisfied. It was as if their existence had been acknowledged and then somehow fulfilled.

Traphis' foot slipped and pushed a few grains of sand into the water. They sparkled, snapped, and then disappeared. For a moment, the action took him aback, but then he kicked some more sand into the water. He watched as it bounced off the surface and exploded into the air. He played this game for awhile; it was unlike any natural thing he had encountered before. It was like . . . magic.

He thought about touching the water with this hand, but after further thought, decided it best not to try. Instead, he bent down, grabbed a handful of the white sand, and then threw it as far as he could. The bits spread apart and landed at wide intervals against the water's surface. Like before, they kept from immersing into the fluid, bounced into the air, and popped with an array of sparks.

Now Traphis was convinced that he had to touch the water, and so he did. It wasn't like water at all. The liquid was so dense that he had to push down hard in order to sink his fist deeper in. The texture felt like bread dough. When he spread his fingers apart, they snapped back together. At the surface, the water was clear and easy to see through, but it became blurry the deeper he looked.

A wave flowed past his wrist and Traphis wondered how it could be moving without any wind, not to mention that the amount of wind needed to push the surface of something this thick would probably blow him off the island. But there were no such harsh conditions. It was as if the water held a power of its own.

For a few moments, he let his hand stay immersed in the liquid; it felt good to the touch, but then he had an idea. _If the sand reacted as it did on the water's surface, then what would happen if I force it deeper?_ He pulled his arm out and grabbed a handful. The white grains spilled out the corners of his fist as he plunged it into the gel-like substance. Bubbles slowly rose to the surface as a tingling sensation graced his palm. It was as if the sand had become alive.

A red glow came from his knuckles and he pulled his hand out. There was a flame, a red flame, and it danced against his palm. He expected it to be hot, but there was nothing uncomfortable about it. He glared at the flame as if it would disappear at any moment, but it continued to burn without hesitation.

Traphis jumped to his feet and found himself back in the physical world. Falin's plant glowed softly against the wooden floor. The old wizard still hadn't returned. Without wasting any time, he headed out the door with the fire still burning on his palm.

* * *

The hallway was dark and gloomy, but the flame allowed Traphis to see for several paces. His shadow stretched along the walls, and oddly enough, made him feel like he wasn't alone. If only he would have taken his own advice and stayed in the room rather than running off; now, he was lost, and it would take even longer to find Falin. On a different day, traveling along the halls of an unknown place would have been an exciting adventure, but today he just wanted to show Falin that he passed the first lesson. Not only that, but he went beyond it by producing magic. It wasn't the little spark from before, no, this time he managed to erect a full-sized flame.

Traphis passed by several doors, but all the ones he tried to open were locked. No signs of life could be heard from within. He would have retraced his steps, but he had taken too many turns to remember where he came from. Moving forward seemed like the better option now.

He wondered how much time had passed. With the way things were going, he would be lost for days. His stomach growled. At that moment, he wished he had eaten more for breakfast. So what if the others knew he couldn't use magic? It wasn't like they were the kind of people to make fun of him, at least, they didn't seem like they would be. He was their elder after all, and someone they could look up to . . . someday.

Traphis continued his wandering until he finally came across a staircase. On the left, it ascended, and on the right, it descended. Those were the only options.

"Great, another choice," Traphis said. The last time he walked down a staircase like this, he ended up almost burned to death. Something told him to go up. At least this way he felt there was a chance of getting somewhere.

The stairs were steeper than the others he had walked along, and they were closer together too, winding upward like a coiling string.

With heavy breaths, his hand ran along the railing, forcing him upward. His right hand held the burning flame, steady, and for the first time he realized that the color reminded him of blood. Fire and blood, perhaps not the best combination, but it was his magic, and that was something to be proud of.

The staircase suddenly stopped and instead of a hallway, there was a small landing with no doors. It was as if the stairway played a joke on anyone foolish enough to climb them. The reward for getting to the top? An empty landing and a long trip back down. Traphis kicked out at the nearest wall. Dirt landed on his head. He brushed it out of his hair and looked up. There was some sort of door on the ceiling directly above him. It looked about the length of his leg and the width of his arm. There was a metal latch, and on the far side of the door, two hinges appeared.

Standing on the tips of his toes, he reached up. The latch didn't move. Being careful not to brush his clothes against the fire on his palm, he tried again. It was stiff, but seemed to be moving. After a few more strained attempts, the door swung downward. A cloud of dust rolled onto his face. He coughed and rubbed his eyes. Stairs on the inside of the open door moved under his weight as he made his way upward.

A soft light welcomed him as he entered a large room. It came from tiny slates of glass that were heavily frosted; only a small amount made its way through. The rays exposed dust, floating in the air, which reminded him of the atmosphere of the forest—his forest—when it became misty in the early morning. He noticed that, unlike the flat ceilings in the rest of the building, this one pointed into a triangle far above his head. Not only that, but as far as he could tell, he had entered through the only way in and out. There was no doubt in his mind that this was an attic and one that had been lost for a very long time.

# Chapter 9

BOARDS CREEKED UNDERFOOT as Traphis walked across the attic floor. The sizable area made him wonder if his entire house would fit within these walls. It made him think of his father, and all the times the wizard locked himself up in their attic. Even Anjetta was prohibited from disturbing her husband during study time.

Perhaps it was a wizarding tradition to keep books in an attic. Even so, this place made his father's study seem insignificant in comparison. Countless books were stuffed into enormous shelves, which extended from floor to ceiling. A ladder rested against one of the far walls, and Traphis guessed that it provided the only way to reach the top of the shelves.

With his free hand, he pulled a book off a shelf and blew hard. Dust spread, revealing the title, _All about Wolvarks_.

A table, in the center of the room, released a gray cloud when Traphis flung the book down on top of it. After rubbing his eyes and stifling a sneeze, he pulled out a wooden chair and sat down.

Looking around, he noticed a candle at the center of the desk. He reached over, grabbed the metal holder, and pulled it closer. Solid drips of wax told him that the candle had once been used, but how long ago, he couldn't tell.

When he touched the wick to the flame in his hand, the room became bright—much brighter than expected. He guessed that there must have been some magic stored in the candle.

He rubbed his palm; there were no signs that the flame had ever been there. It was as if the candle became the flame's master now. Somehow, he released it without knowing what he was doing. A glint of disappointment surfaced when he realized he could no longer show the flame—as it appeared in his palm—to Falin, but at least reading became easier with the use of both hands.

Traphis opened the book and turned to the first page. The title read, _Wolvarks - Where Do They Come From?_ Skipping on to the next chapter, he read, _The Keen Senses of a Wolvark_. This one seemed a good place to start.

The first two pages were easy to read; the writing was clear and concise, and reminded him of his father's books. But before he could enter well within the pages, he was interrupted by a slow knocking sound. It came gradually closer, increasing in volume. By the time he realized they were footsteps, it was too late to hide.

A dark figure entered the room. Deep, heavy breaths echoed across the attic floor. After a few moments, a voice spoke. "I'm getting too old for stairs such as these."

"Falin?" Traphis asked.

The man stepped into the light. His white beard and colored robes were unquestionably Falin's.

"How did you find me?" Traphis asked.

"I followed your trail."

"My trail?"

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

Traphis blushed; the man was clearly exhausted and here he was hammering him with questions. Jumping up, Traphis offered Falin his seat, and then took another for his own.

Falin sat down and released a deep sigh of relief. He looked more tired than Traphis had ever seen him before, and after a moment's pause, Falin's expression suddenly grew stern. It gave Traphis a start. The wizard must have been mad. Traphis knew he should have waited in that room with the flowers. He shouldn't have run off on his own. Now he let his teacher down, and it was too late to do anything about it. The excitement of having produced the flame vanished. Traphis wondered if Falin would start yelling, but to his surprise, the old man's gaze was directed at the candle light.

"The Crimson Flame," Falin said as if he were speaking to someone else in the room.

"It was the sand," Traphis said, trying not to let his voice betray his uneasiness. "When I put the sand in the water, the flame appeared on my hand."

Falin took his eyes off the candle and smiled at Traphis. "I am sorry, yes, that is truly wonderful. I am glad to know you were able to resist the Cloud."

"I didn't want to turn into a monster."

Falin chuckled. "Very wise, my apprentice. One day you will be as insightful as Mardin."

Traphis' face must have glowed brighter than the candle itself—the tension in his chest became a distant memory.

Falin looked around the room. "This is quite the place you have found," he said. "There must be a wondrous amount of information here."

"You didn't know about it?"

"There is much about this building that even I do not know. There are many mysteries yet to be discovered, and you may have been the first to find this room for hundreds of years."

Traphis looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. He stood and walked over to one of the shelves. "That's amazing," he said, scraping dust off a book. "They are in such good condition too."

"Magical books are able to withstand more diverse conditions than traditional ones."

Traphis knew that all too well. When he rescued his father's books from the water, there was less damage to them than he expected. Now that they were buried in his cave, he knew they would remain safe for a very long time. Someday he would go back for them, but with all these new resources, why would he need to? Still, there was something special about the books that his father wrote. They were worth more to him than this entire library.

"I see you are reading about wolvarks," Falin said. "Did you find anything useful?"

Traphis nodded, walked back to the table, and sat down. "It says they have a strong sense of smell. That they can find people miles away just by their scent . . ." He trailed off and then asked, "How did you find me here? I thought I would be lost forever."

"I hope you do not think I tracked you by your scent," Falin said.

Traphis bowed his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just thought . . ."

Falin chuckled. "I assure you I am quite unlike a wolvark. They are beasts who were once men, and are now under the control of Tyron. But to answer your question, as I said before, I followed your trail."

"I don't remember leaving one."

"Ah, but you did." Falin leaned back in his chair and stroked his white beard. "Whenever you use magic, it leaves a residue of energy behind . . . here, let me show you." He pointed toward the candle. "Look into the flame."

Traphis did as commanded and gazed without blinking. It really did look like blood as it danced before his eyes. There was something unsettling about it.

Falin pointed his staff and the flame suddenly vanished. The room grew dark; the only remaining light came from the frosted windows. He told Traphis to close his eyes, and when he did, Traphis felt something press up against his face. The sensation was cold, but not uncomfortable. When commanded to open his eyes again, Traphis saw that the candle was lit.

"How did you restore the flame?" Traphis asked. "Did you use the same magic as me?"

"No," Falin said. "You and I do not share the same gift." He lifted his hand and placed it over the flame.

Traphis flinched, but to his surprise, the old wizard's hand was unaffected.

"The candle is no longer lit," Falin said. "What you see now is the residue of energy that your magic left behind. Now look to your side."

When Traphis turned from the candle, he noticed a soft line of light. He reached out and held his hand up to the beam, but it passed straight through. There was no texture, no surface, no change in temperature—there was nothing there at all, yet he could see it.

Standing, Traphis followed the reddish beam. It curved, twisted, and wound around the room. He found himself facing the hole in the floor where he had entered the attic. The magic continued down the stairway and faded into the distance. "Amazing," he said. "How is this possible?"

"Take them off your face," Falin said.

Traphis touched his forehead, but didn't feel anything. Unsure what Falin meant, his finger lowered until it grazed the edge of what felt like a thin wire. He traced along the line and discovered that an object circled over his eyes and curved around his ears. He lifted the item off his face and inspected it. A large metal band connected two oval shapes. Between the shapes was a thin wire, twisted like a horseshoe. This, he figured, was what rested the object against his nose.

When he looked back up, he noticed that all signs of the red beam were gone. Even the flame on the candle. The room was darker than before.

"Now bring them back to me," Falin said.

Traphis handed the object over to Falin. The wizard folded it flat and then placed it on the table.

"If you pass your next lesson, I will give these to you. They are called Revealers—crafted by metal infused with magic. With them you can see the residual magic left behind by wizards, but the energy eventually fades so that the Revealers will no longer be able to detect it. Still, this can be helpful given the proper circumstances."

With a look of longing, Traphis gazed at the table. Those—what did he call them? Revealers?—seemed like they belonged in his pocket. It was a strange name, but no less, he wanted them if only to have an advantage over the other trainees. It occurred to him that the Revealers looked like something taken from the room of magical objects, but he shook that memory out of his head. The face of Titch came into mind and a sudden sinking feeling weighed heavy inside him, as if he was forgetting something important, something he had to do, but then his stomach growled.

"You have already missed lunch," Falin said. "And we will not be back in time for dinner. If we leave now, I am sure you will manage to find something to eat."

"Will I be able to come back here?" Traphis asked.

"This is indeed an interesting place." Falin tweaked his beard. "There could be some useful resources here. . . . We just have one slight problem."

Traphis frowned. "What problem?"

"Without a map, or an extremely good memory, how will you find your way back here?"

Traphis furled his brow in consideration. "I could write it down as we walk?"

Falin took something out from the inside of his robe, placed it on the table, and motioned for Traphis to pick it up. "How good are you at drawing?"

Traphis reach down and took the paper and writing stick. Then, after a few scribbles, he asked, "Isn't there an easier way of doing this? Can't we use some kind of spell?"

"Never call it that."

Traphis flinched. The wizard's tone had suddenly become harsh.

"Spells are what the enemy uses," Falin said, softening his voice. "We do not use spells; we make requests, but let us leave that talk for another day. To answer your first question, yes, there is a way we can use magic to perform this task."

"How?"

"Create a seal, but at your current level, that is not possible."

Traphis remembered Titch talking to him about seals, and the sword floating away as he tried to grab it, but he still didn't know how they worked.

"Here, let me show you." Falin reached out with his left hand, and for the first time, Traphis noticed there was a ring seated on his index finger. It was silver, but absent of any markings or jewels. The top was smooth and flat—about the size of Falin's fingernail—but other than the shiny, smooth surface, it was quite plain.

A green light suddenly appeared on the ring's oval surface. It was in the shape of a symbol that resembled the branches of a tree. And then, Traphis realized why there were no decorations; the green light was more majestic than any jewel he had ever seen.

Falin rolled his knuckles across the surface of the table. The smell of burning wood entered Traphis' nostrils, and when the wizard moved his hand away, there was a black spot where the ring had been. It was the same shape as the tree-looking symbol.

"This is a seal," Falin said. The green symbol on his ring vanished, but the mark on the table remained. "It will only work if I accompany you," Falin continued. "Should you wish to come on your own, you will need another way." He stroked his beard and said, "Let me make you an offer. If you promise never to join Tyron, I will give you the Revealers now."

"Who is Tyron?" Traphis asked—excitement ran through him at the mention of being given the Revealers.

"Tyron is the man who killed your father and destroyed the Kingdom of Golan."

Traphis clenched his teeth. "I would never have anything to do with him," he said, but it was partially a lie. He would have something to do with this Tyron; he would stick a knife in the man's back just as Tyron had done to his father.

The old wizard smiled. "That is what I would expect from Mardin's boy. Here, let me show you." Falin picked up the Revealers and handed them to Traphis. "Not only can they be used to see a wizard's path of energy, but they can be commanded to remember a specific location."

"How?" Traphis asked.

"The commands are quite simple. To add a place say, 'mark,' and then give it a name. To find the place you marked, say, 'show,' and then the name of the location."

Traphis must have looked as confused as he felt.

Falin smiled. "Put them on your face, say, 'mark,' and then whatever you want to call this place."

Given the fact that it was impossible to know the true name of the attic, Traphis realized he had to come up with something on his own. Putting the wiry frame over his eyes, he looked around the room. The glowing windows, dusty floor, tall bookshelves, and wooden desk glared back at him. The name had to be appropriate, something that demonstrated knowledge and age.

"Mark," Traphis said. "Attic of Elders."

The name nearly knocked Falin out of his seat. "Elders?" he said. "I hope you were not thinking of me."

Without hesitation, Traphis said, "I thought of these books, and their years of wisdom made me think of them as people. If they really are magical books, it's almost as if they are alive in some way; waiting to be picked up, listened to, and understood."

"You never cease to amaze me," Falin said.

"When do we complete the next lesson?" Traphis asked.

"I believe you already have."

* * *

Light from the tip of Falin's staff flowed over the walls like a reflection in water.

With the book of wolvarks grasped tightly in his hands, Traphis followed several paces behind. The thought of being lost again was enough to keep him focused. However, he would have preferred it if Falin gave him words of instruction to pass the time. The tired wizard seemed to only have enough energy to walk. It was mostly Traphis' fault for wandering off, so he didn't say anything about it.

After a good deal of walking, Traphis became weary of reading under the poor light, so he closed the book and looked around. Unlike the times he spent wandering in the forest, there was little to keep him interested here. Countless doors passed by on either side, and the best he could do was imagine what might be behind them. He made a game of it. Some were filled with dangerous prisoners, others contained priceless jewels, and a few even possessed magical objects far superior to the ones in the lower room. Of course, this was all imaginary, but it did help him to stay awake.

As he pondered what next to fill a room with, one of the side doors flew open. A slender figure stumbled out of it, wobbled, and then collapsed to the ground.

Falin quickened his pace. When he arrived at the spot, he hunched over and inspected the body. Tattered robes were splattered with what looked to be blood.

"Is he all right?" Traphis asked.

After removing the man's hood, Falin took out his bag and sprinkled the healing sand against the wounds. After a few moments, an arm moved.

"What has happened?" Falin asked the man.

"Where am I?" the man asked. His eyes darted around like a creature cornered by a pack of learcats.

"You are safe," Falin said. "You are in the Wizarding Committee Headquarters."

"Headquarters?" There was a pause as if the man needed a few moments for the words to sink in. "So I made it after all, thank the Founder." He sighed and then dropped his head to the floor.

"Is he dead?" Traphis asked.

"No," Falin said. "But we must hurry." He pointed his staff at the fragile figure. A green light streamed from the tip and flowed over the body, which lifted slightly into the air.

The man's arms lay limp as Falin's staff glided him along the ground.

Each step amplified Traphis' curiosity. The man was badly wounded and Traphis couldn't help but wonder what happened to him in that room.

Eventually, another wizard appeared in the hallway. At first Traphis was thankful to see him, but then he noticed it was Jabool—the arrogant wizard that nobody seemed to like.

"What happened here?" Jabool asked. His voice sounded accusing.

"We do not yet know," Falin said. "He came out of a Nomadic Room, but I do not recognize him as one of ours."

"How did he get past our defenses?" Jabool pushed past Traphis, pointed his staff at the man, and motioned as if to attack.

"He is injured," Falin said. "We must bring him safely to the Committee. From there we can ascertain the reason for his intrusion."

Jabool looked sideways at Falin, as if questioning whether he should challenge the wizard, but then lowered his staff. "Agreed. But I will bring him there."

"As you wish," Falin said, lowering his staff so that Jabool could take control. "Please, go ahead, we are right behind you."

The nasty wizard flashed a disgusted look, but then turned and led the way.

"Who is he?" Traphis whispered to Falin.

"He is an instructor at our school; I believe you have already met him."

"Not Jabool, the other guy."

Falin smiled. "You must be specific."

Traphis clicked his tongue in frustration. His teacher was an expert at dodging questions. "Where did he . . . the man whom Jabool is carrying, come from?"

"That is what we are going to find out," Falin said.

Jabool shouted back. "Trainees should observe, not speak."

_What's that supposed to mean?_ Traphis wondered, but recognized when it was time to hold his tongue.

* * *

It wasn't long before they reached the meeting room. Jabool opened the large wooden doors and walked through with the injured man. Falin followed behind him. There was no one in the room yet, but Traphis assumed it wouldn't take long for the rest to arrive.

"It's time for you to leave," Jabool said.

"But . . ." Traphis felt like someone had punched him in the chest. This stranger was his discovery too.

Falin smiled and walked him to the door. "This is a good time for you to see if there is any food left in the dining room."

Traphis wanted to speak, but could see in the old man's eyes that now wasn't the time.

The doors shut in front of him and his stomach rumbled. "I guess there's nothing better to do."

The dining hall was empty. Each step he took echoed across the room as if a moarock was coming. _A moarock,_ Traphis thought. _Is that all I am to them?_

The table was equally as empty. No food in sight, anywhere. How could he have been so foolish? Every bit would have been crystallized and shattered into nothingness. As Skinny Jack said, they kept it clean.

Disgruntled, Traphis made his way up the stairs. At least he had the wolvark book to distract him. It would have to be enough to get him through the night.

When he reached the door of his room, the book dropped to the ground. A scribbled note was pinned to the outside. It read, "Don't worry, I won't bother you anymore. Titch."

Traphis slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten about her? They were supposed to meet. Now she was sure to be mad at him. But wasn't he mad at her? He didn't know anymore.

With a sigh, he picked up the book, opened the door, and collapsed onto the bed. Learning to become a wizard was a lot more exhausting than he imagined.

# Chapter 10

THE NEXT MORNING, Traphis heard a knock at the door. He opened his eyes briefly and then closed them again. Another knock. He curled his arms around his head and tried to remember the last thing he dreamt. The door opened.

"Long night?"

Traphis blinked his eyes at the blurry figure standing at the end of his bed. "Where am I?" he asked.

"In your room," the visitor said. "Where else would you be?"

With much effort, Traphis leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. There was something missing. Where were the tara birds?

A gleaming smile greeted him when at last he could see. It belonged to the boy from the day before.

"It's time to eat," Skinny Jack said. "You don't want to be late, do you?"

There was a sound of something hitting the floor. Traphis instinctively leaned over, grabbed it, and set the object back on the bed.

"Where did that come from?" Skinny Jack asked. "I haven't seen binding like that before."

Traphis let out a squeaky response. "It . . ." he cleared his throat. "It was a gift." Should he tell Skinny Jack about the Attic of Elders? He was still cautious, having not known the boy for very long. That, and there was something to be said for keeping a secret a secret. What good was a mystery if everyone knew about it?

"Can I see it?" Skinny Jack asked. A greedy expression surfaced on his face.

With a slight pause, Traphis slid the book over to the boy, who grabbed it up like a hungry lorax.

"Amazing," Skinny Jack said. His long fingers brushed through the pages as if he could read every word in a matter of a few breaths.

"Are you an expert on books or something?" Traphis meant it as a joke.

Skinny Jack stared at him as if he had said the most horrifying thing imaginable. "Am I, Jack, an expert on books?"

Traphis suddenly wanted to crawl back under his blanket.

Skinny Jack lifted the book over his head, as if in a declaration. "The king of readers, the master of pages, the poet of prose, the lord of parchment, and the scribe of scribes. I, Jack, beseech you to know my—"

"Oh, stop talking," a voice in the doorway said. "Forgive my brother. He's a little slow in the under scalp. Give him a book and he'll tell you anything you wish to know about it, but ask him about himself, and he'll make you regret it."

"Kip," Skinny Jack said. "What are you doing in a boy's room?"

The brown dots on her face suddenly disappeared underneath the redness of her cheeks. "I just wanted to tell Traphis it was time to eat . . . being new . . . I thought he . . ." She backed out of the room, turned on her heel, and dashed down the hallway.

Skinny Jack smiled. "And she calls me the odd one."

Traphis probably looked as dumb as he felt. This type of interaction was unfamiliar to him. Other youths were perhaps a greater mystery than the origins of the Attic of Elders. Though he had to admit, ever since the day before, there was something nice about being around them; he just couldn't figure out what it was. Still, if it was true that Skinny Jack was an expert on books, this might be a good opportunity.

"What can you tell me about the book?" Traphis asked.

The boy's face lit up like a star. It was as if Traphis had told him he was the most important person alive.

When Skinny Jack opened the book, his eyebrows crunched together in concentration. "The pages are made from an unusual material," he said and then rubbed a fingernail across the surface. "The pages in our books are made from trees. Harvesters shred wood and then press it together with large, rotating stones. But this looks to be made from some kind of grass or plant. Definitely compressed and dyed with the aid of magic. Handmade pages this old could not have lasted this long." He looked up. "Yes, this book is very old. The style of the letters is typical of those from over a hundred years ago, and there's something else."

"What?"

"The books we have on wolvarks today look nothing like this. In fact, from what I can tell, this book has a lot more information, but that doesn't make any sense." Skinny Jack rubbed his chin.

"What doesn't make sense?"

"We were told that wolvarks are a creation of Tyron, but if that's true . . ." He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. "If that's true, and this book is really aged, then that means Tyron must be over a hundred years old."

An uneasy feeling sunk inside Traphis' gut. At over a hundred years old, Tyron should be weak and decrepit, but the man who challenged his father was full of life.

"Well," Skinny Jack said—his voice sounding less mysterious, "nothing we can do about that on an empty stomach. Let's eat."

When they reached the dining hall, Traphis took some meat, bread, eggs, and a strange looking substance that smelled appetizing. Unlike the day before, he piled his arms full. Even though the other youths gave him questioning looks, he was too hungry to care.

The end of the table was open to both him and Skinny Jack. Already sitting there were Kip and Saleena. Traphis would have blamed Skinny Jack for making him late, but in all probability, he would still be sleeping if it were not for the boy. Having missed lunch and dinner the day before, the last thing he wanted to do was miss another meal.

Colors reflected off the table's surface. All down its length, rows of children were eating using their magic. Even Kip was in the middle of chewing by the time he sat down.

Food rolled out of his arms and formed a pile. The two girls exchanged glances, but said nothing.

_Yes, I'm eating like a fat lorax_ , Traphis wanted to say, but thought better of it.

Before Traphis had time to situate, Skinny Jack produced his green funnel and forced a morsel into his mouth. For being such a thin boy, Skinny Jack sure liked to eat, perhaps even more so than Traphis.

"Have you heard they found an intruder?" Kip asked. Her eyes lit up as she spoke. "Seems someone got through a Nomadic Room."

Traphis had heard Falin use that term too: Nomadic Room. Tempted to ask, he decided it would only make him look foolish for not knowing. Still, there was something he knew that they didn't. After all, he had been there when the visitor came through the door. A smile crept across his face.

Skinny Jack rolled his eyes. "How could they get in without a signature ring?"

"Maybe they had one," Kip said.

"Even if they did," Skinny Jack said, "their signature would only work if it was registered with the Committee. An intruder would not be registered."

Saleena spoke in her misty tone, "Maybe someone let him in."

There was a pause as her words were considered.

Kip shook her head and said, "They say he was dead when they found him."

"He wasn't dead," Traphis said. "Just wounded."

Skinny Jack's funnel quivered and a piece of food dropped. "How would you know?" he asked.

All eyes were on Traphis. "I was there when it happened." His smile broadened. "We carried him down the hall and into the meeting room."

"You did?" Kip's eyes widened. "Who was with you? What did the man say? Where was he hurt? Did he speak to you? What did he look like? Was he Ronum?"

"Slow down," Skinny Jack said. "You're going to make yourself old before your time."

"Maybe you should try to talk faster," Saleena said, looking at Skinny Jack. "You are the one wanting to be older."

"You're one to tell me to talk faster," Skinny Jack said, though only loud enough for Traphis to hear.

Traphis continued, "He asked where he was and then passed out. There were cuts on his robe and blood everywhere. He must have been in a battle."

"A battle?" Kip nearly shouted the words.

"What happened when you brought him into the meeting room?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Jabool forced me to leave."

Skinny Jack cursed under his breath. "I hate that man."

"What would you expect?" Saleena said. "We are not allowed to be present during meetings."

"Still . . ." Skinny Jack gave a look of disappointment.

"What if you ask Falin?" Kip asked. "I bet he'd tell his only apprentice."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Traphis said. "He's always speaking in mysteries anyway."

"What if we sneak into the holding rooms?" Skinny Jack asked. "We might be able to find out for ourselves."

A look of horror crossed Kip's face, but Traphis noticed a spark of excitement appearing as well. "That would be dangerous," she said. "What if we got caught?"

"Are we wizards or are we gizzards?" Skinny Jack challenged.

"Wizits." Saleena's deep blue eyes were still and calm like water.

"That's just a technicality, you know what I mean."

Suddenly all eyes were back on Traphis. He knew they were expecting him to respond, but what should he say? If he was gone when Falin came looking for him . . . and if he was caught . . . Unfamiliar with the levels of discipline at the WC, Traphis wasn't sure what kind of punishment to expect. At home, he would have been given extra chores or made to sit in his room, but this was bigger. For all he knew it would be the end of him becoming a wizard.

Saleena leaned forward and asked, "Is that the girl from yesterday?"

Traphis turned. Red hair strolled into the dining hall. Titch was even later than they were. She grabbed a small amount of food and walked toward the table.

Traphis felt the blood draining from his cheeks. He sensed her coming closer. Each step was slower than the last until she came close enough to touch him. And then, she kept walking, looking ahead as if Traphis didn't exist. A few seats down she sat by some good-looking boys who seemed all too happy to make room for her.

"What did you do?" Saleena asked, looking straight into Traphis' eyes with an unblinking gaze.

"What do you mean?" Traphis asked, lowering his head and trying to sound clueless. It wasn't like he intentionally avoided Titch last night.

"If she wants to sit somewhere else, that's her choice," Kip said.

"It must have been something bad," Saleena said. "She's really mad at you."

"But I didn't—"

"Don't worry, girls are a distraction anyway," Skinny Jack said. "We've got more important things to do like finding out who that guy is. Are you with us, Traphis?"

"I never said _I_ —" Kip couldn't get the words out.

"She'll come," Skinny Jack said. "She won't let anything happen to her little brother. Will you, Kip?"

Silence.

"We need a plan," Saleena said. "We cannot expect to be welcomed."

"Plans are my best asset," Skinny Jack said.

"I thought books were." Traphis couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"You learn fast. My brother thinks that everything is his best asset."

Skinny Jack seemed to ignore the comment. His eyes were studying the table as if it possessed a map of the WC. After a few moments, he jerked his head upright and flashed a big smile. "I've got it!"

* * *

Traphis wondered what he had gotten himself into. Once everyone was done eating, or rather, once the table had decided to turn all the food left on the surface into ice that shattered into nothingness, the four of them sat there, waiting for the room to clear.

"Don't you have lessons to go to?" Traphis asked, hoping that this would put an end to the plan. Unfortunately, for him, Falin hadn't come to get him yet.

"You really are new to the WC," Saleena said. "We are allowed to study as much or as little as we want."

"Don't you have instructors?" Traphis was confused. At home, his lessons were taught to him by his mother, but he knew that most towns had a school where an instructor would stand at the front of the room while the students would sit and listen.

"Sorry to interrupt your under scalp workings," Skinny Jack said. "But we're the only ones left. We can go. You all know the plan, so let's get started."

They made their way out of the room and down the wooden hallway.

"We are told what we need to learn," Saleena said, getting back to Traphis' earlier question. "It is up to us to find ways to learn them. There are books for us to read, rooms to practice in, wizards to ask questions of, and our friends to share ideas and information with."

"But how do you become a wizard then?"

"Wizit," Saleena corrected.

Skinny Jack cut in. "The Wizarding Committee gathers every 40 days. At that time, if you want to prove you are ready, you stand before them to be tested."

"It's not easy either," Kip said, then looked away as if embarrassed.

"Naturally," Skinny Jack said. "Kip only says that because she failed. But when I go they'll be so amazed that I'll pass all the levels of wizardry and become a full wizard right away."

"A full wizard?" Traphis asked.

"Don't listen to him," Kip said. "If we pass the trials, we only become Gray Class wizards . . . or wizits. Someone like Falin is White Class, but there are very few of them." She paused, as if she could see the confusion written over Traphis' face. "There are four classes: Gray, Blue, Purple, and White. Those studying to be Gray Class live in this area of the WC. When we pass the trials, we move to a different area so that we can be around others who are in our class. We also get our rings and learn how to use them. Once we reach Blue Class, we will receive our staffs."

Traphis had a hard time taking it all in. Each person had his or her own unique magical element, color, ring, staff, and class. It was all too complicated. He remembered Falin's ring, which had lit up when the wizard made a mark on the table in the Attic of Elders, but Traphis never saw his father wear one. His father did have a staff, like Falin who used it to create the plant. And it was Traphis' staff now. Only, if Kip was right, he wouldn't be allowed to use it until he reached Blue Class.

"We're here," Skinny Jack said.

Traphis stood in front of the familiar wooden door. Beyond was a winding stairway that led down to a dark room, and hidden somewhere in that room was the square cube that Titch nearly killed him with.

"Are you sure about this?" Traphis asked. "We'll set off a seal and be discovered."

Skinny Jack smiled. "Don't underestimate the plan. Saleena, are you ready?"

Saleena closed her eyes, touched her fingers together, and then formed a bubble of water around both her hands and feet. When she opened her eyes, she spread her fingers apart and took a few steps toward the door. As Skinny Jack had predicted, her movements were silent; the watery substance created enough cushion to drown out her steps.

Skinny Jack opened the door and Saleena disappeared down the stairs and into the darkness.

"I still don't understand how she can see without light," Traphis said.

"It's as I explained before," Skinny Jack said. "Because she's a Claymear, her eyes have adapted to the deep darkness of the great waters. She can see things we can't."

"Maybe, but how is she going to find that Ear thing without touching something else?" Traphis paced back and forth. "She's bound to bump into a seal, and then they'll know we're here."

"Don't doubt the plan," Skinny Jack said, as if that explained everything away.

Kip stared down the stairway as if she could see what was happening, but Traphis knew her human eyes were as limited as his were. The silence may have made it easier for Saleena to stay undetected by the seals, but it also made it even more unsettling for those who had to wait at the top.

After what seemed like forever, Saleena's head became visible from the stairway. Traphis could see that she was holding something in her hand.

"Just as the book of magical objects dictated," Skinny Jack said. He reached out and grabbed the item from Saleena, which only moments before was encircled by water.

"So that is the Ear?" Traphis asked. It was in the shape of a small cone, with a large hole on one end, and a small hole on the other. Other than the fact it was brown, there was very little else to describe it; it looked too plain and too small for something that would supposedly help Skinny Jack's plan to succeed.

"Let's keep moving," Skinny Jack said.

They walked along the hallway in silence. Kip stayed close to Traphis; Skinny Jack marched in front, with his long, lanky legs giving him the advantage of speed; and Saleena stayed behind, seemingly content with her slow pace.

Traphis watched the round lights as they floated in the air. He wondered how they were created, who created them, and what kept them shining so endlessly and strong. There was obviously a limit to how far they could travel, since their light only stayed in the main areas of the WC building. As he knew well, anyone who traveled farther away was stuck having to light his own path.

After making several right turns, and climbing down two flights of stairs, they came to a halt.

"This is where we begin," Skinny Jack said, while peering around a corner. "The holding rooms are just beyond that door."

# Chapter 11

THE WALL PRESSED against Traphis' shoulder. Its wood texture was hard and cold to the touch. Thoughts of his mother arose and he wondered what she would say if she knew what he was about to do. Coming home after dark was one thing, but breaking into a holding area was on an entirely different level.

Skinny Jack turned his head away from the corner and looked back at his companions. "This isn't what I expected," he said.

"What?" Traphis asked. He knew things would go badly.

"No one's guarding the door," Skinny Jack said.

Traphis pushed himself away from the wall, took a few paces toward the edge, and then peeked around the corner. Open and roomy, the area was at the end of the hallway. In the center was a large wooden door. With a nod, Traphis confirmed that Skinny Jack was right; no one was there. He sighed with relief.

"At least this makes things easier," Skinny Jack said.

"Wait," Traphis said. "You mean we're still going in?"

Skinny Jack turned toward Traphis with one eyebrow raised. "Why else have we come?"

"But . . ."

"Let's go," Kip said, grabbing Traphis' arm and leading him around the corner.

His power of resistance vanished. He felt himself being driven by an outside force, and it wasn't the physical strength of this young girl. It was as if she had taken over the movement of his body, including the function of his legs, arms, and feet. He no longer had control, or was it that he no longer wanted control? Was this magic? If so, did all girls possess it? He remembered a similar feeling when Titch touched him before.

Skinny Jack walked over to the door. "It isn't locked," he said. "Looks like Kip won't need to do her part."

Traphis stepped up to the opening. On the other side, a straight set of stairs led downward. Unlike the room filled with magical objects, the floating bug-like lights were in full bloom as far as he could see.

He wanted to tell Kip to let go of his arm, but the strange power in her touch kept him stuck to her like sap. It made him feel numb with an unusual satisfaction. She must have realized this as well since she suddenly pulled away with a blush.

Skinny Jack didn't seem to notice, but Saleena extended the biggest smile Traphis had ever seen. This adventure couldn't have become any stranger. In fact, in order to end it sooner, Traphis pushed Skinny Jack aside and took the lead.

By taking two steps at a time, he made it to the bottom of the stairway. A long hallway stretched before him, and on each side several doors were equally spaced apart. At the end of the pathway, a solid wall nullified the possibility of any other exits.

They opened each door, one at a time. Every room contained a small bed, watering spout, and place that Traphis guessed was meant for the occupants to relieve themselves in. It was obvious that the rooms were used to keep prisoners.

"No one is here," Saleena said. Her voice had its normal placid tone. "No one has been here for a long time. The layers of dust show that."

Skinny Jack was at the far end of the hall. He closed the last door and then muttered to himself.

A smile formed at the corners of Kip's mouth. "And how does the flawless plan fit into this scenario?"

"The plan still works," Skinny Jack said. "It was just missing some information." He rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling, as if it somehow contained a window into his thoughts. "Based on what we knew from before, the man had broken past the defenses of the WC. But maybe he isn't an enemy." He paused. "Yes, that's it. If he was an enemy, they would have brought him here. But . . ."

"So, my genius brother," Kip said. "Where is the man now?" Her arms folded.

"We don't need him," Skinny Jack said. "We still have the Ear, so let's go to the source."

"That's too risky," Kip said.

"What's too risky?" Traphis asked.

"He plans to listen in on the meeting room."

"I thought we were going to use the Ear thing in here," Traphis said.

"The plan calls for new direction," Skinny Jack said. "Trust me; it will be easier this way. We won't have any guards to distract."

"Because no one is stupid enough to spy on the Committee," Kip said.

For the first time, Traphis noticed that Kip's brown hair had a slight glow to it, which must have been another part of her magic.

"The plan will not fail," Skinny Jack said.

Kip rolled her eyes.

It seemed to be no good trying to talk Skinny Jack out of it. They had started a mission, and they would finish it one way or another.

The only person who showed little concern was Saleena; she may have acted indifferent, but Traphis was beginning to suspect otherwise. The girl seemed to be enjoying herself.

The companions followed Skinny Jack once again. Traphis noticed that Kip was walking closer to him than before. Girls were bizarre creatures. He thought of Neha—the only uncomplicated girl he ever knew. And then the idea of his horse made him feel homesick. As much as he wouldn't admit it out loud, he missed his mother. She said she would bring him his things before she left with Braun, so thankfully he would be able to see her again.

"That's the first time I've seen you smile today," Kip said.

Heat welled up against Traphis' face; he must have turned red with embarrassment. It was as if Kip had invaded his mind and was intruding upon his most intimate thoughts. But there was no way she could know that he was thinking of his mother. At least he had that to himself. And then he sensed something to the right of him. When he turned to look, the face of Saleena stared directly at him. Her blue eyes dug into his skull and fogged over with that odd translucent third eyelid that Traphis had noticed before.

He stopped walking. "What?"

"I will leave you two alone," Saleena said. She winked at Kip and continued on her way.

Traphis felt a chill. _What a creepy person_ , he thought.

"Don't worry about her," Kip said. She stopped next to him. "If you met another Claymear, you would think she's quite normal in comparison."

"I can't imagine." Traphis resumed his pace so not to get too far behind.

"It must be difficult for her," Kip continued. "To be so far away from home, away from her family, and to be so different from everyone else."

"How long have you known her?"

"She came to the WC shortly after I did," Kip said. "Since we both had trouble fitting in, we became friends. When I got to know her better, I started to understand her more. She had a dangerous childhood. The great waters are filled with many huge and vicious beasts. Even the small ones have deadly poisons. That is, if one can survive the clan wars. Her family sent her here once they learned that the WC was training girls like us. They couldn't spare a single male warrior, which seems stupid, if you ask me, but as the daughter of the clan's leader, they expect her to come back and train their troops."

"You mean," Traphis said, "she's a princess?"

"Of sorts," Kip said, running her fingers through her brown hair. "Their culture is different than ours, and there is a lot more expected of the leader's kin. She has the responsibilities of a prince, but without the benefits of being a princess."

Traphis realized that Saleena's burdens were greater than his own. To be expected to learn magic just to teach it to warriors. Was that even allowed outside the WC? Regardless, he had planned to use his magic like his father; showing off to spectators. The thought of using it to fight hadn't occured to him before now. Saleena must have known only war and danger in her lifetime. The most dangerous thing to happen to him was the learcat that attacked him the other day. And even then, it was mostly harmless; the lorax did all the damage. He looked down at the flesh on his arm, which thankfully had been healed by Falin.

"What about your family?" Kip asked.

A sharp breath entered Traphis' lungs. Talking to Kip about other people had been easy enough, but now that the conversation turned toward him, the muscles in his jaw tightened. Opening up wasn't something that came naturally to him. And she was asking about things that he wanted to keep a secret. Should he tell her about his family? What if she laughed at him? No, it didn't seem like Kip was that type of girl. Something about her made him think that he could trust her. With a sigh, he said, "My father died about a year ago." He made sure his face didn't give away any signs of emotion.

Kip looked away. "I'm sorry," she said. "Did you love him?"

Dampness welled around his eyes before he could hold it back. He increased the speed of his steps. He couldn't let Kip see his weakness, his pain.

"It's all right," she said, after catching up. "You don't have to tell me." She paused. "Our father is a bad man. That's why I asked. He was really hard on Jack. If it wasn't for us being allowed to live at the WC, I don't know what would have happened to him."

Their conversation was interrupted when they turned a corner. Skinny Jack and Saleena were waiting for them. Traphis hoped that they hadn't heard the conversation.

"The meeting room is up ahead," Skinny Jack said. "And we're just in time."

* * *

There was a "T" shaped crossing; with Traphis at the lower end of the "T." When he peeked around the corner, he could see a stream of traffic shuffling back and forth from the adjoining crossway. Faces displayed expressions of bewilderment and distress.

He recognized this area from when Titch had brought him to meet her uncle, who unfortunately happened to be Greagor. But back then the place wasn't nearly as busy as it was now. Something big was happening, and the Committee clearly showed their concern.

"We won't be able to get close to the door," Traphis said. "There are too many people."

"There's no need to," Skinny Jack said. He pulled something out of his pocket. It was the Ear. "The room spans that entire wall," he said pointing to his right.

Just then, Traphis saw Jabool walking among the procession. The wizard turned his head toward them and then stopped. Before Traphis had a chance to duck back, the skin on the wizard's long horse-like face crinkled. A moment later, he stomped over with steam coming out of his pointy nose.

"What are you children doing here?" The words came at them like a barrage of sparks.

"We're just showing Traphis around the WC," Skinny Jack said. He clutched the Ear behind his back. "We stopped here so we wouldn't get in the way."

Jabool straightened and looked sideways at Traphis. "Is that so?" he said. "Very well, but once the Committee has entered the meeting room, I want you all to move out of here."

"Yes, Controller," Skinny Jack said and then bowed slightly.

"Yes, well, be sure that you do." Jabool turned, but directed one last glance at Traphis before heading back to the fray.

"Controller?" Traphis asked.

"It's an honorific used to address distinguished and superior wizards," Kip said. "In other words, Jack tendered his ego."

"That was close," Skinny Jack said. "Well, let's do what he said."

"You mean we can leave?" Traphis couldn't believe what he was hearing. Skinny Jack, the boy with a flawless plan. Was he really going to give up because of Jabool?

"Yes," Skinny Jack said. "Once the Committee has entered the room, and the halls are cleared, we will be gone from this spot . . . and moved over to that one." He pointed at the outside of the meeting room.

"I don't think that's what he meant," Kip said.

"I guess I'm just not smart enough to understand his instructions." Skinny Jack smiled.

They waited. Once the halls were empty, they moved closer to the meeting room.

Kip, Saleena, and Skinny Jack stood shoulder to shoulder while Traphis lifted the Ear to the wall. The group agreed that it was only proper for him to use the Ear since he was the first one to see the mysterious guest.

Crouched down, his ear pressed against the Ear, and the larger end pressed up against the wall. He felt squished by the six legs that brushed up against his back, but was thankful they were there; creating a human shield (that is, human plus Claymear shield) in case someone walked by.

The Ear was cold as it made a low humming sound. And then a hollow echo of voices entered the device. It took the Ear a moment to focus in on the noises before Traphis was able to decipher the words.

"I agree that the situation has gotten worse, but I don't believe it's time to make a stand." This sounded like Greagor.

"How much greater does the threat have to become?" That one was definitely Falin. "We have all learned what happened from our visitor," he said. "If we wait too long, then it will be too late."

A sneering, condescending voice spoke up this time. "You are naive to believe everything he said. It could be a trick to get us involved in a fight not our own." This was Jabool.

"Your doubt is understandable," Falin said. "But as you well know, no one can enter the building without help from one of our own. The man said it was Baskas, and we have already confirmed that Baskas was watching the border between our countries."

"So the man said," Jabool countered. "And where is Baskas now? What if he let the intruder in just to deceive us? Perhaps he betrayed us by sending this fool with his preposterous story."

"Baskas would not do such a thing." Falin's voice sounded agitated, but remained composed.

"Don't be so sure," Jabool said. "Why did Nahan betray the order in Golan?" There was a murmur of voices. "Because like Nahan, Baskas is weak."

The voice of an elderly sounding man spoke up, "Nahan was anything but weak," he said.

"Yes, well," Jabool said, "now he's our enemy, not our ally. And we should immediately deactivate Baskas' signature like we did to Nahan's before any more unwanted guests arrive. I say we just let the Ronum deal with the problem and be done with it."

"I disagree," Falin said. "Baskas was one of our most loyal wizards. We cannot let the enemy turn their civilians into wolvarks and expect them not to come and invade Eskaron. The same thing will happen here and we will not always be safe in this ancient fortress. As we have just learned, Tyron's forces are already at the border. And do not forget the vows of our order, we have a duty to respect and protect all life. Tyron will come and kill the innocent. Do not underestimate his powers."

"I believe you are overestimating them," Jabool said.

"You forget that I was there when Tyron conquered Golan. The four of us were unable to stop him and he will be even stronger now."

"Oh yes, the four of you. Didn't you call your little group the Five Jinx? And wasn't Nahan one of them?" There was a scraping noise that sounded like a chair pushing away from the table. Traphis guessed that Jabool was standing now. "The others, what happened to them? I'll tell you what happened. Mardin died last year. Nahan betrayed us. Zebabel has been missing for the last fifteen years. And Shino was killed helping the rest of you to escape. All that's left of your little group is you, Falin."

"Perhaps," Falin said. "But that's all the more reason to be prepared. We were not strong enough to face Tyron at the time."

"And you believe we are strong enough now? Preposterous. We are better off staying where we are."

"We have learned much. And do not forget that there are more than five of us here. All the members of this Committee are powerful; we have hundreds of highly trained wizards, and the potential of many more."

There was a cough and then Greagor spoke. "I thank you for your confidence in us Falin, but as you know I am not a magic user, nor are any of the other mayors joining us today."

"There is more to power than magic," Falin said. "Mayors, I know that you do not normally join the Committee meetings, but I asked for you to come here so that you can understand our dire need. You must prepare your villages for the battle to come, and you must train as many able bodied men as possible."

"Your words are wise, Falin," Greagor said. "But we haven't decided if there is even a threat. As Jabool said, it may be better for us to leave things alone. Perhaps he is right and Baskas has betrayed us. I may not be a wizard, but I do know that a door to the outside cannot be opened unless a wizard uses a ring to unlock it. I agree that we should be more cautious and the village entrances should no longer be left open, everything should be locked down tightly, but it is not the time to take offensive action."

There was a murmur of agreement, though without seeing, Traphis was unable to tell how many of them remained silent. He guessed that the room was filled from corner to corner with people standing all around the table.

"There's no need for this to be a long meeting." This voice came from a man that Traphis didn't recognize. "Has everyone voiced their opinions on the matter?"

There was a long silence.

"Please, Elder Controller," Falin said. "Let us postpone the meeting so that everyone has time to consider."

"Does anyone disagree with this request?" There was no answer. "Then we shall meet again tomorrow at the same time."

"If I may," Jabool said. "I would like the members of the Committee to stay behind to discuss one further matter."

"Very well," the Elder Controller said. "The rest of you may be on your way."

"Greagor, I would like you to stay as well," Jabool said.

The next thing Traphis heard was a commotion of voices and footsteps. It was so loud that he had to pull away from the Ear.

"Are they finished already?" Skinny Jack asked from behind Traphis' shoulder.

Traphis turned to look at his bodily shields. "No, only partly, I want to hear what else they have to say."

"Then we better hide around the corner first or someone might spot us," Skinny Jack said.

Sure enough, people from the meeting were filtering out of the room, but thankfully, Traphis and his companions made it around the corner in time. He waited impatiently; worried about missing a single word.

Thankfully, no one came their way, but as Skinny Jack pointed out, the main areas of the building were at the top of the "T." Their group was hiding in the lower hallway that went off to the holding rooms, which trailed down into unknown regions, and only provided long routes to anywhere important.

"I wonder what Jabool the Cruel wants with him," Traphis said.

Skinny Jack let out a loud laugh, but quickly slapped a hand against his mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud," Traphis said.

"No, no, my friend. That's the best thing I've heard in a long time." Skinny Jack patted him on the shoulder. "I couldn't have thought of a better name myself. Jabool the Cruel. I love it."

Moments later, the hall was clear again and Traphis wasted no time in making his way back to the wall.

They resumed their position; with Traphis hidden behind the three bodies, and his ear pressed against the magical Ear. There was a humming noise and then the voices blurred together before becoming audible.

"Yes, Jabool," an unfamiliar voice said. "Why have you detained us?"

"Why?" Jabool's tone was anything but pleasant. "I want to know what we plan to do about the boy. He's a danger to us all."

"I assume you are referring . . ." The voice became muffled, like someone trying to talk underwater.

_Come on_ , Traphis thought. _Work again._ He shifted the Ear, but it was no good. Only a deep humming resounded.

"I need to move closer to the doorway," Traphis said. He jumped up and pushed past his friends.

"Don't be so hasty," Skinny Jack said, but that was all Traphis heard; he turned the corner, knelt down, and repositioned the Ear against the meeting room door.

"Is this why you asked me to stay as well?" Greagor asked, not knowing that his words were being listened to from the outside. There was an echo, but Traphis could at least understand what was being said now.

"You have influence over the boy," Jabool said. "You can do something about him."

"But . . ." Greagor's voice faded and was replaced by a hum.

Traphis frantically readjusted the Ear until it regained its connection.

". . . neither the time nor the place for such a matter." This time it was Falin who spoke.

"Where is the place?" Jabool asked. "Where is the time? We need to act now. He'll only bring Tyron to us."

"Are you not the one who suggested we would be safest staying where we are?" Falin asked.

"I did, but I didn't do so without reservations. It's only the boy who has to go. If he leaves he'll be less likely to lure Tyron to us. You know as well as I that his father—"

The disruption was only momentary, but Traphis guessed it was long enough to miss something important.

"I have already taken full responsibility for him," Falin said. "Whatever happens, I will be the one to blame."

"That's not good enough," Jabool said. "The entire Committee is at risk, not just you."

"The Committee agreed to take him in."

"I wasn't a part of that discussion."

"It was a shame you were not here at the time," Falin said. "But the decision was made all the same. The risk of losing him now is a greater risk than anything that would befall the Committee. Without him we cannot restore Golan."

"Restore it? Why would we want to restore it? The Kingdom of Golan is dead and gone, just as your friends who oversaw it."

"I disagree," the Elder Controller said. "I am not yet convinced that we should take action against Tyron," he continued. "But that does not mean we can let the country of Ronum remain under his control forever. As the most powerful kingdom in the country, Golan should one day be revived."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"Fine, it's on your head, Falin." Jabool pushed his chair away from the table and heavy footsteps sounded in the room.

The next moment Traphis realized that the doors to the meeting room were shifting. He pulled the Ear back, but not before the doors swung open, exposing him to the standing figure of Jabool.

# Chapter 12

THE DOORS SWUNG inward and Jabool stood before Traphis. The meeting had ended abruptly and he was caught listening in. He cringed on the ground with the Ear clutched in his hand, unable to look up. The wizard's face probably contorted with anger as it had been moments before, only this time there were no excuses. Traphis would be punished severely and Falin would be disappointed. Not only that, but he would probably be banned from the WC, for life.

His heart pounded. The next few breaths seemed to last as long as several nights. It wasn't until he heard Jabool's voice that he dared to look up.

"I will conclude this meeting," Jabool said. "But I expect better results when we meet again."

To Traphis' surprise, Jabool was still looking back at the Committee. It was possible that Traphis had not yet been seen.

Something grabbed his wrist and jerked him away from the door.

"Get on your feet and run," Skinny Jack whispered.

Traphis did as commanded. He followed behind Skinny Jack as if the boy was his only salvation. They made a sharp left turn, ran past the place where he originally listened in from, and then turned around another corner before pausing in the hallway. Kip and Saleena where standing there, giving Traphis reproachful looks.

"That was dangerous," Kip said. "Why did you go by the entrance? We could have all been caught."

Skinny Jack checked around the corner, turned, and then smiled at Traphis. "That was close," he said. "And everyone calls me the risk taker."

"I . . ." Traphis paused to filter through the list of responses floating around his head. "I . . . I'm sorry," he said. "But they talked about someone besides the visitor who is a threat. Someone living in the WC. The Ear kept losing connection so I had to find a better place to listen."

"Someone who's a threat?" Skinny Jack said. "I haven't heard anything about that before."

"Of course not," Saleena said. "Why would they tell trainees?"

"But that doesn't make any sense," Kip said. "What else did they say?"

"I didn't hear much," Traphis said. "Only that Jabool wanted the threat gone and Falin didn't. Something about this boy being the only way to restore Golan."

"Boy?" Saleena asked.

"How can a boy be a threat?" Skinny Jack asked.

Traphis handed the Ear to Skinny Jack. "Jabool said he would bring Tyron here," he said. There was a pause of silence and then Traphis spoke again. "That's what the meeting was about. It sounds like Tyron is invading Eskaron, but not everyone believes it's happening. Some say the visitor escaped death at the border, but others think he's lying to draw them out into the open."

"Interesting," Skinny Jack said. "If that's true, then we really could have a battle on our hands."

"Why don't we go to the room the intruder came out of and see for ourselves?" Traphis asked.

"It's not possible," Kip said. "The Nomadic Rooms are locked, and we don't have signature rings to let us in. Even if we did, would you remember which room is the right one?"

Traphis thought about it for a moment, retracing his steps in the back of his mind, but in the end, he had to admit that he didn't.

"She's right," Skinny Jack said. "Since the rooms are portals that lead from the WC into the outside world, if we pick the wrong one, we could end up anywhere."

"Wizards have died testing the rooms," Kip added. "Bodies have been found washed up on shores, as if they were transported too deep into the great waters, and others spent many nights trying to find their way outside of deep caverns. Worse yet, some never returned, and they were lost forever. Just think; what if the door puts us into the sky and we were to fall to our deaths? Or what if we appeared on the top of a mountain only to freeze?"

For the first time, Traphis understood why there were so many seemingly endless rooms in the WC. "Isn't there a list somewhere that says where they go?"

"Supposedly there's something," Skinny Jack said, "but trainees are not told where. Besides, as I understand it, only so many locations were recorded."

"Since we don't have a ring," Kip said. "It really doesn't matter."

"Then the plan has failed," Traphis said.

Skinny Jack widened his eyes and his face turned a dark purple. "The plan never fails. It did everything it was supposed to do. We learned why the mysterious man is here. Anything beyond that would require another plan."

"I hate to admit it," Kip said, "but he's right."

Without saying much else, they took the long way back. The trip was exhausting. Normally, Traphis would have been up for a good walk, but the repetitiveness of the hallway was not as appealing as the trees of a forest. All he wanted to do was collapse on his bed.

Kip, Saleena, and Skinny Jack all went their own ways once they returned to the dining room—it was still too early for the midday meal. They likely went to continue their training in whatever fashion they desired. But not Traphis, no, he had to wait for Falin, and since Falin was busy trying to save Eskaron, he figured it was a good time to return to his book.

The ancient pages where waiting right where Skinny Jack had left them earlier that same day. Traphis suppressed a grin when picturing the boy's stern reaction. An expert at books? How ironic. Here he was, his whole life, wanting to read books about the ways of magic, and someone years younger than him was already skilled. He had a lot of catching up to do.

With this in mind, he attacked the book with his eyes. He read the pages like a hungry tara bird and ingested them as if he had the stomach of a lorax; regurgitating and chewing.

He currently read, Chapter 6 - A Wolvark's Diet. With its incredible appetite, a wolvark eats similar to that of other creatures of the night. They feast upon living flesh, as they do not care for the taste of rotted meat. Their victims are often smaller creatures, such as rodents, reptiles, fish, and birds, but they have been known to attack larger prey as demand requires. Since—as discussed in Chapter 1—wolvarks were once partly human, their need for intelligent quandary aids in their survival. Yet, because of the properties instilled in their system, their human senses are constantly being overpowered by those of the beast. Should a human cross their path and impose a threat, it is not unknown for a wolvark to attack and kill. It is also not unknown for them to take part in consuming the carcass of their victim, regardless of size, shape, or ancestry.

Sickness swelled in his stomach. _Humans eating humans?_

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed movement by his door. The color of red, not dissimilar to his magical flame, floated in the air. It was at this time he realized he forgot to close the entrance to his room.

* * *

"How long have you been standing there?" Traphis asked.

"I didn't want to interrupt you," Titch said. "You looked like you were deep in concentration."

Traphis closed the book and shifted uncomfortably on his bed. Titch had ignored him earlier that morning, so the reason for her visit was a mystery.

"I found out why you were not around last night," Titch said. "I didn't know you were with Falin. I thought you were ignoring me."

"How _—_ "

"Jack told me," she said. "He's really a nice boy."

Traphis made a mental note to have a word with Skinny Jack. Permission to share his personal information was not granted. Especially with someone who might be an enemy.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm very sorry about what happened," Titch continued. "I didn't know the Cube would hurt you."

"Then why did you give it to me?"

Titch looked sideways and spoke at the wall, "Gaybec told me to give it to you. He said it would reveal something important."

"Gaybec," Traphis said, as if tasting bitter meat. So it was true that Titch acted under her cousin's orders, but Gaybec wasn't a part of the WC, so how did he know about the Cube? Was Titch really that naive? Or was she just trying to get him to trust her again so that she could pull another prank?

"I shouldn't have believed him," Titch said. "I thought I knew about magical stuff, but most of what I learned was from the books my family owns. Many of them are story books and not of much practical use."

"You sounded like you knew a lot."

Titch smiled at Traphis. "I love to read and memorize things, but to be honest, sometimes I just want to sound important."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Read, memorize, or sound important?" She giggled.

Traphis betrayed a smile. He remembered what it was that he liked about Titch. The tense atmosphere of the room began to vanish like a dark creature darting under a rock.

Titch walked over to the bed and sat down. "What are you reading?" she asked.

"It's a book about wolvarks," he said. "That's what the Cube showed me."

"You saw a wolvark?" Titch asked. "What did it want from you?"

"I don't know." Traphis could feel Titch scooting closer to him on the bed. Blood receded from his cheeks—she was getting too close. The muscles in his arms went limp and he couldn't move. A tingling sensation paralyzed his senses as her feminine magic started working on him again.

"Have you been able to use magic yet?" Titch asked.

"Yes," he managed to say, though the word was shaky.

"Wow, that's amazing! You learn very fast. I wish I could use magic, but all I'm able to do is read books. Not much different from what I did before. At least I know these books are genuine." She took her eyes off the pages and studied him. "What does your magic look like?"

Traphis lost his powers of speech, so he pointed at her face.

"My eyes?" she asked.

"No," Traphis managed to say. "Not green. Red, like your hair. It burns like fire."

She hesitated and then stroked at the strands flowing from her scalp. "I always felt odd that my hair is so unlike other girls, but now I'm glad it's red." She paused and then said in a lower tone, "I feel so alone here. Everyone treats me like I'm different. Just because my uncle is a mayor doesn't mean I can't relate to them."

Traphis picked at the bedding as if it contained the hidden secrets of speech. He agreed that Titch was different. She was older, smarter, and prettier than most of the WC girls, but there was no way he could tell her that.

"They probably feel uneasy around you," he said at length.

"Why would you say that?" Her voice betrayed a harsh tone.

"Because . . ." Blood rose to his forehead and he picked harder at the bedding. The words were at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say them. _Because you intimidate them with your good looks_ , he thought.

Titch spoke up, "You already found nice friends. I wish I was more like you."

"Maybe it's because I'm not . . ." Traphis paused. "Maybe because they know more than I do."

"But I don't know more than anyone else here," she said.

"But . . ." Traphis stammered again. "But do they know that?" He cringed; waiting for the impending attack, but all that followed was an audible breath, tinted with the sound of weariness. "Maybe they like me because they think I'm not a threat to them," Traphis continued. "I don't mean threat; I mean . . . I don't know what I mean. All I know is that I've never had friends before. This is the first time for me."

At this Titch lifted her head and stared at him. "Never?"

"Yes," Traphis said. "Neha, my horse, has been my only real friend. I don't trust anyone else."

"Do you trust me?"

Traphis met her gaze, then instantly turned away.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Titch said. "Not after what happened. I don't have any friends either."

"I'm your friend," Traphis said.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

Titch clapped her hands together and giggled. "I'm glad!"

Traphis smiled. "Me too."

After some deliberation, they agreed that it would be beneficial for them to find more books to read, and perhaps get to know other people, so they went together to the trainee's library. The room was not as large as the Attic of Elders, but it was less dusty. In fact, it was so clean that Traphis felt like he shouldn't touch anything.

Wooden tables were lined up in even rows, with five to six chairs at each one. Some tables were empty, while others were filled with trainees engaged in discussions or reading silently to themselves. Traphis never thought that learning could appear as anything but work. Going at his own pace was a new thing to him, and slightly refreshing. The sense of urgency was still there, because he wanted to become a wizard as quickly as possible, but without the demand; it was up to him how far he went and how fast he got there. He figured any lazy children probably wouldn't have made it to the WC anyway. Without a personal desire to improve, they had no right to call themselves wizards in training.

But did he have the right to call himself a wizard in training? Aside from producing the Crimson Flame, he had yet to make any significant improvements. All the more reason to study with Titch while Falin was away.

As if sensing his thoughts, Titch ushered him to one of the shelves and began to read aloud some of the titles, "Summoning, Stimulation, Sight, here we go: Seals." She took out the book and handed it to Traphis. "Remember what I told you about seals before?"

Traphis nodded.

"Here's your chance to see if my information was correct."

"I trust you," he said.

Titch smiled. "But I don't trust my sources. Please, try this one."

He took the book from Titch and they made their way to an empty table. Skinny Jack was right; this book looked different from the one he had on wolvarks. The cover was plain and the print wasn't as fancy. The only good thing about it was that the texture of the pages felt smoother to the touch.

"Can you read the book to me?" Titch asked.

_Read? Aloud? In front of other people?_ Traphis thought. They might hear him and laugh should he mispronounce a word.

"It will be fine," Titch said, possibly sensing his unease.

Reluctantly, he turned to the first page. "The Basics of Seals," he read, and then cleared his throat before continuing. "To create a seal a wizard must first possess a ring. The wizard channels his magical energy through the ring while mentally commanding it with the specifications he desires. Even though a ring is obtained upon completion of the Gray Class, it is strongly recommended not to attempt a seal before entering Blue Class."

"Go on," Titch said.

"I was just looking at a list that explained the Classes."

"What does it say?"

Traphis showed Titch the following list:

Gray = Obtain signature ring

Blue = Obtain staff

Purple = Can become a member of the Wizarding Committee

White = Elder member of the Wizarding Committee

"That sounds right," Titch said. "I've heard that before. And there are not many White Class wizards."

"Falin is." Traphis heard the pride in his own voice.

"That is very felicitous."

Titch seemed to be returning to her usual self. Unfortunately, for Traphis, that meant the usage of unusual words. At least he could understand the tone of her voice, and her statement sounded positive, so he just smiled.

"How does one know what Class a wizard is?" Traphis asked.

"I overheard someone saying that robes and hats are handed out. They contain the same color as the Class, but not all wizards wear them. Some think it is arrogant while others deliberately disguise their level."

Traphis considered what she said. Falin wore purple robes with a pointed hat. If he was a White Class wizard, then he must be trying to conceal it. "So who knows what Class a wizard really is then?"

"I don't know," Titch said. "Maybe there's a record of the wizard's signature somewhere. I understand that each one is unique."

Traphis shrugged.

"What else does the book say?" Titch asked.

Traphis continued where he left off. "Since a seal requires a constant connection to the wizard's energy, there is a risk of over exhaustion. Should a wizard not correctly close the command at the time of application, it is necessary to destroy the object for which the seal was produced. The required damage to the object is often extensive, however the alternative ramifications to the wizard's health often outweigh the consequences. Therefore, it is imperative that the wizard use a _waking_ command during the creation of the seal. It will use the minimal amount of energy to stay active, thus allowing an increase in energy consumption only when activated.

"It is important to note that the seal only lasts as long as the wizard is alive. Death of the seal or death of the wizard is the only thing that can disrupt the connection. It is also important to note that the location of the sealed object can affect the amount of fatigue the wizard feels when it is activated. His energy has to travel from himself to the object no matter how far away it is. We cannot say this enough; wizards must use a _waking_ command on all seals before adding any distance between him and the object. Since each wizard's strength, energy flow, and abilities are different from each other, it is important to determine your limitations before creating a seal."

He paused. "This is the same thing that you told me."

A smile greeted him. Her teeth looked whiter than the highest mountaintop. "I'm glad to know that not everything I learned was a waste of time," she said.

The voice of Saleena came out of nowhere, "What are you doing?" she asked.

Traphis jerked back as if fending off an attack.

"We are reading about magical seals," Titch said. "Would you like to join us?"

Saleena gave Traphis a look not dissimilar to the one his mother gave him whenever he was caught doing something bad. "I would rather not," she said.

"But . . ." Traphis started to say, and then he caught a glimpse of Kip out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look at her, she spun around and ran out of the library.

The accusing look from Saleena redirected at Titch, but Titch's innocent smile endured.

"We would love to have you share your knowledge of seals with us," Titch said. "I bet you know a lot more about them than we do."

Flattery didn't seem to work on Saleena. She gave Traphis one last look before following after Kip.

"That was strange," Titch said. "Then again, I don't know a lot about the Claymear behaviors. Most of the books I've read about them were historical. And it is a history filled with many wars. I can see where she gets her aggression. Perhaps that's just the way they all act."

Saleena may generally be a little abrasive, Traphis thought. But she never showed me anger of this kind before. Something was wrong, but he had no idea what.

* * *

The midday meal was uncomfortable. By now, Traphis had gotten used to sitting at the end of the table with his friends, but the presence of Titch seemed to irritate everyone but Skinny Jack.

The amount of words that passed within the group were few, and any attempts Titch made to engage in conversation was either ignored or dismissed by Saleena.

Unsure how to react to the behavior, Traphis sensed that Saleena was somehow guarding Kip. Guarding against what he had no idea, but he knew better than to come right out and ask.

Once the meal was over—and the table dispensed of any leftover food—Traphis was glad to see Falin waiting for him. He was ready to continue his lessons with the White Wizard.

"I trust that your day was productive?" Falin asked when Traphis approached him.

It was, but perhaps not in the way Falin meant. Traphis simply nodded.

"Good," Falin said. "Forgive me for not coming to you sooner, but there were other matters that needed my attention."

Titch walked past them and waved. "I'll see you tonight," she said.

Traphis blushed.

A smile creased the old wizard's bearded face. "I see you have forgiven her for what happened."

This wasn't the response Traphis was expecting.

"It was not her fault," Falin continued. "She could not have known the Cube of Revealment would cause you harm."

"But," Traphis said. "Why did it harm me then?"

"It was not the Cube itself that harmed you. Your magical element was drawn out. Just as if you were to scream when being startled. Because you had not yet mastered drawing energy, the Cloud began to consume you."

"But how was I burned? When I created the flame the last time, I was able to touch it."

"The flame did not damage you directly. When it heated the Cube of Revealment, the temperature of the glass increased, and that is what caused your burns."

Traphis thought back to when he held tightly onto the Cube. He cringed at the remembered scent of his smoldering flesh.

"What else have you learned today?" Falin asked.

"Titch and I were reading about seals."

"Good. Then you know that a wizard can only create a seal with his ring."

"Yes, but there's something I don't understand. The Cube and the Revealers have no seal on them, so how are they powered?" He thought of the Ear too, but decided not to mention how he knew about it.

"You have been learning on your own. I am pleased. You are correct to question how this works." Falin took a bag from inside his garment. "Do you remember this?" he asked.

Traphis looked at the object. "That's what healed me," he said.

"Indeed. But this does not have a seal."

"So how does it work?"

"Some objects naturally pose a direct connection to magical energy. In such cases, the energy signature is not connected through a wizard. A staff for instance is one such object." Falin untied the bag.

Traphis peered at the white sand inside. It reminded him of the island. "Does that mean the magic has a mind of its own?"

"Traphis, walk with me. There is somewhere I need to go and I would like you to accompany me."

Traphis nodded and walked beside the wizard without questioning. He was happy to be furthering his training.

"Neither an object or a wizard possess magical power of their own," Falin continued. "Both must gain access from an outside energy source."

"Like the Cloud?" Traphis asked.

"Precisely. As we discussed, there are two paths of magical energy, but only one true source. Energy from the Cloud is a contorted and corrupted version of its true predecessor."

"But if a wizard is not using his own energy, how does he become tired?"

The floating lights in the hallway seemed to bring warmth to the wizard's features. "Because natural energy is also drawn from you, and your natural energy has limitations. Just as if you were to go several nights without sleeping." He paused. "I can tell this is a lot of information for you to process, but it is important."

"I know," Traphis said. "But I'm a fast learner."

"Indeed you are," Falin said. "And that is one of the reasons I asked you to accompany me today. That is enough for now. Please meditate on these words as we proceed." He lifted his staff and the tip lit up like a candle without a flame.

At first, Traphis wondered why he had done it, but then realized that the hallway was getting darker the farther they traveled, and it wasn't long before there were no lights at all. They had to solely rely on the staff to see now.

He tried to fit the pieces of information together in his mind, but couldn't help but feel that a lot more were missing. Still, he processed what he could. Hoping that he would be able to apply what he had learned.

After some time, Falin stopped. "This is our entrance," he said.

Traphis counted the doors lining the hallway, but then noticed something at the corner of his eye. When he looked down, there was a stain of blood. It took a moment before he realized that they were standing in front of the very room that the mysterious man came out of the night before.

Falin pressed his ring against the door, rotated his fist, and then pulled away. The tree-like symbol glowed green against the wood and was followed by an audible click. As if considering his actions carefully, Falin turned the knob and then proceeded into the room. He looked back and motioned for Traphis to follow.

# Chapter 13

AS SOON AS Traphis entered the Nomadic Room, he expected to be instantly transported. Instead, he found himself standing in a still, motionless, and empty room just like the one he had trained in. Like the training room, this one had no windows, chairs, or desks, just a flat, bare floor with smooth, empty walls. No lights, no books, nothing. Only open space dully lit by Falin's staff.

Traphis inhaled the stale smell of timber and imagined himself in the midst of a dead forest.

"Please shut the door," Falin said.

Traphis looked around as if Falin had addressed someone else.

"Go ahead," Falin said, motioning with the tip of his glowing staff.

Traphis walked over to the door and gave it a push. It swung shut with a clunk. As soon as it did, the light in Falin's staff went out.

Darkness filled the room and weightlessness overtook him as if the floor had disappeared below. He reached out, grasping for the door, but nothing was there. A fierce wind rushed past his ears and tousled his hair. A taste, bitter and unfamiliar, entered his mouth. There was no substance, only flavor. Horrid flavor, as if fire had become food. He cried out to Falin, but there was no reply.

And then light entered his vision, forcing his eyes shut. When he finally opened them again, bark from a tree stared back at him. _A tree?_ He took a few steps back, tripped, and then fell onto his haunches. A branch stuck out from underneath his heel, but that wasn't all. Dirt, plants, rocks, everything he'd expect to see in a forest; it was all there before his eyes.

The ground was cool against his hands as he lifted himself back to his feet. When he turned, Falin stood only a few paces behind.

"Where are we?" Traphis asked.

"At the border," Falin said.

"The border?"

"Between Eskaron and Ronum."

"The room brought us here?"

"Being a wizard has its advantages." The old wizard smiled, but there was sadness in his face. He motioned for Traphis to come closer and then the boy understood why.

Trees, bushes, plants, and other greenery were overturned, trampled, and uprooted. In the midst were several bodies spread across the ground—lying motionless.

Traphis' voice betrayed his horror. "What happened to them?" There was nothing but destruction, death, and slaughter. He could hardly believe his eyes.

"Tyron happened, Traphis," Falin said. "The man who sought to destroy your father is now seeking to destroy our kingdom. These tracks were left by wolvarks." The old wizard bent over and spread his fingers across one of the footprints. "It looks like there are close to fifty of them. Do you remember the man from yesterday?"

"The one who was wounded?"

"Yes. He came from a group of Ronum who resisted the rule of Tyron. They tracked the wolvarks to the border, but were spotted by a magic user. As you can see, he is all that is left of them."

"He's still alive?" Traphis remembered his earlier mission. How he and his friends failed to track the man down.

"Alas," Falin said. "He is not long from joining his comrades." He approached one of the bodies. "This man was one of us. A wizard," he said.

The outfit looked like one from the WC. Blue robes, pointed hat, and leather sandals. Yet these observations only furthered the unsettling sensation in Traphis' gut.

"Baskas," Falin said, as if echoing a former thought. "He was once my apprentice and one of the most honorable men I knew, but young, too young . . ."

Bile rose to Traphis' throat and he struggled to choke it down. _Falin's apprentice?_

"A nekrin was among the wolvarks," Falin continued. "Tyron would not have sent them alone; not without someone to command them. Otherwise his goal could not be accomplished."

Traphis turned away from the dead wizard. He continued the conversation if only to distract himself from the scene. "What goal?" he asked.

"I wish I knew for certain." Falin reached down, took Baskas' hand, and removed something from the man's finger. "Fifty wolvarks and a nekrin will cause a great deal of damage, but not enough to gain a kingdom."

"Can't the Committee do anything to stop them?" Traphis tried to act as if he didn't already know their thoughts on the matter.

"That is why we are here. Baskas has one final act to perform. Come, I wish to give you something."

Traphis stumbled over to Falin and tried not to look at the dead body, but failed. The youthful face of Baskas glared up at him with hollow eyes, and then he pictured his own face—pale and lifeless, lying dead on the ground.

A bird flew overhead, squawked, and then disappeared into the distance. A gust of wind rushed through the trampled forest and nestled against the edge of Baskas' hat. Falin reached out and placed a cool, silver object into Traphis' hand.

"I want you to have this," Falin said. "It is part of your next lesson."

Traphis rolled the object on his palm and inspected it. The circular band easily fit around his middle finger. "But, doesn't this belong to Baskas?" he asked.

"As you can see, he will no longer have need of it."

"But doesn't it contain his signature?" Sunlight gleamed against the ring's smooth oval surface.

"No," Falin said. "All rings are the same. The signature comes from the wizard. The ring only helps to form it."

"So I can enter the WC with this? I can unlock the doors?"

"Not yet. First you must master your signature, and then it must be recorded into the archives."

"How can I use it then?"

"It will take time for you to learn, but first, there is one thing I ask of you." Falin's tone was weary, but purposeful.

Traphis looked blankly at him.

"Do not show anyone that you possess the ring," Falin continued. "Train in private and keep it tucked away at all times."

"But—"

"I have my reasons," Falin interrupted. "When you are alone, establish a connection and channel the energy into the ring."

Traphis wanted to ask more questions, but he sensed that Falin was becoming somber and mournful. Removing the ring, he stuffed it into the inside pocket of his leather vest.

"What do we do now?"

"We bury the dead. They deserve better, but this is all the time we have."

Traphis scanned the bodies and counted at least ten. Even if he had a shovel, he knew it would take more than a day to dig that many graves.

As if sensing his apprentice's objection, Falin said, "I will show you."

The old wizard stood up, walked over to one of the bodies, pointed his staff at the ground, and closed his eyes. The ground shook and out of it came roots as thick as a man's arm. They sprouted from the earth, slithering like snakes, and proceeded to push the dirt aside. Once a sizable hole had been formed, the roots gently wrapped around the body, lifted it, and pulled it into the hole. As if filling a glass with water, dirt came from underneath until the body was completely covered.

"How . . ." Traphis tried to compile his words. "How did you? How can I?"

"I am able to command plant life. You are able to command fire. One day you may find a way to help in such matters, but for now, I will carry this burden."

Falin approached each body and buried them one at a time. After every instance, he said a few words, though the language was unfamiliar to Traphis. It sounded like a soft prayer, not totally unlike the ones he said with his mother. Or rather, the ones he used to say. It just occurred to him that he had not said a single prayer since being away from her. This knowledge would have made her unhappy, but what she didn't know couldn't cause her any distress.

Once Falin had finished with the last Ronum, Traphis asked, "What about him?" while pointing to the body of Baskas.

"He will come with us and be buried like a proper wizard." In less time than it took Traphis to move out of the way, Falin motioned his staff toward Baskas and lifted him into the air. The process was elegantly executed, yet disturbingly observed.

The dead wizard's hat fell to the ground. With apprehension, Traphis placed it back on his head.

"Thank you, Traphis," Falin said. "Now let us see if we can give Baskas one last mission."

* * *

Traphis and Falin returned to the place where they arrived at the forest. The old wizard put his ring against a tree in the same manner as he did to the door of the Nomadic Room.

With a twist, Falin removed his hand to reveal a symbol etched into the bark. A similar clicking noise sounded as Falin motioned for Traphis to enter.

"But there's no door," Traphis said.

"There is a door."

"Where?"

"You are looking at it." Falin readjusted his staff and moved the body of Baskas closer to the tree.

"The tree?" Traphis asked. "But there's no opening."

"Put your hand against the bark."

Traphis walked over, reached out, and watched his fingers disappear. He instantly pulled away, jumped backward, and shrieked. "It tried to eat my hand."

"Time is of the essence. It will not bite you. Please, proceed."

Gathering all his courage, Traphis closed his eyes, blindly stepped forward, and thrust out his hand. When he felt nothing, he opened his eyes only to find that half his arm was missing. The urge to turn and run was just as strong as before, but he knew he must go forward. Taking a deep breath, he pushed onward. His bicep disappeared before his eyes. It became obvious that the tree was unnatural. With his remaining strength, he pressed harder until all but his head was visible.

_If Skinny Jack could see me now_ , Traphis thought, and then he pictured the smiling face that would surely have followed. But to Traphis, this was no laughing matter.

There was a slight nudge to the back of his head, and then all light disappeared. He felt the weight lift from his feet as the air turned cool. The taste of smoke came to him like before. Pressure forced against his scalp and the hair on his head brushed up against his shoulders—whipping like blades of grass. The sensation was different from before. The closest he could determine was that instead of falling downward, he was falling upward. As if that was even possible.

And then the pressure desisted with a halt. He felt himself standing on what seemed to be solid ground. Moments later, light illuminated an empty room as Falin appeared with the body of Baskas hovering at his side.

"You may proceed," Falin said.

For the first time, Traphis realized that the door to the room was already open. He wondered if that happened when Falin pressed the ring against the tree, or when they reentered the room, but he decided to keep his questions to himself.

Taking the lead with Falin close behind, a sensation of pride lingered as Traphis navigated the hallway with success. It wasn't until they reached the lighted area that Falin went ahead.

They passed by several trainees whose mouths hung open when noticing the body floating in the air. Murmurs spread across the halls, and soon there was no way to keep it a secret.

This didn't seem to bother Falin. In fact, Traphis began to wonder if that was part of the plan.

When they reached a large door in the hallway, Falin opened it with his ring, nodded to Traphis, and then proceeded in.

Once in the room, Falin place the body of Baskas on a thin, flat bed. The smell of sweat and mold permeated the air.

With high ceilings, the space was vast. Rows of beds stretched from one side of the room to the other. In the center stood a single large table with several magical looking items placed on top.

On a different bed, only a few paces away, a man lay. His dark hair spilled over the edges of the bed as if trying to hold onto life by escaping its host's dying body. A pale white face with streams of sweat glistened in the light. His eyes were shut tight as if in an endless sleep.

"Is he . . ." Traphis asked.

"No, Traphis." Falin said. "He is not dead. Not yet."

"That's him, isn't it?" Traphis asked. "The visitor from yesterday."

"Unfortunately, the wolvarks made their cuts deep."

"Can't we heal him?"

"This one is too far gone."

Traphis gazed at the figure's chest, which rose and fell at slow intervals. A low, raspy breath came from his tightly shut lips. The skin on his chest appeared to be untouched, unharmed, but Traphis knew that damage had been done.

With caution, he crept closer, moving as if he were backing away from a predator, only instead of withdrawing, he drew near.

A spasm of coughing from the man gave Traphis a jolt, but he didn't have time to react. The next moment the man's dull, empty eyes looked up at him. There was a delay of comprehension, but soon the man's complexion stiffened as if noticing Traphis for the first time.

"It is you," he said with his voice low and shaky. "I have found you, at last."

* * *

Traphis took several steps back. He had never seen this man before yesterday, so how was it that he recognized Traphis?

"I have been searching," the man said. "We have been following. For many nights. A warning." A procession of coughs followed. A deep breath and he spoke again. "A dream. In a vision. The voice, the one that sounds like distant waters, she spoke to me, showed me my mission. Who you are. I must protect. I must help. I . . . we have all failed. But you are here. You are safe."

"Protect from what?" Falin gave Traphis a start as he spoke directly behind him.

The man did not look up at Falin. His eyes were set on Traphis as if he would vanish from sight. "From him. From the dreaded one. We followed in hopes of finding you. Discovered we were. Killed are my comrades. One wizard saw and helped. Let me escape to find you. To warn you."

Falin spoke up again. "What is your message?"

A pale, shaking hand reached out toward Traphis. "For you," he said. "They are coming for you." His arm suddenly went limp and dropped to the ground. Moments later the life in the man's eyes faded, and his last words were barely audible. "My mission is done. Now I can go . . ."

"I don't understand," Traphis said. "What did he mean? What just happened?"

Falin reached over and covered the man's body with a blanket. "Things are happening which are beyond our understanding," he said. Then, looking at the man, Falin shut his eyes and spoke in a peculiar tongue. When he had finished, he stood, looked down one last time and said, "Your work is indeed done, go now in peace and join your comrades for the new journey that awaits you."

Traphis shook. This was not what he expected a wizard's life to be like. It didn't feel real at all. He imagined himself sitting down in his old room, reading one of his storybooks. One in which he could turn the pages and skip ahead to the happy ending. But there were no pages, and he dared not think of the ending. Had this man's death been for nothing? Was he simply delusional? There was no way he could have been talking about Traphis. A nobody since birth whose highest aim was to put on a good magical show. No, there was no way. No one would want to see him. No one would care. He was just a moarock.

Falin turned toward Traphis and said, "Fear not; you are protected. I am sure there are many questions you have, and I would welcome them, but we must hurry. Head to the meeting room and I will gather the Committee. Go now."

When Traphis entered the meeting room, he sat down at one of the chairs and rested his arms against the table. He wasn't sure whether he should stand or sit, but when the others entered the room they sat beside him, so he remained where he was.

The number of attendants was much smaller than before; Traphis guessed it had something to do with the immediacy of the meeting. Their faces appeared tired and groggy as if they had been awakened from sleep, and for the first time he realized how late in the day it must have been.

After Falin entered the room, he shut the door behind him. Clamoring voices blended like the rushing of many waters; the earlier silence quickly became a distant memory. Some wizards shouted, others talked to their neighbors, and the rest muttered to themselves as if in a daze.

"I apologize for the abruptness of this meeting," Falin said. He had to say this several times before being heard above the noise. "It is true that we had agreed to meet at a later time, and many of you did not expect it to be on this same day. However, a new development has occurred that needs to be urgently addressed, I would like—"

"What is going on here?" The door swung open so hard that it hit the sides of the inner walls. Jabool stomped into the room with a look that reminded Traphis of an angry tara bird. As soon as Jabool saw him sitting at the table, his expression was one of puzzlement, then realization, and finally rage.

As if having prepared for this in advance, Falin spoke up. "He is here as my witness."

"But he's not even a wizard let alone a Purple Class. I thought this meeting was for Committee members only."

"Let him speak." An old man sitting at the head of the table glanced through eyebrows so bushy that they nearly covered his pupils.

Jabool opened and closed his mouth several times, but evidently decided to let the words dissipate before taking shape. He shuffled over to the table and took one of the remaining seats.

The silence that followed was more frightful than the loudness from before. Once again, Traphis felt the accusatory eyes of the elder wizards glaring at him. Thankfully, Falin came to his rescue.

"We visited the border—" Falin's words were cut short as Jabool jumped to his feet.

"I thought we agreed not to investigate the site!" Jabool's pointed nose turned red. "What if Baskas was a traitor and you allowed him back into our fortress?"

"Sit down," the old, bushy eyebrow man said. The authority in his tone even frightened Traphis.

An audible noise of distaste came from Jabool's mouth before he once again took his seat.

"As I was saying," Falin said. "We investigated the border at door 226; the entry point of our guest."

Traphis heard a low rumble from Jabool that sounded something like _intruder_.

Falin folded his hands and continued. "I fear that my suspicions were correct. There were several Ronum casualties, and only moments ago our guest joined in their passing."

A snort sounded from Jabool, but he said nothing.

Traphis wanted to walk over and kick the man in the shin; men were gone, better men than him, and he was mocking their deaths.

"I counted nearly fifty wolvarks," Falin said, "and at least one nekrin."

At this, several members of the Committee murmured amongst themselves, and Traphis began to wonder how anything ever got accomplished in these meetings.

"That is not all," Falin said. "Baskas was there as well."

"Where is he then?" Jabool asked, accusingly.

"He is with our guest in the sanatorium."

The old man spoke this time, "What is his condition?"

Falin lowered his head. "He has also passed from this world."

Several gasps sounded from the wizards.

"This is a great loss," the old man said. "But to none more than you, Falin. You have our sympathy, yet we also rejoice in the new life which Baskas has embarked upon."

Falin did not answer. Even Jabool stayed silent.

"Do you have anything else to report?" the bushy eyebrow man asked.

"Before our guest died," Falin said. "He told us that the enemy is searching for something. I do not think Tyron plans a direct attack with so few troops, but anyone that comes across their path will surely suffer." There was a pause, and then Falin said, "Traphis, please tell them what you saw."

Heat welled up on his forehead. Traphis had no idea that Falin expected him to speak openly to the Committee. His heart pounded with all eyes on him. They were waiting. Waiting for him to say something.

"Aaah . . ." He paused to cough. "Yes, I saw these things. I mean. I saw the dead Ronum and the forest was destroyed. A large number of footprints." He stretched out his arms to demonstrate. "The body of Baskas, and then we came back here and that mysterious man told me . . ." He hesitated and wiped sweat from his brow. For some reason it seemed like a bad idea to mention that the man claimed the enemy was coming for him, so he improvised. "He said the enemy is after something."

Falin smiled at Traphis.

"Preposterous," Jabool said.

"This news is indeed troubling," the old man said. "Since Jabool does not believe the word of Falin and this boy, I will send him along with several others to investigate. Once this has been accomplished, we will meet again and discuss the matter further."

Both Falin and Jabool started to speak, but the old man interrupted. "This is my final word. We all know your wishes on this matter, Falin, but I am not yet ready to start a war. It will take time to prepare, and there will be great casualties, therefore I do not lightly accept this path."

Falin bowed his head and said, "It is as you wish."

Silence was all that came from Jabool. Traphis couldn't help but smile at the wizard's discomfort. He knew that going to the border was probably the last thing Jabool wanted to do. The old man with bushy eyebrows seemed to have authority above the others, even Falin. Something to consider for the future.

"If there is nothing else," the old man said, "I suggest we return to our sleep. Tomorrow we will prepare the funeral of Baskas. That is all."

Jabool was the first to leave. And leave he did—as fast as a bounding learcat. The rest of the Committee slowly made their way out the door with much grumbling and yawning. Traphis pushed his chair back and proceeded to stand, but the old man spoke.

"Before you go," he said. "I wish to speak to you and Falin alone."

Traphis sat back down; heart pounding once again.

# Chapter 14

TRAPHIS HAD NO idea what the old wizard wanted from him. All he knew was that the man was in charge, and if he wanted to speak, there would be no stopping him.

With all that happened in the day—spying, plotting, interacting, witnessing death, and being told he was the one that Tyron was after—adding one more item was too much. His shoulders drooped, back bowed forward, and body swayed.

"I do not intend to keep you long," the old man said, as if responding to Traphis' condition. "But I have not yet had the enjoyment of greeting you personally." In the traditional gesture of greeting, he lifted a fist and pressed it to his chin. Then, lowering his hand, he spoke. "My name is Daymon, Elder Controller of the Tenth Order. Your father was my trusted adviser. The Committee has felt the loss of his presence, especially during this difficult time."

Traphis bowed slightly and awkwardly pressed his fist to his chin. "Thank you," he said.

"Now that we are enlightened," Daymon said, "there is one matter I wish to address. I sensed that you were withholding information from the Committee, and I wish to know your reasons."

Traphis shot a panicked look at Falin, who smiled back wearily.

"You are indeed wise," Falin said. "And rightfully placed as our Elder Controller. It was my wish to prevent any fear or panic from the members of the Committee." He paused for a moment, glanced at Traphis, and then looked back at the motionless face of Daymon. "The last words spoken by our Ronum guest regarded Traphis as the reason for the attack. In a dream, he was told to find the boy and send him a warning."

"You perhaps think too little of our Order," Daymon said. "I would have preferred you share these details when we were all gathered. Your absence has taken you away for many seasons, and I wonder if this has distanced you too greatly." He folded his hands and regarded Falin. "Still, your uncertainty is not entirely in error, but I assure you the Committee is well under control. As to the matter of the warning, it is known that the Oracle does not share the Founder's wishes lightly—if that is indeed what happened. But it does confirm the fears shared by several of the Committee members, including you. However, I trust that Jabool will look into the matter and provide us with further information. Until then, I credit you to continue in the path you have chosen and aid in the development of your new apprentice."

"As is my pleasure," Falin said with a bow.

Daymon stood, lifted his staff from the circular hole in the table, and looked down at Traphis one last time. At this angle the man's dark blue eyes were no longer overshadowed by his large, bushy eyebrows. From them, Traphis sensed a mixture of tenderness and concern. They showed years of experience, sorrow, joy, pain, and wisdom. Then, in a similar fashion to Falin, he stroked his long white beard before departing. To Traphis' observation, Falin began to rub his own beard as well. He guessed that, to wizards, stroking one's beard was as contagious as a yawn.

"Not entirely what I wished for," Falin said. "But better than I feared." He stood to his feet and pulled his staff from the hole in the table. "I will walk you to your room. Tomorrow we have a lot of work to do."

* * *

The next day when Traphis awoke, he realized that he had missed his evening meal for the second time. His stomach, on the same wavelength, let out a low rumble. After putting on his vest and strapping his knife to his leg, he walked down the winding stairway and into the dining area. As always, he seemed to be one of the last ones to arrive. Kip, Saleena, and Skinny Jack were waiting for him at the end of the table. Titch was there too.

Gathering food in his normal fashion, he sat next to Titch. She smiled, Saleena and Kip glared, and Skinny Jack inhaled a large potara.

Loud snaps and pops resounded along the table as trainees practiced their eating techniques. Traphis and Titch on the other hand ate with their bare hands. By now, he was used to this method and thought little of it.

Without a word, Saleena engulfed a watery mouthful of bug-like creatures. Then, as if ignoring Traphis and Titch all together, she spoke to Skinny Jack.

"I hear our chance for information is gone," she said.

For a few brief moments, Skinny Jack remained silent. Traphis was about to say something when a loud cough, followed by a piece of chewed potara, flew from his mouth and splattered onto the table.

"That's disgusting," Kip said.

"Sorry," Skinny Jack said while pounding his chest. "I couldn't breathe. Would you rather I die?"

"I probably picked that one," Traphis said.

Four heads unanimously turned in his direction.

"To my knowledge my family is the only one who grows those things around here," Traphis said. "I know. Not what you expected from a top wizard like me. Potaras . . ." He sighed.

"Don't worry about it," Skinny Jack said. "We all came from different backgrounds. Don't feel bad for doing common work. This makes us stronger wizards in the end. Trust me."

"How very perspicacious of you," Titch said.

"Yeah, what she said." Skinny Jack grinned.

"He's just trying to sound smart for once," Kip said. "Don't pay any attention to him."

Traphis looked down at the table. A serious tone escaped his lips. "No, he's right. I don't know anything about magic. As you can see, I'm not even able to eat like you."

Kip spoke up. "One day, you will surpass us all. Jack and I came from a family of the lowest order. But you, Traphis, are of the highest. We all know that Mardin was your father. Everyone knows. Something that big is too hard to hide."

"My father . . ." Traphis let his words trail off.

Skinny Jack pounded a fist against the table. "My father will not dictate my outcome," he said. "I'll be a greater wizard than even Daymon. You're looking at the next Elder Controller. Jack of the Eleventh Order."

"Not if I beat you to it," Kip said.

"You're not helping," Traphis said under his breath.

"What about the mysterious man?" Kip asked. "Has anyone located him yet?"

"I was trying to tell you," Saleena said. "He is dead."

"Mercy, Saleena," Skinny Jack said. "Could you sound any less compassionate?"

"I merely state fact," Saleena said. "Is that not how you, landers, communicate information?"

Kip forced a cough. "But there's even bigger information to share. Did you know that Baskas died too?"

"Where did you hear that?" Titch looked at Kip with genuine interest.

"Everyone saw him," Kip said. "When Falin brought back his body."

"Everyone but you, that is," Skinny Jack responded.

"Not you, either," Kip said. She angrily blew a strand of hair away from her mouth.

"None of us saw him," Saleena said. Her cool eyes scanned the faces around her. "But those who have are talking. They say he was murdered."

"I saw him," Traphis said.

"You did?" Titch's face lit up like a candle.

"I was there."

"Please tell us," Titch said with surprise and excitement in her voice.

If they would have asked him the day before, he would have been more than ecstatic to share what he knew and then watch their admiring faces. But there was nothing to admire about this situation. Nor would they likely wish to remain his friends once they found out that he was the reason for Tyron's raid. He wished that Jabool would go on his little quest, come back, and tell the Committee that the wolvarks were never there. Even if it was a lie.

"Go on," Skinny Jack said. "We're listening."

Traphis glanced over at Titch, and then Kip. Their eyes showed a similar sentiment. A sigh escaped his lungs before he began. "Falin took me to one of the Nomadic Rooms—"

"You went through a Nomadic Room?" Kip asked.

"Let him speak," Skinny Jack said.

Kip shut her mouth tight, indicating her readiness.

When everyone was silent once again, Traphis continued. He told them about the trampled forest, the dead Ronum soldiers, and Falin's horror at finding Baskas. He even told them of their trip back to the WC and how the mysterious stranger spoke his last words. Of course, he left out any part that indicated him, the ring, or the final speech he received from the Elder Controller, but he did mention how Jabool was forced to investigate the situation further.

"Serves him proper," Skinny Jack said.

"Assuming he does an honest job of it," Kip said.

"Why wouldn't he?" Titch asked. "He's one of our best trainers."

Eyes rolled. Evidently, she wasn't current on the situation with Jabool.

"As much as I dislike the man," Skinny Jack said. "What Traphis said is larger and more important than him. We could be in a war."

"Don't say that so loudly," Kip said, peering down the table.

"True," Traphis said. "We must keep this to ourselves. I don't think Falin would want me to spread any gossip. But I trust you." He paused. The odd thing was that he actually meant it. Several nights earlier, Neha was the only one he trusted, and that partly because horses couldn't talk.

"Thank you for sharing this with us," Titch said. "I'm so new to everything . . . please be patient with me everyone."

Skinny Jack smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

Kip's eyes rolled high in her sockets. The next moment everyone took a bite of food, chewed, and then swallowed before continuing the conversation.

"What if we secretly followed Jabool?" Titch asked.

Saleena spoke in her watery tone. "We would be spotted and risk being banned from the WC."

"That would be no good," Titch said. "What if we—"

Kip broke in. "What if we just wait and see," she said. "Right now no one knows what is happening. Traphis seems to be the first to find out, so maybe we should just wait until he hears something."

After a pause, Titch spoke up. "That does sound like the most reasonable thing to do," she said, and then she added, "Isn't that, Falin?"

Traphis turned to look. In the entrance, a wizard stood, dressed in glamorous robes, leaning against a staff, and displaying a weary smile.

"Sorry," Traphis said. "I have to go. He wants me to train today."

"You are so advantageous," Titch said. "I wish that I could train under him."

_Maybe not as advantageous as you think_ , Traphis thought. But he kept this to himself.

Traphis left the remainder of his food at the table—knowing it would be taken care of—and followed Falin out of the dining area. He gave a quick look back at his friends, but they had already engaged in a new conversation. At first, he wished he could stay, but then reminded himself that Falin was there to help him learn how to survive.

"I see your training has come along nicely," Falin said.

"But I haven't trained today," Traphis said.

The old wizard softly chuckled to himself as if there was some hidden secret.

For once, this didn't bother Traphis. He could tell the difference between the mocking laughter of fools like Gaybec, and the warm merriment of Falin. Warmth like his father's. Warmth like he hadn't experienced in a long time—in far too long a time.

"I would like you to be there today," Falin continued, the laughter gone from his voice. "It would be fitting since you are also my apprentice."

"Where?"

"The funeral will be held in the Coliseum. I will be speaking over Baskas. Please, invite your friends to join you. It would be a great honor for me to have you there."

The thought of going outdoors pleased Traphis; he could breathe the fresh air and look up at the trees, but the last time he went to a wizard's funeral he felt sick for days.

"I will," Traphis said at length, and then thought, I'll go for you and for Baskas, but the face of my father is all I'll see.

* * *

Traphis was led into a training room. This time there was a wooden chair instead of a glowing plant.

After Falin's instructions, Traphis' questions, more instructions with an unending stream of further questions, Falin finally left the room and shut the door behind him.

Unlike the first room, this one had a window high up on the wall. It provided enough light for him to see his surroundings, but was too high for him to see out of.

He sat on the chair, reached into his pocket, and removed the ring. It felt cool against his palm.

"Once the connection has been established," Falin had said. "The Cloud will not bother you . . . not unless you break your connection."

Having not provided an answer as to how one broke the connection, Traphis' confidence faltered. This time there was no plant to wake him should the Cloud resurface.

However, if he wanted to get any training done today, there was nothing he could do but to trust Falin. The wizard had helped him in the past, and wasn't likely to let something bad happen to him now. He just had to have faith . . . something that didn't come easily.

Traphis slipped the band securely around his finger, making sure the oval surface pointed outward. Then, as if breathing for the first time, he filled his lungs with air.

Eyes shut, ring secure, he released his breath. The only sound in the room was his rhythmic breathing. Distractions were gone. No one was there to disturb him.

A flash of light entered his mind, and then he was standing on an island of white sand.

No clouds, no trees, no rocks or bushes. Just pure white sand. Beyond was the same endless body of dark blue water and above, the pale, spotless sky.

So vivid and crisp was the blue and white that nothing seemed real. Yet it wasn't real, not in terms of the physical world. This was a place that existed beyond. Beyond the boundaries of the only world he knew.

Traphis rubbed the ring, which remained on his finger. Even though he knew his body existed outside this place, an identical picture of it formed in his mind. His clothes looked the same as they did when he put them on in the morning, just as his knife hung steadily against his leg—though in this place a weapon seemed pointless. In fact, all the negative emotions he had encountered in the Cloud were like a distant memory. In this place there was no desire to kill, no hatred, no rage. Rather, he felt a sense of peace, fulfillment, and completeness.

Once he came to terms with his surroundings, he bent down, grabbed a handful of sand, and tossed it at the water. The grains bounced across the surface and dissipated into a shower of sparks. This, he thought, was where the colors were. That is, other than the blue that surrounded him. Reds, yellows, silvers, purples, and greens. Each exploding grain possessed a color of its own. Just like his magic did with its deep redness.

He walked to the far side of the little island. At first, he wondered if his fictional body had moved at all, but then, he spied footprints in the sand, which left a trail behind.

The same gel-like water stretched out and beyond, never ending, never changing direction. The progression of each wave was slow and immeasurable—almost hypnotic. It was as if time had lost all significance, and the ramblings in his head were burned from his mind. Yet he didn't forget why he was there. To the contrary, his purpose had never seemed more pronounced than it did now.

With this thought in mind, Traphis bent down and scooped up another handful of sand. He crept over to the edge of the water and forced his fist within. Dense liquid surrounded his wrist as bubbles fought toward the surface. With fingers tightly curled together, a tingling sensation erupted against his palm.

A scent like smoldering logs entered his nostrils and a cool breeze passed over his ears. The next thing he saw was the wooden floor below him.

When he fully perceived his surroundings, he realized the island was gone—vanished in the back of his mind, residing in unknown regions and awaiting his next return. The training room was brighter than before, and it didn't take long for him to figure out why. A crimson flame, the size of his fist, burned steadily against his palm. This was the second time he had successfully sustained magic, but the exhilaration was none the lesser.

Yet there was one disappointment: the ring looked as it had before. No symbol, no glowing light, no signs of magic in it whatsoever.

Traphis clapped his hands together and extinguished the flame. With a sigh, he closed his eyes once again.

He repeated the process of entering the island, plunging sand into the water, and awakening in the training room with palm burning. He succeeded in entering and exiting the island at a more rapid pace, but the results were the same each time. No matter how many attempts he made, there was no response from the ring. It was no wonder why the rings were meant for advanced users.

On and on he tried until the sweat dripped from his cheeks and his breathing was deep and heavy. The source of magic may not have come from him, but the energy he used to tap into it was just as exhausting as running up and down a steep hill.

He stood up and stretched the stiffness from his body. The action reminded him of all the times he spent in his cave reading, imagining, and deep in thought.

He paced alongside the walls, contemplating the situation. Something was missing, but what it was eluded him at the moment. And then Falin's words circled his head.

"Connecting to the magical source and producing your magical element is only the first step," Falin had said. "Unfortunately, this is the easy part. From here on the lessons become complex. When forging the magic, you need to command it in order for it to take shape."

_As if getting this far was not complex enough,_ Traphis thought. He supposed the wizard was right. A flame was useful, but only so useful. Getting it to perform a special function was the difficult part.

When he was a child, he thought that magic was controlled by using words. But he quickly discovered that this wasn't the case; it was more complicated than that. Words were only audible utterances produced from his vocal cords. As Falin had told him, this meant nothing in the realm of the Blue. People often said things they did not mean, spoke falsely, or used incorrect terminology. What mattered were not the words themselves, but the ability to communicate their intentions, clearly and without flaw. According to Falin, words often didn't achieve this. They were limited and frail in comparison.

Traphis had asked whether or not thoughts were the answer, but Falin said that thoughts were not enough to fully communicate with the Blue either. _Words, thoughts, what else was there?_ The term Falin used was "intentions."

What that meant, and how he was supposed to use it as a way to execute a command, he had yet to understand. This was probably the first time he appreciated the simplicity of picking potaras and chopping wood. There was nothing to it. He would simply lift an axe and swing it downward to split a log. No complications there.

And then it occurred to him that this example may be a way to find an answer. He considered how Falin might describe using an axe in relation to magic.

First, he lifted his hands above his head and imagined himself holding a long handle. He watched his arms, and studied them carefully. They moved by flexing the muscles in his body, but then he wondered what it was that told the muscles to move.

When chopping wood, his words didn't command his arms, so it must have been his thoughts that did it. But no. His mind was often thinking about dinner, going for a ride on Neha, or taking a long walk in the forest. In other words, his thoughts wandered, yet he was still able to split the wood without thinking about it. So what triggered the action?

A groan escaped his lungs and he rubbed a hand over his scalp. This was too complicated. He had never guessed that magic would take so much contemplation.

Circling the room several times, he continued to seek for an answer. After further deliberation, he stopped, raised his arms high, and then plunged them down in a chopping motion. He imagined a log splitting before his eyes. This made him feel silly, but thankfully, no one was there so it didn't really matter.

After a few repetitions, Traphis folded his arms, and then leaned against the wall.

When chopping wood, his goal was to split the log in two pieces. He knew that his body performed the action, so that had to be part of the answer. What told his body to move must have been his mind, at least, to some degree. As he concluded earlier, it still performed while pondering other things. Therefore, there had to be something else. Something that began before his mind and before his body. But what was it? What told him to perform the action to begin with?

Without his mother asking him to do it, he probably would never have chopped the wood. But then the two of them would have been stuck with cold food and chilly nights. Perhaps if that happened, then he might have decided to do the task on his own. But then, where did that decision come from? Where did it form? And what formed it?

His arms, his muscles, his mind: they were all just tools used to perform the task. They didn't explain where his intentions came from. There was something else in him. There was more. But what?

"Think, Traphis," he said aloud. "Use your head."

"You are trying too hard."

Traphis flinched from the unexpected voice. He turned and noticed for the first time that the door to the training room was open and Falin was standing before him.

"I thought you had to prepare for the funeral," Traphis said.

"Indeed, but should I not check on my apprentice now and again?"

Traphis offered no response.

"That is enough for today," Falin said. "You can join your friends for your midday meal."

"But I didn't get anywhere."

"I did not expect you to master this technique so soon. You are thinking and that is good. But if you think too long your mind will not see clearly. Give it rest, feed your body, then come back and try again."

Another figure stepped into the room and Traphis gasped as he saw the face of Jabool. It was at that moment he realized the ring was still visible on his finger.

# Chapter 15

FALIN HAD SPECIFICALLY told Traphis to keep the ring hidden from everyone. And here he was, ring on finger, standing in the center of the training room with Jabool staring directly at him. Even though he had yet to activate the ring, its very presence seemed to glow brightly against his finger.

"I have been looking for you," Jabool said. He turned his eyes away from Traphis and glared at Falin.

"And you have found me," Falin said.

Traphis used this opportunity to slide his hand behind his back. Evidently, Jabool hadn't seen the ring yet.

"There is still much that has to be done," Jabool said. "There is no time to waste."

Traphis pulled the ring off his finger and slipped it into his pocket.

"Time is indeed a precious commodity," Falin said. "And one that I do not take lightly."

"There are more important matters to attend to than this one," Jabool said, motioning toward Traphis. "We must go."

Maybe it was the frustration of not having activated the ring, or the days without experiencing sunlight, or maybe it was the continual accusations from Jabool, but whatever it was, something inside Traphis snapped.

"Don't you care about Falin? He lost his apprentice and all you want to do is insult his new one. If you don't like me I really don't care, but you have no right to treat Falin like that. He is far your superior. Don't think I didn't notice that you are only a Purple Class wizard. Falin is a level above you and you should treat him with respect." He felt his heart pounding inside his chest. His legs were shaking and his fists clenched. A voice ran through his mind asking him what he was doing, but he ignored it. Now was the time to listen to his heart. The mind would have to wait.

Jabool's eyelids were half shut, but the glare was unmistakable.

"Thank you, Traphis," Falin said. "But I am able to speak for myself." There was a tense pause and then Falin continued. "I suggest that you take your own advice and speak respectfully to your superiors."

"But . . ." Traphis stammered. "But he was insulting both of us. And for some reason he hates me. I don't know why, but he does. He doesn't want me to succeed. He wants me to fail. He . . ." Traphis searched for the right words, but when none arrived, he trusted the first thing that came out. "He doesn't belong in the place of my father."

At this, Jabool's eyes widened, and then just as quickly narrowed. If they had been daggers, Traphis would easily have felt them stabbing into his chest. But he didn't care. He had a dagger of his own, and—patting his sheath to be sure it was still there—he was prepared to use it.

"This day has enough sorrow of its own, does it not?" Falin asked. "Traphis, apologize to Jabool and we will continue our lesson at a later time."

"But . . ." Traphis couldn't believe his ears. Here he was trying to defend Falin, but the wizard offered no assist at all. They were both against him.

"He will be a user of the Cloud one day," Jabool said. The words came out so slow and with such malicious intent that, even in Traphis' emboldened condition, he flinched.

"A waste of time," Jabool continued. "That's all he will ever be." With this Jabool spun on his heel and disappeared through the doorway.

A long and quiet sigh came from the direction of the old wizard. "I really wish . . ." Falin paused. "No, that is enough for today," he said, as if deliberately withholding his desired words. "The next time you see Jabool, I expect you to apologize. No arguments," Falin said, cutting Traphis off. "You are my apprentice, and if you wish to remain so, you will respect my wishes."

With that Falin left the room, and behind him Traphis remained silent and still. He took in the darkness of his surroundings as if it had become blacker than night.

* * *

"You stood up to Jabool?" Skinny Jack sounded so interested in Traphis' story that he let the food fall from his mouth.

"That's disgusting," Kip said. "Swallow before speaking."

"Just because you are older than me doesn't mean—" Skinny Jack's words were cut short.

"I don't think that was a good idea," Titch said. "Jabool is very powerful and he could make things difficult for you."

Like he hasn't so far? Traphis thought.

"And he will be one of the wizards testing you when you try for your Gray Class," Kip said. "He was the one who kept me back. Everyone else was satisfied with my performance, but if even one wizard on the Committee is not, then you cannot pass."

"You just have to hope he isn't there that day," Skinny Jack said.

"Not likely," Kip said. "He's always there. He never leaves the WC. He takes pleasure in making everyone's lives difficult."

Traphis picked at a piece of meat stuck in his teeth. "I know, I wasn't thinking," he said. "I just couldn't hold myself back anymore. He made me so mad . . . it probably doesn't matter. He seems to hate me anyway. I never did anything to him."

"He hates everyone," Skinny Jack said.

Maybe, thought Traphis. But you don't know the full story.

"What is done is done," Titch said. "But you should do as Falin said and apologize. Maybe he will forgive you."

This was not the response Traphis was looking for. He wanted Titch to agree how pointless it was. How wronged he had been and that Jabool shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.

"Don't listen to her," Skinny Jack said. "You can never give in."

Good old Skinny Jack, Traphis thought. I knew I could count on you.

Kip looked knowingly at Traphis. "But Falin won't continue to teach you unless you do, right?"

Traphis let out a long sigh. "I suppose you're right," he said. "But it makes me sick just thinking about it."

The sorrowful expression in Kip's eyes reminded him of his mother. It was the same look she gave him before he left for the WC. They seemed to say, _I wish I could help, but you must do this alone._

Ironically, this look seemed to lighten his mood.

Titch ran fingers through her long red hair. "Besides, Falin is probably covering his true feelings," she said. "I'm sure he doesn't like Jabool either, but he knows there is a proper way to act toward a member of the Committee."

"So why is it fine for Jabool to act the way he does?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Because Falin is better," Traphis said. "I think I understand him now."

There was a quiet pause. Traphis used this opportunity to take a few bites of bread. Following his example, the rest of them returned to their meal.

Kip had just finished dropping a morsel into her mouth when she broke the silence. "I heard that Baskas' funeral is going to be held today."

"At the Coliseum too," Titch said.

"They are always held there," Kip said.

"She's still new here," Skinny Jack said. "Don't be so harsh. That is a good question. Why would the funerals take place in the Coliseum?"

"Why when the WC can go to any part of the world?" Traphis added.

"Precisely," Skinny Jack said. "For the same reason we hold any event in Hoshan."

"Which is?" Saleena asked.

There was a pause. "I really don't know." Skinny Jack looked thoughtfully into the air and tapped his chin.

"I read somewhere that there are special energy patterns in Hoshan," Titch said. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

Skinny Jack smiled. "See, she's very smart."

Titch blushed.

Kip's brown eyes rolled back in her head. "As I was saying. The funeral is going to be held there. It's too bad only wizards and their families are allowed to attend. I've never seen a wizard's funeral before."

"Wizards and wizits," Saleena said.

"And special guests," Traphis said.

"Which none of us are." Skinny Jack sounded disappointed.

"It would be nice to go outside again," Titch said.

"True," Skinny Jack said. "Now that all the doors in the WC have been locked, we can't even take a trip to town. Not without rings. Sometimes being a trainee has its disadvantages."

Without thinking, Traphis put a hand inside his vest pocket and casually massaged the ring. "Seeing a wizard's funeral isn't all that great," he said. "They speak in a strange language so it is hard to understand what they are saying and if you know the person, seeing them . . ." He bit his lip. "Seeing them . . . you don't want to experience that."

Kip looked thoughtfully at him. "But we really didn't know Baskas that well," she said. "And it would be nice to see what's in store for all of us."

Tension cut the air. Traphis knew the meaning behind her words. Being wizards meant that they chose to walk this path; it only seemed fitting for them to see how it would end. How they would be celebrated after their own deaths.

"Falin invited me," he said. "And told me to bring friends."

Skinny Jack almost fell out of his seat. "Why didn't you say so before?"

Traphis looked away.

"By friends," Saleena said. "You are assuming he means us."

Traphis turned back. "I did mean you."

"That's wonderful," Titch said. She grabbed Traphis' arm and snuggled closely to him.

His first reaction was to pull away, but she released that strange power again, the one which made him feel helpless.

Saleena looked at Kip, who glared at Titch, but said nothing.

"We should leave after we eat," Skinny Jack said. "If we are invited, then they will let us out of the building, and I want to walk around town before it starts."

"For once my brother has a great idea," Kip said.

Skinny Jack scowled at her, but the unmistakable excitement etched on his face didn't waiver.

"What about your studies?" Traphis asked.

Skinny Jack produced a noise that sounded like air being forced out of a tara bird.

"What he means to say," Kip said, "is that our studies can wait. I for one could use the fresh air."

"I suppose you are coming too," Saleena said, looking over at Titch.

"Please let me come," Titch said. "I would love to."

"Of course you can," Skinny Jack said. "You are one of us now."

The sound of grinding teeth came from the direction of Kip.

"I can't wait," Titch said, and then squeezed Traphis' arm.

"Do not forget this is a funeral," Saleena said. "Not something to celebrate over."

Traphis felt a soft poke against his left shoulder. When he turned to look, he saw two small boys standing there.

"Excuse me," one of them said, "but are you really Mardin's son?"

Traphis opened and closed his mouth.

Kip spoke up for him, "Yes, he is."

A look of awe appeared on their faces.

"Can you teach us something?" the other boy asked. "We would greatly appreciate it."

At this moment, Traphis felt his meal sink heavily in his stomach. This type of attention was exactly what he had wanted: to be admired for his talent, but the problem was that he had no talent. In fact, these two boys probably knew more about magic than he ever would.

As if sensing this, Kip spoke up again. "I'm sure he would love to," she said. "But Traphis is extremely busy studying under Falin. Maybe once he has a little more time?"

At the mention of Falin their eyes widened even further. "Mardin and Falin?" the first boy said. "Now that's worth waiting for."

"Thank you," the other said.

The boys pressed their fists to their chins, bowed their heads, and scuttled away, muttering excitedly to each other as they went.

"You are famous already," Skinny Jack said.

"We should consider ourselves fortunate," Titch said. "We know the amazing Traphis."

The idea seemed so ridiculous to him that he couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't forget about you when I'm ruling the world."

All but Saleena joined in on the laughter. Her blank stare indicated her absence of knowing what was so funny.

* * *

The group—Traphis, Titch, Skinny Jack, Saleena, and Kip—met at the door leading from the WC to Hoshan. After convincing a nearby wizard of their intentions, he opened it for them.

A light breeze met Traphis on the other side, which brushed up against his hair and filled his nostrils with the fresh scent of trees and flowers. Cool mist hovered in the air and droplets of water hung at the edges of the roofs.

"It rained recently," Traphis said. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and slowly released it. "Now that's what air should smell like."

"The WC can get stuffy," Kip said. "But you get used to it."

Traphis knew he would never get used to being away from the outdoors. The sun, the wind, the forest: they were all old friends he could never abandon. Perhaps that was why his father chose to live like they did. Close to the WC, but far enough away to be under the open sky.

Skinny Jack bumped into him and they both stumbled forward.

"Oh, sorry," Skinny Jack said. "I was trying to get a good look at the Coliseum."

"There are a lot of people over there," Titch said.

"They are getting ready for the funeral," Saleena said. "We should not get in their way."

"Agreed," Skinny Jack said. "Let's see what we can find in town."

A line of shops and buildings stretched down both sides of the main roadway, and from the look of them, they were open for business. Traphis counted at least twelve people walk by, whose attire changed depending on whether they were a farmer, a shop clerk, or a family in town for their regular shopping trip. He figured some of them were probably waiting for the funeral too.

Back when Mardin was still alive, he usually went into town on his own, leaving Traphis and his mother at home. Because of this, he wasn't all that familiar with Hoshan. A smile crossed his face as he remembered sitting in the stable loft, looking out to see his father ride up on Neha; hoping to receive a gift from town. And then, as Traphis looked over at the Coliseum in the distance, his smile faded.

"Where do you want to go to first?" Kip asked.

"How about we just walk around," Skinny Jack said. "I don't have any eskarons on me."

"You don't have to buy anything," Kip said. "Just looking is fun."

"That's her way of saying she's broke too," Skinny Jack said.

Saleena looked blankly at them. "We do not use money in the great waters. My clan does not understand the lander's fascination with it."

"And we never understood your people's fascination with war," Skinny Jack said. "But we still like you." His broad smile was not returned.

Kip punched Skinny Jack in the chest. "Be nice to her," she said.

Skinny Jack's voice rasped, "I'm sorry," and then he rubbed at the bruise.

Titch walked over and weaved her two arms around Traphis' elbow.

He blushed.

At this, Kip said, "Come on Saleena. Let's go off on our own." She grabbed Saleena's arm and pulled her along as they disappeared into a crowd of people.

"What did I do?" Skinny Jack asked. A scowl formed on his face. He turned, muttered something about going on his own too, and then was gone himself.

Traphis stood motionless as greater confusion encircled in his mind.

As if sensing his thoughts, Titch said, "I don't understand them either, but we can have fun on our own."

Traphis shrugged, though he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy with Titch latched onto him. _Did she ever hear of giving people some space?_ Warmth was drawn from her touch, and, like before, he had to admit that it felt nice. A quick fluttering in his chest left him breathless, or was it that he forgot to breath? In either case, he had to in inhale to keep himself from collapsing to the ground.

Titch giggled, but Traphis failed to see what was so funny.

"Shall we walk?" Titch asked.

"Why not?" Traphis said after catching his breath.

At that moment, Traphis heard an unpleasant voice from behind him. "I thought that was you," it said. "I didn't know moarocks came out during the day."

Three things happened at once. Traphis turned, Titch let go of his arm, and Gaybec swung a fist at his face.

The boy paused in mid swing as if he had suddenly seen a real moarock. No longer directing his attention at Traphis, he glared at Titch. "What?" he said. "Why are you here? And with him?"

"Who else did you think it was," Titch said. "No one has hair like mine."

Traphis examined Gaybec's face. "Finish what you started," he said.

Puzzlement was written in Gaybec's blue eyes. Even the two boys at his sides shared a glance. It seemed as if they didn't know what to do next.

Without another word, even though is hands trembled and chest pounded, Traphis stood his ground. He was ready for Gaybec this time.

"Why don't you just leave us alone," Titch said. "He hasn't done anything to you."

At this Gaybec jumped back. "Hasn't done anything to me?" he said. "What do you know? You have no idea what this moarock has done." He turned to Traphis. "It's your fault; it's all your fault. And you will pay."

Wasting no more time, Gaybec took several steps toward him. Teeth and fists were clenched tightly.

Traphis stayed as still as he could. When Gaybec drew his arm back for the blow, Traphis shut his eyes in preparation of the impact.

There was a soft thud; a dull sound, like that of a stick smacking against a fresh piece of meat. But to Traphis' amazement he felt no pain. Lifting a hand to his chin, he rubbed his face; it felt normal. A sore jaw or a bruise was expected at the very least.

Bewildered, he opened his eyes. Instead of the angry face of Gaybec, he saw crimson strands, flowing gently in the breeze. He checked his hand to make sure he hadn't accidently produce a flame. None was there. Rather, he saw a pair of slender legs standing directly in front of him. So close in fact that he didn't notice them at first.

"I may not know what he did," Titch said. Her voice was serious, yet soft. "But I know what you made me do to him."

Traphis took several sideways steps. Gaybec was standing frozen, fist extended against Titch's jaw.

"Why did you?" Gaybec's voice was that of a little child. "Why did you step in front of him? Why did you make me hit you?"

Tears flowed down Titch's cheeks, but she produced no shrieks of pain. "I almost killed him," she said. "What you made me do was evil. I am ashamed to call you family."

The two boys with Gaybec stood just as motionless, but they looked alert, as if waiting for a command.

"But I didn't mean to . . ." Gaybec's voice trailed off. "I didn't know it would . . . the man told me I would be rid of him, he said nothing about . . ."

"I don't care what you were told," Titch said. "You involved me, and I hate you for it."

Her words would have seemed empty had she not jumped between him and Gaybec. The hit to her face said more than speech alone could ever do.

Gaybec pulled back and spat at the ground. "Then stay away from me and my family," he said. "We don't want anything to do with you."

Returning his gaze, Titch responded. "And I you," she said. "There is no wizardly honor in you. There is no honor at all." A drop of blood dripped from her lip.

The boy hesitated and then regained his composure. "The next time I see you, moarock," he said, looking at Traphis, "I won't hold back. No matter who is by your side."

With that he turned on his heel and stormed away with the two boys following closely behind. After a few moments, the crowd that had gathered also went on their way.

"You didn't need to . . ." Traphis began to say.

"Don't speak," Titch said in a soft voice. She grabbed Traphis in both arms and pulled him close. "Just hold me."

Not knowing what else to do, he did as commanded. Hot tears streamed down his shirt as her face buried against his chest.

"Does it hurt?" Traphis asked. He wished he had been the one Gaybec hit. Things would have been less complicated that way. But instinct told him that he needed to hold her and thank her for what she had done.

After what seemed an eternity, Titch finally regained her composure.

"When he saw me he pulled back," she said. "But not enough to stop the blow. The pain on my lip is nothing compared to what I feel inside."

"Thank you," he said. "But please let me fight my own battles next time."

Titch pushed herself away from his embrace and said, "You really are a moarock."

If Traphis was confused before, now he was utterly baffled.

* * *

Traphis followed a few paces behind Titch, not sure how much distance, if any at all, to leave between them. He said or did something wrong, but what that was he had no clue. All he expressed was his desire to fight his own battles, and by that he was doing her a favor. After all, what kind of wizard would let a woman get hurt in his place? He was only trying to protect her. But that didn't seem to matter.

He caught sight of Skinny Jack, who waved at them. When neither returned the wave, the boy headed in their direction with a puzzled look on his face.

Traphis kicked at a loose rock. It jumped forward, bounced a few times, and then hit the back of Titch's ankle.

She stopped, turned, and shouted. "Just leave me alone!"

Both boys came to a dead stop, looked at one other, and then back at Titch.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and then she ran. As she went, several bystanders were nearly pushed to the ground.

Skinny Jack was the first to speak. "What did I miss?"

Eyes wide open and arms raised, Traphis shook his head. "I didn't do anything," he said. "I don't know what her problem is."

"She's a girl," Skinny Jack said. "That's her problem. My sister is just as confusing. No wonder wizards used to be the only ones allowed at the WC. Girls are crazy. They have no right to become magical users. They will only end up killing everyone around them. You'll see. It's only a matter of time."

While Skinny Jack was talking, Traphis waved his arms and shook his head, but the boy didn't get the message. It wasn't until a pointy knuckle implanted into the back of Skinny Jack's skull that he must have known what Traphis was warning him of.

"I'm crazy am I?" Kip said.

Skinny Jack bent forward and rapidly rubbed his scalp. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

"I tried to tell you that she was standing there," Traphis said.

"What?" Skinny Jack said. "I was only here for a few—"

"That's long enough," Kip said. "I followed you to see what you were doing, and it seems it was nothing good."

"But I didn't do anything," Skinny Jack said.

"Don't look at me," Traphis said. "I didn't do anything either."

"I saw Titch running away from you," Kip said.

"Gaybec was the one that hit her," Traphis said.

At this Saleena popped her head out from behind Kip. "What did I miss?" she asked.

"That's what I asked," Skinny Jack said.

Traphis was silent.

"We are waiting," Saleena said.

"It doesn't matter," Traphis said. "Let's go, people are staring at us."

Kip blushed, Saleena looked around as if counting the number of onlookers, and Skinny Jack rubbed at the sore spot on his head.

"Very well," Kip said. "You can tell us later, but we'd better go after her."

"Why?" Traphis asked. "She wanted to be left alone."

Saleena narrowed her dark blue eyes. "You do not know anything about girls, do you?"

Skinny Jack shrugged. "That makes two of us," he said. "Why would someone say one thing and mean another?"

Kip rolled her eyes, grabbed Skinny Jack by the ear, and led him away.

"I guess I better follow," Traphis said, though, not without a degree of apprehension.

# Chapter 16

HOW MUCH TIME had passed, Traphis was unable to tell. The town of Hoshan was bigger than he imagined. Not only that, but the layout was so chaotic that he found it difficult to navigate. Other than the main road—with its neat row of buildings and shops at either side—the rest of the town appeared as if a giant had juggled the houses in the air and then dropped them at random intervals.

The crew—as Skinny Jack had called them—wandered across patches, zigzagged around trees, and roamed over varying walkways. How anyone lived in such a confusing place, Traphis could only imagine.

It became obvious that Titch didn't want to be found. This made Traphis feel worse. He didn't mean for the rock to hit her, it was an accident, but the nagging suspicion that he had done something wrong only intensified. It was as if tiny creatures had crawled into his gut and started gnawing away. Normally, when his mother was mad, she would punish him and then that was the end of it. But this was different. Titch was not his mother. In fact, he wasn't sure who Titch was supposed to be to him. She was a friend, but then why did she act so peculiar? It must have had something to do with her being related to Gaybec. An odd family, each and every one of them.

"I'm tired," Skinny Jack said. "Let's find a place to sit down."

"You're lazy," Kip said. "I still have plenty of energy."

"We better head back to the Coliseum," Traphis said, "or we'll miss the funeral." He recalled how Falin had said it would be an honor for him to attend. That also meant the opposite would be true: a dishonor, if he didn't.

"Now there's a boy with a good idea," Skinny Jack said. "The sooner we go, the sooner I can sit down."

Kip rolled her eyes, but agreed that this was the best course of action.

Thankfully for them, the Coliseum was the one place that could be seen no matter where they were in town. This, Traphis figured, was the only way people could ever find their way out of the maze of houses.

When they arrived at the main entrance, Traphis approached the door, which displayed the shape of a large oval cut, planted flat side down. The darkness of the brown wood stood out against the pale white rock of the outer Coliseum walls. When he pushed on the center, it failed to move.

"What do we do now?" Traphis asked. "We're late and we can't open it without a ring."

"Why would we want to open it?" Skinny Jack asked.

The answer seemed so obvious to him that he didn't bother to respond.

"Don't you remember our plan for getting into the holding rooms?" Skinny Jack lifted a hand to his ear.

Traphis raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind," Skinny Jack said. "Just follow me."

Though he had his doubts, Traphis, along with Saleena and Kip, followed the boy as he made his way along the outer rim of the Coliseum.

Each step guided them along a slightly curved path. The size of the building proved greater than Traphis had imagined. He wondered if it would be possible to fit half the town within its walls. There was no doubt that the place was old, even he could see that, but the negative effects of age were nowhere to be seen. How anyone had been able to bring so many large stones into one area, and then place them one on top of another, was something he couldn't fathom. Magic must have been involved. That was the only explanation.

Skinny Jack brought them closer to the edge of the forest. The structure continued into the thick brush, but still managed to stand out taller than the surrounding trees.

"This is a good spot," Skinny Jack said. He brushed a hand against the outside wall. "No one will see us here."

Traphis glanced back. The gradual bend in the oval structure acted as a shelter from the path. Skinny Jack was right. No one would be able to see them. Even the surrounding foliage aided in their cause. But what were they going to do? He looked up at the high walls. "That's a long way to climb," he said.

Skinny Jack laughed. "You can try if you like, but I'd rather stay on solid ground."

"Then how—"

"Allow me," Kip said.

When Kip closed her fists, Skinny Jack moved out of the way. Her eyes shut tight. Several moments passed and then a stream of golden light shot out from between her fingers.

After opening her eyes, Kip approached the wall and spread her arms out wide. A large sheet stretched and formed into an equal-sided square. She pressed the film up to the wall and rubbed it with her hands—flattening it against the surface.

She then took several steps back, inspected her work, and nodded. "I'll go in first," she said.

Before Traphis could ask, _go in where?_ Kip had disappeared into the golden shape.

He gasped. "Where is she?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Skinny Jack asked.

Saleena strolled over to the opening and peered inside. "She should be back any moment."

Something told Traphis that the three of them had used this little trick before.

At the sight of Kip's head poking out of the wall, Traphis stumbled backward and fell onto a mound of dirt.

Kip smiled and said, "It's safe. It looks like an old storage room."

"Good," Skinny Jack said. "That will make things easier for us."

The head of Kip disappeared, and then Saleena followed behind, flowing through the shimmering hole like water down the side of a mountain.

"Let's go," Skinny Jack said. He tugged on Traphis' arm.

"I thought you were tired," Traphis said.

"Not when there's a plan to be executed."

Traphis allowed himself to be pulled along. This wasn't the first time someone had led him into a bad situation, and he figured it wouldn't be the last.

Skinny Jack let go, leaped forward, and was sucked into the wall.

Except for the birds chirping in the background, all became quiet. Traphis felt a cool breeze rush past as he stood, staring at the golden object. The atmosphere was so peaceful and calming that he could have stood there forever, listening to the voice of the forest as it reached out to him and beckoned to him. He fought the desire to simply turn and run into the greenery. To jump over rocks, skip past protruding logs, and search for a relaxing and quiet cave to lie in. A place of solitude and refuge. A place where there were no funerals.

And then he heard the rustling of bushes. When he turned to see what it was, fear struck him. Two long legs appeared from the edge of the forest. Shortly after, two more legs followed behind the first. Attached to all four was a thick, tan torso, and staring directly at him were two catlike eyes.

Traphis froze.

The beast's jaws opened in a silent hiss. Within its mouth, long, sharp teeth flexed their vicious intent. A moment later, the creature advanced. Each step was elegant and smooth with toes that spread slightly apart upon impact. Head lowered, its eyes fixed on Traphis.

A chill shook his body, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

The learcat increased its speed. Legs galloped and kicked up dirt. The torso lifted and dropped in a fluid-like motion as the wing-like ears flapped up and down in the fashion of a menacing bird of prey.

Straining with all his might, he forced out a hand and stretched it toward the golden hole in the wall, but his legs wouldn't budge. And then, when he could almost feel the creature's breath down the back of his neck, an arm reached out of the wall, aimlessly grabbed for his hand, and pulled.

* * *

Traphis fell downward. Objects around him blurred. The thought of his own death occurred to him, and then he wondered if he was entering the next life—the one which his mother spoke about so many times before. But then he felt the hardness of the ground as his body landed with a thud.

"That wasn't very elegant," Skinny Jack said. "What was taking you so long? Were you being a tara bird?"

"Don't call him that," Kip said. "Traphis wasn't scared. Just help him up already."

Traphis rubbed his elbow, "Where am I?"

Skinny Jack paused. "Well, you are in an old storage room."

"Where?" The desperation in his voice was evident.

"The Coliseum, storage room, your friends who were with you just a moment ago." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Skinny Jack's tone.

"What's wrong, Traphis?" Kip asked.

He looked nervously around the room. "A learcat," he said.

Skinny Jack laughed.

"A learcat, just outside." Traphis pointed at the wall.

"Everyone knows there are no learcats around here," Skinny Jack said.

Traphis pushed himself up and onto his feet. Using the remainder of his strength, he hobbled over to the wall and pressed against it.

"I already closed the opening," Kip said. "Once you came through there was no need to keep it active."

"So you stopped it," Traphis said. He fell back to the floor. "It would have come through, but you stopped it."

Kip glanced over at her brother with a puzzled look.

"Did you hit your head?" Skinny Jack asked.

Traphis rubbed his forehead. When he looked up, he noticed that Saleena was standing a short distance away, arm extended. He took her hand and was pulled back to his feet.

In her opposite hand, a circular globe, the size of a large fist, floated only a few spaces above. A soft bluish light emanated from the watery orb, which illuminated the room.

He blinked.

"Are you back with us in the real world?" Skinny Jack asked. "The first time you travel through Kip's tunnel, it messes with your mind. Some people start seeing things . . . actually; you're the only one that's happened to. My first time I was dizzy and disoriented for awhile—never saw any learcats—but you'll get used to it."

It was true that Traphis felt nauseous, but there was no mistaking the learcat. It wasn't simply in his mind. It had appeared before he entered the magical entryway, that much he was sure of. This was the second learcat to approach him in the last few days, and for some reason they both wanted him dead. But he could tell from the expressions on his companions' faces that he would be wise to let it go. His story did seem unbelievable—he barely believed it himself.

Noticing the details of the room for the first time, Traphis examined the long and narrow space. Shelves lined the walls, littered with objects, such as old shields, rusty swords, worn shirts, and broken mugs. Some of the things were not even recognizable. It seemed as if no one had been there for a very long time.

He brushed away the white layer of dust that clung to the palm of his hand, and then a thought occurred to him as he looked back at the wall. "Why didn't we use that to leave the WC? We could have left without having to ask someone to let us out."

"Use what?" Skinny Jack asked. "Kip's magic?"

In acknowledgment, Traphis nodded. "If it acts as a door, we could have left the WC anytime we wanted. So who needs a ring?"

"It only works on the same physical plane," Kip said. "I can use the magical sheet to move to different rooms in the WC, but not to move outside of it."

"What's the difference?" Traphis asked.

Skinny Jack picked something off a shelf, lifted it to his face, and then sneezed. "Only that the WC doesn't exist on the same plane as this world," he said. "It exists in a different space of its own."

"So why didn't we use it to enter one of the Nomadic Rooms? It would have taken us out of the WC."

"No," Skinny Jack said. "We tried that already. Without a ring to activate the room, it doesn't go anywhere."

"Do not worry," Saleena said. "I do not understand it either."

"Let's go," Skinny Jack said. "We are wasting too much time."

They walked along the storage room, following behind Saleena's light. It didn't take long before they found a door that looked like it had been shut for ages.

"Is it locked?" Traphis asked.

"Does it matter?" Skinny Jack asked. "It's so old it wouldn't open anyway."

"Allow me," Kip said.

She produced a shimmering sheet, though this time, she breathed heavily as she applied it to the door.

"It takes more energy than some of my other techniques," she said after regaining her breath. "I don't think I can create another for awhile."

"You shouldn't have to," Skinny Jack said. "If I'm right, and I always am, we should come out into a hallway that leads to the center ring."

Kip just shook her head.

"You go first this time," Skinny Jack said to Traphis. "My sister won't admit it, but she's too tired to keep it open for much longer. And you took forever last time."

The expected punch in the arm didn't follow Skinny Jack's comment. Instead, Kip closed her eyes as if entering a momentary rest.

Traphis prepared himself to take the plunge; he pictured the tree that led him back into the Nomadic Room. Going into any situation blind was not his style, but it had worked before, so he might as well do it again. Noticing that the size of the square was smaller than before, he crouched down before jumping through.

On the other side, his breaths were the only sound. A cold, damp floor supported his weight. Shortly after, Saleena joined him with her ball of light and then he noticed a stairway that led upward.

Skinny Jack landed on his feet next to Traphis. He straightened and dusted off his clothing.

A leg came from the wall, followed by two arms and the face of Kip. She was moving so slowly that even Skinny Jack appeared to be concerned.

"I'll be all right," Kip said once she had fully emerged from the wall. She clapped her hands together and the golden sheet disappeared. A look of relief surfaced on her face.

"Good, a staircase," Skinny Jack said. "We'll be at the funeral before you know it."

Together they climbed. The steps were steep and slippery, and Kip stumbled more than a few times, but Traphis stood behind her and helped her back up whenever she faltered—he couldn't help but feel partly at fault for her condition.

Surprised at how far the stairway traveled, he was glad once they came to an opening.

Light streamed through slits in the wall, which looked like narrow windows.

"This place reminds me of the WC," Traphis said. "We're lost."

"We're not lost," Skinny Jack said. "We just have to make a decision."

Traphis peered through one of the slits. He had to stand on the tips of his toes to look out.

"We're too high up," he said. "I think we need to find another way down."

"Let's go that way," Kip said, pointing to her left. "There are no stairs, but the floor declines."

"I was just going to suggest that," Skinny Jack said.

On their way down, an echo of voices came across their path. At first, Traphis thought the sound was coming from the ceremony, but as they got closer, it became obvious that it was a conversation between two parties.

Skinny Jack glanced over at him, nodded, and then stopped to listen.

The echo produced a garbled effect, but the meaning of the words came through the distortion. As far as he could tell, the conversation was between a man and a boy.

"But I did what you said," the boy said. "I had my cousin give it to him."

"Yes, you did well," the man said. "They are coming for him now, but there is more I need from you."

"I already did my part," the boy said. "You need to get someone else."

"But don't you want to be rid of him?" There was something snake-like about the man's voice.

The boy didn't respond.

"It's your right," the man said. "He took _her_ away from you. You deserve your revenge."

Still no response.

"I can sense your reluctance. But don't worry, no one knows. No one will ever find out."

"You don't understand," the boy said. "I no longer have access to her. She's on his side now."

"Oh, don't be so sure about that." The tongue must have slithered from his mouth. "Besides, there is always your father."

"But he won't help me. He loves them both. He's a fool."

"You will find a way. You know what must be done."

The sound of something metal hit the ground. Traphis looked up to see Skinny Jack displaying an apologetic expression.

Bending down, Skinny Jack scooped the item off the ground, and then stuffed it into his pocket.

There was a long silence before the man spoke again. "It's not safe here," he said. "We will meet again to discuss the details. Tomorrow. You know where."

Footsteps faded down the hallway until they were gone.

"You dolt," Kip said. "Why did you take that with you?"

"I'm sorry," Skinny Jack said. "I thought it was interesting."

"It's just a rusty piece of metal."

"I found it; it's my treasure."

"They are gone," Saleena said, pointing out the obvious in a likely attempt to change the subject.

She was right, they were gone, but an unsettling sensation remained in Traphis' gut.

* * *

Having found their way out of the winding hallway, Traphis and his companions entered the central area of the giant, oval building. It may not have been filled with as many people as it had during the festival, but there were at least a hundred in attendance.

Long, flat rows of seats were filled at the southern end. Thankfully, a few spots remained open in the back. With the aid of Saleena's smooth style of walking, she helped them to find their places without causing a commotion.

In the center ring, a line of wizards stood. Traphis recognized them as being members of the Committee. Standing directly in front of them was Falin, who methodically spoke in a language all but Traphis seemed to recognize. On a stone table, the body of Baskas lay, covered in elegant robes.

After what seemed to be an unbearable length of time, Falin paused. At this, all the assembly bowed their heads. Falin looked up and spoke a few words that sounded something like "Karebaatha, Tsungie, Kareaabaath," and then he reached down and touched the body of Baskas. A visible line of light ascended from high in the sky and alighted against the lifeless form. As it did, Baskas slowly rose into the air, halted, and then twisted upright.

The beam of light extended from far above the clouds, and down below the attendants watched with expressions of wonder. Taking the form of a thin line, the light encompassed the lifeless body. After a few moments, warmth entered into the pale cheeks and Baskas' eyes opened.

Several people jerked back in their seats as if preparing for an attack, but nothing like an attack occurred. Traphis shifted uncomfortably. Barely a year had gone by since a similar spectacle took place. He looked on with apprehension, knowing full well what was going to happen next.

The body lifted higher into the air as light shone on the faces of the Committee below. Falin took several steps back as did the other Committee members.

Baskas' limbs were stiff against his body and the robes that covered his nakedness hung loose at his sides. Yet there was life in his eyes. Just as his father's had. But it wasn't the life of the wizard. It was a presence, a personality, a foreign entity that came into the empty shell and took control.

Without questioning what he was doing, Traphis stood to his feet and shouted out. "Why? Why do you take them away from us? Why can't they stay here? Why can't you bring them back?"

Countless eyes turned to look at him, but he didn't care. Someone tugged at his arm, but he simply pulled away. He wanted answers. No, he deserved answers. The being occupying Baskas was not a man, and for the first time, he understood what it was. The same power behind the Blue—the presence within the sandy island—filled the surrounding air. But it didn't matter where it came from. The fact that it was there and taking yet another life is what did.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could no longer hold them back. So what if people would laugh at him later? It didn't matter. No one mattered. No one but him and the presence that was before him.

Pain sank into his trembling hands as fingernails dug deep into his clenched palms. He stood his ground and faced Baskas. Not even a blink of the eye would get in his way now.

And then something happened that caused even Falin to brandish a look of surprise.

Baskas spoke.

# Chapter 17

"I AM THE Founder, and I speak truly." Each word sounded like a mixture of wind and rushing waters. There was no hint of sternness or anger. Rather, the words were fearless, certain, resolute. Firm yet gentle. Fortified yet kind.

A moment of stillness followed as the assembly waited for the next words to come. High above, the open sky glared down through a patch of murky clouds. Night was drawing near, yet the light of day still prevailed.

A different kind of darkness sank deep into Traphis' bones. The pain and anguish that he had carried for so long demanded answers, and nothing would stop him from seeking them.

Baskas' body floated far above the stone table. Young eyes looked down at Traphis, hollow like that of a dead creature. Yet in them, there was light, soft and warm with a sense of purity, of goodness, of unquestionable virtue.

These things only made it worse; he couldn't believe that such a power would have taken his father away from him. Mardin was a good man. Everyone knew it. And now this energy had taken yet another life. That of a younger wizard, and not just any young wizard, one who was once Falin's apprentice. A situation Traphis might one day find himself in: dying at a young age, never accomplishing his dreams, or uncovering his full potential.

He squeezed his fists tighter. There had to be a reason. There had to be something more.

The body of Baskas remained motionless—eyes steady and unblinking. And then the voice spoke again. "Every life has a limited time in this world; therefore, do not waste that which you have been given. What you do with it will determine who you are in the next."

With that, the light around the body grew brighter and a harsh wind blew. The eyes of Baskas closed and the dead wizard's limbs shook. Beams of light shot out from seams in the cloth and blazed against the faces of the crowd. Several people gasped and covered their eyes, but Traphis remained steadfast. He gazed at the body without hesitation; knowing full well what was going to happen next.

Like a funnel, the light circled the body. It spun in rapid succession as the robe began to deteriorate. Flesh appeared from underneath, but not long enough for it to resemble the shape of a man. Baskas' skin transformed into what looked like numerous beads. They cluttered together into a big lump. Then, suddenly, as if pulled into a vortex, the beads became a spinning tornado.

A boom shot through the crowd; several people covered their ears. The smell of fresh rain lofted into the air as wind tousled their garments.

Traphis lifted a hand to his forehead. Bits of sand and dirt stung his flesh, but he refused to look away.

The twirling beads were all that remained. They swarmed like a group of insects as they formed into a sharp point. And then, slowly lifting into the air, the beads flowed along the beam of light until they reached the clouds. Without hesitation, they entered the murky substance never to be seen again.

Light faded, sound paused, and the wind subsided. There was no motion but that of a few scraps of cloth, drifting to the ground like leaves. It appeared as if a storm had passed by and stopped just short of causing any damage.

But damage had been done. Baskas was gone, and he would never be coming back. Traphis fought a sudden desire to go back home and hide deep inside his cave. To distance himself from everyone and everything, and to remain hidden for all eternity.

"I can't believe He spoke to you," Kip said. "I can't believe He actually spoke to you."

"And He spoke directly to Traphis too," Saleena said. "Without an Oracle."

"Maybe no one ever thought to ask Him a question," Skinny Jack said with a hint of sarcasm.

Traphis sat back down next to his friends and thumped a fist against his forehead. "What good was the answer? He spoke like Falin, in mysteries. Why can't I just get a simple answer?"

Kip turned her head and stared blankly at Traphis. "He spoke to you," she said. "I can't believe it."

"Neither can anyone else," Skinny Jack said. "Look, the funeral has ended but no one is moving."

Sure enough, the assembly froze to their seats as if the cold breeze had turned them to stone. Only the occasional sobs broke the silence.

A moment later, Falin stepped forward, stretched out his arms, and addressed the assembly. "An amazing thing has occurred today. The Founder leaves us with a message that all should pay heed to. Baskas' time in this place has come to an end, but ours has not. We must be vigilant. Do not suffer on the account of Baskas, for he has moved on to a new adventure. Instead, celebrate his transition and ask yourselves what may be in store for you."

With that, Falin left the Coliseum grounds, followed shortly after by the Committee members. One at a time, people rose from their seats and exited the building.

Since Traphis and his group were at the back, they were the last to leave. Evidently, the assembly forgot all about the loud boy with his inappropriate question and paid him little heed as they left, which was just as well with him.

The group made their way back to the WC, all the while Kip repeated, "He spoke to you." Skinny Jack brandished the biggest smile, and Saleena flashed quick, incomprehensible glances.

* * *

The next day, Traphis kept mostly to himself. Other than a few brief words at the morning meal, he contributed little to the conversation, which mainly centered on the events of the day before. Kip still acted amazed about hearing from the Founder—so much so that she seemed to have missed the words He spoke—and Skinny Jack focused mainly on the way Baskas' body evaporated. Even though the process remained unsettling to Traphis, Skinny Jack seemed all too excited to die and experience it for himself.

The empty seat where Titch normally sat brought little cheer to his already dismal demeanor. She had yet to return to the WC since running away, and he couldn't help but feel responsible.

After their meal, he went back to training with Falin. Unlike his friends, the old wizard said nothing about the events of the day prior, but the forlorn expression on his teacher's face told him that something was bothering him. Still, he knew better than to inquire.

After several failed attempts to activate his signature ring, he decided to go back to his room and lay on his bed to take a nap.

The exhaustion in his limbs settled like a nagging ailment. Stiff and sore, Traphis fought back his racing thoughts, but they continued to hinder his rest. Sickness crept deep inside his gut, but there was nothing he could do to make it go away. This sickness defied physical means, and demanded an unknown source of healing.

When the midday meal came, he stayed up in his room. Nor did he go down when the evening meal passed him by. Food seemed like such a superficial thing. Pointless. Meaningless. He needed nourishment of a different kind and he wouldn't budge until it came.

The night sky peered through his bedroom window. Stars accented the shadows of nearby trees. Their branches, twisted and gnarled, resembled evil hands, grabbing at the helpless breeze.

Dejected, Traphis turned toward the far wall. He stared blankly at it until finally drifting to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Traphis awoke to the smiling face of Skinny Jack.

"You look vaguely familiar," Skinny Jack said. "Are you new here?"

Traphis rubbed his forehead and then glanced up at the boy.

"That's right, I believe your name is Traphis," Skinny Jack continued. "I heard you were captured by wolvarks and dragged into the forest."

Traphis cringed. "That isn't something to joke about."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot what Titch told me about your vision."

"It wasn't a vision, it was a cube, and why was Titch telling you about that?"

Skinny Jack blushed. "I don't know. Maybe she thought we were all friends."

Traphis turned and looked out the window. "Do friends run away?" He paused and then took a deep breath. "I'm just not used to having friends."

"Me neither. How about we try it and see what happens?"

Traphis wanted to stay sad and angry, but this boy wouldn't leave him alone.

"I see what your problem is," Skinny Jack said. "You haven't changed your window." He walked over, touched the frame, and said, "Scene: great waters. Time: early morning. Sound: on."

Just then, the image in the window flickered and then faded. Shortly after, the window displayed an endless expanse of water. Waves flowed steadily across the surface, which produced a soothing and calming vibration.

Before Traphis had a chance to ask what just happened, Skinny Jack grabbed his arm and dragged him out of bed. The next moment, Skinny Jack pinched his nose and said, "When's the last time you washed?"

"Washed?"

Sniffing at Traphis' vest, Skinny Jack quickly pulled his head back. "Whew. Been that long, huh? Well, let me show you where the washing room is."

Skinny Jack led Traphis down the hall and up a flight of stairs. At the top was a short hallway with two doors.

"The one on the left is for wizits only," Skinny Jack said. "Even if you wanted to go in, the door has a seal on it that rejects boys. The same goes for this one, only it rejects girls."

Traphis must have looked as disbelieving as he felt.

"Try opening the girl's door," Skinny Jack said.

As soon as Traphis grabbed the handle, a young girl emerged. She blushed, shut the door behind her, gave them a disapproving look, and then scampered down the stairs.

"I've never seen your face so red before." Skinny Jack laughed.

Jaw clenched, Traphis cursed and turned away.

"Come on; let's go to the boy's room." He pushed Traphis inside.

Small wooden stalls lined the walls. Inside the stalls were holes that led down to a magical item that supposedly disintegrated anything that touched it. As Traphis had been told when inquiring about similar rooms along the hallway, this was where trainees were to relieve themselves of their digested food.

"Over there you can wash your clothes," Skinny Jack said. "Though you will only want to wash your cloth items, not your leather ones, I made that mistake before."

There were several open barrels filled with materials. Above the barrels, water streamed out from small holes in the wall. In the barrel to his left, the water suddenly drained. Shortly after, a gust of warm air rushed into it. Where the water and air came from, Traphis had no clue. What was more of a mystery was how the clothes in the barrels shifted back and forth. Back home, his mother washed them in the creek and then dried them on tree branches. These barrels, on the other hand, seemed to do the work for them.

"And over there behind that wall is the wash room." Skinny Jack pointed. On the wall in the center of the room, two openings appeared at each side.

A boy walked through one of the openings, grabbed his clothes hanging on the wall, sat down at one of the wooden benches, and proceeded to dress.

Traphis looked away and whispered to Skinny Jack. "He's naked."

"How else do you get clean?"

Traphis wasn't used to seeing people unclothed. The very thought of it made him nauseous.

"If you think that's bad," Skinny Jack said. "Then wait until you see the pool."

Skinny Jack was right. The pool was worse. Behind the center wall was a large, square hole in the floor filled with water. Two, unclothed boys sat at opposite sides of the pool while another stood underneath what looked to be an overturned bowl.

"That's how you dry off," Skinny Jack said. "Heat comes from the bowl . . . it works, you will see."

"Magic sure does strange things," Traphis said.

Without hesitation, Skinny Jack undressed, hung his garments on a nearby hook, and then jumped into the water. "It feels great, come on in."

Sweat beaded on Traphis' forehead. He looked around, but there were no side rooms to undress in.

"Don't make me splash you," Skinny Jack said.

"I'll be right back." Traphis peeked around the corner. No one was there. Taking advantage of this opportunity, he snuck to the other side, removed his vest, and hung it on the wall. He then placed his undershirt and leggings into one of the barrels, kicked off his foot coverings, and then made his way back to the pool.

Skinny Jack laughed as soon as he saw Traphis wearing his loincloth. "At least you have some meat on your bones," he said.

Traphis ignored him and put one foot into the water. It felt unusually warm. Much unlike the coolness of the creek water, which he normally bathed in.

"Nice, isn't it?" Skinny Jack said. "It's heated."

Not wanting to admit that it did feel nice, Traphis fully emerged his body into the liquid. A moment later, he floated on his back and gazed up at the ceiling.

"Who carves all those things?" he asked as he admired the detailed scene of a forest, etched into the woodwork.

"Who knows. This place has been around for longer than recorded history."

A thought suddenly occurred to Traphis. "If that's so, then how do the seals stay active? Once a wizard dies, his seal loses power, so how do things like this pool stay heated?"

"With each generation a new group of wizards are assigned to reseal and maintain the items in the WC. Just as they keep the lights going in the halls."

A look of horror passed over Traphis' face. "I sure hope they don't assign me to that; I'd never have the courage to crawl down one of those holes and touch the thing that people relieve themselves on."

The sound of laughter cut Traphis off. Skinny Jack had tears in his eyes, or was it droplets of water?

To cover up his embarrassment, Traphis splashed Skinny Jack in the face.

At first, the boy looked shocked, as if the most unexpected thing just occurred, but then the left side of his mouth curled into a grin. Less than three counts later, the two boys were in a shower of water as they plunged their arms into the fluid and hurled handfuls of it at each other.

A stifled laugh broke through Traphis' lungs. "You win," he said. "I'm too tired to continue."

"Me too," Skinny Jack said. "Let's call it a draw."

And then, for the first time, Traphis realized that he was no longer sad.

_Perhaps this is what friends do_ , he thought, and then wondered how he had ever managed without them before.

* * *

The library was emptier than Traphis remembered it being during his last visit. Only a few of the tables were occupied, and even then, there were several empty seats at each.

He collapsed on a nearby chair. The weight of his body unintentionally scooted the legs across the floor, which produced a loud scraping noise. Several heads turned toward him. One of the children exhaled a reproving shush. Traphis sank back in his seat and blushed from the unwelcomed attention.

Absentmindedly, he picked up a book from the table and flipped through the pages. Instead of words, his mind registered them as splashes of black ink; it was all a blur to him. His thoughts went back to the last time he had been in the library. Titch had sat across from him when he read to her.

_What if she got lost?_ Traphis wondered. _What if she couldn't find her way back to the WC?_ He considered this possibility, after all, she was not originally from Hoshan; she was just visiting. But that made no sense; surely she would have stayed within the boundaries of the city. And even then, if she did wander farther away, she had probably spent past visits exploring the area. He pictured a younger version of Gaybec and Titch as they happily played together.

A frown pulled down the corners of his mouth.

Gaybec.

Even Traphis knew it was wrong to hit a girl, puzzling creatures as they were, it was horribly wrong—his mother taught him that. What made it worse was that Titch deliberately took Gaybec's punch for his sake.

He leaned forward in the chair. Perhaps she went back home to apologize to her cousin. Perhaps she realized that Traphis wasn't worth protecting. Perhaps the two of them were already planning a way to get back at him.

_No_ , he thought as he rubbed his freshly washed hair _. Titch is better than that._

_Protecting_. The word stuck out in his mind. That's what he should have been doing for Titch. Protecting her. He should have run after her right away and apologized for being . . . for being what? He looked down at the book. What was it that he did wrong again? It didn't matter. It was his job as a boy, a wizard, no, as a friend, to look after her.

"Moarock," he said aloud. Another shushing noise came from behind his shoulder, but he ignored it.

So if she didn't get lost and she didn't go back to see Gaybec, what then?

He jumped to his feet. "A learcat," he said. "No! She must have gotten attacked by a learcat!"

"Would you be quiet?" The voice was that of a young girl.

Traphis turned and looked at her with desperation in his eyes. She winced as he said, "I have to find her. She's in real danger."

# Chapter 18

TRAPHIS RAN THROUGH the hallway as if a wolvark was chasing him. After pushing past several students and bumping into several more, his body jerked back and came to an unexpected halt.

In the distance—the short hair, long legs, and angry face of Skinny Jack appeared.

"Why didn't you stop when I called to you?" Skinny Jack asked.

Arm extended in the air, Traphis tugged, but it didn't move. His hand was stuck to something. A tickling sensation pervaded his fingers as if someone was rubbing a tara bird feather across them. When he examined his palm, he noticed something wiggling against it.

Skinny Jack stopped a few paces away, leaned over with hands on bent knees, and took a few heavy breaths. "Do you know how hard it is to produce a wind funnel on a moving object?" he asked.

For a moment, Traphis forgot where he was going and why. "So that's what stopped me? Good aim."

"No it wasn't; I was aiming for your head."

"But wouldn't that hurt?"

Skinny Jack looked up. "Exactly."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I was trying to talk to you, but you didn't listen to me. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Why?"

"Why was I following you? I don't know, maybe because you were running through the hall like a skimpit with its tail on fire."

Traphis cursed; he suddenly remembered his mission. "Let me go," he said. "Titch is in danger."

Skinny Jack wrinkled his forehead.

"I think a learcat got her," Traphis continued. "For all I know she could be dead."

An eyebrow raised on the left side of Skinny Jack's face. "Not that again."

"It doesn't matter what you think. She's been missing ever since she ran off."

"I know, but a learcat?"

"I don't have time to argue with you. Just terminate your wind thing and let me go."

"Wind thing? My magic is far more magnificent than—wait, all right. I'll do it. Don't start pulling against it or you'll hurt yourself."

Skinny Jack cupped his hands around Traphis' wrist. With a twist, a brief gust of air flowed up his arm, and then the tunnel dispersed into nothingness.

"Let me come with you," Skinny Jack said.

There was a pause as Traphis considered.

Skinny Jack continued his case. "You know I care about Titch too. You know I can help. So let me."

"Don't get behind," Traphis said. He turned and sprinted forward.

"I'm the master of wind. Don't _you_ get behind _me_."

The two boys made their way to the door that led out of the WC and into Hoshan. Unlike the doors on the Nomadic Rooms, this one was in an area all by itself. A prominent one at that, being that Hoshan was the central location for the Wizarding Committee.

As expected, the door was locked. "Do you have any schemes for getting out?" Traphis asked.

"I thought this was your plan," Skinny Jack said.

"Does the master of wind have limitations after all?"

Skinny Jack opened and closed his mouth. Then said, "I never said I was limited, just that I didn't want to get in your way."

Traphis smiled. "Please, go ahead."

"I'll need a moment." Skinny Jack tapped his chin while pacing back and forth in front of the door. He stopped and said, "I'll be right back." Without giving Traphis a chance to respond, he left the room.

Not sure what else to do, Traphis wandered around the entrance. It was one of the most magnificently designed places in the entire building. Until now, he had been rushed past without having the chance to take a good look.

The wood ceiling, far above his head, displayed carvings of faces. This would have seemed creepy had he not known they were once great wizards. Each face told a story of an adventure from the past, of a different and exciting world, and of both beginnings and endings. Many of the wizards were unknown to him, but some had been carved even in his lifetime. He imagined his own face appearing there one day. If not on the ceiling, then on one of the walls. Whichever it was, he hoped that his image would be carved next to his father's, that is, once his father's got added.

A panting Skinny Jack rounded the corner, and next to him followed an agitated looking Jabool.

"Sorry, I came as fast as I could," Skinny Jack said.

As impossible as it sounded, Jabool's frown lowered even further when seeing Traphis. "Just what is it you plan on doing?" he asked. "I have far more important matters to attend to."

Though the words were harsh, Traphis detected an odd hint of pleasure in them.

"I'm just concerned about Titch," he said. "She has been missing—"

"Yes, the redheaded brat," Jabool interrupted. "And you think you know where she is, do you?"

"No, but I must try—"

"Very well," Jabool said. "But don't expect me to let you back in. It is because of you and that fool Falin that I have my own errand to run. Now be off with you before I decide otherwise."

Jabool made a fist and the oval surface of his ring began to glow. It was a dark color, not quite black, yet not brown either. It was somewhere between mud and clay. The symbol on it reminded Traphis of a child's sketch representing a mound of dirt.

The wizard pressed his ring against the door, twisted his wrist, and pushed it open with a quick jerk. Without saying a word, he turned and left the two boys alone.

"I knew that would work," Skinny Jack said. "He's been trying to get rid of us ever since we joined."

"But we're coming back," Traphis said.

"Sure we are, but he doesn't have to know that."

Traphis had to smile, even if the boy's logic was a bit flawed.

* * *

The sky was clear and the sun gleamed brightly down on the two boys. A few people strolled by, but were too preoccupied with their own matters to notice them. A few paces away, something crawled across the path and then disappeared.

"We can't forget why we are here," Traphis said. "Something bad may have happened to Titch. We need to find her right away."

"So where do we start?" Skinny Jack asked.

Traphis looked slowly to his left and then to his right. He paused. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Maybe we should check her uncle's house."

"I thought about that, but I don't think so. She got into a fight with her cousin before she left."

"But, it's a place to start."

Traphis clenched his jaw. The thought of seeing Gaybec was bad enough, but deliberately going to the boy's house made it even worse. And what would Skinny Jack think once he saw the way Gaybec insulted him? What if Skinny Jack joined in? Not only would Traphis gain another enemy, but he would lose his first real friend.

As if sensing his reluctance, Skinny Jack said, "It will be fine. Let's go. If she's in danger as you say, then we don't have a lot of time to waste."

With a nod, Traphis conceded.

On their way to the eastern most part of the village, they came across a group of odd-looking footprints. Traphis bent over and measured one with his hand. Even with his fingers spread apart, the size of the print proved to be larger.

"Whatever it was," Skinny Jack said, "it was big."

Traphis glared up at him. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"But that doesn't mean it's a learcat. For all we know it could be a child playing a joke."

Traphis looked back down at the print. "I wish that was true."

"Come on. Let's keep going."

Reluctantly, Traphis resumed the journey to Gaybec's house. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for every possible hiding place, expecting a learcat to jump out at him at any moment.

The farther east they went the larger and more elaborately built the houses became. Traphis' home was nowhere near the size of these, but being out of the village provided a lot more land, and he'd take the land above these gaudy dwellings any day.

"Look at those pillars," Skinny Jack said. "They must be three levels high. And over there, do you see it? There are more windows than walls. Only a wizard could make so much glass and so precisely; I can't see a single bubble."

"If they spent more time outdoors, there'd be no reason to have all that glass."

Skinny Jack rotated his head from left to right and his mouth hung open. "Someday," he said. "Someday I'll live here."

"Don't Elder Controllers live in the WC?"

Skinny Jack gaped at Traphis. "There's always a way to fulfill a dream."

Traphis laughed, but then realized that Skinny Jack was being serious. "Sorry," he said. "You're probably right. At any rate, Greagor's house is just over there." He pointed to a home that had four levels, six pillars, and more windows than anyone would wish to count.

A gasp escaped Skinny Jack's lungs. "They treat mayors really well in Hoshan," he said. "To think that our Titch lives there."

"She doesn't live there. Actually, I don't really know where she lives, but I think that's where she stays when she visits."

Skinny Jack shot Traphis an inquisitive look. "I thought you two were close."

"I haven't really known her that long."

A big smile crept across Skinny Jack's face. Unsure of its meaning, Traphis felt it better not to inquire.

A moment later, Skinny Jack stood next to him as he knocked at the front door. Steps were heard from inside and then came to a halt. Suddenly, the door flung out with a snap and Gaybec jumped at Traphis with both arms raised.

The impact sent Traphis stumbling backward. His heel caught against something and forced him to the ground. A cloud of dirt drifted into the air and hovered above his surprised face.

"It's your fault," Gaybec hollered. "It's always your fault. Everything bad happens because of you. Why don't you go off into the mountains and live with the moarocks and leave the rest of us alone."

Before Traphis could respond, Skinny Jack lunged forward and grappled Gaybec's throat with his arms. He squeezed tight, forcing redness into Gaybec's cheeks.

A choking sound came from the bully's throat as he tried to draw breath. Moments later, he jerked to his left and rappelled Skinny Jack's embrace with a twist of his body. The boy hit the ground only a few paces from where Traphis lay. His skinny arms and legs bounced against the dirt like an armful of twigs dropped into a fire.

Gaybec held his throat and coughed a few times before breaking the silence. "You wizards are pathetic," he said. "I don't know why she wanted to become one of you. You are nothing without your magic." He turned and was about to shut the door behind him when Traphis called out.

"Wait, where is she?"

Gaybec stopped, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. "She's gone, isn't that all that matters?" The door closed with a slam.

For the count of thirty heartbeats, the two boys lay against the hard ground. Traphis forced himself onto his feet, leaned toward Skinny Jack, and offered the boy an outstretched hand.

Skinny Jack looked up at him with empty eyes—his senses apparently hiding behind a stone in his mind. But then something in them lit up like a lamp in a dark cavern. "What did he mean?" he asked. "Where did Titch go?"

"I don't know," Traphis said. "But he seems to think I'm to blame. We'll never get him to tell us now."

"But I'm sure someone else must know," Skinny Jack said, as if pleading for Traphis to tell him some good news.

"We can always ask his father, but that's assuming we can get past Gaybec first."

"Someone at the WC should know. A trainee doesn't just disappear without some kind of explanation."

Traphis waved his already outstretched hand for Skinny Jack to take.

"Do you think Jabool knew?" Skinny Jack grasped the hand and was pulled to his feet. "That is, do you think he knew what happened to Titch before he let us out of the building?"

"If so, he's planning something, and you can bet it isn't good."

Skinny Jack rubbed a sore spot on his arm. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

"I didn't expect you to . . ." Traphis paused. "That is, I didn't expect you to attack Gaybec."

A smile creased Skinny Jack's face. "I didn't either. I just reacted."

"But, I mean, you helped me. No one's ever done that before."

The boy's smile broadened. He reached over and patted Traphis on the shoulder. "That's what friends are for."

Traphis shook his head in disbelief. All he could manage to say was a word of thanks, but deep down the actions meant more to him than he would admit. Especially since it was against a boy five years Skinny Jack's elder; there was no chance he would have won the fight, but still, he tried. And that's what mattered.

"Maybe we should go back to the WC," Traphis said. As he spoke, he noticed that the complexion on his friend's face turned pale. It was as if someone squeezed the blood right out of him.

Raising a trembling arm, Skinny Jack pointed to something over Traphis' shoulder.

"What?" Traphis asked.

"Ahhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhh." Skinny Jacked closed his eyes. "A Learrrrrrr cu-cu-cut. La-leeeeaaarr ca-ca-cat."

The blood drained from Traphis' cheeks as he felt hot breath brush against the back of his neck.

* * *

Whenever Anjetta tickled Traphis with a tara bird feather, she purposely held it above his chest, rolled it in her fingers, and kept from touching any part of his skin. This was worse than the tickling itself; his skin would tense and tingle with the anticipation of what was to come.

In a similar fashion, Traphis felt the muscles in his back quiver as they waited for the impending attack. As a child, he never thought it would end like this—at the paws of a learcat.

At least it gave Traphis some comfort knowing that the next time Gaybec opened his front door, he'd have to look at the two half eaten corpses. The bully would become nauseous to the point of vomiting, and so Traphis' death would at least have some positive results. But as he thought about it, Gaybec would probably be happy to have him gone forever.

The words of the Founder suddenly stood out in his mind, "Every life has a limited time in this world; therefore, do not waste that which you have been given. What you do with it will determine who you are in the next."

Little did those words answer his innermost questions, but they did provide some insight into the next life. Even if he didn't like the prospect of leaving this world, at least living on in another would be something, and something was better than nothing.

After contemplating these things in his mind, Traphis wondered why he was still in one piece. He opened his eyes and saw Skinny Jack standing erect with the same look of terror.

But they were both still alive.

Looking over his shoulder, Traphis was met by winged ears, upright and alert. A large mouth hung open and displayed rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Two huge paws planted firmly on the ground, and there was a hint of . . . a hint of what? A foreign yet familiar sensation washed over him. He wondered where he had felt this before, but then remembered the time he had been dragged behind the lorax.

Before he could ask himself if this was the same learcat, the beast leaned forward in a slow, hypnotic motion. With each breath, his courage dwindled. Even if he had been able to find the desire to run, he knew his legs would fail him.

The creature's breath pounded in Traphis' ears. Eyes, green as the grass, stared straight into his—unblinking, still, and fixated. Even on four legs, the learcat was over half his height, and the torso was thicker than three Skinny Jacks. In a moment, it would be filled with one Skinny Jack and one Traphis.

By the time he regained the feeling in his limbs, the beast's head bumped into his chest. Instantly his vision went blank.

It felt as if water flowed over his entire body. No, it was flowing inside his body. And then there was a soft glow of light, though he couldn't make out any shapes.

Death isn't so bad, he thought. At least there's no pain.

A celestial sound reverberated in the distance. As it grew nearer, he realized it was the voice of a beautiful woman, that is, he assumed she was beautiful from her tone.

"At long last," she said. "Traphis, Son of Truth. I have found you."

# Chapter 19

"WHO, WHO ARE you?" Traphis asked, though his lips remained closed. He sensed the words coming from somewhere within him.

"I am the one sent to be your guide," the voice said. It was so beautiful that Traphis thought of his mother, only it was more magnificent, elegant, and transcendent . . .

"Guide?" Traphis asked. "To where?"

"I came to you in the past," she said. "But there was resistance. Time is no longer our ally. They have arrived."

There was something familiar about her voice. He tried to remember where he had heard it before, and then it came to him. "You were with the learcat my grandfather chased away."

"An unfortunate misunderstanding," she said. "The learcat that is with you now is the same. She followed you to your cave many nights past and met you by the Coliseum."

Traphis suddenly remembered that the creature's head was pressed up against his chest. He struggled to move away, but his limbs were paralyzed. His heart beat rapidly and his breathing intensified.

"Do not be afraid," she said. "She is my vessel. The one who carries my voice to you. Without her we could not speak."

"But . . ." Traphis was at a loss for words. A learcat was a wild creature, a night hunter.

"I cannot exist in your world for I am of another. This learcat has no voice of her own, but when she touches you, my consciousness is able to communicate with yours."

Traphis tried to blink, but he felt as if he had no eyes. The glow of light was all he could see. By the softness of the woman's voice, he sensed that she was trustworthy, but for all he knew she could have been sent by Tyron to trap him.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "I have been sent by the Founder. I do not represent Tyron." Her words continued to echo throughout Traphis' being. "There is work you must do. Work your father began, but was unable to finish. Work that only you can continue."

At the mention of his father, Traphis felt a wave of warmth wash over him. "My . . ." He stuttered. "My father?"

"Do not be alarmed of my vessel," she said. "All creatures know the voice of their creator, even more so than those of His finest fruits." For a moment, her voice became quieter, somehow sad, but then regained its illustrious radiance. "I do not control her; she has a mind of her own and follows because she wishes to. She is loyal, trustworthy, and knows my commands. Even if her natural instincts appear intimidating, you must follow."

_That's one way of putting it_ , Traphis thought. _Ravenous is more like it_. But he chose not to communicate this.

A gentle laugh came from the speaker. "Do not forget that I am connected to your consciousness. I can sense your thoughts as well as your intended words, but do not fret. She will not harm you."

Traphis didn't like the thought of her reading his mind. If he could have felt his cheeks, they would have likely turned red. Instead, it seemed his emotions were represented by a slight, internal twang—one that made him wonder if his consciousness was like the strings of a musical instrument. If so, then several of them had just been plucked out of sequence.

"Treat this one well," she said. "And she will protect you with her life. And now we have tarried too long, you must go."

"But go where? How will I communicate with you?"

"There are many tasks assigned to me, but do not worry, the one I leave you with is well informed. Follow her and you will be on the right path." The voice grew quieter, as if starting to drift away.

"Wait," Traphis said. "Who are you?"

"I am known as the Oracle, but names mean little in our world. Now you must go. Go home, Traphis, Son of Truth, you are desperately needed there. Too much time has passed . . . too much delay . . ."

"Home?" If the strings inside had played a poor note before, they were clashing in an array of discord now. "What happened there?"

There was no response. The blurriness in his vision faded. Shortly after, he came to focus on the upturned snout of the learcat.

Once the connection fully closed, the learcat withdrew and sat down on her haunches. She gazed up at him with a stern and unyielding expression, yet somehow it contained a hint of playfulness to it—the shaggy ears seemed to lighten her otherwise ferocious demeanor.

One thing was certain, he needed to go back home. There was no need for a guide; he clearly knew the way. With an unpredictable beast like this, anything could happen at any moment, including him ending up in the creature's stomach. He knew what he had to do. He had to get home as fast as he could. The learcat could do whatever it wanted, just so long as it stayed out of his way.

A groan came from behind his shoulder and he remembered Skinny Jack. Turning, he found the boy laying face down in the dirt.

He bent over, rolled Skinny Jack onto his back, and clapped his hands above his face.

Skinny Jack blinked several times and then put a hand to his forehead. "What happened?" he asked. "I had the strangest dream—"

"I need to go home," Traphis said.

"To the WC?"

"No, to my home."

Skinny Jack leaned forward and looked up at him. "But why? What about Titch? What about your training?"

"That will have to wait."

"Then let me come with you."

"It's probably best if I go alone," Traphis said, then added, "I'll come back."

Skinny Jack shook his head. "No, we're friends, if there's something wrong, I'll help."

Traphis looked away. It was true that Skinny Jack proved to be a good friend, but if something really was wrong at home, he would prefer to handle it alone. Then again, if there was danger, Skinny Jack was better skilled at magic.

A loud scream caught him off guard. In a matter of a few breaths, Skinny Jack jumped to his feet and leaped backward. His shaking finger pointed to something over Traphis' shoulder. "Ahh . . . ahh . . . it's ahhh . . ."

"A learcat," Traphis said. He turned to look at the creature, which seemed to be unaffected by the outburst. She patiently held the same position as before, as if waiting for the signal to advance.

"Bu-bu-but."

"It's all right," Traphis said. "It's coming with me. Do you still want to come?" He smiled.

Skinny Jack opened and closed his mouth, looked at the learcat, then at Traphis, and then back at the learcat again. Finally, he said, "I don't understand, but I said I'll help, so I'll help."

* * *

Traphis followed behind the learcat. Skinny Jack walked beside Traphis. Both looked hesitantly at the creature, waiting for something unpleasant to occur. A sudden turn and leap would signal their demise. But the learcat simply strolled along the dirt path at a casual pace. Its tail swished back and forth, and its head faced forward.

Despite the anxious thumping in his chest, Traphis forced back the desire to proceed as fast as he could; he decided it was better to let the beast go at her own speed. Whatever was happening back home would still be there, waiting for him, and he didn't want to provoke the beast's wrath by skipping ahead.

At least the slow stride made the long walk easier to bear. He had never attempted a trip from Hoshan by foot before, and his feet were already aching.

One of the things the Oracle said kept nagging at him. If the learcat had followed him to his cave all those days back, why didn't it come into contact with him before now? They could have avoided all those panic-stricken encounters. Not to mention they could have prevented the loss of time and the long walk back home. To a certain extent, he realized he should be thankful for the way things turned out; otherwise, he'd never have become a trainee at the WC or met any of his new friends.

As he walked along, the air turned cool and the sun sank low in the sky. He knew they would soon be trudging along in darkness. It was at this moment he was thankful that Skinny Jack had come.

A sun bug flew up and into the air. He watched as it fluttered in circles. Sun bugs were usually the first creatures of the night to emerge, and probably the last to leave. Their yellowish, glowing bodies lit the way for lost travelers, but this was a deception. Sun bugs often led their followers off cliffs or into the mouths of unpleasant creatures. It was as if they deliberately enjoyed fooling humans.

The learcat twitched her ears as the sun bug hovered above her head. The scene was like a ritual, with the bug dancing and the learcat becoming further annoyed. This lasted until the bug weaved in front of the learcat's mouth. At the blink of an eye, the bug disappeared into its jowls with a snap.

"How much farther is it?" Skinny Jack asked.

"That's the longest I've ever heard you go without speaking," Traphis said.

Silence was all that returned.

"You were the one who wanted to come with me," Traphis continued. "Remember?"

"How much longer?" The boy's voice betrayed a hint of fear.

"I really don't know. I've never walked this far from home before."

"That's the last of the sunlight." Skinny Jack looked longingly at the horizon.

Traphis regarded the orange glow in the distance and nodded.

Skinny Jack stopped in his tracks. "I need to go back. I can't do this."

Without slowing his pace, Traphis said, "We've probably walked half the distance already. No matter what, we have to deal with the darkness."

"You don't understand. I'm . . ." Skinny Jack took a deep breath as if preparing to spill his deepest and darkest secret. "I'm a tara bird at night."

Traphis shook his head.

"I'm scared of the darkness," Skinny Jack continued.

"It was already late when we left. What did you think would happen?"

"I . . ." Skinny Jack paused. "I don't know."

Traphis continued his pace, distancing himself from his friend. With a yell, he said, "Don't worry; I'm an expert in the dark." Where it was true that he enjoyed nightly walks, even he had enough sense to stay close to shelter. As his mother used to warn him, _it's never good for food to wander willingly onto a plate._ By this, of course, she meant him. He was food to the beasts of the night just like eggs and potaras were to him in the day.

"Are you coming?" Traphis asked.

A moment later, he heard footsteps fall against the dirt. Finally, Skinny Jack returned to his side.

"At least we have a learcat to protect us," Traphis said.

"Protect us, a learcat . . ."

Traphis had to laugh at the doubt in the boy's voice. In all honesty, it mirrored his own uneasiness, but somehow laughing about it made him feel better.

Not much time passed before the three travelers walked by the light of the stars. The absence of the sun brought a chilling breeze. If there was something peaceful about the setting, neither boy showed any indication.

Skinny Jack wrapped his arms around his chest and rattled his teeth. "We should have come better prepared," he said.

"Prepared?" Traphis gave him a sideways glance.

"I know. There wasn't time. Still . . ." A gust of wind cut him short as he tightened his grip. "I bet the learcat is warm with all that fur."

"Probably, but I wouldn't try taking it from her."

Skinny Jack violently shook his head, and then said, "She's probably used to being up at night. Don't they normally sleep during the day?"

"There are bigger creatures out there," Traphis said, and then added, "sorry; I didn't mean to make it worse."

"I don't think it can get any worse."

As if waiting for that very declaration, a slight rustling came from a nearby bush. Even the learcat moved her stone-like head to investigate. A moment later, she stopped dead in her tracks, sniffed at the air, and then let out a deep growl.

The sound sent a shiver down Traphis' spine. Had the noise been directed at him, he'd have turned and ran with all the speed given to his limbs. As it was, the same thought must have occurred to their nearby stalker. The bush shook rapidly, and a moment later, branches crashed deep in the woods.

The learcat resumed her steady stroll as if nothing had happened.

Traphis and Skinny Jack, on the other hand, exchanged worried glances.

"Did you?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Yes, but let's keep moving. The sooner we get there the sooner we'll be safe." Traphis would have added, _I hope_ , but decided it best not to make the boy any more nervous than he already was. After all, Skinny Jack had not heard the warning from the Oracle.

Up ahead, a fork in the road appeared. As they drew closer to it, Traphis recognized the large boulder that sat between the two paths. Behind the rock, the trees continued along the sides of a new path. This was the point where he had been told never to go beyond, at least, not on his own. It seemed ironic that he was approaching it from the opposite side for once.

"Not much farther now," Traphis said. He pointed to the left.

"Finally. I can't take much more of this, and my feet are killing me."

About halfway down the new path, the ears of the learcat twitched. Without warning, the beast jolted forward and burst into a run. Dust and dirt kicked up behind the creature as it disappeared into the distance, leaving Skinny Jack and Traphis frozen in their steps.

* * *

Traphis could feel his heart beating against the inner walls of his throat. Even though he was no match for the learcat's speed, he ran with all his might, knowing full well where the creature was headed. He pushed back the stinging sensation in his lungs as he gulped the cool night air; nothing would slow him down. Nothing would stop him from making it home.

The gap between him and his childhood dwelling never seemed as far as it did at this moment. He pictured his mother, lying dead in a pool of blood, and his house up in smoke, slowly burning to the ground.

When he reached the road that led up the familiarly worn path, he sighed with relief; there was no smell of smoke. But by the time he made it to the top of the hill, that feeling soon vanished.

The learcat leaned over the most horrific thing Traphis had ever seen. Coarse hair, black as night, covered the frame of a huge human-like form. Instead of feet, there were talons, and instead of hands, there were claws. Covered in dark fur were long, pointed ears atop what should have been a rounded head. Instead, there was a long snout with an equally black nose. Even worse were the deep yellow eyes, possessed by anger and hatred. Sharp, yellowed teeth shown between lips as blood and drool oozed to the ground. The creature was clearly dead, but the terror behind its features remained alive.

Traphis couldn't believe such a horrible thing existed. And then he remembered where he had glimpsed one of them before: in the Cube of Revealment.

After violently shaking his head, Traphis heard a muffled noise coming from a short distance away. How long the voice had been speaking, he didn't know, but as soon as he recognized the source, his heart plunged into the depths of his stomach.

"Grandfather," Traphis shouted. He stumbled toward the barn. It felt as if his body had forgotten how to move. Slipping and falling, he arrived. The trembling in his limbs intensified.

The old man's short, gray beard was covered in blood, as was his face, hair, and clothing. It looked as if someone had dipped him into a pool of blood and then lifted him out only to toss him to the ground.

"Don't worry, my boy," Braun said. "The blood isn't all mine."

"What happened? Are you . . ." He saw his grandfather's war axe lying at his side. It, too, was saturated with the red liquid. When Traphis looked down at the old man's hand, he saw that his fingers were twisted and broken.

"I'm so sorry, my boy," Braun said in a weary voice. "I couldn't protect her."

"Protect who?" Traphis asked, but it suddenly occurred to him who his grandfather meant. Without waiting for a response, he jumped to his feet and ran inside the house. The door had been broken down and the furnishings within were scattered across the room. He made his way up the stairs in a flash. When he checked all the rooms only to see they were empty, he slowly walked back down.

Skinny Jack stood in the doorway. Moisture pooled around his lips and a sickly expression came over his face. A moment later, the boy grabbed his mouth, turned, and vomited to the ground.

"She's gone," Traphis said. "My mother is gone."

# Chapter 20

THE BROKEN REMAINS of chairs, barrels, dishes, and shelves littered the floor. A pile of tara bird eggs lay with yokes bleeding from the cracks. Stones that once held together the wood burning stove were scattered across the room. The sight nearly brought tears to Traphis' eyes; he remembered helping his father build the stove as a special surprise for his mother.

"Look over there," a voice said. Traphis regarded the sickly figure of Skinny Jack, who pointed a finger at something protruding from the wall.

A sparkle of light caught his eye as he kicked aside a table leg and made his way to the object. He leaned over, grabbed it with both hands, and pulled. Several lunges later, it loosened, and then, with one final heave, he went sprawling to the floor.

Regaining his bearing, Traphis held the object in shaking hands. "This was the sword my mother used at the festival," he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, a black figure twitched. He swung around, sword ready—even though he had no idea how to use it—and braced for impact. A heap of fur and blood quivered in a breeze.

He walked over, cautiously leaned over the body, and poked it with the tip of the sword. "It's dead," he said. When he lifted the blade, he caught sight of a nearby window. Beyond the broken glass lay several dark and lifeless forms.

"They fought hard," Traphis said, thinking of his mother and grandfather. And then he remembered that his grandfather was lying in a pool of blood.

Wasting no time, he dropped the sword, pushed past Skinny Jack, and ran to where his grandfather lay.

"Where is she?" Traphis asked once he arrived.

The old man blinked red liquid out of his eyes. "Traphis," he said. "I'm so sorry, my boy. I'm so sorry. They took her. I couldn't stop them."

"But you fought them," Traphis said. "I saw their dead bodies."

Braun attempted a smile, but it soon faded. "This is likely my last battle. And a pointless one at that, I wasn't able to—"

"Don't say that, we'll get help."

"We?" Braun lifted his head, but it quickly fell back to the ground. "I see, you have a friend with you, I'm glad."

Traphis started to rise, but a hand grabbed the cuff of his sleeve.

"It was the nekrin," Braun said. "Warriors are weak against magic. The wolvarks were not alone. They were not here by chance. They were looking for you."

Traphis felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

"Don't go," Braun said. "They are using her as bait. You will only be killed. Stay alive, stay alive for her sake, stay alive for Mardin's sake, stay alive for me." The old man's eyes seemed to grow heavy.

"No, grandfather," Traphis shook the man's shoulder, but he failed to respond. Traphis then placed an ear to his chest. A heartbeat, slow and steady, pounded within. For the moment, his grandfather was still alive.

The learcat strolled over and sat next to Traphis.

He clenched his fists and glared at the beast. "Why didn't you stop this? Why didn't you get here sooner?"

The creature simply regarded Traphis with an unchanging expression, as if to say it was not her fault.

He punched the ground. "What am I supposed to do now?"

The learcat showed no signs of movement.

"Do I go back to the WC?"

Still no response.

"Do I follow after my mother?"

With this, the learcat stood to her feet and motioned her head toward the road.

"That's it, isn't it?" Traphis said. "I'm glad we agree."

* * *

A muffled whinny caught Traphis off guard, and then he remembered Neha. Jumping to his feet he ran to the stable and thrust open the doors.

In the far back corner, huddled together, two horses stood. Sweat drenched their black coats and dripped to the ground. Both frantically tussled back and forth as if their very lives depended upon it.

As he slowly approached, he raised his palms in a peaceful gesture and spoke softly until they settled down. Moisture greeted his hand when he stroked their sides.

"It must have been scary for you," he said. "Trapped here with nowhere to run."

A pounding came from behind. He looked over to Neha's stall and noticed for the first time that she wasn't there. Holes had been punched into her gate and the hinges barely held it in place. Before he had a chance to investigate, the door shook and the pounding resumed.

Even though he wanted to run to the stall as fast as he could, he knew that quick movements would unsettle the horses, so he cautiously stepped across the floor.

When he arrived at the gate, he leaned over and gazed within. What he saw both horrified and amused him. Lying in a heap, Neha struggled to stand. A rope was wrapped around her legs, twisted and tangled. Her sides heaved with slow and deep motions as she lay still, and then with a jerk of her hoofs, her legs slammed against the gate. Traphis observed how labored and feeble her actions were. He figured she must have been trying to stand for quite a some time.

The gate tilted and fell to the ground as Traphis pushed against it. With hand raised, he approached Neha.

As soon as she saw him, a sudden burst of energy exploded throughout her body and she frantically tried to stand. The effort resulted in several sharp jerking movements that only forced her back to the ground.

"Calm," Traphis said. "Calm." He rested a hand against her side and felt the pounding of her heart. With his touch, he finally settled her down. Taking out his knife, he cut at the strands of rope. As soon as she was freed, she jumped to her hooves and plowed her nose into his chest.

"It's all right, girl," he said. "You're OK."

He looked up at the loft above and saw the place where the rope previously hung. The pounding of the gate must have vibrated the loft and sent it plummeting down and into her stall, which ultimately led to her entanglement.

Unlike the other two horses cowering in the corner, Traphis knew that Neha would have tried to fight off the wolvarks. He had seen her protectiveness before when one of the lorax went wild and almost trampled him, but she had gotten loose and charged at the beast before he was crushed into the ground. She always protected him; it was as if his father had commanded her to do so. To protect both him and his mother.

But this was one time Traphis was glad that she hadn't freed herself. Had she done so, there was no doubt in his mind that the claws of the wolvarks would have outmatched her ferocity. There was nothing that one horse could have done.

"I'm sorry I left you," he said, hugging her long snout. "But I was going to come back."

A sharp breath exited her nostrils, as if she were attempting to scold him, but he knew he had been forgiven.

"What are we going to do?" Skinny Jack stood in the doorway.

Traphis looked at his friend, and then searched the stable as if trying to find an answer. Once his eyes landed on Braun's horses, he nodded his head.

"Can you drive a wagon?"

Skinny Jack gave him a puzzled look, and then responded. "Of course. It isn't like my father was ever sober enough to do it."

"Good," Traphis said. "I'll need you to find your way back to the WC."

"Alone?"

"Take my grandfather with you and bring him to Falin as fast as you can. He's the only one who can heal him."

Skinny Jack considered the scenario. "But what about you?"

Meeting his gaze, Traphis said, "I need to go after my mother."

Skinny Jack took several steps forward. "You can't. You'll die."

"The Oracle wishes it. And so do I."

"Oracle?" Skinny Jack's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about?"

Traphis remembered that Skinny Jack had no idea that the Oracle spoke to him, so he told him what happened.

"That's crazy," Skinny Jack said. "There's no way. It's not real."

"Don't you think it's strange that the learcat brought me back home? That it did so because my family was in danger? That it didn't just kill the two of us back in Hoshan?"

"Well . . ." Skinny Jack looked over his shoulder and at the beast—who was sitting, patiently waiting—and then back to Traphis. "I guess that makes sense, but it does sound crazy."

Traphis managed a wry smile. "Maybe, but if so, that makes us both crazy then."

The wagon was at the far side of the stable. With the help of Skinny Jack, Traphis removed the metal objects from the back and then piled on straw to make a softer place for his grandfather to lie; the bumpy roads were going to give him a rough ride as it was, and Traphis hoped this would be enough to keep the old man's injuries from worsening.

Skinny Jack held the horses while Traphis hitched them to the carriage shafts. Once securely fastened, he led them to his grandfather. The creatures obediently stopped and held their position without resistance. The routine of being hooked to their master's transport must have been a comfort to them. Thankfully, the blinders by their eyes kept them from seeing the learcat; otherwise, Traphis was sure they would have made a run for it.

Braun groaned as they attempted to lift him. No matter how hard they tried, the old man was just too heavy.

"I have an idea," Skinny Jack said. "I don't know if it will work, but let me try."

Traphis nodded.

With hands cupped together, Skinny Jack closed his eyes and focused. A moment later, he opened his grip and brandished a spinning funnel. He bent over, lifted Braun's shoulder, and then placed the funnel underneath. He did this three more times, putting a funnel under the man's other shoulder and then under each of his legs.

"Let's try it now," he said. "Lift at the same time as me."

When Traphis tugged against Braun's arm, he noticed that the body felt lighter. Without stopping, the two of them soon had him set gently down in the straw.

"That's amazing," Traphis said.

"I know. It's me we're talking about."

Traphis shook his head as Skinny Jack extinguished the funnels. The smile soon faded when Braun groaned and shifted uncomfortably.

"Time is short," Traphis said.

"Yes, but I won't let you down. Once I get back to the WC, what do you want me to tell Falin?"

"Tell him what I told you."

Skinny Jack climbed up into the wagon, sat down, and looked at Traphis over his shoulder. "I'll gather Kip and Saleena and we'll come looking for you."

"I don't know where I'm going."

"We'll find you, somehow."

"Wait," Traphis said. His heart told him that this was his battle and that he should go alone, but he also knew that his friends could make all the difference. An idea suddenly occurred to him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wiry frame of the Revealers. Placing them on his face he said, "Mark: Traphis." He pulled them off and handed them to Skinny Jack.

"What's this?" Skinny Jack asked.

"A magical item. Put them on and when you need to find me say, 'show,' and then say my name. Follow the trail you see through the oval shapes over your eyes." Traphis paused. "Don't let Falin know I gave them to you. I don't think he'd be pleased. And I need you to do something else."

Skinny Jack took the Revealers and inspected them closely.

"I need you to find the Attic of Elders," Traphis continued.

"These are amazing," Skinny Jack said. He put them on his face. "Show: Traphis." His mouth gaped open. "You're glowing red and there's a line shining on you." He turned his head sideways and then angled it in different directions.

Traphis was about to scold him when he remembered his own reaction at putting them on for the first time. "When you are alone in the WC, say, 'show: Attic of Elders,' and then follow it into the building. You will find an old library. When you're there, look for anything you can find on a man named Tyron."

At this, Skinny Jack pulled the Revealers from his face. "Tyron? Is that where you are going? Are you—"

"I don't know, but I have a feeling that I'm the one he's looking for. And I need all the help I can get. The Attic of Elders is the place where I found the book on wolvarks. Since there was more information in there, I can only hope . . . If you can find anything about Tyron, please bring it with you when you come looking for me."

"You mean you knew about that place and didn't tell me? Me, the master of books?"

"There's no time. Please, can you do this for me?"

Skinny Jack sat straight and said in an overly serious voice, "I can." With that, he flicked the reins and the horses trotted down the road.

Traphis shouted, "And don't forget to look for Titch," but there was no reply.

An image of his mother flashed across his mind. He looked at the learcat and asked, "Are you ready?"

* * *

Before leaving, Traphis filled his saddlebags with as much food and provisions as he could; thankfully, the wolvarks didn't take any of those things from the house. Not that they would have wanted them anyway; it was human food, and they were no longer human.

In addition, he was able to find the hidden stash of eskarons that his mother had been saving. She told him never to take any unless it was an emergency; if any time was an emergency, now was such an occasion.

One thing he did decide to leave behind was his father's staff. After having picked it up and attempted to produce magic, it proved to be even more difficult than the ring. He considered taking it with him anyway, but then thought better of it. If he lost it on the way, he would have never forgiven himself. And at his current level, it would be useless.

Traphis strapped a saddle to Neha's back along with the saddlebags. He then hopped on and patted her neck. "Let's go, girl," he said. "Let's bring her back."

Neha blew out of her nostrils and dipped her head.

With a tap of his heel, the two of them trotted out of the stable.

The learcat had been lying on the deck with her head down and eyes closed, but as soon as they walked past, the beast jolted upright and darted forward.

Neha reared up and Traphis grabbed the reins. "It's all right, girl," he said. "It's with us."

Not letting the words calm her, Neha shuffled back several paces and threateningly stomped her hooves.

Traphis tugged at the reins and, with a little more authority this time, said, "This is our guide. Do not fear. We need each other."

The muscles in Neha's back tightened and twitched with agitation. Her tail swished back and forth for several counts before she took a step forward.

Taking little interest in the horse, the learcat trotted down the road and headed to the northeastern path. Following close behind, Traphis rode without hesitation.

They kept up this pace for quite some time. When the sun began to peer over the mountaintops, he could hardly keep his eyes open. The rhythmic thumping of hooves only made matters worse. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and then pinched his leg. The sharp pain sent a jolt of energy into his limbs, which forced him upright.

In his mind, he pictured his mother being carried away by a hoard of wolvarks, and he could only imagine what horrors she was going through. At first, all he could think about was tracking her down, but now he was questioning what to do once he got there. His magic would be no match against an enemy this strong, and his fighting skills were mostly nonexistent. A stab or two would be the extent of his attack before they took him down. That's assuming he found them before they reached Tyron. Still, since the learcat was guiding him, it meant that the Oracle was planning something. He just had to have faith that help would arrive when the time came.

A sigh escaped his lungs. Having faith in something other than himself was never easy for him. At least, not since his father had died. He had believed in his father, and then he was gone. Now his grandfather was on the brink of death as his mother may also be. And if that wasn't enough, there was Titch, whom he befriended only for her to disappear.

There was one person he was beginning to trust. Someone he felt he could rely on. Maybe not fully, but if a bucket of water indicated his level of confidence, Skinny Jack's was half filled. There was something genuine about the boy, even if he was a little odd. Traphis only hoped that Skinny Jack could bring his grandfather to Falin before it was too late.

Realizing the sun had already risen in the sky; Traphis rubbed his hands together and felt the warmth on his fingers. He must have traveled quite a distance for it to be morning already. Even though his eyes were heavy, he managed to stay awake. It was Neha who did most of the work, and he knew she would need to rest soon.

The outside walls of a distant town came into view. Clicking his tongue, Traphis gestured to Neha, who more than willingly galloped toward the massive structure. The learcat changed course and followed without protest.

Torches and lanterns glowed against the outside walls of the town. Old trees hung over them with branches cracked from age, and pieces of stone were missing from the sides. It was quiet and still and the crackling of torches sounded from the distance.

When they came to the large wooden gate, Traphis called in.

The gatekeeper called back, "What brings you here so early?" He sounded as if he was half-asleep.

"We seek shelter and rest," Traphis said.

A slit in the door slid opened and two eyes peered out.

After a pause, the man said, "You must be tired, and your horse looks as if he could use a good rest. There are some stables at the inn, and plenty of food to eat."

A click followed the rattling of keys, and the doors squeaked open.

Traphis quickly leaned toward the learcat—who was staying out of sight—and urgently said, "It would be best if you waited for us outside. Townspeople aren't friendly to your kind."

The learcat narrowed her eyes, turned, and then scampered off into the nearby woods.

"Welcome to Opa," the gatekeeper said as he rubbed his eyes. The smell of mead was on his breath, forcing Traphis to hold his nose until passing him by.

Once beyond the gate, he dismounted Neha and walked along side her so that she could cool down. He took this opportunity to examine the interior of the town, as he had never been to Opa before.

Other than a few shops and houses off the main road, there wasn't much to look at. Opa was less than half the size of Hoshan, but still, it felt good to be within its walls.

They walked over a small, arched bridge, though he wasn't sure why it was there as very little water flowed underneath. Still, it provided a quaint and pleasant decoration; the only one in the entire town as far as he could tell.

They came to an oval sign, which hung above a door that displayed a carving of a mug and eating utensils. Traphis figured this was the place that the gatekeeper had mentioned. He tied Neha's reins to a post—not because he was worried she would run off, but because it made her look less presentable should someone passing by get any ideas—removed the saddlebags, and went inside.

There was a small bar in the corner of the room filled with people singing and dancing. They stumbled and spilled mead from the tops of their mugs and seemed pleasantly content. Traphis had never seen such celebrations so early in the morning before, but then again, this was probably the first time he had ever been inside a tavern. His mother and father were always against such things, even though they enjoyed a mug of mead at home every now and again. Not that they ever let Traphis have a sip. He frowned at the memory.

Cheers of joy and laughter filled the small tavern as Traphis made his way to the bar and asked for the innkeeper.

"A room, aye?" the innkeeper said in a deep, jolly voice. "We have plenty to choose from." He chuckled and slapped Traphis on the shoulder.

Navigating through the crowd of people, Traphis followed the innkeeper up a narrow stairway to a solid wooden door. Its handle was made of old metal, which displayed elegantly imprinted patterns. The very thought of it reminded him of his grandfather, and he inwardly hoped that Skinny Jack had brought him to Falin in time.

The innkeeper opened the door and showed Traphis in. "So, what do you think?"

Traphis nodded his approval, though, at the moment, he was so tired that any place would have satisfied his expectations.

"Good, Good," the innkeeper said. "Do you need anything else?"

"Just my horse."

"I'll send my hand to put him in the stable. He'll be safe with us."

Traphis decided not to correct him as to the gender of Neha, and simply said, "Thank you."

The innkeeper shut the door behind him and his steps creaked down the stairway.

Glad to be alone, Traphis tossed the saddlebags onto a nearby stool and then landed on the bed with a soft thud.

He closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to fade into the distance.

* * *

Shouts woke Traphis from his dreams. How long he had been sleeping, he wasn't sure, but one thing he was sure of: there was a situation downstairs.

He crept out of his room and, about halfway down the steps, stopped to gaze through the railing. In the middle of the tavern stood an oddly dressed man with a round coned-shaped straw hat that covered the upper part of his face. Leg coverings, black and mysterious, fit loosely, and a white cloth was tied around his waist, which held a slender, curved sword that hung at his side. What puzzled Traphis the most was the red symbol sewn into the upper part of the man's shirt. He had never seen anything like it before. For that matter, he had never seen anyone that looked like him before. His skin was darkened, and apparently not from prolonged exposure to the sun.

About a dozen men circled the stranger. Their fists were clenched and held onto broken bottles.

"Kill him!" one of them shouted, "he is the evil one! He must die!"

# Chapter 21

TRAPHIS SAT ON the hard, wooden step and peered through the railing. In the center of the room, boards creaked underfoot as a dozen men surrounded the dark skinned stranger. The jovial singing and laughter, now long gone, had been replaced by the breaking of glass and shifting of chairs.

One of the men stumbled forward, thrust out a jagged bottle, and then fell flat on his face. The strangely dressed man had easily dodged the blow.

"Do not be foolish," the man said, grasping at the hilt of his sword. "I only seek the boy."

"There are no boys here," one of the men said in mock tone. "We are all men, and we will deal with you like men."

With that, the crowd moved in closer, blocking the stranger from escape.

Traphis watched him closely, expecting a fight to break out at any moment, but then the foreigner pulled something out of his garment and tossed it to the floor.

A white, powdery substance rose from the object and swiftly filled the tavern. Traphis covered his nose and mouth as the sound of coughing emitted from the smoke.

When it finally cleared, several of the men stumbled to where the stranger had stood. They looked around as if in a daze.

"Where . . ."

"He's gone."

"The evil one . . . he was. We chased him away."

At this, all the men cheered and began to sing a song about how they had fought the evil one and defeated him in victory. It sounded something like:

"He came, we conquered,

our courage, unmatched,

our strength, unbending,

the evil one, we thrashed . . ."

It was hard to tell the exact words, as several men were shouting their own versions at the same time, but the general idea was the same.

Traphis rose from his seat and headed back up the stairs. All the while he wondered about the encounter, but ultimately was too tired to give it much thought. As soon as he entered the room, he yawned and fell back on the bed.

* * *

When Traphis awoke, dim light from his window told him it was dusk. He had slept for most of the day. As much as he wanted to find his mother as quickly as he could, he knew that being clear of mind would make him more useful; unlike the heroes in his storybooks, there was no way he could achieve this without sleep.

There was also the learcat to consider. As he understood it, learcats normally slept during the day, as he just did, so the beast would likely be more effective now that it was nearly nighttime. Neha would be fine no matter what time of day she traveled, since her sleep lasted for short periods, and often while standing. A trait he was often envious of.

A knot twisted inside his chest as his thoughts turned back to his mother. The words of his grandfather rang in his memory, telling him that she was being used as bait to capture him. But why? Who was he to anyone? There was no doubt in his mind that it was all a mistake, but still, he had to trust that she would be kept alive, at least for a time. Yet he knew there was little he could do against an army of wolvarks. Regardless, he had to try something. The best he could come up with for a plan was to distract them, grab his mother, and then flee on Neha's back as fast as she could go.

The nekrin, on the other hand, presented the bigger problem. Traphis' magic was sure to be no match against one of them. But at this point, just going forward was enough; he would worry about the rest later.

The wooden floor felt cold under his bare feet, and a slight breeze lofted through the window. He dressed—making sure his knife was securely fastened—and headed down the wooden stairway and into the tavern, where the innkeeper met him with a big smile.

"High morning to you," the innkeeper said. "Or rather, low night. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you," Traphis said.

"Come, have a seat." He motioned with his pudgy fingers.

Traphis walked over and sat at one of the stools. The innkeeper stood behind the bar and handed him a glass of water.

"Where is everyone?" Traphis asked.

"They've gone home to be with their families. Though they will probably go right to sleep." He pointed at his head, cringed, and then smiled.

"Don't taverns normally fill up at this time?" Traphis took a sip of the water.

"Not long ago I would have told you rightly, but now, in these days, things are not the same." His smile faded and he took a deep, thoughtful breath. "Nothing is what it used to be, or how it should be. Those of us who are left try and forget."

"Forget what?"

"Forget how prosperous Opa once was. I grew up in this town. Took over the inn after my father. I've seen many people come and go, but these past years have seen only those that go. I watch lots of things through time here. It used to be a happy place, a place of good fortune, a place of smiling faces. Only the bottle brings that now. There is very little wealth left in the city, or work to be had, but this is all we know, so we stay."

There was something peculiar about the way the man spoke, but Traphis understood him well enough. "What happened?" he asked.

"Tales of darkness are told about, filling the earth. It is not a darkness one can see with the eyes, no, but one that a man can feel deep inside his gut." He pounded his chest. "You hear a lot of tales in a place like this, you know. But a tale is only a story. True things are what cause fear. And there are many truths with which men fear. None more so than the threat of Tyron. They say he is on the move. They say he will not stay in Ronum. They say he wants to rule all the land and enslave its people."

Traphis swallowed hard at the mention of Tyron. He tried to cough out an air bubble that stuck inside his throat, but only managed to redden his face. "But he's far away," Traphis said, after regaining his breath.

"True, but does a mouse wait for the cat to arrive before seeking refuge? We are too close to the east they say. Many have left to move farther west. Some even go so far as to travel over the great waters to find new lands. It is hopeless. Tyron will not be divided by water . . . never mind about all that now. I didn't mean to bring you sorrows. Cheer up. Be glad for today. Don't think about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow . . ." Traphis muttered the word under his breath. Tomorrow was all he had ever thought about. Tomorrow he will save his mother. Tomorrow he will become a wizard. Tomorrow and tomorrow, until there are no more. The thought displeased him. He wished for more, but he also wished for an end. There were two parts within him that conflicted: one which hoped for the best and another which knew only the worst.

A young boy came into the room, dripping wet from head to toe, and asked, "Should I bring his horse?"

"That is up to him," the innkeeper said. "Will you be on your way?"

"Yes," Traphis said. "How much do I owe you?"

"There will be no charge."

Traphis raised an eyebrow. His mother had told him never to accept anything for free; there was always a catch. The mistrust must have reflected in his face, because the stranger spoke quickly.

"You seem like a good fellow," he said. "I really don't need the money and, besides, you look as if you could use it more. If it makes you feel better, I'll charge you twice the amount the next time you stop in."

A smile escaped Traphis' lips and then he nodded, stood up, and headed for the door.

"Be careful out there," the innkeeper said, calling after him. "Night is a terrible time to travel. You never know when something will jump out and grab you. There are tales of learcats being seen."

When the stable boy brought Neha out to Traphis, she snorted in excitement. The pouring rain didn't seem to bother her any. Traphis wished he could have been as positive. Wet clothes and soggy hair made him uncomfortable. He'd have gone back inside, but the feeling that too much time had passed already leaned heavily on his mind.

The boy handed Traphis the reins and then looked down at the knife hanging from his leg.

Noticing the eagerness in his gaze, Traphis pulled the blade out of the sheath and handed it to him.

The boy hesitantly took it. "What fine craftsmanship," he said, rotating the handle.

"My grandfather would thank you," Traphis said.

A look of admiration greeted Traphis' smile. "It is my dream to make things like this one day," he said. "I don't plan to work here forever. I'll get away like everyone else and then I'll be a metal smith."

The boy handed the knife back to Traphis.

Before putting the dagger into its sheath, Traphis rubbed the flat sides against his leg to remove the droplets that had accumulated.

He shook his head as he considered the boy's words. His dream was to do what Traphis turned down. To work as a metal smith with his grandfather. A feeling of guilt rose in his chest, but he pushed it away. There was no time for that now.

He slung the saddlebags over Neha and then pulled himself onto her back. The leather seat was wet against his bottom, but he tried to ignore the coolness on his skin.

With a wave, he said goodbye, and then headed for the gate. Not much time passed before he made it over the bridge and out the doors.

They shut behind him with a thud. He took a deep breath of the cool night air. The moisture felt good to his lungs.

When arriving at the trail, he was thankful for the trees that blocked most of the descending rain. Now he only had to find the learcat. With a distant gaze, he began to understand how important the beast was; without her guidance, he was totally lost. And there was something comforting about having so powerful a creature as an ally.

As if reading his mind, the learcat leaped out of the forest and onto the path.

Neha reared back. Traphis held tight onto the reins to keep from falling. When her hooves rejoined the ground, she jerked forward into a run.

Traphis pulled at her reins, stopping her from making an escape.

"Easy, girl," he said. "This one is with us."

With a few deep heaves of her sides, Neha relaxed the tension in her neck, but stood still and motionless.

To show her everything was all right, he dismounted and walked over to the learcat. He held out a hand to let the beast sniff it, but before he got close enough, the learcat turned away and licked her paw as if the very idea of smelling a human was beneath her.

"Fine," Traphis said. "I didn't want to touch you anyway. Let's go."

He jumped onto Neha, jerked the reins, and then kicked at her sides. The actions were harsher than he intended, but he didn't stop to apologize. Between his two animal companions, they were bound to drive him insane.

* * *

"I have done all I can for him," Falin said, leaning over Braun's sleeping figure. "The rest is up to the toughness and resilience of his body."

Skinny Jack stared down at the place where moments before a large, gaping wound had resided. The magic used to heal the injury was something he had never seen before. It was simply amazing.

Not only was this the first time Skinny Jack had seen healing magic, but it was also his first time in the sanatorium. Unlike the rest of the WC, the walls were white and bare. Also uncharacteristic was the unpleasant odor, which made him want to heave, but he held in the urge. After all, he promised Traphis that he would see his grandfather safely to the WC and into the hands of Falin; now wasn't the time to show weakness. He only hoped it was soon enough.

"Now, Jack," Falin said, as he stood and glared into his eyes. "Tell me what happened."

To the best of his ability, Skinny Jack reenacted how they followed the learcat to Traphis' home, came across the ends of a mighty battle, and learned that his friend's mother had been taken. To make the story more interesting, he rotated his arms as if swinging a sword, bent over in disgust at the mention of wolvarks, and lifted his back when putting Braun into the carriage. Finally, he nobly lifted his chin as the story came to the part about his daring drive back to the WC, alone, and in the dark. To his disappointment, Falin didn't seem impressed by his performance.

"And he told you that the learcat spoke to him in the voice of the Oracle?" Falin asked.

"Something like that," Skinny Jack said, not letting his disappointed expression drop.

Falin glared at him. "Do you have any idea how grave the situation is?"

Considering, Skinny Jack tapped his chin and then paused. "You're right. He'll never make it on his own."

Falin sighed. "And you have no idea where he has gone?"

"No." Technically, it wasn't a lie. Skinny Jack didn't know where Traphis had gone—even if he did know how to find him. Still, Traphis asked him not to tell Falin about the Revealers, so he wasn't about to betray his friend's trust.

"He did say something about Tyron though," Skinny Jack said. He felt as if he should share something more with Falin, and that seemed safe enough.

At this, the old wizard's face turned grave. He looked away when he spoke; the words drifted as if targeted toward some unknown entity. "After all this time. After all that we did to protect him. And now, in a moment, it is all taken away."

"But he wants to protect his mother. And if there really is an Oracle who is guiding him . . ."

"That, my boy, is all that gives me hope. Perhaps, now the Committee will listen, but I must go at once. Take care not to speak of this to anyone but your most trusted friends. We do not want to spread panic among the lower classes."

With this, Falin left the room, leaving Skinny Jack alone.

"Lower classes indeed," he said. "It's only a matter of time before I'm the most powerful wizard of them all." Once he realized his audience was that of a sleeping man, he saw fit to leave the sanatorium.

His mission, of course, was to track down the others as soon as possible. From there they had an attic to find.

* * *

The road east wound through several forests, near a variety of towns, and into open patches of land. It was a long and tiring ride. It seemed as though time itself was coming to a standstill. The ground was rough and dry, and the trees were dark and bare. Traphis had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. By whom he had no idea, and every time he turned to look there was nothing to see. Still, the feeling persisted.

If the learcat knew, she didn't let on. Her pace was brisk and steady, which made him glad to have Neha; there was no way he could have kept up otherwise. He reached out and patted her neck. She shook her head in return, but kept her eyes set on the beast, not letting it out of her sight for an instant.

Traphis couldn't blame her. There was nothing tame about the beast. Even he found it hard to trust the creature, but he needed her and that was all there was to it.

Other than a few rustlings of bushes and low growls, none of the nightly creatures came onto the path. He assumed this had more to do with the learcat than anything else. Her presence must have sent off a signal that told predators to stay away. Especially since the Oracle had touched her. Even the worst of beasts must have respected the fingerprints of the one who created them—since the Oracle represented the Founder, this meant the learcat was touched. Maybe his childhood prayers weren't as pointless as he originally thought. The next time he saw his mother, he would have to remember to thank her for her persistence in making him pray, even if there were still questions he needed answered.

After awhile, Traphis called out to the learcat, signaling for her to stop. The act of riding may have been more work for Neha, but his stomach never paused to rest.

Dismounting, Traphis pulled some dried meat out of the saddlebags. He walked over to a boulder and sat down. The stars above were as numerous as they were bright. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he would be able to count so many. Perhaps, that was what made them so magnificent; things humans were unable to touch, pull down, and destroy.

He bit off a piece of the dried meat and chewed. The seasonings filled his mouth with pleasure, and he remembered how he had longed for this very taste. Months of nothing but potaras and tara bird eggs were at an end. Yet, even as he pondered this, he realized that he would have gladly traded it all back to be safely home with his mother again.

He looked down at the meat, sighed, and then tossed it to the learcat.

The beast looked indignant, as if she would stoop so low as to eat something a human had taken a bite out of.

"I know how you feel," Traphis said. "Everything I touch becomes ruined."

The sound of Neha munching on a patch of nearby grass mingled with those of nightly critters. They chirped, hummed, and croaked. Several sun bugs floated into the air, flickered their bodies, and left yellow trails of light in their wake. Everything was still and peaceful, but Traphis felt anything but peace in his heart. It was as if his arm had been cut off and the only way to get it back was to track down the ones who had chopped it off. Thankfully, in reality, he had both his arms, but something even more important to him had been taken away.

"Why not," Traphis said, remembering the ring in his pocket. He figured that now was just as good a time as any to try using it again.

He slipped the ring onto his finger and rubbed the smooth, oval surface. "How do I get you to work?" he asked. As expected, there was no answer.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The first gate passed by, and then he found himself standing on the white island. Unlike the darkness of the sky over his physical body, this one was as bright and blue as ever. Night must not have come to this place. Only brightness, magnificence, and clarity existed.

Sand flowed over his feet as he stepped to the edge of the water. In his normal routine, he bent over, grabbed a handful of sand, and then plunged it under a wave. Bubbles popped as they rose to the surface, and a moment later a red light shot from between his fingers.

He willed himself out of the trance and found himself seated on the boulder. Neha was still eating the grass, and the learcat prowled back and forth on the path.

When he lifted his hand, he saw a red flame seeping from the slits in his fist. Opening his grip, a large, hot fire roared high into the air. He ducked to avoid singeing his hair. The sight startled him; he had never seen his magic behave so fiercely before, but now was not the time to falter.

As Falin had instructed, he pondered in his mind what his intentions were. He pictured the face of his mother, and then imagined the flames redirecting to the surface of the ring. To his surprise, they started to move.

A shape began to form on the smooth silver, but before Traphis could make out what it was, a horrifying yowl emitted from the learcat. In the flash of an eye, the beast plunged into the forest and was gone.

# Chapter 22

THE COOL NIGHT air amplified the fearful chill inside of Traphis. Sitting on the boulder, he stared at the empty place where the learcat had been moments before. Now she was gone and he was lost.

He knew that, if he continued on the path, his chances for finding his mother were slim. But if he went after the learcat, then he would have to leave Neha behind; the forest would be too dense for her to navigate. It was true that the woods possessed greater dangers than the path, but without the learcat to protect him, it would only be a matter of time before some creature realized a tasty and defenseless morsel was wandering around. Moreover, if he stayed with Neha, his scent would put her in greater danger. She was just another creature of the night and would have a better chance without him.

It occurred to Traphis that he could wait for the learcat to return, but the longer he waited the harder it would be to find her if she never did. Besides, her departure might have been a way of telling him to follow.

No matter how he looked at it, the decision became clear.

Standing, he approached Neha and rubbed her side. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be back for you when I find our guide."

The horse nodded shortly, pulled a fresh patch of grass from the ground, and then continued to chew. Either she didn't know what he was saying or she was too hungry to care.

After making his way to the edge of the path, he looked back at his dear friend. An uneasy feeling told him that he'd never see her again, but he pushed it aside. After a deep breath, he leaped over a bush and headed into the darkness.

Branches scraped against his arms as he ran in—what he thought was—the direction of the learcat. Twigs and leaves crunched underfoot, and the sounds of strange creatures emitted from the fog.

Starlight struggled through the branches overhead, yet it was enough for him to see for several paces. Beyond that, the darkness merged with the cool mist and formed into an impenetrable barrier. He was tempted to use a magical flame to brighten his way, but then thought better of it. Should he draw any more attention to himself, the creatures of the night would detect him that much sooner.

A root caught underfoot; he stumbled forward and fell to the ground. A stinging sensation emitted from his knee as a jagged stone scraped against it. After biting back a curse, he inspected the area, but was glad to see that the coverings on his leg had not been torn.

In the distance, the sound of bones breaking mingled with that of tearing flesh. He tried not to picture the scene in his head, but the decayed smells and crunching were hard to ignore.

Rubbing his knee, Traphis pushed himself back to his feet. He knew the pain would slow him down, but the sooner he left the better; becoming the creature's next meal would be a much worse fate.

Bugs scattered as he hopped over a fallen tree. He bit his lip when he landed on the opposite side. With a cringe, he took several steps before noticing that the forest had become still—so still and silent that the breath from his lungs seemed to echo throughout the twisted branches and narrow rocks.

His eyes searched the space around him, but he could see very little. The next instant an object blurred at the corner of his eye. The swishing ended in a sharp crack. He turned and saw something quivering against a tree. When he approached, he reached out and grabbed a handful of feathers.

Another object struck the tree and a sudden piercing pain emitted from his shoulder. Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped to his knees to avoid another hit. A shaft of wood struck the dirt a few paces from his foot. When he reached out to grab it, another flew past and tore a strand of hair from his head.

A quick flash of silver produced a sharp crack, and then a broken arrow landed just above his feet. Again, the flash struck and another arrow fell to the ground.

Traphis heard a strange voice shout, "Get up, now."

Wasting no time, he did as the voice commanded. This time two arrows came toward him, but the silver object rejected them both.

A tight grip encircled Traphis' wrist and then pulled him forward. He stumbled and tried to keep his balance, but soon fell to the ground. The hand released and a loud slash, followed by a groan and a heavy thud ended the flow of arrows.

A body rolled onto Traphis' feet. He quickly slid back to reject its touch. Covered in a dark hooded cloak, the body lay still. The only movement was that of a green liquid, which oozed to the ground.

The stranger returned his sword to its sheath and knelt beside the dead archer. He then looked directly at Traphis.

With a cringe, Traphis shut his eyes. He waited for the impending attack, but when none arrived, he dared to open them again. For the first time he regarded the stranger's face.

"It's you," Traphis said. "The one from the inn."

* * *

The dark clothing made it difficult for Traphis to detect the true features of the stranger, who narrowed his eyes and looked deep into his face as if to study every line and groove.

The action made Traphis uneasy, just as the wizards at the WC had done. There was something mystical about this man, something wizardly, yet somehow he was different from the others.

"I saw you disappear," Traphis said. "In the tavern."

"An unfortunate occurrence," the stranger said. He turned toward the corpse.

"Why did you save me?" Traphis asked.

"This man was a scout from the east, he was sent to find you."

Traphis watched the body as if expecting it to come back to life. "Why did he want to kill me?"

"Not kill you," the stranger said—his accent thick. "Disable you, bring you back."

"Back where?"

"Back to the place you were born."

Traphis shook his head. "There's nothing but potaras there."

"I speak of Golan."

Traphis was at a loss for words. Here was a man he had never met before, yet the stranger acted as if he knew him. Not only that, but to claim that Traphis was born in a place he had never been? If not for the fact that the stranger had just saved his life, Traphis would have found the quickest path out of there.

When the man lifted the hood from the fallen archer, Traphis staggered backward. To his horror, the face underneath was anything but human. The skin was green and scaly, the ears were webbed, and a red, forked tongue hung loose between two fat lips.

"What is that?" Traphis asked.

"He was once from a common and peaceful folk," the stranger said. "The cape he wears covers his appearance, but underneath lays a soul twisted by the schemes of Tyron. Come help me make a proper burial for him. Though he was wicked in the end, he was once honorable."

Without saying a word, Traphis and the man covered the body under a layer of stones. The stranger then kneeled down and began to speak in a peculiar tongue, similar to that which Falin had used at the funeral of Baskas.

While the man was distracted, Traphis slipped his ring onto his finger. Even though he had yet to master it, its presence gave him a slight comfort.

The man got back to his feet and turned his attention toward Traphis. "I am Shino Tezuka of the Matsumoto clan," he said, with his body slightly bowed. "But to most, I am known as Rexor."

Traphis instantly recognized the peculiar sounding name, but he couldn't remember from where.

"I am Traphis, son of Mardin." He lifted his fist and pressed it to his chin, but kept his eyes erect.

"Yes," Rexor said. "That is why I am here."

"For me?" Traphis asked, trying to hide the uneasiness in his voice. "What do you want?"

"To help you complete what others could not."

"To rescue my mother?" Traphis asked.

"That is a lure, and one we should not become entangled in. Our best action is to go to the Black Mountain."

"But she needs my help," Traphis said, and then paused. _Black Mountain?_

"Anjetta is a warrior; she will survive on her own."

"She's what?" Traphis took several deep breaths. "You keep saying strange things, but I don't know who you are." He stepped back and grabbed the hilt of his dagger. "For all I know you may be one of them. Sent by Tyron to lead me astray."

Rexor spat at the dirt. "I am not with Tyron." His voice was so stern that Traphis cringed.

"I have come from far across the great waters," Rexor continued. "From a country most men have not heard. You do not know of my people and they do not know of you, but I have been guided to this place. Led here by the Founder. As have you."

Traphis studied the oddly curved sword resting against Rexor's side. Angered as the man was, he failed to reach for his blade.

Relaxing his grip on the knife, Traphis regarded the man's circular straw hat and oddly blackened outfit. His dark skin blended in with his hair and eyes. Traphis had never seen black eyes before. This Rexor was clearly a foreigner, perhaps from a distant land as he said. If only because of this, there may have been some truth to his tale.

"I don't know who you are," Traphis said, "but you can come with me if you help me save her."

"First we go to the mountain. Then we see what we can do."

"But how does this mountain help my mother?"

The stranger stood upright. "That is where she will be."

"How do you know that?"

"Because that is where Tyron is."

* * *

After several scrapes and stubbed toes, Traphis made his way back to the path. The pain in his knee had subsided, but the sinking sensation inside his gut only intensified.

Neha trotted over and plunged her head into his chest.

"Ouch!" he said, and grabbed at the wound on his shoulder. Thankfully, the arrow had only grazed his skin.

A moment later, Rexor jumped from the forest and landed a few paces away.

Neha rose on her hind legs and bellowed.

"It's all right, girl," Traphis said. "He's a friend." With a sideways glance, he asked, "You are a friend, aren't you?"

"More than you know," Rexor said.

"And tell me again, why are we going to the one place Tyron wants me to be?" Without the learcat to guide him, he knew he had to trust Rexor, at least for the time being.

"You will understand when you are there."

"Of course." Traphis sighed and then patted Neha's nose. "Why would I expect a straight answer from an adult?"

Rexor showed no sign of a response.

"How will you keep up with us?" Traphis asked. "I don't see your horse."

"I need no such creature." Rexor's voice was sharp as if he had been offended.

"But aren't we in a hurry?"

In a flash, Rexor was gone. Dust floated where he had been only a moment before.

Bewildered, Traphis scanned the area. Then a voice called from the distance.

"I will be capable," Rexor said. His accent was harder to understand from farther away.

Traphis yelled back, "That's impossible. How can you move so quickly?"

In an instant, Rexor stood next to Traphis again. "There are many things possible with men for which they only need to believe."

Traphis jumped. "How did you?"

"Come," Rexor said and then headed down the path.

Traphis mounted Neha and charged after him. A trail of dust was all he could see. The occasional blur of dark clothing was the only evidence that the stranger was there.

Neha galloped at full speed, but even she seemed to have a hard time keeping up. Traphis knew she was pushing herself beyond her normal limits, and it worried him, but he understood how important it was for them to hurry.

Thankfully, Rexor slowed down, allowing a mixture of trotting and high speeds. He must have known that even the best of horses could not maintain a gallop for more than a few miles, but it was not until the first appearance of daylight that they stopped to rest.

Traphis dismounted and walked the stiffness out of his legs. Sweat glistened against Neha's chest, but otherwise she seemed unaffected by the long ride. In fact, Traphis had never seen her so energized before. It was as if she was enjoying herself.

Rexor knelt down beside a stream and splashed water onto his face. Traphis joined him. The cool water felt good on his hands as he waved them back and forth in the liquid.

A bug landed and sent a ripple across the surface. "Who are you really?" Traphis asked, gazing into the depths of the water. The long ride forced many questions into his mind, but none more so than this.

"It would be a story too long for the time at hand," Rexor said. He leaned back and rested on a patch of grass, his arms crossed behind his head. "But I suppose you should at least know where it was I met Mardin."

Traphis shifted and gazed expectantly at him.

"In Golan," Rexor continued. "We both served under the king. I was Captain of the Guard, and Mardin was the king's adviser. While there, the wizards trained under a man named Nahan. He was a mighty wizard and had a great knowledge of warriors too. Even I learned much from him and grew to become, how do you say, friends. We were a band of five and named ourselves the Five Jinx—"

"The Five Jinx?" Traphis sat up. He suddenly remembered where he had heard that name before. "You were one of them; you were with Falin and my father?"

Rexor nodded. "The name was meant as a joke," he said. "Jinx means to bring bad fortune, and Golan was anything but unfortunate. The kingdom prospered under Golan's reign and together we grew stronger and wiser. Zeb used to say that the goodness would come to an end one day, and we would be the cause of it. He was the one who came up with the name."

"Who's Zeb?"

"Zebabel was one of the five. A man who liked his drink a little too much, but always kept us together. Whenever there was a dispute, Zeb found a solution, and whenever there was tension, he would make us laugh. That is, until the very end."

"Where is he now?" Traphis asked.

"He has been missing ever since Golan was destroyed."

Traphis flicked the water with his finger. "I remember the Committee talking about you and your group. They said that someone named Shino died protecting the others. Are you really who you claim to be?"

The black circles in the center of Rexor's eyes stretched and regarded Traphis. "As you can see, I am alive."

"But one of you betrayed the others."

Rexor's eyelids drooped. "That is true. However, I was not the one. Nahan . . ." The name sounded painful for him to speak. "He was like a father to us, but alas, he turned to Tyron in the end."

Traphis wiped his wet hands against his leg coverings. Should he believe the word of this stranger? His story did seem reasonable, and if he helped him to rescue his mother . . . "But I don't understand, why Nahan? Who was he?"

"He was the strongest of us all, but more than that, he saw us as equals, not as master and student. But whether this was a cover, or he changed, I do not know."

"Where is he now?"

"You will see in time."

"See what?"

"Some stories can only be told with the eyes."

Traphis groaned. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere . . .

"There's one more thing," Rexor said. "About Anjetta."

"My mother?"

"What I said before was true. She was a warrior. She was one of my best soldiers and I still believe in her."

Traphis couldn't believe his ears. His mother? A warrior of Golan? Was it really true?

Before Traphis had a chance to respond, a growl sounded from the edge of the forest. The next instant, a beast pounced from the bushes and knocked him into the stream. When he opened his eyes, he saw a learcat sinking its teeth into the throat of his new companion.

# Chapter 23

SKINNY JACK SET out to locate his sister. After a short search, he found her in the library, having a debate with another trainee.

"It is well known that girls are better at studying than boys," Kip said. "Therefore, wizits excel at a greater speed."

The bedraggled boy looked as if he wanted the conversation to end, but the crowd around him encouraged him to continue. "Wizards have been around longer," he said. "We are far superior in strength and ability. You haven't ever heard of a wizit becoming Elder Controller, have you? There isn't even a single wizit on the Committee. Only wizards are good enough to run the WC."

A scowl formed on Kip's face. "That's because the wizards were too stupid to realize the importance of girls until now. If you bothered to study, you would have learned that witches have been around just as long as wizards."

"You can't compare witches to wizards, they are more like nekrin. Both are users of the Cloud and are spell casters and potion mixers. Wizards are far superior."

"That may be true, but my point is that women have been using magic just as long as men have. Wizits were only introduced five years ago. The only reason there aren't any women on the Committee is because there are no official wizits yet. Once that happens, we will become better than the witches and nekrin just as we will become better than wizards. I will prove it. One day you will call me Elder Controller, and I will be giving you orders."

The boy blushed and looked around as if trying to find a counter argument. He was rescued by another boy, who leaned over and whispered in his ear. A smile creased the debater's face. "You're right that there are no wizits yet. But isn't it true that you are the first girl to join the WC and that you are fourteen years old? Shouldn't you be a Gray Class wizit by now?"

If Kip had been born a dragon, Skinny Jack imagined that fire would have shot from her nose and consumed the boy, leaving only ashes in his seat. As much as Skinny Jack wanted to continue his mission to find the Attic of Elders, he couldn't help but enjoy the agitated look on his sister's face, for once, put there by someone other than he.

"That's only because Jabool hates girls as much as you," Kip said. "It's his fault I didn't pass the exam, all the others were satisfied; even the Elder Controller. Care to duel against me to see who the better magic user is?"

"You and I both know that isn't allowed." The boy's face turned pale. "Trainees are not permitted to duel until they reach their first Class, and that's only under higher Class supervision."

"We can always leave the WC and use the empty Coliseum, no one has to know. Or are you afraid of facing a future wizit?"

His eyes looked left to right, and then he stood to his feet. "I won't be brought down to your level. I am a wizard and live by higher standards."

Several other boys made an unfavorable hissing sound at his response.

"Come on, I want to see this," one of them said.

"You aren't even a wizard yet," Kip said, reminding him of his trainee status. "And I wonder if you really are a boy, maybe you should try becoming a wizit."

Skinny Jack laughed so hard that, for a moment, everyone looked at him. "As much as I'd love to see this continue, we have to go. Perhaps you can have your battle another time?"

The boy stomped toward the door, turned back, lifted his head, and then produced an indignant "humph" before leaving.

A few disappointed moans and slumped shoulders ended the gathering. Several of the trainees made their way back to their seats while others left in a similar fashion to that of the argumentative boy. Once Kip was sitting alone, Skinny Jack approached her.

"Why did you interrupt?" Kip turned her scowl toward him.

"Is that how you thank me?" Skinny Jack smiled big.

"Thank you for what, making me look bad in front of all those boys?"

Skinny Jack sat down at the seat across from her. "What were you reading?" He grabbed for the book, but she pulled it away.

"You don't need to know."

"I can see the title, you know, 'How to Win a Wizard's Heart.'"

Kip blushed and put the book down.

"I didn't know they had non-magical books here," Skinny Jack said.

"I bought it at town the last time we visited," she said, admitting defeat.

"You never could hide anything from me. And you know he likes Titch, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Kip's face turned bright red.

"You know who I'm talking about, Traphis. He likes Titch."

In a mock tone, Kip said, "I thought you were the one deeply in love with her."

"Of course, I love all the beautiful girls. But I'm not blind."

"And you are saying that I am?"

"No, just looking out for my big sister. That's what good, handsome, and intelligent brothers do."

For the first time, Kip smiled. "Delusional is more like it," she said.

Skinny Jack pursed his lips. "I get no love from you."

"What do you want anyway? And where is it you said we need to go?"

Looking intently, Skinny Jack changed to a serious tone. "Traphis is in trouble and needs our help."

Kip's eyes widened. "What do you mean? What kind of trouble?"

"It's hard to explain, but we have to find Saleena and I'll tell you both at the same time, once we are on our way."

"On our way to where?"

"To find a book."

* * *

Finding Saleena proved to be difficult. It took Skinny Jack and Kip searching several rooms and hallways before they discovered where she was. Skinny Jack was the one who opened the door, and when he did, water splashed down on him and threw him up against the side of the hallway.

"And I was having a nice rest," Saleena said, standing in the center of the room, dripping wet.

After coughing out the remaining fluid from his lungs, Skinny Jack picked himself off the floor. "You need to warn people when you do that," he said.

"It is not wise to intrude upon a girl's privacy," Saleena said.

"Privacy?" Skinny Jack asked. "There's no privacy in the training rooms. You filled it with water and were floating in it, taking a nice little nap, weren't you?"

Kip stepped forward. "You should have knocked," she said. "After all, it's up to her how she wishes to train."

"Stop taking her side. Besides, is taking a nap what you call training?"

"Jack, why don't you tell her why we're here," Kip said. "In fact, why don't you tell us both?"

"I was getting to that." His sister was always so impatient.

"What is this about?" Saleena asked.

"Something to do with a book," Kip said.

"A book?"

"Will you let me speak?" Skinny Jack asked. "First, we need to be on our way, we've wasted too much time already."

"On our way to where?" Saleena asked.

Ignoring her, Skinny Jack took out the magical object that Traphis had given him.

"Are those what I think they are?" Kip asked.

"If you think they are Revealers, then yes," Skinny Jack said.

"I've heard of them before," Saleena said. "They are very rare."

"Actually," Kip said, taking a deep breath, "I think those are the only pair ever made due to their complexity and the difficulty in finding this type of metal infused with a permanent divinity to the source of magic."

"And they are mine now, so will you stop talking?" Skinny Jack put the wiry frame on his face and said, "Show: Attic of Elders."

Immediately, a white light formed into a shaft, which was only a little thicker than his arm. The light etched a path from the oval frames over his eyes and headed down the hallway, twisted, and then disappeared around a corner.

"Follow me," Skinny Jack said. He walked in the direction of the beam.

"What is this about?" Saleena asked as she caught up.

Kip joined him at his other side. "Something about Traphis being in trouble."

"Yes," Skinny Jack said. "He needs our help. His family was attacked by wolvarks and they captured his mother. He went to track them down."

"What?" Kip's voice echoed across the hall.

"That is a serious situation, indeed," Saleena said. "But how can we help him?"

"You should have gone with him," Kip said. "I can't believe you left him alone. When did this happen? Where did you go? I didn't know you even left the WC. How did you find out about the wolvarks? Where is Traphis now?"

"Slow down," Skinny Jack said. "You talk too fast when you get overly excited."

"I do not, I am not—"

"Just listen," Skinny Jack said. "I know that's hard for you to do, but I need to explain." He took a deep breath and then continued. "We went searching for Titch and were attacked by her cousin, then a learcat showed up and told Traphis that he needed to go home, so I went with him and when we got there, there were dead wolvarks and his grandfather was wounded, so I brought him back to Falin so that he could be healed while Traphis went searching for his mother." He took another breath, and then looked to his left and right. Both Saleena and Kip displayed utterly confused expressions. "Well, that's what happened," he said.

"Wait," Kip said. "A learcat? It spoke?"

"And led us to Traphis' home," Skinny Jack added.

"How does a learcat speak?" Saleena asked. "And why did it not kill you?"

"Because I'm a powerful wizard," Skinny Jack said. "Why else?"

Blank stares were all that returned his smile.

He sighed. "You two are as much fun as a rock. The learcat was supposedly sent by the Oracle. She only spoke to Traphis, so I don't know what she told him."

Kip gasped. "The Oracle? If the Oracle spoke to Traphis, that means she was sent by the Founder. I can't believe it. The Founder."

"All I know is that something big is happening and we need to help," Skinny Jack said. "Traphis thinks that Tyron is behind the capture of his mother. They are using her as bait so that they can capture him too."

Kip punched him in the arm, hard. "Tyron? You should have stayed with him. What does our Traphis have to do with him? This is too big for us; we need to talk to the Committee."

"I told Falin already. I'm sure they are working on a plan, but Traphis asked us to find information about Tyron in the Attic of Elders."

"Attic of Elders?" Saleena asked.

"I know—I was mad at him too. He found this really awesome place deep in the WC and didn't even tell us about it. He said there are old books that may show us how to stop Tyron."

"But how will we give him that information?" Kip asked.

Skinny Jack tapped the Revealers. "He's marked himself with these. They will show us the quickest route to find him."

"And why didn't you give them to Falin?" Kip asked.

"Because I promised Traphis I'd keep them a secret." He squeezed some of the remaining water from his sleeve.

"But the sooner the Committee can locate him, the sooner they can help him."

"I know, but I promised, and we have to trust that Traphis knows what he is doing. Besides, the learcat is with him as his guide and protector. What kind of trouble can he get into?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"A learcat is strong," Kip said at last. "But a single wolvark is probably stronger. How many were there?"

"I counted at least five dead, but I don't know how many there were total; they were gone when we got there. Oh, and I think there was a nekrin too."

"Save the Founder," Kip said. "A nekrin? All three of us are no match against one of them."

"If it comes to that, I think we can win. With Saleena's water, your film, and my funnel we're stronger than you think."

"I hope so, but let's hope even more that it doesn't come to that."

Saleena pointed ahead. "We've reached the end of the lighted hallway."

"Sorry," Skinny Jack said, "I forgot you can't see the same light as me. Kip; can you help?"

She pressed her hands together and a moment later, a golden sheet glittered between them. She then folded it over into her right palm and held out her arm. As they walked past the floating lights and entered the darkness, the golden film traced their shadows across the floor.

"If the Founder is involved," Kip said, "then we have to trust that Traphis is being taken care of. I only hope we can find what he needs."

Skinny Jack sensed that the mood of his companions had turned similar to his own. There was a sense of urgency, yet a looming dread pulled him down. Still, it wasn't like him to ever show weakness, especially to his sister, so he maintained his normal positive attitude. Whenever his father had been in one of his bad moods, Skinny Jack deliberately acted as if everything was all right. He would put on his mask of silliness, which his father hated, and in doing so; he shifted the violence away from his sister.

Skinny Jack was no fool. He realized that he got on people's nerves, especially Saleena's, but that was just how he was. It didn't mean he had no seriousness to him; just that he was not at liberty to show it. And as much as he would never admit it to her, he knew he would do anything for Kip. Even at his own peril.

Now he was doing the same for Traphis, who had become his first real male friend, even if the boy happened to be older than him, came from a better family line, and was looked up to by most everyone. There was something special about Traphis, though he couldn't explain what. It was as if his friend brought a kind of light to this Dark Age.

"How far is this place?" Kip asked. They had walked for quite some time, passing by many locked rooms, and turning many corners. She was beginning to look exhausted.

"I don't know," Skinny Jack said, "the Revealers only show me where to go, not how long it takes to get there. Traphis must have gotten really lost to wander this far away."

"He may have been lost," Kip said, "but I don't think it was by accident. If the room really contains something that can help him, it's because he was guided there."

_There she goes again_ , Skinny Jack thought. _Nothing to her ever happens by chance._ Kip clearly believed that the Founder oversaw everything. As if the Founder really cared about such insignificant beings as them. If He did care, then why didn't He stop his father all those years back? Kip's faith was pure; he understood that, which is why he never wanted to share his true feelings with her. Sometimes her comments got on his nerves, but he knew her ignorance was better than the sad truth; at least it made her feel good.

A wide yawn extended his jaw. He sucked in so loudly that it made Kip jump.

"When is the last time you slept?" Kip asked.

"Let me think," Skinny Jack said. "Two nights ago?"

"I can go without sleep for five days," Saleena said.

"I'm not a Claymear," Skinny Jack said. "We humans need our rest."

"Landers are so fragile. I wonder how you ever survive."

"It's not like I had time to take a nap. I was busy saving Traphis' grandfather."

"Did he survive?"

"I don't know," Skinny Jack admitted. "Falin said it was up to him."

"Which way do we go?" Kip's voice caught Skinny Jack by surprise. He had been so caught up in his argument with Saleena that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

Before him, two stairways extended: one led down and the other led up. After determining which the white light followed, he pointed to the one on the right.

The three of them formed a single line—since the steps were too narrow to support more than one person at a time—and by the time they reached the top, Skinny Jack was panting and wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Talk about a steep climb," Kip said when she came to the last step. "I've walked up mountains easier than that."

Saleena flowed past Kip, as if she had only just begun to stretch her legs.

Another staircase lay ahead, which came down from the ceiling above.

"Looks like the entrance of an attic to me," Skinny Jack said. "Let's go."

* * *

Dust. That was the first thing Skinny Jack noticed when entering the Attic of Elders. The room, oddly lit by large square windows with oval-shaped tops, revealed so much dust that the idea of it alone made him sneeze. Curiously, he walked over to one of the windows and peered inside; a layer of frost blocked his vision. When he tried to rub it away, he found that the frost was fused into the glass.

A flicker of light reflected off the window's surface. He turned and regarded a wooden desk that supported a candle, which Kip lit with a magical spark. When he walked over to the desk, he caught site of the bookshelves.

"Books!" he yelled.

"He'll be happy for awhile," Kip said.

"This place is very old," Saleena said, stating the obvious. "I wonder how long these books have been here."

"Perhaps as long as the WC itself," Kip said. "Who knows?"

"I do not know," Saleena said.

Kip sighed. "It was a term of expression. There is no answer."

Skinny Jack ran up to Kip and blew dust off the cover of a book, which, unintentionally, went into her face, causing her to cough. "Look at this one," he said. "It's a list of potions and spells."

"Put that away," Kip said. "Those are for Cloud users."

"But aren't you curious? Books like these have been banned from the WC. I bet we could sell it for a lot of eskarons."

Kip pushed the book away and reprovingly shook her head.

Skinny Jack eyed her. "Or we could trade it for one of your stupid romance novels."

His sister's face reddened, and then she whispered to him, "be quiet, or I'll tell Saleena that you fancy her."

Skinny Jack's hands shot up and the book dropped to the ground in a dusty splash. "All right, no need to be so harsh." He turned to see where Saleena had gotten—just in case she heard anything—and saw that she was sitting in a far corner of the room, searching through a pile of books. It was true that, at one time, he had been fascinated by Saleena, but even she ended up being too strange for his taste. "Going through all these shelves is going to take quite some time," he said, trying to change the topic.

"Then stop distracting me," Kip said. She pushed past him, nearly knocking him down.

"No love," Skinny Jack said. "I never get any love." He shrugged and then wandered to the nearest bookshelf. Had he more time, he would have read each and every book. Camping out in the attic for days would have been fine by him. Of course, the whole lack of food, bathing, and places to relieve himself in would be a problem, but that was a secondary issue.

Rules of Engagement, Magical Enlightenment, Witches and Nekrin, Magical Objects, Perfecting a Seal, Wizarding Law, and Guide to the Founder. These were just a few of the titles he located. He picked up each book and skimmed through the pages, but with willpower, he put them back down and continued the search.

By the time he made his way through the area of the shelf that he could reach, he took a deep breath. Forgetting about the dust, he ended with a cough, then asked Kip, "Find anything?"

"Nothing yet, at least not about Tyron. How about you, Saleena?"

"There is a book about my race, though I find it considerably inaccurate. We are not a warring people."

"Could have deceived me," Skinny Jack said.

"There is a difference between wars and clan battles," Saleena said.

Both Skinny Jack and Kip looked at one another, but decided to let the remark go.

"Guess it's time to use the ladder," Skinny Jack said, changing the subject. He walked across the creaking floor and grabbed at the ladder's wooden sides. With a backward heave, his fingers slipped loose. Trying again, he pulled harder. This time he fell back and landed flat on his rump. A cloud of dust rose into the air and he sneezed.

Both of the girls giggled behind him.

"Be quiet," Skinny Jack said. "It's not my fault it's stuck."

He got back to his feet, blew dust from one of the rungs, and held it tightly. Securing his grip, he shook the ladder as hard as he could. After several attempts, it pulled loose, but the sudden change in weight threw him off balance and both he and the ladder went crashing to the floor.

The giggling turned into laughter.

"I'm glad you are concerned for my well being," Skinny Jack said. He pushed the ladder off and rubbed the bump at the back of his head. When he looked up, he noticed a glass vial. "It must have been hidden behind a section of the ladder," he said. Getting back to his feet, he lifted the ladder and then set it against the shelf. After climbing the rungs, he reached for the glass and lifted it with ease.

"There's a piece of paper rolled up in here," he said.

"Let me see," Kip said.

Forgetting how clumsy his sister was, Skinny Jack tossed the vial down to her. The container crashed to the ground and shattered into countless pieces.

"Jack!" Kip yelled. "I wasn't ready."

Saleena bent over, plucked the paper from the floor, and lifted it to her eyes.

"Be careful," he said. "If it's not magical, it may fall apart in your hands."

"It is fine," Saleena said, uncurling the yellowed parchment.

"What does it say?" Kip asked.

"It is a poem," she said. "It reads:

The enemy of enemies

Found under the well

The water guides

A stone that fell

The seeker seeks

On bended knee

What enemy hides

And villains flee."

"That's no poem," Skinny Jack said. "It's a riddle, and if we solve it, I think we'll find what we're looking for."

# Chapter 24

TRAPHIS' HEART SKIPPED a beat. Cold water from the stream soaked into his lower garments, and an inaudible shriek formed in the back of his mind.

Dark clothing bunched below the fearsome figure of the learcat. The beast stood atop Rexor, claws extended, teeth biting down, and a low growl rumbling from her throat.

There was no way the dark stranger could have survived.

"Why did you . . ." Traphis regained the use of his voice. "He was here to help me. How could you . . ."

His arms shook and his heart pounded. The brutal attack came without warning. There was nothing he could have done to stop it—he barely had time to move out of the way himself. In an instant, his father's friend had died before his eyes.

The beast slashed out a paw and the crunching of bones ripped into the night. A chill ran down Traphis' spine as he realized that this might not be the same learcat, but a different beast, a wild and untamed predator. If that was the case, then it would only be a matter of time before he became its next victim.

Turning slowly in an attempt to prevent himself from making a splash, Traphis looked over at Neha. To his surprise, the horse showed no signs of fear. In fact, she kept chewing grass as if all was normal.

"Please," a voice said from overhead. "Tell her that I am a friend so I may return to my clothing."

Traphis looked up. In the branches of a nearby tree, the chest of a dark man came into view.

"Rexor?" Traphis asked, puzzled. "You are still alive?"

The learcat looked up as well, seeming to realize that her prey had escaped. She bounded for the tree, leaped onto the bark, and climbed.

With a flip, Rexor flew through the air and landed effortlessly on the ground.

Soon after, the learcat jumped from the tree and prepared to charge.

Traphis darted from the stream and stood in front of the beast. "Stop!" he shouted. "He is with me, do not harm him." If this wasn't the same learcat, he knew this would be the end. But he couldn't stand back and watch his new comrade die before his eyes.

Instantly, the creature froze, regarded Traphis, and then sat down on her haunches. She lifted a paw and licked at it as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you," Rexor said. He pulled what appeared to be a tree branch out of his clothing. "You risked your life for me. I will not forget it."

"I don't understand," Traphis said. "How did you get away? I heard your bones breaking."

"Not bones," Rexor said. "Sticks. This is not the first time a replacement technique has saved me."

"Replacement technique?"

Rexor pointed to the tree. "I switched places with the branch," he said. "It only works with living tissue. Thankfully, trees are alive."

"How?" Traphis shook his head. Logically, the man should be dead.

"How does it work?" Rexor asked Traphis instead. "It has taken me years to perfect, and would take just as long for me to explain. All you need to know is that you can depend on me to take you safely to the Black Mountain."

"And once I'm there?" Traphis took a deep breath. The excitement of the attack still coursed through his veins.

Rexor pointed to Traphis' leg coverings. "You should dry off or you will become sick."

Traphis opened and closed his mouth. A sudden chill ran over his limbs. He nodded and then entered the woods. Removing his clothing, he squeezed as much of the water out of them as he could. They were still wet when he put them back on, but not as badly as before.

"So you are the same learcat," Traphis said, looking at the beast when he returned to the path. "Where did you go?"

As expected, there was no reply. She opened her mouth and a foul odor lofted into the air.

"Gross," Traphis said, covering his nose. "What did you eat?" A picture of the forest came into mind. He recalled the smell of rotted flesh and the sound of something being devoured. "Was that you? Is that why you left me? For a meal? I almost died!"

"What is her name?" Rexor asked.

Traphis turned and looked at Rexor with disgust. "It's a learcat."

"A companion always needs a name," Rexor said.

Brow furrowed, Traphis studied Rexor to be sure he was serious. Unfortunately, it appeared as if he was. "Does it really matter?"

"Not _it_ , _she_. How about Leara?"

" _She_ almost killed you."

"And she will not be the last to try. Leara was only trying to protect you. I sense the aura of the Founder on her."

Traphis shook his head, walked over to Neha, and mounted. "I think it's time we go."

Rexor lifted the straw hat and placed it on his head. Without a word, he tapped the ground and then was gone. The learcat looked over at Traphis, as if to ask whether or not it was alright to follow.

With a sigh, Traphis nodded and said, "Let's go."

* * *

Traphis' legs ached, his bottom was sore, and his mind wandered aimlessly. The continual and familiar repetition of passing trees and dirt once again sent him into a hypnotic state. Unlike before, he could no longer stay away from the land of dreams. It was only a matter of time before his eyes closed and the world around him faded.

Traphis found himself standing on a stone, which floated high above a patch of white clouds. The rocky surface underfoot was only wide enough for him to keep his balance; a single step would put him over the edge. Should he fall, the unknown distance to the ground would signal his end. Yet Traphis had little fear of falling—not because he knew it was a dream—but because the area around him was peaceful, still, and calm.

Sensing that he wasn't alone, Traphis looked around. It was as if someone stood there with him. Someone he knew yet didn't know. Someone who had always been there, but was without shape or form; an invisible presence that could not be seen with the eyes, but somehow could be seen using other, less known senses.

In the hand of this being rested a box. Inside the box, Traphis sensed two powers. If he were to give them names, he would have called them Love and Hope.

Looking above, he noticed beautiful swirls of color mixing in the sky. Smooth streaks of light flowed like waves from the sun. He reached out to touch them, but his hand passed through like water over a branch. He laughed as the rays licked at his fingers.

For the first time, Traphis realized that he was moving forward. The stone guided him above the passing clouds and into the unknown. Off in the distance he saw a small, black dot appear. It blinked and then grew in size. Soon the dot took the shape of a large circle.

A cold chill came into being.

The wind grew strong, forcing the hair at the back of his head to flutter and slap against his cheeks. Soon the beauty around contorted and bent as if the black void had taken a deep breath. Transparent blues, greens, and yellows disappeared into the darkness, smearing together before his eyes.

A rumbling formed at the back of his throat. And then, with all his might, he let out a scream of fury. "Stop! Stop doing that! You're killing them!"

The rock jerked, catching Traphis off guard. When he regained his balance, he realized that the stone was heading toward the ring-of-death. In an instant, he bent down and frantically pulled, but the rock failed to turn. "No," he shouted. "I can't go there. Please, turn around, please! I don't want to be sucked inside!"

He pulled a few more times, but to no avail.

"I know you are there," he said, addressing the mysterious presence. "Please, move the stone away. I don't want to die." Tears formed on his cheeks. "I don't want to become nothing."

Out of the air a voice spoke. "You will not die." The tone was gentle and calm. "I will be with you."

"Who are you?" Traphis asked, but there was no response. When he shifted, he saw that the hole had become as large as a mountain. Jumping to his feet, he made to challenge the voice, to demand that it set him free, but he had moved too quickly and his balance wavered. The next instant his foot slipped, and with a cry, he fell.

Air rushed over his body as he tumbled downward. The dark hole shrank in the distance as he entered the clouds below. Soft edges became jagged and the whiteness turned to a dark red. An intense heat pressed up against his flesh as the skin on his arms tore away. Blood streamed from the wounds while he frantically pressed against the peeling flesh in vain.

And then, Traphis dove into a body of water. The expected sense of relief at the cool liquid vanished as soon as he realized it wasn't liquid at all, but flames.

Even worse than the flesh tearing from his bones was this realization: the presence that had been with him before was gone. The box containing Hope and Love had been closed, and with it, the desire to live. Bubbles emerged as he opened his mouth to cry out, but there was no sound. He choked and coughed as the fiery liquid poured into his throat.

He clenched and gnashed his teeth together, but then relaxed the remainder of his strength.

His body sank deeper into the darkness.

It was at this moment that a multitude of mangled and ghastly beings emerged, grasping at his clothes, pulling and ripping them from his body. He didn't bother to swim away. He didn't bother to resist; it was too late; he had no more strength; he had no reason to live.

Deeper and deeper he sank into the darkness. The disfigured and tormented souls circled around him, tearing away the remainder of his flesh.

Wind exited his lungs and a different pain enveloped his limbs. He opened his eyes and found he was no longer in the fiery lake, but rolling on the ground. His chin banged against a rock, and his neck twisted with a snap. It wasn't until he stopped rolling that he realized he was no longer dreaming.

The moist snout of Neha pressed up against his cheek. When he lifted a hand to push it away, the movement triggered a surge of pain. With arm still raised, he examined his flesh. Thankfully, it was still there, unlike in the dream where it had been torn off, but it was bruised and marred with dirt all the same. When he touched his head, he felt a lump.

"What happened?" The voice of Rexor appeared moments before the man's darkened and blurry form.

Traphis blinked, and then squinted from the bright rays of sunlight. "I think I fell asleep," he said at last. "I must have fallen off Neha."

"Are you injured?"

"I don't know." Traphis slid a hand over his neck. "I think I heard a snap."

"Can you stand?" Rexor reached for Traphis, and then pulled him to his feet.

"Ouch," Traphis said as he regained his footing.

Rexor circled around him several times, stopped, grabbed his neck in both hands, and twisted. A loud crack was followed by a groan.

Oddly enough, Traphis suddenly felt better. "What did you do?" he asked in amazement.

"It is an ancient technique from my people."

"Magic?"

"No, not magic. Though some may mistake it as such."

"I can see why." Traphis rubbed the back of his neck.

"I do not use magic," Rexor continued. "My techniques come by manipulating the physical realm. Nothing more."

"But you can run faster than my horse."

"I prefer the challenge of using what is given to me. All warriors feel as such."

"Warriors?"

"Yes, a warrior, like your mother. She was taught how to break through the barriers of physical limitations. Once doing so, all warriors learn how to use their true potential."

"I don't see the difference between that and magic."

"The difference is that I do not use power from the Blue or the Cloud. I do not call upon them as an aid. We simply manipulate the rules of our natural surroundings by using special techniques, which take years to master."

"So why do we need wizards then?" Traphis felt a twinge of disappointment.

"Need? In the beginning, the world needed neither wizard nor warrior, but as evil grew, a balance was required, and thus wizards and warriors were born out of necessity, not desire. Know that warriors are strong and able, but they cannot perform the same feats that wizards do. We are not the same."

Traphis looked away. A world without wizards, he couldn't fathom it. To think that magic should never have existed. For the first time, he questioned whether it was right for him to use it or not.

As if sensing his thoughts, Rexor said, "Your path is one that must be walked. Understand that your desire to learn magic comes from the good within you. It is part of your destiny." He then laid a hand on Traphis' shoulder. "We are capable of such love and such hate that many choose neither and seek for comfort in the road between. Yet in this, they lose the potential of what they were meant to be. We were created for something better, Traphis. Something beyond what we now see. You and I are on a path of discovery; becoming warriors and wizards is the result of such things."

Traphis shook his head. The man's words made no sense to him. "How much farther do we have to go?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"Now is a good time to change our direction. From here on, we go on foot."

"What do you mean?"

"Your horse cannot follow. She must stay behind. The rocks of the hills are too narrow for her to climb."

"Can't we just use the path?" Traphis pointed down the road, as if it was the most obvious way to go. The thought of leaving his only friend behind gave him a sickly feeling inside his gut.

"Not if stealth is our aim," Rexor said. "And believe me, it is."

* * *

Even with the learcat, Traphis knew that he needed Rexor's help; it would be nearly impossible to save his mother without him. Yet the prospect of leaving Neha behind made him realize how much of a comfort she had been. The earlier feeling of never seeing her again resurfaced.

"She won't know where to go," Traphis said. "She's never been this far from home before. What if someone steals her or she is attacked? How will I find her again?"

"Trust her to the care of the Founder," Rexor said. "He will guide her steps."

"But how do I know that? How do I know He even cares about her? To Him she's just a horse."

"If it is her time then there is nothing you can do to stop it. We must accept that which we cannot change. Have faith, Traphis. Trust that what is right will prevail in the end."

Traphis kicked at the dirt. "If anything happens to her I'll never forgive myself."

"Forgiveness, indeed, heals many wounds."

Traphis shook his head.

"Do you still wish to find your mother?"

Glaring at the man, Traphis hated to admit that he was right. In order to find his mother he had to leave Neha behind.

"Then this is the best way," Rexor continued.

Neha plowed her nose into Traphis' back, forcing him closer to the dark stranger. It was as if she knew what must be done.

"No," Traphis said. "I can't leave you." He turned and wrapped his arms around her snout. It was unlike him to cry in front of people, in fact, he prided himself on his strength, but that didn't stop the water from pooling in his eyes now. "What if I never see her again?"

Rexor grabbed Traphis' wrist and said, "Prolonging only increases the pain."

Before he knew what had happened, he was pulled to the edge of the forest. Rexor let go and entered with the learcat close behind.

A powerful whinny resounded, but he couldn't bear to look back. If he did, he knew the tears would only flow faster. The idea of sacrificing Neha to save his mother was enough to make him want to vomit. Yet he had to keep going. He came too far to give up now. Entering the wooded passageway, he bit down on his lip, but continued forward.

By the time he regained his composure, both the road and his horse were long gone.

It became apparent to him why Rexor had said they would need to go on foot. As they traveled eastward, the texture of the ground went from dirt to stone and from a level surface to a gradual incline. Trees and plants struggled to break through cracks and crevasses, and the farther they traveled, the sparser the greenery became. Yet, somehow, the plants managed to survive, even while fighting against the elements.

This very display filled Traphis with a renewed hope. If plant life could endure such a bleak environment, so too could he bear the path before him. The challenges ahead would undoubtedly be perilous, yet somehow he would make it through. There had to be a way, and he would find it no matter what the cost. What exactly the way was and what he had to do once he got there was another matter.

Planning was never his strength. He performed best when making decisions at the last moment. Such as when he was caught trying to sneak out of the house one night. His mother happened to be sitting in the kitchen as he came down the stairs. The first thing out of his mouth was that his stomach was feeling sickly and he needed some water. Had he planned for his mother to be there, and came up with a preconceived response, he was sure it would have sounded fake. But the surprise of the situation made his response believable, even though he never liked telling a lie. Especially, to his mother. Now he had to trust in such instincts for an entirely different matter.

The sight of large boulders interrupted his thoughts. High rises of solid stone shot out of the ground and lifted several lengths into the air. The once gradual incline had become a significant height.

The learcat kept up with giant leaps and bounds—jumping from one boulder to the next and hopping from one ledge to another. Her elegance and agility impressed Traphis, and for the first time, he felt a new level of respect for her.

Perhaps Rexor was right to give her a name, he thought. After all, she's here to help me too, even if she did nearly scared me to death.

They rose higher with each step. The woods around them managed to stay higher still, towering over them like a green blanket. Unfortunately, this made seeing anything in the distance an impossibility.

By the time they made it to the highest rock face, Traphis needed to sit down and rub the soreness from his feet. In the past, he had taken many long journeys in the forest near his home, but that was on soft dirt; stone proved to be a lot tougher on his feet.

Rexor, on the other hand, showed to be more resilient than Traphis first imagined. Without waiting, the man grabbed at the rock wall and effortlessly pulled himself to the top. For a moment, he looked like a large spider.

Rexor called down, "I can see the Black Mountain from here."

Curiosity outweighed Traphis' fatigue. He stood up, approached the rock surface, and began to scale its side. About halfway up, the grooves in the stone proved to be too shallow for him to maintain a solid grip. "I can't make it," he said. The tips of his fingers quivered from the strain.

"Trust," Rexor said. "Trust that you can."

Traphis looked down. The fall would be twice the distance from the opening of his cave back home. It was there that he taught himself to climb, and the many trips up and down refined his technique, but this was different. There was little to hold onto, and though heights didn't frighten him, the thought of falling to his death did.

"Just reach up and grab hold," Rexor said.

"But I can't see anything to hold onto. What if I fall?"

"If you think you will fall, then you will find a way to make it happen."

_That doesn't help_ , Traphis thought. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The cool rock surface pressed hard against his cheek and the smell of moss filled his nostrils. He blindly stretched out a hand, reaching as far as it would go, and felt around for a solid groove. Nothing. Only smooth stone met his touch. Trying with his other hand, bits of dirt trickled down from beneath his fingers until they met a small depression. It was just deep enough for the tips of three fingers.

In order to successfully lift himself, he knew it would require more strength than he had ever used before, but he had to try. Gripping his fingers into the groove, he slowly pulled himself upward. The muscles on his arms began to quiver and the blood flowed from his head.

"Now you have it," Rexor said. "Keep going."

Traphis held his position and caught his breath. When he was ready, he reached up and quickly settled his right hand into another groove, grabbing it firmly with the tips of his fingers. His feet kicked fiercely to find a place to settle, and the strain on his fingers sent a jolt of pain down his arm, but he held tight until he could regain his stance. Again, he thrust out his arm and grabbed at the rock, this time with more confidence. He pulled himself higher and higher until finally reaching the top.

Rexor grabbed his hand and helped him to the level surface. "You see, not impossible."

Looking back down at the ground, Traphis decided not to comment. He then noticed the learcat pacing back and forth at the bottom. "It's too steep for her," he said.

Rexor nodded. "She cannot make the climb."

Traphis called down. "I'm sorry. I guess this is where we go our separate ways. Thank you for your help, Leara." The name came awkwardly from his lips, but he felt it was only right to address her as more than _it_.

At this, she released a deafening howl and then dove into the bushes.

"Perhaps she will find another way," Rexor said, "or perhaps her commission is complete. Regardless, we must focus on a way to climb that." He pointed eastward.

As soon as Traphis saw the Black Mountain, his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. It was even worse than he imagined.

# Chapter 25

THE DIMLY LIT room etched out three shadows, which reflected against the attic wall. Kip and Saleena watched as Skinny Jack climbed down the ladder. When he got to the bottom, he stepped around the broken glass, spun on his heel, and snatched the rolled up paper from Saleena's hands.

Its texture was coarse with a tint of yellow, but the sheet held its shape without any signs of crumbling. Either the paper had been created with the help of magic, or the glass vial protected it from the negative effects of age. Whichever it was, Skinny Jack was thankful that this valuable clue had been preserved through time.

Ever since he could remember, he had been fascinated with books. So much so that he spent more time studying how they were made, than studying their contents. A long time ago, during one of his father's few kind acts, the man brought him to the place where paper was made. He remembered gazing, hypnotically at the large stones that rotated and pressed the shredded wood together. The slow and steady movement brought him a rare and pleasant sense of peace and security. One that he would never forget.

The paper he held now obviously wasn't made of wood. It was composed of grass or another type of plant. In fact, most of the books in the Attic of Elders seemed to be made of this. Just as Traphis' book on wolvarks had been. If only for this one fact, Skinny Jack knew that the contents on this sheet had existed long before he was born.

"The enemy of enemies," Skinny Jack said. "This is where we begin."

"But where do we go to look for the clues?" Kip asked.

"In this room, of course," Skinny Jack said.

"How do you know that? For all we know, it was written for another room in the WC, or even outside of it. We could be wasting our time here. I think we should keep looking through the books to see if we can find something else."

Skinny Jack shook his head. "It makes perfect sense. The riddle would be stored where it could be solved."

"I'm going to keep looking." Kip stomped away before he had time to object.

Skinny Jack opened and closed his mouth, and then turned to Saleena. "I know you will help me," he said.

Saleena blinked her third eyelid, rotated her head toward Kip, and then looked back at him.

"Good," he said, not giving her a chance to respond. "As I was saying, our first clue is the enemy of enemies, what do you think that means?"

Saleena stared blankly at him.

"That's what I thought too," Skinny Jack said. "An enemy of an enemy is not a stronger enemy, but an ally. Someone or something that can help us. And who is our enemy?"

Saleena's short, blue hair stood motionless against her pale skin.

"Tyron, of course." Skinny Jack bowed and awaited applause. When none came, he continued. "Tyron seems to have been the enemy of the ancients as well. He must be older than any mortal alive. All we need to do is find the thing that can stop him."

"If that is the case," Saleena said, "then why did the ancients not use this enemy to rid the land of Tyron long ago?"

"They might have, but somehow it didn't work, at least not completely. That's why they left this clue for us. In case it needed to be used again."

"And it will work now?"

"Of course, we're here, aren't we?"

There was no response.

"We can do this," Skinny Jack said. He unrolled the paper to its full length. "We don't know what the item is, but the enemy of enemies is what we are looking for. Next, the note says to look for it under a well."

Kip poked her head through a hole in the bookcase. "Do you see any wells around here?"

"Go back to your reading," Skinny Jack said.

Kip snickered and withdrew.

"She is right," Saleena said. "There are no wells."

"You just have to think bigger," Skinny Jack said, "or rather, smaller. See if you can find any books about wells, or ones that say _wells_ on them."

There was some hesitation, but Saleena eventually wandered over to a shelf and began her search.

Skinny Jack went back to the shelf where the vial had been. He climbed up the ladder and shuffled through the first row. After brushing away the dust and scanning the titles, he scooted the ladder over to examine the next grouping. It wasn't until he went through all of them that he realized his error.

No one would put the clue next to the item, he thought. That would be too easy. I have to look farther away.

With one hand on the ladder, he secured the scroll in his pocket and then slid down. At the bottom, he lifted the ladder and carried it over to the opposite end of the room. Once there, he set the ladder against a shelf and climbed up.

Light from a nearby, frosted window aided in his reading of the titles. Yet there was still no mention of wells on any of them. The closest he found was a book about stone fences that could be magically altered to send off invisible waves of energy, which scared away predators. Had he grown up in the country, this might have been more interesting, but living from one town to the next provided its own unique problems. Most predators stayed away from large populations, but groups of people produced ills of a different kind—of deception, malice, and treachery. At least with beasts he knew what to expect. They would attack and kill instantly, but a human would get to know someone, become a friend, and then stab that person in the back when he or she wasn't looking.

At least, that's what he learned from his father. His family had been kicked out of most towns. On the surface, his father ran a delivery service, but in actuality, he was an imposter. He would gain a person's confidence, and then swindle them out of things they owned. He even went so far as to steal another man's wife, though Skinny Jack couldn't complain about that. Were it not for that incident, he'd never have been born.

The book he was holding slipped through his fingers, bounced off a ladder rung, spun through the air, and then banged against the glass window before hitting the floor.

With a curse, he jumped off the ladder and ran to the place where the book had landed. As feared, a sequence of cracks formed on the window in the shape of a spider web.

He was about to curse again when he noticed that the cracks weren't the only pattern on the glass. Another sequence of shapes faintly appeared through the frost. Its etching was the same white as the frosted covering—which is what made it hard to detect—but smoother and more elegant.

Skinny Jack ran a finger over the long, thin lines. He could make out the shape of what appeared to be a large tree. There were no leaves, only sharp branches, and at the base were large, thick roots, which flowed downward like streaks of water. Above the tree was the shape of a hill followed by distant mountains. A silhouette of the sun crept halfway over the farthest peak.

The marking he noticed the most was to the left of the tree. Large blocks formed the shape of a cylinder, and at the top was a roof with a bucket hanging between two posts. This clearly was a well.

* * *

"Laugh all you want," Skinny Jack said. "But I found the well." He leaned over and rubbed the dust off the white outline.

"You located it?" Saleena asked—her mouth nearly touched his ear.

Skinny Jack spun around. "Don't scare me like that," he said. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Does my stealth worry you?" Saleena asked.

With a roll of his eyes, Skinny Jack lifted the scroll. "Our clue says that the enemy of enemies is found under the well, and the second part says that the water guides a stone that fell." He tapped his forehead. "The well is just a picture; we can't see inside it. So how can we find a stone in there?"

Kip snatched the parchment from his hand. "Are you reading this right?" she asked.

Skinny Jack shouted and then said, "I thought you didn't care about it." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"It reads: 'The enemy of enemies, found under the well.'" Kip looked directly at her brother. "Under the well, not in the well, you moarock."

"Don't call me that," Skinny Jack said, snatching the parchment back and inspecting it closely. He hated to admit it, but she was right. It did read _under the well_ , which he assumed meant inside of it because of the mention of water. But if that was the case, then all he had to do was look farther down the glass.

After a long, drawn out examination of the window, he finally said, "I don't see anything."

"What does it say to do next?" Kip asked.

Skinny Jack lifted the parchment and read, "The water guides a stone that fell."

"Look down," Saleena said.

"I'm doing that, but I don't see anything other than the roots of this massive tree."

"It's the roots," Kip said. "Don't you see? They look more like water than roots."

Skinny Jack tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

"Move over." Kip nudged him out of the way. "Look, right there, the roots flow underneath the well."

"So where is the stone, genius?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Read the next part," Kip said.

"You move out of the way first."

"No, you obviously can't figure this out without me."

"I was doing fine on my own."

"At least I know what water looks like."

"You didn't want any part of this, remember?"

Skinny Jack sensed the parchment lifting from his fingers.

"The seeker seeks on bended knee," Saleena read as she held the note in her hands.

With a sigh, Skinny Jack said, "So we need to kneel."

Kip hesitated for a moment and then knelt down on the dusty floor. A board creek under her knee.

"I don't see anything that looks like a stone," she said.

"What do you see?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Just the frosted glass. What does the rest of the clue say?"

"'What enemy hides and villains flee,'" Saleena read.

"That's of no use," Skinny Jack said. "That just tells us the object is the enemy of enemies. We know that already. What we need is to find a stone, under the well, which can be seen by kneeling."

"Fine, you look," Kip said. She stood and motioned toward the spot on the floor.

"Finally." Skinny Jack knelt down, resting his knee against the same squeaky board, and then brushed away the remainder of dust from the glass. "That's it." He stood up and brandished a huge smile. "I bet you can't figure it out."

Kip looked over at the glass where the dust had been wiped away. "I don't see anything," she said.

"Tell me I'm the best brother in the world."

Kip wrinkled her forehead.

"And that I'm the smartest genius to have ever walked the WC," he continued.

Kip's eyes widened to a conspiratorial height and her retinas rolled upward. She then tilted her head and said, "You're wonderful, now tell me."

"I guess that will do," Skinny Jack said. "Look down."

Both Saleena and Kip lowered their gaze.

"You still don't get it, do you? Look at the floor."

"I don't see anything," Kip said.

Bending down, Skinny Jack pointed at the squeaky board. "We need to look under there."

"But where's the stone?" Kip asked.

"A stone that fell," Skinny Jack said. "It's figurative, there's no actual stone. It just tells us to look down. If a stone fell, it would have landed on the ground, not the glass."

"That does sound reasonable," Saleena said.

Skinny Jack's smile broadened. "At least one of you can recognize my genius."

"Fine, genius, then how do we look under the board?" Kip asked.

"If you were as smart as me, you would have figured that out already."

There was a moment of silence.

"Do I have to show you everything?" he asked. "Between the three of us, only one has the ability to pass through solid objects. Or do I have to go back and find an axe somewhere?"

Kip shook her head. "I should have thought of that."

"It's all right, not everyone can be as brilliant as me."

With eyes rolled, Kip formed a golden sheet of magic and strung it between her fingers. She then set it down and flattened it against the wooden floor.

In a blink of an eye, Skinny Jack thrust his arm through the golden pathway and felt around with his fingers.

Kip gasped. "Never enter so quickly; you don't know what's down there."

"Got it," Skinny Jack said. With arm fully extended, the tips of his fingers looped around a lumpy object. He pulled it upward, lifted it through the magical hole, and then set it on the floor.

All three of them gazed in wonder. It was a box. An elegantly designed box about the width of an outstretched hand and two fists deep. It was silver. The edges were ordained with a crisscross pattern, and the cover raised slightly in the center. Etched into the very top was a tree, similar to the one on the window. At one of the sides, a silver latch held the lid shut tight.

"Open it," Kip said.

"I am. I just wanted to look at it first."

"That's long enough," Kip said. "I want to see what's inside."

"I would as well," Saleena said.

Skinny Jack rubbed his fingers together. "I guess I'm the only one who appreciates good workmanship." He gripped the pin between his thumb and forefinger, and with added effect, he twisted, paused, and then thrust the pin out at a great speed. There was a snap as the spring on the hinge engaged.

Saleena and Kip watched like salivating dogs as he slowly lifted the lid. When a crack appeared, a soft, white light streamed through the opening, revealing bits of dust floating in the air. A rush of breath came from the box and blew out at his hair—which would have jostled had he any length to speak of. Then, he extended the lid to its full height.

Lying in a velvety cushion, the object within peered up at them.

Three voices gasped in awe.

* * *

"What is it?" Saleena asked.

"It's beautiful," Kip said.

"But what does it do?" Skinny Jack poked the object with his finger. As soon as he did, the item stopped glowing.

"You broke it," Kip said.

"I did not. I only touched it."

"Maybe it became dormant," Saleena said. "I have never seen an amulet like this before."

"Nor have I," Kip said. "At least, not one so elaborately decorated. The weaves in the silver are so tiny that I bet our eyes can't see all the details."

"It looks similar to the box." Skinny Jack reached in, grabbed the amulet, and lifted it so they all could see. "Completely silver," he said, "and heavy too. I wonder what the symbol in the center means."

"It looks like arms," Kip said.

"Two arms," Saleena said. "Grabbing each other at opposite ends."

"Like a disjointed circle," Skinny Jack said. "But what does it mean?"

"I have no idea," Kip said. "Is this really the enemy of enemies?"

"It must be; we followed the clues." Skinny Jack rotated the oval amulet in his hand, lifted its dark leather strap, and then looped it around his neck. Only slightly smaller than his palm, the amulet rested against his chest. The smooth backing felt heavy yet comfortable.

"Make it do something," Kip said.

"Hold on." Skinny Jack closed his eyes and envisioned himself passing through the first magical gate. It only took a moment before he found himself standing in the Blue. White sand surrounded him, as did the blue water only a few steps away.

He wasn't sure how the Blue worked, but whenever he entered the land of magic, he wore the same clothing he did in the physical world. Not only his clothes, but also anything he was touching. In this case, the amulet.

For some reason, the floor, walls, and other parts of the room didn't come along. It only worked for objects directly associated with him. Perhaps this had something to do with his memory and what he mentally wished to accompany him. After all, he wasn't really there, nor was the amulet—they were just afterthoughts in the recesses of his memory, an echo of his true self.

Normally, he liked to toss sand into the water and watch it sparkle and snap, but he realized time was short. With a renewed appreciation for the island, he stepped to the edge and plunged the amulet into the liquid.

He watched in anticipation, picturing a surge of magical energy so strong that it would throw him back. But to his disappointment, nothing happened.

Repeating the process, he lifted the amulet out of the water and thrust it back in. Still nothing. This was unexpected; at the very least he assumed there would be some kind of response.

"I don't understand," Skinny Jack said the moment he regained consciousness in the physical world.

"Nothing happened," Saleena said.

"If it's magical, shouldn't it be responding?" Skinny Jack lifted the amulet from his neck and studied it closely.

"Maybe you just don't know how to use it," Kip said.

Skinny Jack handed Kip the amulet. "You figure it out."

She took it, closed her eyes, and after a short time opened them again. "You're right," she said, "I can't get it to work either."

It was Saleena's turn next, but she had similar results. The only difference with Saleena was that the amulet had become wet when she handed it back. This, of course, was due to her magic, not anything generated by the amulet itself.

"Well, the important thing is we found it," Skinny Jack said. "Hopefully, Traphis will know what to do. Now we just have to find him."

# Chapter 26

TRAPHIS STOOD AT the edge of the cliff and stared out into the large valley below. In the center of the valley, a sizable river ran from north to south, and in the center of the river stood a mountain. Even though it was far off, the mere height of the stone summit gave Traphis the shivers.

Black as the depths of an endless hole, the mountain sprouted from the water like a volcano, wide at the base and narrow at the top. Unlike a volcano, the top appeared to be as sharp as the end of a knife, with edges serrated all the way to the bottom. On the surface of the lifeless form—where patches of green were expected—only black stone flourished.

"It will be night soon," Rexor said. "Thankfully, we passed through the woods in time to avoid the nocturnal ones. Though the valley will not be free of danger, the largest beasts stay to the thickness of the forest."

Wild animals were the last thing on Traphis' mind. He would rather deal with an animal than whatever awaited him in that mountain.

As if sensing his reluctance, Rexor said, "The cover of night will aid in our approach. Stealth is on our side."

Traphis gazed at the large body of water. Its sheer mass made the creek back home seem like a strand of hair in comparison. Even if they were to somehow make it across the valley, then the strong current of the river would prove to be a greater challenge. "I don't think I can swim that fast," Traphis said.

"Not swim," Rexor said, "glide."

"How are we going to do that?"

"With a boat."

"Where are we going to find a boat?"

Rexor pointed to something in the distance. "In a shack near the water's edge there is a boat."

Traphis cupped a hand over his eyes, but was unable to see a shack let alone a boat. "Why is there an unguarded boat so close to Tyron's mountain?" The idea seemed absurd to him. No villain would be foolish enough to provide passage to anyone who wished to sneak into his or her fortress.

"Not unguarded," Rexor said. "The shack is a lookout for Tyron's men."

Traphis took several steps back. "But they'll see us."

"Not if we are quiet," Rexor said.

The color drained from Traphis' cheeks. He couldn't believe what he was about to do.

"The Founder will protect us," Rexor continued.

In the distance, whitecaps danced across the surface of the water. Traphis stared at them and took a deep breath. "Do you really think so?"

"With men, our strength is limited. But with His help, we can accomplish anything."

After several more deep breaths, Traphis said, "I don't know if I can do this."

"The more you think of what will come, the less you really know." Rexor held out a hand. "Now is the time for action."

Reluctantly, Traphis reached out and grasped Rexor's hand. With a nod, Rexor lowered him over the side of the cliff. Once maintaining his footing, Traphis let go.

The climb down proved to be more difficult than the climb up had been. Not only was the drop farther down on the eastern side of the cliff, but the lack of sunlight made finding grooves in the stone nearly impossible.

With trembling fingers and shivering legs, Traphis finally made it safely to the valley floor.

Looking to the east, he noticed how much taller the mountain appeared from where he stood. The very sight of it triggered a sinking sensation.

"Follow close behind me," Rexor said.

Before Traphis shook out of his daze, the man disappeared into the foliage. Wasting no time, Traphis followed the trail of footprints left in the soft earth.

The undersized trees and bushes were sparse in comparison to the forest, but they provided shelter from unwelcomed eyes. Other than the occasional rodent skittering past, Traphis saw no signs of life. He wondered if this had to do with the layer of dread, which cast itself over the valley.

Dry grass crunched underfoot as he caught up to Rexor. When he did, he found the man crouched down, hidden behind a large boulder.

"We must proceed cautiously from this point on," Rexor said. "Stay close to me."

Grabbing hold of the tail end of the man's dark garments, Traphis did as commanded. He followed behind Rexor and stayed low.

Weathered boards came into view, which formed the sides of a shack. From where he stood, Traphis could see that the walls were rotting with age. On the northern side of the building, an old wooden boat hung from a rickety stand.

"We're going to use that?" Traphis whispered. As soon as he spoke, a low hum came from inside the building.

With a flick of his fingers, Rexor motioned for Traphis to stand still. He then crept closer to the rotting stand.

When Rexor lifted the boat, the wood let out a squeak. Both he and Traphis froze. The humming within the shack ceased and all became still and silent.

With boat still in one hand, Rexor moved his other toward the hilt of his sword.

Footsteps suddenly pounded across the inside of the shack and, soon after, the muffled sound of feet on dirt came toward them. Metal slid against metal as a figure appeared around the corner with sword in hand.

The green, scaly face rotated from left to right, as if troubled by the darkness. And then it spotted Rexor. With a hiss, the creature charged.

Immediately dropping the boat, Rexor jumped back, pulled his sword out of its sheath, and stood his ground. Before the creature had time to swing, Rexor disappeared in a flash only to reappear a few paces behind.

Green blood came from the snake-like mouth and a moment later, the human-shaped reptile collapsed to the ground.

Rexor placed his long, slender sword back in its sheath. "He seems to be the only one," he said. "Though it will not be long before others arrive; we must hurry."

Holding his shaking knees, Traphis studied the lifeless body. "It's the archer," he said. "From before, he looks the same."

"A scout," Rexor said. "Like the one you saw in the forest." He picked the boat off the ground. "Take the other side."

Pushing the image of the dead body out of his mind, Traphis held the wooden rim in both hands. He kept a tight grip, worried that a single slip would send the boat crashing and shattering to the ground.

When they cleared the side of the building, Traphis was greeted by a large stretch of sand that stood between him and the water's edge. The two of them trudged through before setting the boat against the surface of the river.

A cool breeze came from the distance and blew against Traphis' cheek. The taste of chalk brushed against his tongue and a shiver ran down his arms. Each breath of air was thick and labored and his heart beat slow and heavy.

"You get on," Rexor said. "I will hold it steady."

Traphis gripped the side of the boat and stepped inside. There were two seats, one at the front and one at the rear. Making his way to the front, he sat down. A low creak sounded from the board under his rump.

With a shove, Rexor pushed the boat into the water and then jumped in. The nose lifted and then leveled out.

An oar banged against the side as Rexor handed it to Traphis. "I will steer in the back, use your strength to pull us through the rapids."

Though he had never been in a boat before, Traphis caught on quickly. There were only a few times when he pulled either too hard or too soft and they went off course. Thankfully, Rexor soon had them pointed back in the right direction. More than once, they paddled to the north, only to be pushed back southward, but somehow they managed to creep steadily eastward and closer to the Black Mountain.

Waves slapped against the sides of the boat as Traphis gazed at the mountain's reflection. Thoughts of his mother began to overshadow his fears, and then images from his dream flashed through his mind. If the mountain was like the black hole, which sucked up all the beauty, then Traphis knew that turning around would result in a worse fate. He had to trust in the presence that accompanied him in the dream, and he had to trust that the box, which the presence held, would remain open.

The nose scraped against the side of the mountain. Rexor jumped out, grabbed one of the spikes, and then reached out for Traphis.

Reluctantly, he grabbed hold and was pulled to the rocky edge. He had to grip tight to keep from falling into the frigid waters.

"Wait," Traphis said. "The boat is floating away."

"There will be no need of it anymore," Rexor said.

"But how will we get back?"

Rexor looked upward. "We can only move forward now." The words were like death on his tongue.

* * *

Traphis and Rexor stood like insects at the bottom of the dark mountain. The tallest tree imaginable would have looked like a flower next to the massive structure.

With a hesitant glance, Traphis steadied his grip in preparation for the climb.

"Legend has it that in order to scale the sides, one must have complete faith in himself," Rexor said. "If he does not, then he is not deemed worthy to remain climbing and is sent hurtling to the waters below."

"It's just a mountain," Traphis said. "It doesn't have a mind of its own."

"It is only a legend."

A large wave slapped against a nearby spike and splashed droplets of water against Traphis' cheek. He wiped them away and said, "Have you climbed it before?"

"No. I have scaled many mountains, but none as great as this."

The words were far from encouraging. If Rexor had never tested such a formidable climb, then Traphis' chances of making it seemed even slimmer than before.

Without another word, Rexor began his ascent.

Traphis watched him go and then decided he better follow before he got too far behind. After inspecting the rocky structure, he located a groove at an arm's length above, reached up, and took hold. "How will we get inside?" he asked. "Won't the entrance be guarded?"

"If we were taking the entrance," Rexor said, his voice rose for Traphis to hear. "We would not be here."

"But where—" Traphis stopped in mid sentence; he realized that Rexor was too far to hear his words.

"I can do this," Traphis said. He reached for the next finger hold faster than he thought possible. Using all his strength and all his energy, he climbed as hard as he could. Higher and higher he went, ignoring the pain in his fingertips and climbing as if there were no tomorrow. Reaching left and right, he pulled with all his might.

Time passed like water in a stream. The waves below became a distant memory. Sweat trickled from his forehead and his arms and legs began to ache, and then his hands grew weak and tired, and his feet struggled to find solid footing. Slower and slower he went.

Why am I even here? he thought. An unrecognizable sickness swam into the depths of his gut. What good will it be? I can't even use a sword. How will I be able to help my mother when I can't even help myself? If only he was here . . . why did he leave me? Didn't he care about us? Father . . .

He relaxed the tension in his fingers. It will be better to give up now, he thought. There's nothing I can do. I'm going to die one way or another.

A finger slipped.

There's no reason to go on. There's no reason to keep trying.

Two more fingers slipped, and then his hand released. Soon his other hand let go and then his body separated from the mountain.

Waves crashed against jagged rocks. Traphis gazed at them longingly. In a moment, he would meet them and then he would be free. They would release him from the pain.

But then he recognized a grip on his wrist. When he looked up, he saw the face of Rexor.

"I can't hold you forever. Or are you waiting for me to take you the rest of the way?"

"Sorry," Traphis said. He shook his head, reached for a solid hold, and said, "I don't know what came over me."

"Come, there is a small ledge just ahead."

Traphis reestablished his grip, climbed to the ledge—and with the help of Rexor—was lifted over.

"I don't know what happened," Traphis said. He sat against the hard rock and attempted to regain his breath. "One moment I was thinking good thoughts and the next I didn't care anymore."

"Perhaps some legends are true," Rexor said. "There must be a power weaved into the stone, amplifying our doubts."

"How do you resist it?"

Rexor squatted down beside Traphis. "Perhaps it is because my hope does not center upon myself."

"Your hope?"

"It is a small word, but one that opens the door to an endless journey."

"You sound as if you have been through a lot." Traphis paused. "What was it like—where you came from?"

"The ways of my homeland are very different than they are here. There is no magic, only warriors, and honor means everything, even to the point of death." Rexor got suddenly quiet; the next words he said were almost in a whisper. "I was seen as a man without honor. For this, they sealed me in a wooden box, pushed me into the great waters, and left me to drift until death. The thrashings of the waves and vastness of the waters were far beyond my control, but by the grace of the Founder, He kept me afloat."

"How did you escape?"

"He sent a Claymear to guide me to land and free me from my confines. It is because of this I have lived to be here this day."

"That must have been frightening."

"When the Founder saved me from death," Rexor continued. "I learned a new way of life. I no longer lived for myself. My old desires were replaced with new ones, and my heart took on a new shape. I no longer felt lost and confused, but renewed with a purpose greater than any I had experienced before. To this day, I give thanks for my banishment; without it, I would not be the man I am now. No, I would be that same frightened youth from my past."

"But, if your heart was changed, doesn't that mean you lost yourself in the process?" Traphis asked.

"What I surrendered were the lies and bondage that controlled me. The true man known as Rexor was hidden beneath. The Founder showed me who I really was and who I could become."

Traphis shook his head. The concept of changing one's heart seemed strange. He thought of his own heart and wondered what it was that caused him to nearly fall to his death. Looking up, he asked, "How much farther?"

"According to the documents I memorized, we are approaching halfway."

Flicking a tiny stone with his finger, Traphis watched it roll over the edge. "You have been planning this for a long time, haven't you?"

Rexor nodded.

"And if I fall, it will be for nothing?"

"The power of Tyron has the ability to force doubts into your mind, but it is you who chooses to let them take control. He cannot control your actions, only you have the ability to do that. Take charge of your thoughts and redirect them. Control is the essence of Tyron's power. Those who are weak of mind and weak of heart become his vessels. That is why the wolvarks obey his command."

"But wolvarks aren't human," Traphis said.

"They are still human, in soul, but not completely in mind and body. Their senses have been overpowered by the beast within."

"There's something I still don't understand. How does Tyron change a man into a wolvark?"

Rexor shifted uncomfortably on the ledge. "It is not a pleasant procedure. In the mountain you may see for yourself. But now we must go."

Rexor stood, latched onto the side, and, like before, took the lead.

Traphis closed his eyes, inhaled the cool mountain air, and then followed behind. Although the stone was cold against his fingers, he ignored the numbness and continued on. In an attempt to force positive thoughts into his mind, he pictured the dark clouds above as white, and the mountain he was climbing as a lush green hill. The idea seemed silly at first, but the more he focused on good thoughts, the faster he climbed.

After a time, he wondered about his friends. Secretly, he hoped that they were searching for a way to help him, but even if they had found something useful, it would take days for them to travel to the mountain, not to mention the difficulty of finding a way inside once they arrived. But the idea gave him comfort all the same.

Traphis came across a level surface, which provided a place to take a brief rest. He only did so long enough for the feeling to return to his fingers. Rexor was so fast that Traphis couldn't risk getting too far behind. The occasional passing by of loose rocks was the only evidence that the man was still there.

After returning to the task at hand, Traphis came to an elevation in the stone. The side of the mountain angled out and shot over his head as if it had grown an upside down nose. He studied the arch and then reached for a solid hold. It took several tries before he found one he trusted.

With a heave, Traphis raised a hand and grabbed firmly at an open groove. The action lifted his body away from the mountain's edge, forcing him to hang solely by the strength of his fingers. Blood rushed down his arms and into his feet. Pressure built up in his forehead as he strained to pull himself up another notch. The muscles in his arms worked at their maximum peak as they bulged and quivered to hold him up. It was at this time that he was thankful for growing up tending fields and chopping wood. The use of his arms then had built up the ability to endure this long amount of physical strain now.

Again, he pulled himself up by one arm. The veins in his forehead stood out like worms moving under a thin layer of dirt. He took a deep breath to gain an extra bit of strength, and then he pulled himself forward again and again, this time without stopping. Thrusting his arms out one after the other, he let his legs hang loose, as if they were asking to be let back to the ground. He refused to let that happen. With one last heave, he reached the top of the ledge, pulled himself over the lip, and collapsed onto his back.

Traphis' sides heaved as he drew in long breaths of the thick, mountain air. He could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest as it pumped the blood back into his veins.

The head of Rexor appeared just above his own. "There is no time for rest," he said. "I have found the way inside."

# Chapter 27

SKINNY JACK KNEELED on the dusty attic floor with the amulet in hand. Light from the frosted windows flowed through open gaps in the silver object, which were cut around the two arms etched into the center. A yawn escaped his lips as the absence of sleep began to take hold.

He stood up, staggered over to the wooden table in the center of the room, and collapsed on a chair. "We'll go find Traphis," he said with yawn. "But let me rest first."

Before he had a chance to close his eyes, Kip walked over and shook his arm. "We need to go now—" Her words cut short. "What is that?" she asked.

"What is what?" Skinny Jack pulled his arm away.

Kip pointed at the table. "Can't you see it?"

Skinny Jack tilted his head and then noticed a small, greenish light on the surface of the table. It burned against the wood in the shape of a small tree.

"How long has it been doing that?" Skinny Jack asked.

"I don't know," Kip said. "I just noticed it."

"Maybe it is a seal," Saleena said.

Her sudden presence made Skinny Jack jump. It was eerie how quickly and quietly she could creep up on him. And then the voice of an old man spoke. "Indeed it is a seal."

All three heads turned. Skinny Jack twisted so fast that he became unbalanced on his chair and fell to the floor.

"Do not be alarmed," the man said. "I am just as surprised to see you here."

The figure stepped into the light and Skinny Jack recognized him instantly. "Falin?"

"When Traphis found this place," Falin said. "I had a suspicion it was not by chance. He had been guided here for some purpose, and now I see what that purpose was."

Skinny Jack followed the path of Falin's gaze, which directed toward his chest where the amulet hung.

"Thankfully," Falin continued, "I stamped my seal on the table so that I could come back here. Though I had no idea others would be waiting for me." He rubbed his white beard and motioned toward the amulet. "Might I take a look at that?" he asked.

Skinny Jack froze to the floor. With a questioning look from Kip and Saleena, he finally rose to his feet, marched over to Falin, and handed him the amulet. "Sorry," he said, rubbing the top of his head. "We were just trying to help."

Falin lifted the amulet and examined it. "To believe this still exists," he said at length.

"What is it?" Skinny Jack asked.

Falin rotated the amulet in his hand and then peered into Skinny Jack's eyes. His features were so stern and serious that Skinny Jack cringed. After a moment, the old man's eyes softened. "If Traphis has gone to face Tyron as you said, then we must bring this to him at once."

"We were just about to do that, Controller," Kip said. She shyly stepped forward. "We only discovered the amulet a moment ago."

Falin smiled at her and said, "This was indeed a great find, but how do you intend to bring it to him?"

The blood drained from Skinny Jack's cheeks. He glanced at Kip and Saleena, who looked back at him. How was he supposed to tell Falin without betraying Traphis?

"I will be the one to tell him," Saleena said. She approached Skinny Jack, leaned over, and stuffed her hand into his pocket. A moment later, she withdrew the Revealers and raised them for Falin to see.

Falin closed his eyes, exhaled, and then nodded his head.

"Please, don't be mad," Skinny Jack said as he bowed. "Traphis wanted me to keep it a secret. I think he was worried you wouldn't like me having them."

"Indeed," Falin said. He opened his eyes and tugged at his beard.

Skinny Jack cringed. In the past, whenever he withheld information from his father, a beating soon followed. He hoped that Falin would be easier on him.

After a long pause, Falin spoke again. "Under the circumstances, I think I can overlook what happened."

Skinny Jack released his breath, which he had been holding longer than he realized.

"It is not by chance we met here," Falin said. "For without me, you would not be able to reach him in time. And without you, I would not have found the amulet so soon, if at all." He handed Skinny Jack the Revealers. "I assume Traphis marked himself before he gave these to you. Please, track him now."

With an uneasy motion, Skinny Jack took the Revealers from Falin and put them on his face. "Show: Traphis," he said. A red beam instantly extended from the frames and shot down the opening in the floor.

"Please," Falin said. "Lead the way."

They walked down the narrow steps and reached the hallway at the bottom. In doing so, the Attic of Elders became unoccupied once again.

Lit by the Revealers, the hallway was easy for Skinny Jack to see. The others had to rely on Kip's golden film—though Saleena and Falin could have easily produced their own light.

Silence followed the four travelers as they navigated the narrow hallways. More than once Skinny Jack turned around only to find that he was alone and had to go back to find the party again.

"I thought we were in a hurry," Skinny Jack had said.

"Too much haste makes tired bones," was Falin's response. "We have a long journey ahead and if we use all our energy now, it will become even longer."

The old wizard did have a point, but Skinny Jack wondered if it was just an excuse to keep from having to walk too quickly. He realized that one day he would be old too, so he tried to be patient, but it was like holding back a pack of wild learcats.

Should he relax now, Skinny Jack knew he would be too tired to continue. It was hard enough staying awake as it was. If he were to guess the time of day, he would have picked nighttime, which meant this was the second night he'd go without sleep.

After rounding a corner, he noticed that the red beam ended at a doorway. Stepping up to the entrance, he twisted the handle, but the door remained shut tight.

"Please, allow me," Falin said as soon as he caught up. He brushed past Skinny Jack and pressed a hand against the side of the door. Green light shot from the edges and, with a twist, the door cracked open.

Skinny Jack finally understood what Falin meant by him making their journey faster. The Revealers had led them to a Nomadic Room, and there was no way the three of them would have been able to open it on their own. They would have had to go back to the entrance of the WC, convince a wizard to let them out, and then wander for who knew how long.

"Everyone," Falin said. "Please, stand with me and close the door. It is here that our true journey begins."

* * *

Skinny Jack expected to see the sky, clouds, trees, and birds. Instead, there was only darkness. What made it worse was the complete absence of sound. Not even the exhaustive breathing of Falin could be heard. It was as if everyone had disappeared the instant the door to the Nomadic Room shut.

Not only that, but he sensed that he was falling. At first, he spread apart his arms and flapped them like the wings of a bird, but after awhile, he realized it was pointless to resist.

A bright flash of light forced him to shut his eyes, and once he realized he was no longer plummeting through the air, he opened them again.

More darkness met his gaze, yet this time he could make out a flickering light, which revealed a shadow of a pointed hat and a long stick. Two more, shorter shadows, fluttered against what appeared to be a stone wall.

In the distance, he heard a steady dripping, and the smell of dampness entered his nostrils. As soon as his vision cleared, he took a step forward. A hard object caught the tip of his toe, which caused him to stumble. In an attempt to keep from falling, he flailed his arms. Thankfully, he managed to regain his balance, but not before he realized that he was being watched.

"And you call me the clumsy one," a girl's voice said.

Skinny Jack spun around, ready to pounce, but as soon as he did all that met him were the backs of his companions.

"Don't get behind," Kip said.

"Wait." Skinny Jack hopped forward only to stumble on another rock. "You don't know where to go."

"To the entrance of the cave, genius," Kip said. "Where else?"

Thankfully, for Skinny Jack, the entrance was nearby. When he made it to the opening, he gazed out at an array of trees and plants, and high up in the sky were countless stars.

"So it _is_ night," Skinny Jack said. He felt a chill go deeper than his flesh.

"Where's Traphis?" Kip asked.

Falin lifted his staff and a moment later the tip glowed green. "Will you show us the way?"

Skinny Jack looked around and then realized that Falin was talking to him. Having taken the Revealers off in the Nomadic Room (as commanded to by Falin), he reached for them, placed them back over his eyes, and then spoke the command.

As before, a red light etched a pathway, which went deep into the forest.

"Isn't it dangerous to enter the woods at night?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Not as dangerous as what Traphis faces," Falin said.

"Get going," Kip said. She pushed him forward. "Show us where to go."

Skinny Jack shivered. Other than Traphis, Kip was the only one who knew about his fear of darkness. Even as a child he could remember fighting with his sister to determine whether or not a candle would be lit before bedtime. It wasn't so much the darkness, but what might be hiding in the darkness that bothered him. In the daytime, he could see what was coming, but in the nighttime, there was something unsettling about not seeing the unknown dangers.

Thankfully, his fear of the darkness was not as great as his fear of being seen as weak, so he decided to act brave. Even if it took all his strength to do so.

"There is one thing we should do before we go," Falin said. "I suggest we mark this place so that we can find it again, otherwise, it could be a long journey back."

"Good idea," Skinny Jack said. "Mark: Forest Cave."

"That's a dumb name," Kip said.

He shot her a scowl, took a deep breath, and then did the impossible: he stomped off into the thickness of the dark forest.

* * *

Even with his efforts at bravery, every sound made Skinny Jack jump. The forest was crowded with bushes, trees, dense foliage, and massive boulders. Each step forced him through thick grass and over husky logs. Whenever he had to jump over something, or duck under an unbending branch, he found himself losing his balance. On more than one occasion, he fell into the mud—at least that's what he told himself it was; mud was better than the alternative. These woods were infested with creatures after all.

"Ouch!" Kip screamed from behind him. "Don't let the branches swing behind you, that one was sharp."

"Sorry," Skinny Jack said. "I didn't know you were back there."

"Where did you think I was?"

"Back there, yes, but not so close."

"I wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

"Do you know where we're going?"

Skinny Jack shook his head. "I told you before; I can only see a little ways ahead."

"That's what I thought," Kip said. "So you don't know how much longer it will take, do you?"

"I thought I was the one afraid of darkness."

"I'm not afraid."

"What do you call it then?"

"I just want to get out of these woods; these bugs are biting me."

"Really?" Skinny Jack was genuinely interested. "I haven't felt a thing."

"That's because you taste sour."

Skinny Jack laughed. "Thanks," he said. "I needed to be cheered up."

"That wasn't my . . . oh, never mind."

"You didn't come up here to ask me that, did you?"

There was a pause. "No," Kip said at length. "Do you think he's all right?"

Slipping on a wet stone, Skinny Jack threw his arms back to rebalance. "I don't know. "Right now we need to worry about ourselves."

Kip suddenly stopped. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I heard it again."

"It's just a woblock," Skinny Jack said.

"Not the bird. What's that place up ahead?" Kip pointed.

"Looks like a clearing."

"Good, maybe there are fewer bugs there."

"I thought you heard something."

"I did, but it's gone now."

"What was it?"

"It sounded like something big."

"Since when were you able to determine size based on sound?"

"By the way the ground shook," Kip said. "You didn't feel that?"

"Don't be . . . wait, did you say the ground shook?"

"Yes."

"I didn't feel anything." Skinny Jack poked his head through the clearing. "There's just a lot of grass with no trees."

Kip pushed Skinny Jack into the open range.

"Don't shove me, I almost fell over."

She rubbed at her arms. "The bugs," she said. "They stopped biting me." She bent down, washed her hands in a small puddle, noticed something, and then looked up. "You can see the stars clearly from here."

Skinny Jack lifted his head, but not high enough to see the stars. Two other white, circular objects caught his attention at the edge of the clearing. Connected to the round shapes was a lumpy gourd-like protrusion. "K-Kip." He could not get the words out. "Over th-th-there."

"What are you stammering about?" she asked.

"A-ah, head in the forest." He paused to gather his breath. "Between those two trees—no, higher up."

"There's nothing there." Kip followed his gaze and then froze. "Did I just see something blink?"

The ground began to shake and the most awful sound broke the silence.

"It sounds like laughter," Kip said.

"Where's Falin?" Skinny Jack kept his eyes on what appeared to be a head the size of his torso.

"He's back with Saleena," Kip said.

"What are they doing back there?"

"It's your fault for walking so fast. I had to run to catch up with you."

"It's not my—"

A deep, booming voice cut him off. It sounded something like, "Groug, moun, creycree."

And then three long sticks with an even longer branch emerged from the forest. Soon after, Skinny Jack realized it was no tree, but the gigantic form of a moarock.

# Chapter 28

AFTER HAVING CAUGHT his breath, Traphis forced himself back to his feet. The muscles in his arms throbbed and the tendons in his fingers stiffened and snapped. The climb had been the most physically demanding task he had ever performed. And now it was at an end. Yet, instead of finding satisfaction in this, Traphis' heart sank to the bottom of his stomach; there was little else standing between him and the inside of the Black Mountain.

Rexor motioned for him to approach the rock wall.

"I don't see the opening," Traphis said. He crossed the ledge and examined the side of the mountain. "Where's the entrance?"

"What do you believe?" Rexor asked.

The cool night air ruffled Traphis' hair. "What does belief have to do with the entrance?" he asked. "Either there is one or there isn't."

"How do you know what is truth?"

Traphis shook his head. The tension in his gut was already enough to make him sick; he didn't have the patience to deal with needless questions too. All he wanted to do was get the journey over with as soon as possible. "How does being philosophical help us find the way in?"

"Stop for a moment and think. Then give me your answer."

It was obvious that Rexor wouldn't just tell him what he needed to know. He would have to come up with something, anything, just to move forward. There was no doubt that the man was once a companion of Falin; they both liked to make things harder than necessary.

With a sigh, Traphis scanned his mind. What did he believe and what was truth? After a moment of deliberation, he answered, "You will have a different answer from each person you ask. So truth and belief are not absolute, therefore, what I believe doesn't matter." He cringed at the words that came from his mouth; he was beginning to sound more like Falin: technical and rigid.

"How can you be certain?" Rexor asked.

"What do you mean?"

"To say that something is not absolute requires an absolute statement, which is a contradiction."

Now Traphis was confused. He looked around as if someone was going to jump out and say it was all a joke, but he knew no such person was there.

"Why are we talking about this now? Don't we have to hurry? My mother . . ."

"You must know what is trustworthy," Rexor said, "before you face Tyron."

"So, I'm supposed to trust in myself, right? I get it, let's go."

"No, not yourself. There are no greater lies than those spoken by our innermost being. Nor is there anything that requires more painstaking change. But since you think that is the answer, tell me, what do you consider to be yourself?"

Traphis groaned. "I am me, here, standing right next to you."

"How do you know you are standing here?"

Traphis shook his head. "Because I can see the ground. I can see the dark cloudy sky above. And I can see there is no entrance."

"Sight," Rexor said. "You are describing one of your senses. Is that all you are?"

"Fine then. Because I can smell your damp clothes, because I can hear the wind blowing through the mountain peak, and because I can touch the stone on the side of this mountain . . ." Traphis stopped. His fingers passed through the rock surface as if it had been made of water.

"You did not see the entrance, because you believed your eyes. You trust what your senses tell you, but they are not the definition of truth; they can be easily deceived. There is more to us than the physical, Traphis, and you will need to open yourself to greater possibilities if you are to succeed."

"What does truth and belief have to do with success?"

"It is because of this: some things are true whether you believe in them or not. Just as some things exist outside of your physical senses."

"I still don't understand."

"That is why you are able to learn. You are willing to listen, and for now, that is enough. Before we enter the mountain, I must say something else. I speak more of a caution than a command, but whatever you do, do not use magic. Not unless you absolutely have to."

"Why? Isn't that the reason Falin trained me? How else am I going to save my mother?"

"This is not a natural mountain. It is guarded by many spells. The sooner it finds you, the more complicated your journey will become."

"Find me? The mountain?"

Rexor stood to his feet and approached the rocky surface. "Follow behind me," he said and then he took a step forward.

"Wait," Traphis said, but it was too late. Rexor disappeared as if he had been swallowed up by the wall. The distant crashing of waves became Traphis' only companion.

He remembered the tree, which he and Falin took to reenter the WC. This looked similar to that, only there was stone instead of wood.

Biting his lip, he decided not to hold back. The next instant he threw himself against the mountainside.

_Darkness_. That was his next thought. No matter where he moved, he could see nothing. And then coolness settled against his skin. Each breath felt like a winter's chill. It was as if they had entered a deep cave, much deeper than the one back home.

"From here on we walk in silence." It was the voice of Rexor.

"Where are you?" Traphis asked. He reached out and a cold hand touched his own.

"I am beside you. We must be quiet."

"But I can't see anything. How do we know where we're going?"

"Would you know if you could see?"

Traphis paused to consider. "I guess not," he said, and wanted to add, _though it would sure make me feel better_ , but decided to keep that thought to himself. "Do we at least know where we're going to?"

"To the center of the mountain." Rexor let go of Traphis. "That is where the heart of Tyron is." His voice began to fade.

"Wait, don't leave me behind." He stretched out an arm until it came into contact with a hard, flat surface. Traphis understood this to be the inner wall, so he used it to guide him forward.

A drip of water echoed throughout the cavern, but otherwise all was silent. He trudged through the thick, sandy ground, and then whispered, "What is the heart of Tyron and what do we do when we get there?"

"I have not seen it myself, but I imagine we will know when we arrive."

Based on the direction of Rexor's voice, Traphis guessed that the man was using the wall opposite him—on the left hand side. "That isn't very helpful."

"It does no good to tell one lies. If we are to be prepared, we must know the truth of the situation."

"Maybe so, but sometimes it's nice to pretend."

"That is what people like. To ignore what is bad, or what is hard and difficult. That is why Tyron has so few to oppose him." A breeze suddenly swished passed them. "We must remain quiet; we do not know what to expect."

_What to expect_ , Traphis thought. Perhaps Rexor was right. Perhaps it was better not to think about it.

* * *

Time passed. How much, Traphis was unable to tell. He continued to follow along the wall, using both hands as a guide in the darkness. Occasionally, he came across something soft or slimy, but when he did, he simply wiped it away. There were places where the rock felt more like sand as it crumbled under his touch, and others where the stone was so sharp that he had to pull away for a time, which forced him to guess at his trajectory. There were so many twists and turns that Traphis wondered if he had passed by several pathways, but even if he had, there was no way to know where they went.

He could no longer hear his companion, but dared not call out to him for fear of being discovered by the magic of the mountain. Still, the feeling that he was alone persisted in his mind.

After awhile, a cool breeze rose from the depths of the tunnel. At first, Traphis paid it little attention, but as time passed, it began to grow stronger.

A flicker of light filled the tunnel. The sudden brightness of it dropped Traphis to his knees. His eyes stung as if someone had just poked them. He grabbed his head to steady the dizziness. By the time he opened his eyes again, he noticed a shape floating in the air. It faded after a moment, but reappeared with each blink of the eye—an afterimage of the light. Immediately, he called out to Rexor, but there was no reply.

And then the breeze became a blistering wind. Traphis raised his arm to shield his eyes, but the wind only came faster and faster. He fought against it, struggling to stand, but it was too strong; a howling whistle sounded as the wind overpowered him and tossed him to the ground. He dug his fingers into the sand as he strove to hold himself still, and then two things became clear: the mountain knew he was there, and Rexor was gone.

* * *

"Who are you?" Rexor asked. The nervousness in his own voice caught him off guard. A ghostly figure had appeared before him and then vanished. Round dots of light, each the size of a fist, scattered into the tunnel where the ghostly body had been. The lights came at Rexor like a swarm of poisonous insects. He ducked, but they stopped just above his head. To his surprise, they did not attack, but slowly circled as if forming into a halo.

A haunting, yet familiar voice called to him. It was that of a woman. "Shino . . . Shino Tezuka."

Unconsciously, Rexor's hand moved to the hilt of his sword and grasped it firmly.

"Come home to me," the voice continued.

_That voice_ , he thought. _It can't be. But she's dead_. "No! Go Away Spirit!" he shouted. "Keep away from me!"

"Shino . . ." The haunting figure reappeared directly in front of him.

Rexor involuntarily relaxed his grip. "Kimagi?"

"Come home to me," she said. "There is nothing for you here."

"But," he said in a weak voice, and then forced his words to become rough and determined. "I cannot. I have to keep going."

"You've done your task. You brought him to us. Now is the time for you to rest, and for us to be together once again."

Fighting against the intensity inside himself, the veins on his brow bulged and his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. As it did, the ghost reached out her arms and gently put her hands against his cheeks. He could feel their cold, soft touch as they caressed his skin. A tear crept down as his shaking arm drew the sword and thrust it out in front of him.

The ghost winced back and then an evil expression entered her face.

"You are not Kimagi," he said, regaining his strength. The balls of light over his head turned to fire, and a gaseous cloud of smoke formed around the ghostly figure. Red light shot out from the mist and a new form appeared. Where there once was a beautiful face, three eyes materialized, one atop a wrinkled, leathery forehead. Above a bald scalp, two horns protruded from the sides, and below a hooked nose, a large, gaping mouth snarled with long, curved fangs.

The sound of thunder and the flickering of lightning emerged. Rexor's shadow danced against the cavern walls, and a frightful chill lurched inside his gut as a curdling growl emitted from the mist. Without giving it much thought, he charged forward and jumped at the ghastly image. His body lifted into the air and then landed on the sandy ground. With a backward glance, he saw that he had dove straight through the apparition and ended up on the far side. Before the thing could turn around and face him, Rexor broke into a run. He navigated the tunnel as fast as he could with the trailing balls of fire following above. Thankfully, they did not impose any threat. Rather, they provided enough light for him to see several paces ahead.

Not far away, there was an opening in the cave. Once he arrived, he skidded to a halt. A large body of water—much like a small river—streamed from right to left. The river was only as wide as three men were, but he had no idea how far it went. If it were not for the flat, faceless rock on the far side, he would have attempted to swim across.

Rexor looked up at the flaming balls circling his head like moths by a lamp, and instantly knew they would give away his position. There was only one way to get rid of them. With a deep breath, he jumped into the water. Sound immediately deadened as if he had been pushed into a coffin. With a gulp, his body lurched from the frigid cold.

Air bubbles exited his clothing as they strove to reach the surface—back to where they belonged. Where he belonged, but unlike the air in the bubbles, only death awaited him there. The water was his only chance of escape. With each stroke of his arms, a murky substance rose and floated into his path, making it hard to see, but—and surprisingly enough—the flaming followers did not dowse upon entering the wetness. Instead, they bubbled and warmed the water around him. Rexor was glad they were there to act as a light in the darkness; he needed to see where he was going, but where he was going to he did not know. Just the task of moving forward was challenge enough.

* * *

The wind had pushed Traphis several feet from his last position. Finger marks trailed in the sand to where he lay—on his stomach with his head facing down. Because there was no light in the cave, his sense of sight was useless. Equally useless were his ears, which filled with the humming of the blowing wind. In addition, he couldn't feel anything but the piercing sand, which sharply bit at his exposed skin.

Traphis tried to breathe through his fingers to keep from choking, but he knew this would only last for a short time. Each moment that went by increased the speed and ferocity of the attack. Soon he would be buried below a thick layer of the stony grains.

Suffocating was his worst fear of dying, and here he was soon to experience that fate. At least he would be able to see his father again, soon. That is, if the Founder allowed him to. Not having read much about the ways of the Founder, Traphis' knowledge of the next life was limited. All he knew was that the Founder created this world and formed all life in it, which begot more life. His mother had told him when his father had died that, life never ended, it just moved on to a new adventure.

Traphis hoped that whatever place his father ended up at would be the same place he went to, but no matter how much he wished, he knew he could no more control where he went when he died than where he came when he entered this life.

A slight tingling sensation entered his hand and then he realized he was being foolish. Now was not the time to think of death. He had been discovered by the mountain, so there was nothing keeping him from using magic anymore. Especially since he was about to be buried unless he did something.

With a tight squeeze, Traphis rubbed his thumb over the inside of his finger. Thankfully, the ring was still there—it had not fallen off. Now all he had to do was activate it.

Falin was right—traveling through the magical gates became easier and easier with time. He barely blinked before he found himself standing on a new layer of sand. All around him was the blue of the sky and water, which stood out against the white island. If only there was a way to physically enter the island he would have been safe, but that's not how it worked. He knew as all wizards knew: only the mind traveled to the Blue, and if the body dies, so does the mind.

With his physical body stuck in the dark tunnel—attempting to breathe through the thick sand—Traphis sought to find a solution in the Blue. He had to save his mother, and nothing, not even the mountain, would stop him. A peculiar sensation washed over him like the waves on the blue waters. Even though he was in the midst of an assault, a sudden peace came over him.

Determination, resolve, and fearlessness grew in his heart. It came from within as a seed planted deep in the ground, which sprouted and burst through the surface. How long that seed had been planted there, he did not know. Perhaps it had been there since the beginning of time, or perhaps it had been placed by the Founder Himself. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't waste anymore time—even though he could have stayed where he was until the end of time. With a deep breath, he grabbed a handful of the white sand, plunged it into the gooey water, and then released his grip.

Instantly, the Blue faded and the darkness of the tunnel returned. Suddenly, a glow of red light appeared in front of his eyes. It cut through the darkness like a small fire in the depths of a large forest, and a steady vibration danced against the center of his finger.

Had it worked? Was the ring activated? He realized that he could breathe again. After a moment's hesitation, Traphis pushed himself up and onto his shins. Sand slid down his clothing and filled the body-shaped hole in the ground. The wind had gone.

The moment Traphis stretched out the stiffness in his arms, a gust of wind hit him square in the chest. He flew back several paces, frantically grabbed at the ground, and then came to a complete halt. Then the wind stopped like before.

Under the circumstances, he decided to lie still a moment longer. It seemed as if the mountain was playing a game with him. The moment he rose, it pushed him farther away. Depending on how often this occurred, he realized it would only be a matter of time before he was hurled back to the entrance, which led down to the crashing waves and jagged rocks.

Gathering up all his courage, Traphis knew he had to try again. He rolled onto his knees and then lifted his torso. To his relief, there was no wind.

Red light extended from the ring and exposed the sides of the tunnel. It wasn't as wide as he had imagined, but the stone surface was as black as the outside of the mountain. Above him, the roof extended only twice his height. Countless stalactites covered the surface, which pointed down like thorns on a bush.

Dark brown sand fell to the ground as Traphis brushed at his clothing. After shaking like a wild animal that had just taken a bath, he lowered his hand. Another burst of wind disheveled his features and threatened to throw him back to the ground. As soon as he lifted a hand to his face, the wind stopped again.

Traphis regarded the ring. A cutout shape of a flame glowed red against the surface. This must have been his own, unique mark. Excitement ran through his veins; his signature came at last. Yet he knew that now was not the time to celebrate. All around the light extended beyond his reach. Was it possible that the ring was stopping the wind? To test his theory, he extended his right hand so that it was not directly in front of his body. Sure enough, another blast of wind came barreling toward him. Without hesitation, he lifted his arm and then all was peaceful once again.

When he glanced at his side, he realized for the first time that little particles of sand were flying past. They moved so quickly that they appeared as little more than a blur.

It was no wonder why Falin had given him the ring. The silver band was far more useful than he had ever imagined. Not only could it be used as a key to the WC, but it also acted as a shield. The small tremor of excitement resurfaced as he thought of the possibilities, but the feeling soon faded as he remembered the task ahead.

# Chapter 29

FOR MOST OF his life, Skinny Jack looked down on children his own age. Not the kind of looking down where he saw them as inferior, but the actual, physical lowering of his eyes.

Even though he was teased for being skinny, he took pride in his height. Being just as physically strong as they were, his muscles stretched over a longer surface, which made him appear weaker than he really was. This illusion gave him an advantage whenever he got into a fight. On almost every occasion, the aggressors expected an easy win, but ended dumbfounded when locked into a hold they couldn't break out of. He may not have been able to throw a solid punch, but his long limbs never failed to grapple any foe.

In this instance, however, Skinny Jack found himself in one of those rare occurrences where he had to look up. Way up. The figure standing before him was so far above that—even if he were to suddenly double in height—he couldn't have reached its forehead.

The moarock's big toes were as thick as Skinny Jack's wrists. Dirty feet connected to hideous legs, which were covered in a thick layer of hair and mud. Grateful that the giant had the decency to cover its pelvis and chest, Skinny Jack couldn't help but gag at the rancid smell that emitted from underneath.

A gust of wind triggered a choking sound from Kip. "What do we do?" she asked, keeping her voice to a whisper. It sounded nasally, as if she spoke with her nose pinched.

Not taking his eyes off the bald, lumpy head of the moarock, Skinny Jack motioned for Kip to step backward. As she did, he slowly slid a foot behind him. The action caused the moarock to take a step forward, which shook the ground as if a large boulder had been dropped.

Skinny Jack paused, expecting the beast to take another step, but it stayed as still as he was. Large, blue retinas gazed down at him, unblinking. Its puffy lips were shut tight, hiding any signs of emotion.

The towering mass stood before him, unpredictable, unreadable. As with most beasts, unpredictable meant dangerous, especially when it could squash him like a bug.

He bit his lip, took another step back, and then froze. The moarock mimicked his movements. Its eyes blinked and then, suddenly, the monster's mouth released a deep, echoing pulsation.

To Skinny Jack's horror, the noise sounded something like laughter. Without hesitation, he took two more steps back. Again, the moarock mirrored his movements. Only, this time, it raised its branch-like arms, clapped its hands together, and then bellowed louder than before.

The vibrations that followed knocked Skinny Jack onto his hindquarters, which caused the moarock to tilt its head back and howl in a flurry of pleasure.

"It thinks you are playing a game," Kip said.

"Really funny. Now how can I tell it to play by my rules?"

"From what I've read, a moarock has the intelligence of a young child, but I've never seen a real one before."

"Historic moment aside, we need to find a way out of here."

"First we have to—" Kip's words were cut short when a greenish light formed around the feet of the moarock. The grass around the light grew upward until it reached the giant's knees. Then, the thick greenery rotated, twisted, and locked into place.

By the time the moarock noticed what was happening, the grass had established a firm grip against the lower half of its body. Instantly, the childlike beast bent over and tore at the blades, but its fingers were too stubby to latch on. With a groan, it rocked back and forth on its heels, apparently in an attempt to pull away.

In one final violent thrust, the giant became unbalanced. Its arms waved from left to right, and then the hulking form tipped and bent forward.

"I think it's time we moved," Skinny Jack said. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed Kip's arm, and ran for the thicket. He couldn't have timed it any closer. The moment they dove into the forest, the giant landed flat on its face with a loud thud.

Buds fell from the branches of nearby trees and birds fluttered into the air. Fists thumped against the earth as a deep sob filled the night sky.

"Do not worry," an elderly voice said. "He will not break the hold."

Skinny Jack spun around and saw Falin lowering his staff.

"Once we distance ourselves," Falin continued, "I will release him. They are simple creatures and mean no harm, but it is best not to take our chances."

"Thanks." Skinny Jack relaxed the tension in his shoulders. "I'm glad you finally caught up."

"Yes, thank you," Kip said. "I wouldn't want the moarock to grab my little brother and stretch him out any longer than he already is." She laughed.

Skinny Jack crossed his arms. "Very funny," he said. "Let's go before I decide to leave you behind, for good."

* * *

"Leave him alone!"

The voice sounded like Kip, but why was she in his dream? Even Skinny Jack needed a place where his sister didn't intrude.

"Get back!"

There it was again. For some reason she was yelling. Why wouldn't she just let him sleep?

"Do not panic, you will only make it angry." This voice sounded like Falin's, but what was he doing in his dream? Everything was so peaceful right now. Relaxing. He patted the soft mossy ground. It was a comfortable bed, but something sharp poked against his cheek.

"Jack, get up!"

Kip again. She was beginning to get on his nerves, but the pain on his cheek was becoming even more annoying. Lifting a hand, he blindly navigated his face. Something thin and cold was stuck against it. When he tried to remove the object, he felt a tug against his ear. Whatever it was had wrapped itself around his face. How annoying.

"We have to distract it," Falin said, "or it will attack him."

He would have to . . . open his eyes and . . . remove the sharp . . .

"Now!" Falin's cry sounded distressed.

There was a rumbling and a strike like thunder. Skinny Jack's peaceful rest vanished. With a surge of anger, he jerked his head upward and blinked his eyes. Several blurry shapes warped together and formed into human bodies.

"If it tries to hit you with a bolt," Falin said, "dodge it. Otherwise, you will not see the coming light of day."

The wiry object twisted against Skinny Jack's face, and then, it all came back to him. He was wearing the Revealers—that's what was poking him. The last thing he remembered was walking through the forest and then sitting down to take a short break. He straightened the Revealers and cursed. He had fallen asleep.

"Sorry," he said, getting to his feet. "I was really tired . . ." He yawned.

"Do not move." Falin stood only a few paces away. His staff pointed directly at him.

"Wait, I said I was sorry, you don't have to—"

A beam of light shot from the tip of the staff.

Skinny Jack ducked and rolled away. A stone grazed the back of his head. When he regained his footing, pain surged throughout his skull. "Why did you . . ." Skinny Jack rubbed at the bump. A short distance away—above the mossy ground, where he had been sleeping—a burning torch came into view.

"A torch?" Skinny Jack asked. The odd thing was that it had no handle. He got back to his feet and peered at the light. To his amazement, it wasn't a torch at all, but a bright, burning ball of yellowish flame.

The greenish beam of light, which came from Falin's staff, connected with the flame.

"It's not a torch," Kip said. "It's a will-o'-the-wisp." She stood several paces behind Falin, holding a defensive sheet of magic in her hands.

"It approached when you were sleeping," Kip continued. "Since you were so tired, we decided to let you rest for awhile, but we're on a marsh."

"What does a marsh have to do with anything?" Skinny Jack asked.

"You've read more books than me. You should know that will-o'-the-wisps come out at twilight and are always near wetlands."

"Twilight? How long was I asleep?"

Falin moved his staff closer to the will-o'-the-wisp. As he did, the beam thickened and forced the will-o'-the-wisp back. "This is a strong one," he said.

An instant later, a bolt of lightning shot out of the glowing ball and struck Kip. She flew backward and landed with a thud.

"No!" Skinny Jack yelled. He ran to her side as fast as his sleepy legs would carry him. When he got there, he kneeled over her body. Her eyes were shut tight and her magical sheet was nowhere to be seen.

Before his very eyes, his worst nightmare unfolded. "Kip, no, you can't die." He shook her but she remained still. Tears formed around his eyes. Kip was all he had—the only one who ever really cared about him. "Kip, come back, you can't leave me here." She was more precious to him than the rarest book in the world. "I promise I'll be a better brother, I promise I'll be nicer to you, just come back."

"Your breath stinks." Kip forced a hand to her nose and pushed him away.

Skinny Jack's jaw hung open. "I thought . . . I thought you were . . . Falin said a strike would . . ."

"I protected myself, dummy."

Skinny Jack grabbed her hand and helped her up. "Don't do that to me," he said.

"I couldn't help it. It knocked the breath out of me."

There was another crack accompanied by a flicker of light.

Skinny Jack spun around only to see burnt and blackened soil near Saleena's feet. A puff of smoke rose as she stood still and motionless.

"It hit Saleena." Skinny Jack immediately ran toward her. "We have to help her."

Saleena methodically turned her head and looked lazily at Skinny Jack. "It cannot hurt me," she said. "Water redirects energy. You are safer to stay away."

Skinny Jack skidded in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, a blast of yellow light came for him. Not wasting any time, he dove behind Falin's legs. A dark hole appeared in the ground where he stood only a moment before.

"That was close," he said, peering around Falin's knee. The will-o'-the-wisp had shrunk in size and was now only a little bigger than his fist. With one final burst of magic from Falin's staff, the wisp vanished.

Falin lowered his arm and took a deep breath. "I had forgotten how strong they were," he said. "It has been some time since I used that much energy."

"I can't believe you destroyed it," Kip said. She skipped over to the spot where the ball of fire had been only a moment before. "I heard they were impossible to kill."

"Possibilities and impossibilities are often misunderstandings," Falin said.

A cackle interrupted their conversation. Skinny Jack couldn't tell where it came from, but by the pitch, he figured the originator was nearby.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the cackle turned into a shrill voice. "There are no possibilities for wizards." The tone sounded like that of an old woman. "Your pathetic little group is no match for the likes of Tyron. Let me do you a favor and end your miserable lives here and now."

* * *

From the sound of Falin's heavy breathing, Skinny Jack could tell that the old wizard was in no condition to fight. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed that the will-o'-the-wisp was purposely sent to weaken the strongest member of their party; as soon as it had disappeared, the old woman let her presence be known.

A figure materialized and floated high in the air, revealing the hideous form of the woman, whose skin looked as if it had been smeared with dirt. Warts randomly spread across her wrinkled forehead and cheeks, and two beady, bloodshot eyes glared down at them from above her long, fat nose, which partly covered her equally fat lips. Black hair—ratted with burs and streaked with the color of blood—ran down to her waist.

Light from the rising sun glimmered through the trees and amplified the woman's black cloak. In her plump hand, a slender stick pointed directly at Falin.

"Be on your guard," Falin said. "She is a witch. Spells and trickery are her tactics."

"My dear Falin," the witch said. "You always did have a way of flattering a lady."

"Lady?" Falin laughed. "I thought I had recognized that dreadful voice. Still inhaling pus from the backs of lizards?"

A horrible cackle of laughter returned.

"Do you know her?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Don't speak about me, boy, as if I were not here." The witch crossed her arms. "I would have you know that Falin and I go way back. In fact, if I remember correctly, the last time we met he tried to kill me."

"Unfortunately, it appears that I did not succeed," Falin said.

"Wizards are no match for witches," she said. "Female agility and ingenuity outmatch the lethargic rules and traditions of you, wizards."

"She sounds like you, Kip," Skinny Jack said.

As if noticing him for the first time, the witch partially descended, though she kept out of reach—it was as if she was worried that Falin would club her with his staff.

"Since when did the Committee recruit witches?" she asked, hovering over by Kip. "And such darling little ones too."

"Not witches," Saleena said, as if this was the most natural conversation. "Wizits."

Another chuckle. "Well now, if that isn't something. A Claymear outside the water." She hovered over to Saleena and then asked, "What would you be doing in a man's place?"

"Wizits are not men," Saleena said. "We are female wizards."

"Well isn't that quaint," the witch said. "Sounds like the Committee finally got a brain. Too bad I have to kill such fine specimen." With that, the witch raised her wand. "Which one should I start with first?" The stick pointed and moved from Kip, Skinny Jack, Falin, and then back to Skinny Jack. "I don't care much for boys," she said. Her features became stern and darkness passed over her eyes. The wand twirled in her hand and sparks trickled down the shaft as she spoke the following words, "Kareema, delstata, brumbid, reckaust . . ."

_Is she really going to kill me?_ Skinny Jack thought. He tried to move, but found that his body was frozen. Perhaps that was part of her spell.

Just as the witch lifted her hand to strike, the branches of a nearby tree coiled around her wrist and jerked it away.

With a scowl, she turned to Falin and said, "I see you still use plants as a weapon." She flicked the wand and the branches shattered into pieces. "But, as you can see, I'm stronger than the last time we met, and clearly you are weaker."

The remaining bits of wood fell from the sky. Skinny Jack shaded his eyes. Something grabbed his shoulder and he gave a start. When he turned to look, Falin peered into his eyes.

"The will-o'-the-wisp used much of my energy," he said. Oddly enough, his lips were not moving. It was as if Falin passed his thoughts through the touch. "The three of you can defeat her. I will do what I can."

Falin let go of Skinny Jack. He then lumbered over to the edge of the clearing, sat down, lifted his staff, and closed his eyes.

"Decided to sit this one out, old man?" the witch said. "That makes things easier for me." She swayed back and forth in the air like a sun bug.

"Kip, Saleena," Skinny Jack said. "It's up to us."

All three instantly formed a defensive stance. Kip raised a glistening sheet of gold, Saleena formed water around her hands, and Skinny Jack produced a spinning funnel against his palm.

"And I thought this was going to be a dull day," the witch said.

While she was distracted, Skinny Jack threw the small whirlwind at her. A light-green blur sped toward the plump figure.

The witch motioned with her wand, and an instant later, the funnel dissipated. The worst part about it was that her eyes had been closed.

With a cackle, the witch opened her eyes and glared at Skinny Jack. "Wizards limit their power," she said. "But the Cloud is endless."

Another funnel formed against Skinny Jack's palm.

"What?" the witch said. "You haven't any other tricks?"

"Wizards don't use tricks," Skinny Jack said, and then a second funnel formed on his other hand.

"Well now," the witch said. "Look who thinks he's all high and mighty."

"He's right," Kip said. "We don't succumb to the control of the Cloud. We have minds and wills of our own. We are not slaves like you."

"Is that what they tell you?" The witch shook her head. "Power from your Blue only works when it wants to. Undependable. Restrictive. But the Cloud obeys my every command. It is I, not you, who has control. You do as you are told, I do as I wish, so, tell me, who among us is the slave?"

Skinny Jack glanced over at Kip, who looked as he felt: lost for words. It was true that there were times when the Blue didn't provide energy to wizards, just as when he dowsed the amulet into the magical waters. In this, what the witch said was true.

The witch lowered her wand and said, "For a boy, I think I like you, so I will give you a chance. If you embrace the power of the Cloud, I will let you live."

Skinny Jack paused to consider. What if he could do whatever he wanted? What if he could control magic without any restrictions? There would be no stopping him then.

Saleena stepped forward and addressed the witch. "You have been deceived," she said. "This _control_ that you speak of is not truly yours. Because it comes from within you, you believe that it is your own, but the desires of your heart have been twisted and formed out of the darkness. By manifesting your malicious, self-centered, and self-indulgent whims, it has produced a captivity and bondage that is far beyond your control. With the aid of blindness, the darkness has taken over your wilted heart. Its desires have become your own, yet even now you cannot see what you have become, and who you truly belong to."

Three mouths hung open: the witch's, Kip's, and Skinny Jack's. He had never heard Saleena speak so many words at a given time, and for that matter, he never heard her speak with such eloquence and authority.

A moment later, the witch narrowed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and raised her wand. The time for words was clearly at an end.

# Chapter 30

REXOR COULD NO longer hold his breath. The frigid water spread numbness all throughout his body, and the murky fluid continued to blind his sense of direction. With a thrust, he broke the surface of the water and heaved in the crisp, cold air. He may have escaped the ghostly figure, but this small river was becoming a worthy opponent of its own.

When Rexor had entered the water, the balls of flames circling his head had been bright and lively. Now that he was moving farther away from the ghost, the flames became dull and weak. The light they gave off was still enough for him to view his immediate surroundings, but not enough to offer any warmth to his shivering flesh.

On either side of the water, flat walls offered no exits or surfaces to land on. Clearly, his chances for escaping the river were slim. Rapids steadily pushed him deeper into the mountain, and by the steady decline, Rexor could tell that he was heading downward.

Waves slapped across his face and stung his eyes. The ghostly flames completely vanished and all became dark. His sense of sound was his only guide now, but even that suffered from the splashing waves that echoed across the hollow tunnel.

As he drifted, the rapids increased in speed, and then a rough object rubbed up against his ankle. Before he had a chance to kick it away, his ankle caught and jerked backward. Rexor held his breath as his head was forced under the surface. Reaching with his fingers, he frantically fought to break free. The snap of a twig signaled his release, but not before swallowing a mouthful of the icy water. With a labored push, he reached the surface once again. Fluid exited his nostrils as he choked out the remaining liquid.

His body swept down with the current. Faster and faster he went, thrashing at the water in an attempt to slow his acceleration. And then a distant roar sounded above the waves. Not the kind of roar that comes from the throat, but one of a much different standing. One of falling water.

In a final attempt to free himself from the river, Rexor swam as hard as he could. Each stroke felt like a blistering sore. His sides ached and his skin stung, but he had to give it his all. If only he could get back to solid ground. From there he would worry about what to do next, but until then, nothing else mattered.

His breaths became heavy and labored; each one inhaled more water. With one last surge of energy, Rexor spun and twisted and then could struggle no more. All he could do now was surrender to the force of the water and the impending drop ahead.

* * *

By the time Traphis arrived at the end of the tunnel, he found himself confronted with a new challenge. At some point during his trek, the onslaught of sand and wind had ceased. It was as if the mountain knew he could block it and so decided to use a different tactic.

That tactic being a room filled with sleeping wolvarks.

Their hairy bodies spread across the large, flat ground. The darkness of their visage blended in so well that Traphis almost mistook them for mounds of dirt. Yet this dirt had bodies, pointed ears, and mouths the shape of a snout that extruded random whimpers, groans, and growls. The occasional jerking of legs and scraping of long claws sent a chill down Traphis' spine. He guessed that the beasts were dreaming of running, and he could only imagine who or what they were chasing. If he didn't tread carefully, their dreams would turn to reality, and the prey would be none other than he.

The option of turning around and finding another way dissuaded Traphis for several reasons: First, he didn't know if there was another way. Second, even if there was, he knew it would likely take too long to find it. And thirdly, since the enemy was here, this was likely the very place he needed to be. After all, a pack of wolvarks had taken his mother, and here before him was such a group. Since they were sleeping, he knew he couldn't pass up on such an opportunity.

At the far wall, an opening came into view. Beyond it there seemed to be a descending stairway. The wolvarks appeared to be guarding it, which could only mean that this was where he needed to go. For all he knew his mother was on the other side and a bunch of wolvarks were not going to stop him from getting to her. Not if he could help it.

He gulped and took a step forward. Torchlight flickered eerie shadows against the wall. The red glow of his ring would likely have given away his position were it not for the beast's restful state. If he knew how, he would have deactivated the ring; there were enough torches to light the way. But for the moment, it didn't matter.

Stepping cautiously around the body of a wolvark, Traphis held his breath. A short ways ahead, one of the wolvarks stirred in its sleep. Black fur brushed against the ground, which must have tickled because the beast let out a disjointed chuckle. It would only take one to open its eyes, and then all would awaken to find a tasty morsel wandering amongst them. One little ring and one small dagger would be no match for their sharp teeth and brute strength.

Tightening his fist, Traphis took two more steps. He cringed as his foot brushed against the stone surface. The muscles in his ears tighten, as if doing so would soften the noise. He took three more steps, which put him alongside one of the creatures. The thick, furry chest rose. He took another breath and held it. Once the wolvark released the air in its lungs, a low rumbling followed. It sounded like the fade of a thunderclap.

This gave Traphis an idea. For the next few steps, he waited for the wolvark nearest him to exhale. When it did, he moved forward; every well-placed step gave him a better chance to survive.

Not making any sudden movements, stepping with one foot at a time, he worked his way toward the opening in the wall. With each step, he said a quick prayer, asking the Founder to keep the wolvarks asleep.

Torchlight danced along the sides of the pathway leading down the stairs. Only a few more steps and he would be at the opening. He forced back the temptation to run to it as fast as he could.

When he was younger, Traphis would walk from the stable to his house in the darkness of night. There was always this odd feeling that he was being watched, and that some creature would jump out at him. He remembered scampering to the door of his home as fast as his legs would carry him, but now was not the time.

Without warning, something tugged at his ankle. The skin on his arms tingled as he turned to see what it was. Connected to a dark, outstretched arm were four claws, and wrapped within the claws was the lower part of his leg.

* * *

Rexor tumbled downward through a mixture of air and water. His body descended so quickly that he barely had time to hold his breath. A rush of liquid flooded his senses as he plunged below the falls. Sharp rocks scraped against his arms and legs as the pounding fluid forced him deeper in.

Beneath, and all around, the darkness continued to blind him, but the realization that he was still alive became motivation enough. A sharp pain filled his lungs and he knew he needed air. Drawing upon his remaining strength, he latched onto the remains of what felt like a gigantic stalagmite. With the use of his hands and arms, he pulled himself upward. Each grasp was like a whip striking against his palms, but pain meant life, and life meant hope. He progressed as fast as his arms would allow and then, finally, he broke the surface and took a breath of fresh air. Cold as it was, Rexor welcomed the healing mixture into his lungs.

Relaxing his body, he allowed it to float atop the water's surface. The thundering falls pushed him along until he drifted against something solid. How far he went or how long it took he did not know. Time eluded his senses. When he reached out, he felt the welcoming touch of land. Slowly, he pulled himself up and out of the water and then collapsed onto the dry surface.

Extreme exhaustion overtook him and shivers shook his body. Long, deep breaths forced air into his lungs until he could maintain a steady pace. After a short rest, he pushed himself onto his forearms. Water dripped from his hair and garments as he tried to gain enough strength to stand. It seemed that his hat was long gone, but that mattered little to him now.

After rubbing his eyes, Rexor suddenly noticed a bluish light. It exposed a rock ceiling high above, and a vast open expanse all around. It reminded him of the inside of a large dining hall, but he was clearly still inside the mountain.

The distant pounding of the waterfall had no effect on the surrounding waters. Ripples appeared in the calm, gentle surface, which reflectively danced against the inner mountain walls. The once roaring river had opened up into a small, peaceful lake.

A nearby cave caught his attention and then he realized that the source of the blue light emanated from within. The opening—as tall as he and nearly as wide—pulled at his senses as if calling for him to come. Grabbing his sword, he used it to prop himself onto his knees. He took a few deep breaths and then leaned against the hilt of the shiny blade.

In a feeble attempt to stand, he wavered and then tumbled back to the ground. After several fruitless attempts, he decided to crawl.

Each forward thrust brought forth a surge of pain as the rock surface gnawed at his weakened flesh. He stopped several times to rest before continuing. Once making it to the entrance of the cave, he barely had enough strength to pull himself inside.

The cave was small. If he had been able to stand, he imagined it would only take a few steps to walk to the end. But the size of the cave was not what captured his attention. Above him and all around, covering every section of stone, a cluster of crystals radiated. It looked as if someone had taken a stone, cracked it open, and discovered a sparkling treasure inside. The crystals stood out several finger lengths from the wall like small glassy branches. Blue light emitted from within each opaque formation and pulsed at random intervals. The effect produced glittering waves of brilliance that flowed back and forth along the ceiling and walls. Even stars in the darkest of nights would not have compared to this beauty.

With one final push, Rexor forced himself onto his back. There he lay, gazing at the hypnotic effect as his body shook with frigid cold. It did not take long for grogginess to settle in. He felt a weakness in each breath, slow and shallow. Drowsiness took hold as he began to lose contact with his surroundings. His eyelids made one final attempt to stay open when suddenly the crystals flared in a brilliant glow. They burst out beams of light, which sent an intense heat against his flesh. He wondered if he was hallucinating, but decided it did not matter.

"Shino, Son of Hope," a voice said. It was feminine, beautiful, and soft.

He realized that his mind was drifting. Perhaps his body was too far-gone and this was a messenger sent by the Founder to take him to the world beyond.

"Do not worry," the voice continued. "I have been sent to help you in this time of need. Lay and rest in the warmth I bring. Lay and sleep your worries away. Do not be afraid. I come from one whose work you do. You have a great task ahead. Rest now, rest and be well . . ."

An untarnished purity flowed throughout his entire body. The energy surged within, spreading from limb to limb like a river flowing over many stones. He sensed the presence of an incredible power; terrible yet good; unknown yet trustworthy; great yet kind.

The ground below him no longer felt hard against his skin. It seemed as if he was floating weightlessly in the air. All around, the crystals pulsed and forced their energy into his body. Heaviness and despair flowed out as light took their place. No words could describe the moment in which he was experiencing. No images could relay the details of magnificent wonder he felt. It was as if he was being given a new life.

* * *

Traphis' shadow silhouetted against the cavern wall, and below, another shadow displayed the shape of a long arm, which extended from the ground. Attached to the arm was the hairy body of a wolvark. Its sharp, rigid claws dug into the flesh of his ankle.

All the beast had to do was twist, and Traphis' leg would snap like a twig.

With trembling arms, he closed his eyes. It would be impossible to rescue his mother now. At this rate, they would both die pointless and meaningless deaths. Perhaps the message he received at the side of the mountain was right, that he had been foolish for believing he would be of any use.

Still, he had come too far to give up now. If nothing else, he would injure the beast before it took his life.

Opening his eyes, Traphis reached for his knife, twisted his body around, and then reeled from the pain in his ankle. Amazingly enough, the action forced the claws to pull away. He bit his lower lip, lifted the knife, and then paused. The expected glaring eyes and long, pointed teeth did not appear. What greeted him instead were whimpers and groans. The lips of the wolvark fluttered as the beast exhaled a lungful of air.

Traphis couldn't believe his eyes. It was still sleeping. He hadn't been discovered at all. The wolvark must have been dreaming about grabbing something, and he just happened to be there at the wrong time. This didn't make the pain in his ankle go away, but he gladly accepted it in place of his life.

With a few steps back, he bent down and rolled up the cuff of his leg coverings. Slight punctures appeared on his skin with small droplets of blood, but the marks were not as deep as they felt. Not wasting any time, he rolled the material back over his leg and stood once again.

The best course of action would be to leave the room as quickly as possible, and that is exactly what he did. When he turned around, the opening in the wall greeted him like a faithful friend. With a sigh of relief, he entered the long stairway.

Each step that Traphis took was cautious and deliberate. He may have been out of the cavern, but he wasn't about to take the chance that the wolvarks could still hear him. Besides, what awaited him at the bottom was unknown, and by the way things were going, Traphis imagined something unpleasant would be waiting for him there.

The pain in his ankle made the trek more difficult, but as soon as he cleared the last step, he forgot all about it. There, before him was a long and narrow corridor. Up and down the corridor were small rooms blocked by rounded poles that extended from floor to ceiling. In a cell across from him was a woman, huddled in the corner. Her long, red hair flowed over her arms and shoulders as she crouched into the shape of a ball.

Traphis stumbled to the cell, grabbed at the bars, and shook them in disbelief.

"Titch?" he said. "Titch, is that really you?"

# Chapter 31

THE SUN ROSE high into the sky as a child wakes from its slumber. Hedgwarks, woblocks, sun bugs, and other nightly creatures returned to their places of rest while skimpits, birds, and animals of the light emerged from their own. The bright hues of day replaced the colorless night.

Even though it was a pleasing sight to behold, a less pleasing sight took the shape of an old woman; her hideous visage hovered several paces from Skinny Jack. Saleena and Kip were standing defensively at his left and right, and Falin sat dormant at the edge of the forest.

Unfortunately for Skinny Jack and his two companions, this meant the task of defeating the witch was in their hands. Not long ago, Skinny Jack had told Kip and Saleena that the three of them would be a match for a nekrin. If they worked together, the same should be true for the witch. After all, nekrins and witches used the same magic, which came from the Cloud, just as Skinny Jack, Kip, and Saleena used that of the Blue. If only for that reason, he knew they had to win; it was their duty as wizards.

Without warning, several bolts of energy shot from the tip of the witch's wand. Skinny Jack rolled away just in time. Where there once was a patch of grass, a blackened hole resided.

"Be careful, Jack," Kip said. "Keep an eye on her wand."

When he turned, Skinny Jack noticed another burnt hole in the ground under Saleena's feet. The witch must have attacked her as well, but unlike him, she apparently hadn't bothered to move out of the way. The energy passed through her body with no more danger than a wisp of smoke.

This seemed to irritate the witch, who rambled off foreign words to another spell. Pointy shapes formed at the tip of her wand, which grew in size as droplets of water pulled from the surrounding air. A puff of moisture signaled their completion.

"It's reasonable for a Claymear to have a magical divinity with water," the witch said. "It seems only logical that energy attacks are useless. But unlike you, witches can use more than one element. I can form whatever magic I desire." She pointed the sharp icicles directly at Saleena. "You may be resistant to energy, but I wonder how you fair against solid objects." She drew her arm back and, with a smile, thrust it forward.

All three of the icicles plunged toward Saleena. For a moment, it looked as if the girl was not going to move, but then the most unusual thing happened: Saleena disappeared.

The three icicles struck the ground and protruded like well thrown spears. Next to them was a pile of clothing, Saleena's clothing, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened to her?" Skinny Jack asked.

Droplets of moisture formed against the icicles and rolled down their frozen stems like small tears. A moment later, the icicles melted into a tiny pool of water. A ripple spread across the pool and in the center, a sphere emerged. It grew in size until taking the shape of a human head. The watery head lifted and rose into the air, proceeded by shoulders, arms, legs, and then feet. Even though the figure possessed the texture of water, the shape portrayed that of a young woman.

Kip jumped in front of Skinny Jack and placed a hand over his eyes.

"It's not right to invade a girl with your eyes," she said.

"What girl?" Skinny Jack asked, and then, between the cracks in Kip's fingers, he saw the pale skin of an arm as it lifted a shirt and pulled it out of view.

He pushed Kip's hand away. "I don't understand, what's . . ." He froze. Standing at that very place was Saleena.

"I have learned your technique," Saleena said. She finished looping the last two buttons of her shirt. "It will be useless against me now."

"How did you?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Yes, how?" the witch asked. "I would like to know that too. I have never seen anything like it before."

Two long spears formed against Saleena's palms. She pointed them at the witch and an instant later, they darted through the air. It happened so fast that the witch barely had time to move.

The icy spears struck a nearby tree and shattered.

"I see," the witch said. "Now you can use the icicles against me. Interesting. I didn't know Claymears could do such a thing. Tell me, how did you mimic—"

Two more icicles shot from Saleena's palms. One of them grazed the witch's cheek and left a bloody scratch.

"That's a poor way to have a conversation," the witch said. "I see that this game must continue." The old woman wiped the blood onto a finger and licked it.

"That's gross," Kip said.

The witch wiped the remaining blood onto the tip of her wand and spoke, "Kalabree, nocktun, yousheeda, folorix." Six snakes exploded from the tip and landed on the ground below. Each one was as thick and long as Skinny Jack's arm, and each one had teeth like that of elongated thorns.

Skinny Jack formed two funnels of magic on his palms and then placed his hands together. "I have learned a few things myself," he said. When the funnels touched, they formed into a single concentration of wind, which grew to the size of his torso. The longer he held it the faster it spun. Bits of sand and dirt lifted from the ground and merged within the cyclone. As a result, the flow of air grew stronger.

Kip's hair fluttered as leaves rustled on the branches of nearby trees. Skinny Jack held his ground, holding the largest funnel he had ever created.

When the snakes charged, they split up into pairs. Two to each trainee. Their bodies slithered across the ground leaving a thin trail in the dirt.

With a heave, Skinny Jack tossed the funnel at the two snakes nearest him. He kept his hands steady and his mind focused. The serpents instantly sucked inside like worms into the throat of a bird.

With a motion from his top two fingers, he directed the funnel near his sister. The snakes closest to her joined their comrades in the twirling prison.

One of the snakes sprang for Saleena and nearly latched onto her throat, but an instant later Skinny Jack's funnel pulled it from the air and sucked it inside. The second and final snake soon followed. From there Skinny Jack directed his funnel at the witch.

The eyes on the woman's face bulged for an instant, and then she fumbled for her wand.

* * *

Words came from the witch, faster than Skinny Jack imagined possible. They blended as the tip of her wand glowed red. Just before the funnel struck, a sphere formed around her entire body. When the funnel collided, a flurry of dust engulfed the circular object.

A series of snaps and pops emitted from the mass until the wind died down. A moment later, six chard snakes fell lifelessly to the ground.

"Well done," the witch said. She snapped her fingers and then the magical sphere vanished. "I let my guard down, but it won't happen again. Consider yourselves fortunate, not everyone gets to witness the extent of my power."

"It is not your power," Saleena said. "You are merely a vessel of the Cloud's will."

"Not that again," the witch said. "I didn't know Claymears were so talkative. Now, let's see. Who hasn't shown me their magic yet?" Her eyes drifted toward Kip. "It would be a shame if you all died before I saw what you could do." She swayed her wand and chanted a new spell. The words came in an endless array, as if she had broken into an unusual song that had no ending.

Skinny Jack took this opportunity to grab Kip and form a circle with Saleena. "I have an idea," he said. "This is what we're going to do."

As soon as he finished explaining, Kip said, "That's never going to work."

"Have faith in me. We can do this."

"All our lives are at risk," Kip said. "I can't—"

"We need to try something. You heard her; she's going to hit us with something big, and Falin left this up to us."

"I shall do as you ask," Saleena said, speaking in Kip's place.

Skinny Jack smiled. "I knew we brought you along for a reason."

Saleena stared blankly at him, as if trying to determine whether that was an insult.

"But I don't know if I can . . ." Kip bit her lip.

"Sorry to interrupt," the witch said. "But I'm ready now."

Skinny Jack reeled around. A red aura emanated from the witch like the edges of a candlestick. Her big eyes leaked flames, and her wand burned like a dry stick taken from a hot fire.

The witch flicked her wrist and a blast of fire emerged from the wand. The fireball became so big that it shrouded the witch's entire body.

"Now!" Skinny Jack yelled.

"I'll try," Kip said. She clapped her hands together and then pulled them apart. Her typical sheet of gold appeared between them. Widening her arms as far as they would go, she tossed the sheet into the air. Before it drifted away, she slapped the palm of her hand against the center and then held it out like a shield.

Skinny Jack and Saleena darted behind her.

"It needs more power," Skinny Jack said. He tensed as the fireball drew closer. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Don't distract me!" Kip grunted as another layer of gold formed against the first. The square straightened, but still quivered at the edges. With a deep breath, she formed yet another layer. Her arms were trembling, but she maintained her defensive posture.

The flame hit and the force of it pushed Kip backward.

Skinny Jack braced himself and leaned his weight against her.

"I don't know if I can—" Kip said.

"Just keep forming the layers," Skinny Jack said, raising his voice above the roar of fire. "Don't think about anything else."

Kip's knees knocked together. He could tell that her confidence was fading, but if she faltered now, they would all die.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I can't . . . I'm not strong enough . . ."

Saleena put a hand on Kip's shoulder. "Just one more layer," she said. "Think of one more layer."

The shaking in Kip's legs lessened. Saleena must have gotten through to her. An instant later, the shield thickened, and not a moment too soon. The flames ate at the film like water pouring over soft dirt. Redness blazed against the window of gold, and Kip let out a shriek.

"You are doing it, Kip!" Skinny Jack shouted. "Only a little longer and we have her."

"It . . . burns . . . I don't know . . . my hand . . ."

Saleena reached an arm over Kip's shoulder. A stream of water flowed from the tip of her finger, which ran along the inside of the magical shield. A sizzling like fried eggs followed as the water bubbled against the sheet. Clouds of steam etched their way into the air, which were quickly consumed by the fire.

"This must be how the knights of old felt when facing a dragon," Skinny Jack said.

"How much longer will this last?" Kip's voice was strained.

"As long as her spell," Skinny Jack said. "She needs to use all of it for my plan to work."

"You owe me. I expect you to hand feed me for a week."

"Let's just get out of this first."

Before long, the flames thinned and the intensity of the heat died down, exposing the chubby face of the witch. With a pop, the fireball was gone, yet the surrounding plant life still burned.

"If I do attest," the witch said. "I guess I'll just have to try something bigger."

Kip instantly banished the shield and formed a new sheet in her hands. Unlike the first one, which was square, this took on the shape of a thin ribbon. It extended from Kip's hand like silk from a spider, stretched to where the witch hovered in the air, and then wrapped around her legs.

"What's this supposed to do?" the witch asked, looking down. When she motioned, as if to flick it off with her wand, Skinny Jack jumped forward, formed two separate funnels, and hurled them at her.

The old woman cackled. "Those won't hurt me," she said. "It's not even worth my time to—" Her words cut short. The speed of the funnels increased three times as fast as before, and one of them had latched onto her lips. She tried to shake it off.

Skinny Jack held the funnel in place. His fingers steady, unmoving. The witch's jaw remained immobile, which didn't seem to be to her liking. He guessed it had more to do with not being able to boast than anything else. Of course, keeping her from speaking the words of a new spell was his true objective.

The witch's arm twitched as it attempted to move. Her eyes widened when she noticed that the second funnel had covered her wand. She tugged, but it didn't pull free.

"Now!" Skinny Jack yelled.

Saleena ran toward the witch at an incredible speed. It was as if she took on the abilities of a galloping learcat. She leaped into the air and soared like a bird. The next moment, a wave of water loosed from her hand and splashed into the witch's face. While the water continued flowing, Saleena's arm merged with the liquid. Following it were her shoulders, head, torso, hips, legs, and feet. Her entire body transformed into the transparent fluid.

Two leathery objects, the shape of Saleena's feet, tumbled toward the ground. They were followed by the piece of clothing that, only a moment before, had covered her body.

Hardly believing his eyes, Skinny Jack watched as the water continued to invade the witch's face. Rather than splashing away, the liquid-form-of-Saleena forced its way inside the witch's body until disappearing into the old woman's enlarged nostrils.

The witch ceased all movement. Her skin became a pale blue, and her eyes widened as they glazed over. It was as if she had turned to stone. Visible lines etched across her body and the sound of cracking filled the air.

The next thing Skinny Jack knew, he was running for cover. In a flash, the body of the witch exploded into countless shards of ice. They rained down like hail and cluttered against the ground. The residual aftereffects of the fire sizzled to a dull smoldering. Saleena had not only killed the witch, but also stopped the fire from spreading deeper into the forest.

Kip jumped out from behind a tree and shouted, "Where's Saleena?"

"I don't know," Skinny Jack said, taking a few steps forward. "I didn't expect her to enter the witch's body. I only told her to force as much water down as needed."

Tears welled up in Kip's eyes. "She's gone. Saleena's gone."

* * *

It felt as if someone had taken a spear and jabbed it into Skinny Jack's chest. Saleena's death was his fault. It had been his plan after all.

"And so ends the tyranny of Noxia the Rotten."

Skinny Jack spun around. It was Falin. He stood casually, as if nothing important had happened at all.

"That's all you can say?" Skinny Jack asked. "You wake up from your nap and that's the only thing going through your mind? Saleena is gone. She won't be coming back. And we don't even have a body to take with us. She will drift forever in this world."

Falin smiled. "Perhaps you should see for yourself." He motioned with a hand.

Skinny Jack scowled. This was no time for games. But then he heard a noise. A strange noise. When he turned, he could see movement on the ground. Each of the frozen shards vibrated, as if they were eggs ready to hatch. Coming from within each one was a chiming like that of numerous, tiny bells.

The shards melted into the ground, merged with the marshes, and formed into a pool of water. Skinny Jack notice a familiar ripple in the center as it etched across the surface.

He spun around and faced Falin. "Don't look," he said.

Falin smiled, nodded, and then turned his back.

Not long after, the voice of Saleena broke the silence. "Would someone bring me my clothes?"

The pattering of feet sounded from behind.

"Here you go," Kip said. Her voice was shaky. "We thought we lost you. I can't believe you are alive."

"Can I turn around yet?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Give her a moment," Kip said. "She just went through a big ordeal."

He clicked his tongue. "As if we all haven't."

"I'm dressed now," Saleena said.

Both he and Falin turned.

"You have all done well," Falin said. "Each of you executed your part like true wizards."

"Wizits," Saleena said.

"You were watching this whole time?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Of course," Falin said.

"But your eyes were closed." Skinny Jack pointed to his face.

"There are more ways to see than with the eyes."

Skinny Jack shook his head. "You weren't as tired as you looked, were you?"

A smile lifted the edges of the old man's white beard. "I would have joined in had things gone poorly, but you had the situation well under control."

"You call that under control?"

"Noxia is dead, is she not? And you came out victorious."

"Kip's hand is not victorious. She burned it really bad. Go ahead, show him."

Kip hid her hand behind her back. "It will be all right," she said. Her eyes lowered as she spoke.

"Please, let me see," Falin said.

Kip looked nervously at Skinny Jack, then down at her hand, and then over to Falin. She slowly approached and lifted it for the wizard to see.

Falin reached into his robe, pulled out a small bag, and sprinkled something onto Kip's palm. It glowed for a moment and then faded.

Kip held her hand up to her face, stretched her fingers, and then rotated her wrist. "I can't believe it," she said. "The pain is gone. The blisters and redness are gone too. Thank you."

"I am glad to be of assistance," Falin said. He put the bag back into his garment.

Skinny Jack reached out, grabbed Kip's hand, and then examined it closely.

"Ouch," Kip said, pulling her hand away.

"See, it still hurts," Skinny Jack said.

"Only because you squeezed it," Kip said.

"Fine, but it would have gone better if you had helped us."

"You accomplished what I have not been able to for many years. Always remember that your training goes beyond the walls of the Wizarding Committee's Headquarters. It does not stop when tested by real situations. This is where true growth begins."

"But we almost died!" Skinny Jack said.

"That is why you are stronger. All three of you have increased your ability to control magic. You will need this if you are to face Tyron."

Skinny Jack bit his lip. The old wizard was right, yet something about it didn't feel right.

"I was impressed with the way you analyzed the situation, Jack," Falin continued. "You have great potential for leadership."

On any other day, Skinny Jack would have eaten the compliment like a tasty morsel, but right now he was too angry to care. "What I want to know is," he said. "Why did the witch have to talk all that gibberish before she could attack?"

"Cloud users must audibly speak a spell to access a specific technique. Your observations were astute, and you picked up on the situation quickly."

"Why didn't we learn about this at the WC?"

"Because learning who you are comes before learning who your enemy is. There is much more that is taught to you when you reach your first Class of wizardry. It is uncommon for trainees to be in the situation you just conquered, but times have called for drastic measures. And you have shown yourselves to be trustworthy. More worthy than some higher Classes I know."

"But I don't understand how she was able to use so many different types of attacks. I can only use wind, Kip can only use the sheet, and Saleena water."

"Cloud users have no divinity with magic. They can only copy, mimic, and contort the true source of the Blue. Spells have this ability, but as you have discovered for yourself, there are limitations. Consider the spell used to produce the icicles. It did not outmatch Saleena's natural ability to use them for herself—since they were made from water. Saleena only had to learn how to; it was Noxia's mistake for showing her. Copies are never as good as the original. Cloud users can only twist what is good and true, but in the process, they lose themselves."

Kip looked over at Saleena. "That was really gross," she said. "You went into her nose."

Saleena regarded her blankly, as if she didn't know what was gross about it.

Skinny Jack sighed, placed the Revealers on his face, and said, "Come on, let's keep going. Traphis still needs us."

# Chapter 32

TRAPHIS STOOD, FIXATED to the outside bars. The girl lifted her head. Tears glistened on her cheeks as if she had been crying for a very long time. Green, bloodshot eyes peered through red strands of hair.

As soon as Titch recognized Traphis, she jumped to her feet, but the action sent her tumbling back to the floor.

"Titch, are you all right?" Traphis asked. "How did you get here? Why are you—"

"I've been sitting for too long," Titch said. "My legs forgot how to stand." She rubbed at her thigh.

"The wolvarks . . . how did you?"

Titch looked away. "I don't know," she said, her voice low and quiet. "When I ran . . . when I left you—"

"It was my fault," Traphis interrupted. "I didn't mean to hurt you. The Rock. Gaybec. I didn't mean to . . . we searched for you."

She looked up at him again.

"We went to your home," Traphis continued, "but you weren't there. I didn't know where else to look. And then my mother . . ." He paused, gripped tightly around the metal poles, and then looked Titch directly in the eyes. "Have you seen my mother? The wolvarks took her too."

"I'm sorry, Traphis," Titch said. She wiped something from her cheek. "I didn't see anyone else." She paused, and then said, "I'm sorry I ran, I just needed to be alone for awhile."

Traphis relaxed his grip. "I'm glad you're all right. There's a lot I want to ask you, but first, how do I get you out of here?"

"That's easy. Look behind you." She pointed to the far wall.

When Traphis turned, he made out the shape of a ring hanging from a small spike. He rushed over and grabbed it. Keys jingled as he walked back to the cell. "No magical locks?"

"I don't think so. Wolvarks aren't the most skillful creatures. And not very conversational either."

Traphis inserted a key into the lock. It didn't fit, so he tried another. Oddly enough, he noticed that the signature ring on his finger had ceased to glow; how and when that happened, he didn't know.

"I've been alone, Traphis," Titch said. "Alone for a long time . . . it's good to see you."

A click sounded and the door creaked open. Titch pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over to him. She reached out and fell into his arms. Her warm body tightened as it squeezed against his.

For a moment, Traphis forgot where he was. All he could see was a valley of crimson grass. Her hair flowed over her shoulder with a scent like that of a fresh, morning rain.

"I was so afraid," Titch said, her body trembled. "I didn't know what they were going to do."

"Tell me what happened," Traphis said, still holding onto her.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, though her voice was still shaky. "After Gaybec hit me and I ran off, I didn't stop until I reached the edge of town. When I got there, I was going to head back to the WC, but then something jumped out of the forest and grabbed me."

Traphis tensed. "What was it?"

"I don't know. At least, I didn't at the time. All I saw were scaly arms and then I was unconscious. I must have been hit over the head or something. When I woke up, I was in the forest. My mouth was covered and my hands and feet were bound. Two dark figures stood not far away. I couldn't see their faces, but I could tell that they were arguing about something. About me. And then I realized one of them was . . ." Titch inhaled sharply and her voice quivered. "It was my cousin. He was one of them."

Hot tears soaked against Traphis' vest. It took all his willpower to keep from shouting. "That was him in the Coliseum talking to that snakelike man. I knew it. He planned against me. Gaybec, you traitor. The next time I see you, I will kill you."

Titch pushed away and stared into Traphis' eyes. "No, Traphis," she said. "No, he didn't mean to . . . he was misled."

Traphis bit down on his lip. He knew it would only take one loud outburst to wake the wolvarks on the level above. "We've never done anything bad to him," he said, as quietly as possible, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable. "And still he treated us like we were worthless."

"Don't you understand, Traphis? Every time he sees you he is reminded of his mother."

"His mother?" The very idea took him aback. "What does Gaybec's mother have to do with me?"

"When Mardin died, Gaybec's mother died soon after. Mardin wasn't there to help her, so he blames you. It doesn't make sense, but he sees you and Mardin as one, and the only object for him to put his anger on."

"How's that my fault? How's that anybody's fault but Tyron's? If that's true, then that means Gaybec was helping the very one he should have been blaming."

"Gaybec didn't care about Tyron, he just wanted you to be taken away. When you joined the WC, you were impossible to reach. And when they found out we were . . . you and I. That is, when they realized you were close to me, the creature-they-called-a-scout captured me to use as bait to lure you out. When Gaybec discovered that this was the plan, he tried to convince the scout to let me go. When that didn't work, he told the scout that he wouldn't help anymore. But the scout got aggressive and so they fought. Gaybec lost and I was taken away. We joined up with a group of wolvarks, and then I was brought here." She shuddered. "Nasty creatures."

Traphis thought back to when he and Skinny Jack had approached Gaybec to inquire about Titch. The boy rambled on about something being Traphis' fault. At last, he understood what he was talking about. He blamed Traphis for Titch being taken away. Yet, Gaybec didn't tell him where she had been taken. But why? Wasn't that the plan? Didn't Titch's disappearance give Gaybec the opportunity he needed to be rid of him?

As if sensing his thoughts, Titch stroked a loose hair on Traphis' head. "My cousin is rough on the outside, but deep down, there's an honest person."

"Maybe, but he doesn't show it to me."

Titch smiled. "That's because you haven't gotten to know him."

"If what you said is true, then I doubt he'd give me a chance. Anyway, I can worry about that later. Where do we go from here? There are too many wolvarks up that way, and I still need to find my mother."

"That's easy," she said. "We follow the path where they brought me in." She pointed down the hallway and to a side door.

"That leads down?" he asked.

"I think so," Titch said. "I was blindfolded at the time, but I could feel an incline."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Blue crystals glittered against Rexor's face as he lay in the magical cave. His eyes drooped, and soon he had been given the gift of rest.

White, fluffy clouds surrounded him. His body glided in the sky as if he had become a bird. The wind whisked past as he dove deeper into the clouds. The snow-like substance surrounded him, warm, pleasing to the touch. It was the kind of warmth only found in the land of dreams.

The color of blue broke through the bottom layer of haze. Below him, as far as the eye could see, he made out the tops of countless trees. In the distance, many mountains grew out of the ground like bushes. He remembered them well. Many days of his youth were spent climbing their very peaks.

As he continued to descend, a long, narrow trail came into view. From high above, he made out the shapes of two children who were walking together in the forest. Slowly, he drifted closer and closer to them until their laughter was loud and full of life.

The children continued their stroll along the dirt path. He could now see that one of them was a girl and the other a boy. They looked happy together. Every time the boy spoke, the girl would laugh. She grabbed for the boy's hand, but he pulled away. Rexor knew it was only out of embarrassment.

The next moment, he felt himself being pulled into the boy's body. It happened so quickly that, at first, he wondered if he had been sucked into a tornado, but then he could see out of the boy's eyes. They were his eyes. The eyes of his youth. And the girl next to him possessed the soft, tender skin of Kimagi. His Kimagi.

"It's you," Rexor said in disbelief.

The girl smiled at him and squinted her eyes, and then she disappeared, as did the forest around him. They blurred together like mud in a pool.

The next moment, he found himself standing in an elegantly adorned bedroom; the type only found in palaces. His arms felt heavy. When he looked down, he saw the face of the girl, though she was older now. Her body draped over his arms, but there was something wrong. Her face was pale, her skin was cold, and red liquid spread across the surface of her dress.

Rexor set her down, reached over, and felt the hilt of a dagger. He pulled it from her chest. The pool of blood thickened.

The dagger fell to the ground as tears formed against his eyes. Rexor hugged Kimagi's lifeless body and held it as if doing so would bring her back to life.

"Why Kimagi?" he asked, as if expecting the dead corpse to respond. "Why did you do it? I was coming for you . . . why didn't you wait?"

Suddenly, the doors of the room burst open and several guards stood at the entrance, their faces frozen in amazement.

"What is going on here?" one of the guards said at length. His eyes glanced down and seemed to notice Kimagi for the first time. As he did, a gasp escaped his lungs. When he turned his gaze back at Rexor, the lines on his brow tightened.

"Stop him!" he yelled. "He has killed the Emperor's wife!"

The guards ran at Rexor with drawn swords.

Setting Kimagi back down, Rexor jumped onto the bed. Clumsily, he pulled out his own sword and held it out in front of him. His arms and hands shook. The blade quivered.

"I am desperate," he said. "I cannot control myself. Stay back."

The guards surrounded the bed.

With a yell, Rexor charged forward. The next moment he found himself on top of one of the guards, his blade imbedded into the man's chest. There was a pause as the other five were stunned at their companion's ill demise. Rexor wasted no time. He jumped to his feet and darted for the door as fast as he could.

There were shouts and cries echoing throughout the palace as he made his way down the winding stairway. Occasionally, people got in his way, but he knocked passed them in a frenzy. He jumped and landed in a tumble until finally making it to the bottom. To his dismay, he found himself staring at the fat face of the Emperor, who was sitting on his throne. A bewildered look appeared on the ruler's pampered face. Rexor did not know what to do, but then something deep within him made a decision. It was almost as if an external force drove his next actions, and before he knew it, his sword sunk into the neck of the Emperor. With all his might, he forced the blade across the thick neck and into the fatty throat. A lifeless head rolled across the floor to the feet of the dismayed guards.

Rexor awoke from his dream. How long he had been asleep, he did not know. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, but he had slept nonetheless—even if it had been filled with dreams of the past. A past he had tried to forget. A world he left long ago.

Crystals flowed in gentle waves of light across the cavern. He put a hand to his shirt and noticed that his clothing was dry. Not even a hint of dampness could be felt. He leaned forward, brushed loose sand from his neck, and then stiffly rose to his feet.

Clasping his hands together, Rexor bowed and said a prayer of thanks. He then took out his sword, placed the tip against one of the crystals, and leaned against it. Twisting the sword back and forth, bits of loose rock fell to the ground. He continued to wedge the blade in and underneath the crystal until it sunk deep. Then, with a sideways thrust, he pried at the stone. After several attempts, the small crystal snapped free.

Rexor leaned over, picked up the mineral, and held it up to his face. As was his hope, it continued to glow.

With his newly obtained source of light, Rexor exited the cave and made his way along the water's edge.

* * *

Torchlight danced against the bars of the cells, which produced long shadows across the floor. Titch grasped firmly onto Traphis' arm as if she thought he would run away and leave her behind. They walked through the doorway leading down, and when they made it to the bottom of the stairway, they came to another room filled with cells.

Traphis checked each and every one, but not a living soul was to be seen. It was as if the mountain had been completely abandoned, but he knew his mother had to be there, somewhere.

After descending another flight of stairs, he found himself standing in a cavern. The room was larger than the others, and the ceiling was at least three times as high. In the center of the room was a table, rounded like everything else.

"Mother?" Traphis called out. "Are you here?" His voice echoed throughout the room like a haunting ghost.

For a long time, there was no response, but then a shuffling came from one of the cells at the far end.

"Someone's there," Traphis said. He pulled Titch forward.

"I don't like it," Titch said. "If that's her, why doesn't she say something?"

Traphis ignored the comment.

Another noise came from behind the bars. It sounded like metal scraping against stone. Letting go of Titch, he ran.

"Mother, is that you?" He dove at the cell and grabbed the bars. It was dark inside. Too dark to see any recognizable forms, but then a shadow appeared. A row of white, pointed teeth snapped at the air, and then a snout squeezed between the bars. Traphis jumped back.

"Traphis, be careful," Titch said. "It's a wolf."

"A wolf? Here? But why?"

Lips rose in a snarl, and a low rumble came from the creature's throat.

Traphis rubbed at his hand; thankfully, he had pulled it away in time.

Titch pointed to the circular table in the center of the room. "I think that's why," she said. "Did you see the blood? I bet that's where they create wolvarks."

The captured wolf paced back and forth, looking longingly at Traphis. He recognized the desperation in the creature's eyes. It was the same desperation he felt. One birthed by the darkness of the mountain.

"I miss the air too," Traphis said. He knelt down and extended his hand through the bars. "The color of the trees, the chirping of the birds, the blueness of the sky."

"What are you doing?" Titch asked.

"I understand his pain," Traphis said.

"It'll bite you."

The wolf continued to pace—eyes darting from Traphis' hand to the bars of the cell.

"We better keep moving," Titch said. "We don't want to be found here. They already have a captured wolf; now all they need is a human to perform the ceremony. And I, for one, don't want to spend the rest of my life as one of those beasts."

"We should let him out."

"Are you insane? It will kill us."

"He just wants to be free. He can find his own way if we let him go."

"Incogitable, insupposable, absurd. Traphis, listen to me. It-will-kill-us."

Traphis ignored her. He unstrapped the circular ring of keys that was hanging from his belt.

Titch screamed as Traphis inserted a key into the lock. Her footsteps pounded across the floor as he twisted his wrist. The wolf stiffened, mouth gaped open, and tongue hung loose.

The key didn't turn, so he tried another and another until finally, _click_. The sound caused the wolf to flinch, but as soon as a crack appeared in the doorway, the creature darted forward, slammed into the bars, and flung the door open wide.

The creature paused for a moment, examined Traphis, and then raced toward Titch, who squeaked as she leaped on top of the ceremonial table.

The wolf ran past her and kept on running until it reached a doorway at the far side of the room, and then it was gone.

"I told you it would be all right," Traphis said.

"Yuck!" Titch said. "I got blood on me."

"Just be glad it isn't yours."

"Ssh. I hear something."

Traphis turned his head. Several groans and snarls came from the doorway that they had walked through only a moment before.

"They woke up," Traphis said. "Let's get out of here, fast!"

# Chapter 33

SKINNY JACK KNEW he was getting close to water because he could feel its coolness against his cheeks. Unlike the muggy atmosphere of the marshes—where he had been earlier in the day—this new atmosphere sent a refreshing breath of air into his lungs.

As soon as he pushed through the final patch of forest greenery, he stopped dead in his tracks. Before him, a valley stretched far and wide. In the center of the valley, a river flowed, and in the center of the river, a dark and gloomy elevation stood. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

Falin, Saleena, and Kip exited the forest from behind. Thankfully, for them, Skinny Jack decided to keep his pace slow enough for them to keep up. Of course, having previously come across a moarock and a witch was motivation enough for him to stay close.

"As I imagined," Falin said. "The Black Mountain." He leaned on his staff and gazed at the dark mass in the distance.

"It's so big," Kip said. "And Traphis is in there?"

"That's where the Revealers are pointing," Skinny Jack said.

"More importantly," Falin said. "Tyron is there."

Skinny Jack gulped. He knew what the final objective was, but being so close to the enemy's fortress gave him the shivers. "One thing I don't understand," he said. "Why didn't the Nomadic Room just put us inside that mountain? We could have avoided all the trouble in the forest."

"The Revealers chose the closest route," Falin said. "Anything nearer would be blocked by the power of Tyron."

"Can he do that?" Kip asked.

"He can do many things," Falin said. "But with great power comes a great price."

Saleena breathed in and out so deeply that Skinny Jack felt a tickling sensation on the back of his neck. "No salt," she said. "But it will do."

"What will do?" Skinny Jack asked. He rubbed at his neck.

"The river, Jack," Kip said. "It's like home to her."

"Not home," Saleena said. "A pathway to it."

"Who wants to go home?" Skinny Jack asked. "We have a job to do." He took a step onto the valley floor, looked left and right, and then took another step. "Looks safe to me," he said. "Let's keep moving."

"For the moment," Falin said, and then he too took a step forward. "Keep your eyes open and be alert. Tyron could strike at any time."

"Unless he doesn't know we're here," Skinny Jack said.

"Or his attention is directed elsewhere," Falin said. "But if that happens, we may be too late."

Skinny Jack understood _elsewhere_ to mean Traphis. The old wizard had a way of making a bad situation feel even worse. From the paleness of Kip's complexion, he wagered she felt the same.

As if sensing this, Falin said, "I only wish to keep you informed. Truth may be painful, but without it, one cannot succeed."

Skinny Jack straightened the Revealers on his face, shrugged, and then headed into the valley. He plowed through the thick foliage with his three companions following behind.

As he went, the leather coverings on his feet became wet. Thoughts of the warm water back at the washing room in the WC pervaded his mind. He remembered the time he brought Traphis there. The boy had been sad and depressed, but the two of them ended in an array of water and laughter. He hoped they would be able to have another water fight someday, but first they would have to come out of that hideous mountain, alive.

His thoughts cut short when a bug flew into his leg. It stung him. He looked down and noticed that the bug was still stuck against his shin. Not only that, but it was the longest bug he had ever seen. And why was there blood?

Skinny Jack grabbed at the insect. Feathers rubbed across his palm as he pulled. The bug came loose and an incredible surge of pain shot through his leg. His teeth clattered and his body shook.

"It's not a bug at all," he said, and then his vision blurred. A moment later, his sight turned to blackness and he collapsed to the ground.

* * *

"We have been spotted." Falin's words echoed throughout Skinny Jack's head. The pounding of his heart almost drowned them out, but he understood the message.

Falin's voice spoke again. "Kip, form a barrier to protect you and your brother. Saleena, see if you can find the archer and put an end to his attack."

Two yeses followed and then something grabbed Skinny Jack's shoulder. "You will be all right," Falin said. "Just hold still."

Skinny Jack blinked. A golden light blurred out of the corner of his eye. Far below, something gritty fell against his leg. Then another light filled his vision. It brightened and a tingling sensation followed. Shortly after, the pain was gone.

Gradually, Skinny Jack's eyes came to focus. A round hole appeared in his leg coverings with blood stained on the outside. He reached down and touched the hole. "What happened?" he asked.

"You were hit, Jack," Kip said. "Falin healed you and Saleena is looking for the archer."

"Where are we?"

"At the Valley of the Black Mountain," Falin said. "It is normal for you to feel disoriented at first, but we need you to regain your senses, quickly."

"Why? What's going to happen?" Skinny Jack asked.

A roar in the distance answered his question. At first, it sounded like the pounding of many waters, but as soon as he forced himself back to his feet, realization sank in. Numerous black forms silhouetted the distant valley floor. Each shape galloped toward them at a great speed. Some vaulted on four legs while others ran on two. Those that were upright held threatening objects in their hands.

"Are those what I think they are?" Skinny Jack asked, as if it was another voice that spoke.

"They cannot all attack at once," Falin said. "There is not enough room for so many bodies. They will come at us in groups."

Kip held her golden sheet erect, but her arms trembled. "Can we defeat so many?" she asked.

A moment later, Saleena appeared from behind a bush. Her catlike stealth seemed to even surprise Falin. In her right hand was a bow and in her left was a quiver of arrows. "I killed the scout," she said.

"But he must have sent a warning," Skinny Jack said. His stomach sank to the bottom of his feet. "Look at them. There must be hundreds of wolvarks."

"We will not be able to make it past that army," Falin said. "There are too many between us and the path into the mountain. Jack, please hand me the amulet and the Revealers."

Unconsciously, Skinny Jack reached for the leather strap, pulled it over his head, and gave the amulet to Falin. He then lifted the wiry Revealers, but hesitated.

"We are short on time," Falin said.

"I know, but Traphis gave these to me and trusted me with them."

"And now you trust it to someone else for his sake," Falin said.

With a deep breath, Skinny Jack handed them over.

Falin held both items out to Saleena. "Only you can make it to the inside of the mountain. Our fate rests in your ability to give the amulet to Traphis."

Without a hint of emotion, Saleena took the amulet and strung it around her neck. She then placed the Revealers over her eyes, looked at Skinny Jack and Kip, then said, "I will not fail you." With that, she turned and ran toward the river. A moment later, she dove headfirst into the violent waters.

"Wait," Skinny Jack said. "You mean it's just the three of us against that army?"

The magical sheet between Kips hands quivered and then disappeared into thin air. She fell to her knees. "I can't do it," she said. "I don't want to die here. I can't—"

"If we do not stand now," Falin said, "life will have little meaning. Tyron will destroy this world and make slaves of those he chooses not to kill. Take heart. We are not alone. The Founder will give us the strength we need."

If the Founder saves us from this mess, Skinny Jack thought, even I will believe in him.

With a whimper, Kip staggered to her feet and turned to her brother. She reached for him and hugged him tighter than she ever had before. "I love you," she said, for perhaps the first time in her life. "Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that."

The action caught him off guard. His normal resistance to affection didn't have time to surface. "Don't worry," he said, squeezing her back. "I'll get us out of this, you'll see. I am the great and powerful Jack."

* * *

"Assess the situation," Falin said. "What is our best strategy?"

_Strategy?_ Skinny Jack could barely think what his name was let alone come up with a strategy.

"Focus on your surroundings," Falin said. "The time for worry and panic is at an end. Only action awaits us now."

Skinny Jack shook his head. Falin was right. The army was approaching fast; there was no time for doubts. What better place to show how great he was than here? Stories would be told of this day. Legends would be passed down from generation to generation. Books would be written and, many years later, sold at exorbitant prices to the most renowned collectors. He, Skinny Jack, would be in the center of them all. That is, if he could survive. Therefore, living was the most important thing, and he had to keep his promise to keep Kip safe.

Taking a step forward, the thick grass brushed against his ankle. And then an idea hit him. "Higher ground," he said. "We need to find higher ground, preferably something near this grass. It will slow down the wolvarks, but higher ground will allow us to move freely. And if we are above, we'll have a tactical advantage."

Falin smiled. How he could at a time like this almost seemed impossible, but Skinny Jack felt it too. There was a thrill flowing through his limbs. An exhilaration accompanied by the thought of not holding back, no boundaries, no restrictions, no doubts. Just pure and simple engagement. Skill against skill, strength against strength, and cunning against cunning. Of course, the wolvarks had the advantage of strength, but Skinny Jack more than outweighed their level of cunning.

"Over there," Kip said. "There's a mound just big enough for us."

"That's odd," Skinny Jack said. "I don't remember it being there before."

Falin grabbed his arm. "Shall we go?" he asked.

Turning to look, Skinny Jack noticed that some of the smaller wolvarks were approaching faster than the rest.

Without offering any arguments, he ran alongside Falin. The hill was easy to climb, but steep enough to give them the advantage they needed.

Once on top, Falin raised his staff. Green light shot from the tip and flowed against the grass at the bottom. He guided the light all around the circular landing. Shortly after, the grass began to grow—just as it had around the legs of the moarock. Only, this time, it grew up and around the base of the hill.

By the time Falin finished, the grass had grown as tall as Skinny Jack and as dense as an old tree.

Not long after, five wolvarks approached the green barricade. One of them looked up and growled. The other four thrashed at the grass with their claws.

"Had they stayed wolves," Falin said, "they could have jumped over. But their new forms come with restrictions."

"They don't look restricted to me," Skinny Jack said. "From what I can see their claws are doing a decent job of tearing apart your bush."

"Slowing down the initial assault was the first step," Falin said. "Tell me, what do you think the next step would be?"

Skinny Jack paused to consider. He tried to ignore the trembling in his legs. _What was the best way to win?_ And then something unsettling occurred to him. "I've never killed anyone before," he said.

"Neither have I," Kip said.

"But you see no way around that now," Falin added.

Skinny Jack looked down. "They were really once human?"

"But no longer," Falin said. "Life is precious, but in order to save life, sometimes other life has to be taken. You have already learned that with the witch. Saleena may have given the final blow, but it was your plan that brought it about. In times such as these, harsh actions must be taken."

Coupled with a sense of guilt and confusion, Skinny Jack tightened his hands into fists. He kicked at the dirt, cursed, and then turned back to Falin. The old man's eyes contained a mixture of compassion and fierce reality. The choice was simple: kill or die.

Skinny Jack closed his eyes and loosened his fists. "What we do next?" he said. "I'll tell you, but I'm not sure it will work."

* * *

Gloomy clouds overshadowed the three magic users atop the small hill. The wolvarks attacking first were smaller than the rest of the pack, but even the shortest one made Skinny Jack look like a twig.

Using Falin's herb garden as an object to sharpen their claws, the wolvarks tore at the blockade like bark from a tree. Shards of greenery splashed into the air with each violent stroke, and it became evident that they would break through.

"Kip, try it now," Skinny Jack said. "Do it like we discussed."

The girl concentrated with hands clasped together. A moment later, a golden triangle appeared. It was a little larger than her palm, but the points were as sharp as the end of a needle.

"Throw it," Skinny Jack said.

Kip lifted a hand behind her head, closed her eyes, and then hurled the object downward. The three-pointed-form whipped through the air, struck the inside of the barrier, and then disappeared within.

"Try it again," Skinny Jack said. "Aim higher this time."

"I did," Kip said.

"Higher Kip. And keep your eyes open. You can do this, you just have to let go."

"I did let go."

"Not of your magical weapon," Skinny Jack said, "of your doubts. We have to kill them."

Kip bit her lip and balled her fists.

"It is a good plan," Falin said. "Kip, you need to test your magic. Please try it again."

With a sigh, Kip released her grip, formed another triangle, and threw it at the wolvark nearest the bottom. It hit its mark square in the face.

The beast reeled back with a cry of agony and fell to the ground. It grabbed at the golden star protruding from its forehead and writhed against the grass.

At first, Skinny Jack wondered if the blade had gone in deep enough, but a moment later the writhing stopped and the wolvark's arms fell limply at its sides.

"There, I did it," Kip said. She wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "I killed it. Because of me it's dead."

The other four wolvarks continued to thrash at the barrier as if nothing had happened.

"See," Skinny Jack said. "They don't even care about their comrade. They are just beasts, Kip. Don't think about it anymore than that."

"When hunger for battle overtakes them," Falin said, "nothing will distract them from their goal."

"Doesn't that make us like them?" Kip asked. "Aren't you asking us to do the same?"

"They fight to consume," Falin said. "We fight to protect. The desire to destroy is not the same as the desire to live. Our hearts have not been tarnished, but theirs have, and you can be sure they will kill you if you do not act."

"It still feels the same," Kip said.

"Do not hold back your instincts," Falin said. "You rob yourself of your earned victory. Now is the time to engage in battle, not to dwell on sympathies."

"Kip," Skinny Jack said. "Throw another one. Just think of Traphis."

With gritted teeth, Kip formed a pointed layer on her hand, reached back, and then snapped it downward. It spun through the air like a leaf in a gust of wind. Same as the last, this one hit its mark and sent another wolvark writhing to the ground.

"It's so horrible," Kip said.

Skinny Jack shook his head. "So is dying. Now let's see how sharp I can make my wind funnels." He flattened his hands in front of him and then concentrated. Two small funnels, one in each palm, appeared out of the air, but he didn't stop there. Giving all his attention to the spinning objects, he focused energy toward the bottommost points. Sparks of green flashed from the tips and trickled to the ground like embers from a fire.

Finally, he raised his palms with the funnels spinning atop, and then lowered his hands. The two objects spun in the air, holding their position like trained dogs. Then, with a motion of his fingers, Skinny Jack released the funnels from their captivity. While they hastened toward the two unsuspecting wolvarks, he bent his fingers upward. As soon as he did, the funnels twisted and the bottoms pointed outward like the ends of two arrows. The next instant the funnels plunged into the chests of the wolvarks and drilled into their flesh. They dug deeper until passing through to the other side, where they crashed to the ground, leaving holes of dirt in their wake.

For the count of three, he could see through the holes in the wolvark's bodies, and on the forth count their massive hulks crumpled to the ground like wilted stems.

"That was more effective than I thought. Perhaps I put too much power behind them." Falin was right. He had to forget about the morbid intensity that accompanied the attacks and focus on the task at hand. Maybe this way he could remain sane long enough to get out of this mess.

The remaining wolvark looked up, snarled, and then went back to its assault on the barricade. This time it bit at the thickened grass as the curved points of its claws dug deeper in. The beast's efforts paid off, and soon an arm broke through. At the same time, ten more wolvarks arrived, with hundreds more not far behind.

# Chapter 34

STAIRS BLURRED PAST Traphis as he ran down them at full speed. His footsteps produced a knocking sound that echoed in the cavern, but stealth no longer had any meaning. The pack of wolvarks on his trail grew closer, and haste was his only available option.

Titch slowed down, and on several occasions, Traphis had to turn back to help her. Each instance made his heart beat a little faster knowing that the loss of time closed the gap between him and the enemy.

When at last they reached the bottom of the stairway, Traphis came to a complete halt. A few more steps and he would have fallen to his death. In the middle of the path, a gigantic hole blocked the way. It was as if a current of water had found its way into the mountain and hollowed out the rock using a gigantic whirlpool. As wide as a small lake, and round as a wagon wheel, the area before him mirrored that of the inside of a massive tower.

Traphis crept over to the edge of the cavity and looked over. His foot brushed against several loose stones. An echo of ticking resounded as the stones bounced against the sides on their way to the bottom. After several counts, they finally reached their mark. Instead of a crack, Traphis was surprised when a deep gulp reached his ears.

"It's too dark to see," he said. "The torches aren't bright enough." He slid a foot closer to the opening.

"Be careful," Titch said. "If you fall . . ."

"I won't fall, but we need to keep going." He looked around and noticed a stairway leading down the inside of the pit.

"We have to be careful," Titch said. "They look dangerous."

"No more dangerous than the wolvarks about to catch up with us." As if to complement his argument, the distant marching of feet grew louder.

Traphis reached back and grabbed Titch by the hand. "Let's go," he said.

Offering no resistance, she followed behind as they made their way to the rocky stairway. As expected, the stairs wound around the inner circle and disappeared into the darkness below.

"Our voices will carry," Traphis said. "So we should probably stay quiet."

Titch squeezed his hand in acknowledgment.

Cautiously, he placed a foot on the first step and slowly leaned his weight against it. When no movement occurred, he took another step. It seemed solid enough.

Without further delay, Traphis let go of Titch's hand—it was too narrow for them to stand side-by-side—and proceeded down the spiraling pathway. Titch kept steadily behind him. At first, the going was slow, but he picked up his pace once he felt sure of his footing. Occasionally, Titch would grab his shoulder as if to steady herself, but, thankfully, her weight wasn't enough to throw him off balance.

A loud howl sounded from the top of the tower. The noise bounced off the walls of the pit and reached into Traphis' very being. A shiver ran through his legs.

"We can't stop now," Traphis said, his voice echoed across the tunnel. "We have to beat them to the bottom. At least I can see where I'm stepping." Ever since he had entered the domain of the wolvarks, there were torches lit on the walls. They didn't provide enough light to see for any great distance, but still helped him to keep from falling all the same. An unsettling feeling sank inside his gut. "It's as if they expected me to be here."

Titch remained silent.

The curving steps continued to guide him toward the unknown. Being careful not to make a wrong move, Traphis glided a hand against the rock surface of the inner wall.

"I assume it doesn't matter if we are quiet anymore," Titch said.

Traphis nodded his head. "Probably not."

"Then I need to tell you something." She reached down, squeezed his shoulder, and spoke softly into his ear. "No matter what happens, know that I am sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Titch offered no reply.

Several loose stones clattered down the stairway from far above.

"It's almost like they're keeping back on purpose," Traphis said.

An audible humming sounded in the distance. When he focused in on the noise, he realized it had been there for some time. "Flowing water?"

A solid pattern of stones came into sight, each in the shape of a small rectangle. The ground was covered with the darkened bricks in a purposeful design; aligned side-by-side, facing outward as if pointing to a central location.

When Traphis cleared the last and final step, he froze. Though he couldn't fully see where he was going, he could tell that something wasn't quite right.

Shortly after, Titch joined him at his side. "Go on," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "We're here."

Traphis was about to ask where _here_ was, when his body involuntarily jerked forward. He tried to stop, but his limbs moved on their own.

"Titch," he said, not bothering to hide the nervousness in his tone. "What's happening to me?"

Titch stayed as silent as night, walking alongside him.

All he could do was watch the bricks passing underfoot. Unable to turn his head, he couldn't see the expression on Titch's face. Droplets of water splashed against his cheeks and the sound of flowing water intensified.

When his legs finally came to a standstill, a yellow light formed in the distance. At first, the light was faint, but in a short amount of time, it grew as bright as a small star.

Traphis tried to lift a hand to shade his eyes, but it would not move. Thankfully, his eyelids were able to shut long enough for the brightness to sink in. After the initial stinging faded, he opened them again.

The area that encircled within the pit-like tower became visible. Spouts jutted from the walls. Coming from each one was an endless flow of water that spilled into what appeared to be a lake. And then, Traphis realized that the source of the light came from a small island in the center of the lake. Something about it reminded him of the Blue, yet this water was murky and the sand on the island was dark; very unlike the vivid blue and lustrous white of the source of magic that he knew so well.

A familiar yet wretched sensation sank deep into his gut. It took him a moment to recognize what it was, and then he knew. This was the same presence he had felt within the Cloud the very first time he fought to pass through it.

"Titch, what's happening?" Traphis asked in a pleading tone. "Did you bring me here?"

The light faded and a dark object moved against the island. It took the form of a man and stood to its feet. "You have done well," it said. The tone of the voice was soft and pleasing, yet somewhere within there was a hit of a malicious intent. "It is nice to finally meet you."

"Wh-who are you?" Traphis asked.

"I am the proprietor of this mountain," the man said. "And if you wish, you may address me as Tyron."

* * *

Rexor made his way along the narrow pathway, making sure not to slip and fall into the icy river. It was not much of a river anymore; the water was closer to the size of a small brook or a creek, but that made no difference to the temperature. Just being inside the mountain was cold enough.

The blue crystal in his hand continued to light the way. He knew it was a gift from the Founder, and he would use it to his advantage as long as it continued to shine.

Before long, Rexor came to an opening in the side of the wall. Raising the crystal, he could see that the tunnel led off into the distance. Being dry, this seemed like a better option than where he was now, so he proceeded in.

As soon as he passed through the opening, the light in his hand dimmed. Rexor lifted the object and tapped it with a finger, but nothing happened. With a shrug, he continued his advance. Each step caused the blue light to fade little by little until at last it went out completely.

Blackness surrounded him, yet he would not let the loss of light hinder his advancement. With crystal in hand, Rexor tossed it over his shoulder. The stone thumped against the sand.

As soon as he took a step forward, blue rays of light came from behind him and his shadow appeared against the wall. When he turned back, he saw that the exposed section of crystal was glowing with the same blue it had only a moment before.

Rexor stepped back and picked up the object once again. It was dimly lit, but alive.

He held the stone up and then continued down the tunnel. The light vanished like before. Lifting a hand to toss it away, the light returned.

Brow furrowed, Rexor decided to take a few steps back. As a result, the crystal increased in brightness. Testing his theory, he took several more steps back. Subsequently, the brightness intensified.

"Is this a sign?" Rexor asked, as if the stone had ears and a mouth. "Should I return to the water?"

When no answer came, he retraced his steps. The river greeted him like an unwelcomed guest, but the light from the crystal was as bright as it had ever been.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "Thank you," he said. "I will trust in you as my guide."

With that, he continued to navigate the pathway along the water's edge.

* * *

The figure standing on the sandy island glowed with a brilliant, yellowish light. Yet the man was too far away for Traphis to see clearly. Was this really Tyron? The man that so many feared?

It felt as if someone had punched Traphis in the gut, but the impending pain had yet to arrive. Images passed through his cluttered mind as pictures of Neha, Rexor, and Falin came into view. He saw Saleena speaking to him for the first time, and then he saw the inside of his cave back home as he rushed to close a burning book. Another image of his mother took its place as she fought with Braun and amazed the festival crowd. The next instant, his grandfather was lying in a pool of blood. Dead wolvarks littered the ground, and Skinny Jack lifted the man into a wagon. A girl with bright red hair appeared as she handed Traphis a transparent cube, and a moment later, fire consumed both him and the cube.

"The story of how you were captured by a scout was a lie, wasn't it?" Traphis asked. He would have turned to look at Titch, but his neck still wouldn't move. "This was your plan all along. You came to the WC to get close to me and bring me here." He should have known that someone as beautiful as her would never have cared for him. A spell of delusion must have been cast over his eyes, tarnishing his ability to reason.

"Please, do not be distressed," the voice from the island said. "Here, allow me to release you."

A stream of yellow light flowed from the figure, touched Traphis, and then disappeared.

Traphis stumbled backward and fell to the ground. His elbow slammed against one of the bricks, which sent a wave of pain throughout his arm.

"I did not want you to accidentally fall into the water," Tyron said. "I held you back for your own safety."

Traphis rubbed his elbow. "Where's my mother?" he asked.

"She is safe," Tyron said.

"I want to see her."

The figure came closer. At first, Traphis thought the dark wizard would sink into the water, but to his amazement, the man's feet glided across the surface as if the liquid had been turned to dirt.

"My dear boy," Tyron said. "You do know that she is not your mother, do you not?"

The blood drain from Traphis' cheeks and the skin on his forehead tensed.

"This is understandably upsetting," Tyron said. "You have been unfairly deceived for all these years, and not a word of truth has ever been spoken of the matter."

Traphis lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the bright light. As if noticing this, Tyron clapped his hands together and the light dimmed.

At first, Traphis nearly shouted out the name of Falin, but then he knew better. This was not Falin, though the man's features were similar. Both wore the wrinkles of age, and both had long beards, but this man's beard was braided at the sides. Above a thick nose were two eyes, yellow like those of a wolvark, and dark, bushy eyebrows clashed against his long, white hair, which flowed past his shoulders.

"And you also believe that Mardin was your father?" Tyron continued. "I'm afraid I must inform you that he was not."

"No," Traphis said, not as to answer the question, but as to deny the claim. He stared deeply into the man's yellow eyes as if they possessed both fire and silk. The words felt like poison, yet a chilling suspicion of possibilities arose in them.

"I am afraid it is indeed true," Tyron said. He stood a few paces away. Water flowed around his feet as if in fear of touching them. "Anjetta was a warrior of Golan. When she failed to protect your true father, she took you away from your home without considering what was best for you."

"My true father?" Traphis said the words as if each one cut like a sharp knife.

"Why, Golan of course." A wry smile formed on Tyron's face. "The true king of the land of Ronum. Traphis, you are his son."

# Chapter 35

ELEVEN SNARLING WOLVARKS slashed at the grassy barrier. One of them had already managed to open up an arm-sized hole, but before it could force its entire body through the opening, there was still more work for it to do.

Falin seemed content with leaving the task of stopping the enemy up to Skinny Jack. This, of course, only increased the tension. Not only would the three of them have to fight off an entire army, but they had to do so under his guidance—as if Skinny Jack was an expert in the matters of war.

Still, if there was one thing he did know, it was strategy. And with strategy came the need for information. Thankfully, he knew the dynamics of his and his sister's magical abilities, but Falin's, on the other hand, was a mystery. The fact that the man was a White Class wizard proved he had great capabilities, but what they were was another matter. Yet now was not the time for long explanations; he would have to assess the wizard while in action.

"Can you keep them still for a moment?" Skinny Jack asked, looking at Falin. "If we keep taking them out like we have, Kip and I won't be able to keep up."

Falin nodded his head and pointed his staff toward the border of grass. A beam of light emerged from the tip and several of the grassy blades doubled in size. They wove together and formed into vines, which stretched and wrapped around the wolvarks; encasing them in a wiry cage.

Several grunts and growls came from the beasts as they struggled, but the more they wiggled, the tighter the vines became.

"It will not hold long," Falin said.

"That's all the time I need," Skinny Jack said. He lifted a fist and when he opened it again, a newly formed funnel danced against his palm. As before, he concentrated his energy at the tip, making it sharp, and before long, the spinning whirlwind flew into the air.

The funnel hummed like a swarm of wasps as Skinny Jack positioned it toward the wolvark at the front of the line. With a flick of the wrist, he drove the funnel into the beast's chest.

A yelp followed as the funnel dug through the hairy flesh and continued on to the next wolvark. Unable to move, they were helpless against the attack. Being careful to apply just the right amount of circular rotation, Skinny Jack guided the funnel from beast to beast until all but one remained.

The vines loosened and the wolvarks crumpled to the ground.

"Looks like it's only strong enough for ten at a time," Skinny Jack said. His breathing was thick and labored as if he had just run from one side of the valley to the other. "We'll need a different method to defeat an army that size."

As he pointed, a spear struck the ground next to his foot. Instinctively, he jumped back and shielded his eyes. More of the wolvarks had arrived, and these ones carried weapons.

"Jack!" Kip shouted.

Falin positioned himself in front of Skinny Jack and said, "You have done well, but please allow me to take command from here."

* * *

Finally, Skinny Jack was going to see Falin in full action. This was bound to be good. Having never seen a White Wizard perform great feats of magic before, he eagerly awaited.

The next group of wolvarks drove inward. If only he hadn't flinched when the spear hit the ground. He hoped that part would be left out of the historical records; there was little less appealing than a hero not emboldened in the face of battle.

Three of the wolvarks grabbed the bodies of their fallen comrades. They dragged them to the edge of the barrier and piled them one on top of another. In the distance, another wolvark charged forward with spear in hand. As it came, it ran up the mound of dead bodies, jumped, and howled as it glided over the grassy wall.

Several things happened at once: Kip screamed, Skinny Jack stumbled backward, and Falin lashed out with his staff. As the wolvark flew at them, the tip of the staff sunk into its chest. With a spinning motion, Falin redirected the weight of the creature and sent it smashing to the ground below.

Falin then wedged the end of his staff into the dirt, closed his eyes, and reached out with his hands. As soon as he touched the staff again, the mound of dirt quaked.

At first, Skinny Jack thought his legs were shaking with fear, but a moment later, he noticed that the wolvarks were shrinking in size. After closer inspection, he realized that the creatures weren't shrinking at all; the hill was growing.

Throbbing like the heart of a lover, the hill lifted higher into the air. By the time the shaking stopped, the mound of dirt had tripled in size. This gave them a greater vantage point, but it also meant that a fall to the ground could be fatal.

The wolvarks glared up; menacing expressions formed on their faces. Some paced back and forth while others hurled spears, which futilely struck the side of the mound.

"We should be safe from their weapons up here," Falin said.

As soon as he spoke, a flash of lightning spread across the sky. Skinny Jack looked up. The clouds were dark, but motionless and dry. When he looked back down, a figure in black emerged from the thickness of the wolvark hoard.

It wore a robe that resembled the archer's—who Saleena had killed earlier—but even Skinny Jack could tell that the body within was of a much higher level. Just its very presence sent a chill throughout his flesh.

"This battle has become complicated," Falin said, "but not unexpected. Nekrin are not to be underestimated, yet they can be defeated with persistence. Stay on your guard and protect yourselves."

A foul hiss of words silenced the barking, snarling, and whimpering wolvarks. Similar to the atmosphere of the Coliseum back in Hoshan, it was as if a show was about to begin. The audience waited in hushed silence, ready to be entertained. This time Skinny Jack was in center stage, and he wasn't looking forward to the cheers and applauds.

The repulsive voice spoke again, casting shrill words upon the air. The sound carried over Skinny Jack's ears like the scraping of stones across a shell. If he had felt a chill before, this one made the other seem like a warm breeze. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into the corners of his mouth. His breathing intensified, his heart beat rapidly, and his thoughts muddled together. Like a wild animal, his eyes darted, and then a funnel formed on his palm. Without realizing what his limbs were doing, Skinny Jack hurled the magic into the air.

The whirlwind plummeted down with a speed unequaled to anything he had ever managed before. Several wolvarks dove out of the way as it charged at the hooded figure. Just before the funnel hit its mark, a dark hand emerged from a slit in the robe and pointed at the whirlwind as if scolding a naughty child. The funnel halted.

Black lines mixed in with the magical shape, and then it grew in size. Skinny Jack jerked his fingers in an attempt regain control, but the funnel swelled under the command of its new master.

With little effort, the nekrin motioned as if brushing away an annoying pest. The funnel shot back toward the top of the hill, apparently headed straight for Skinny Jack.

Falin thrust out his staff. The funnel jerked downward and struck the side of the cliff. A loud boom resonated as a cloud of dirt lofted into the air.

The vibration from the impact sent a shockwave of pure terror throughout Skinny Jack. "How did he?" he asked. "How did he turn my magic against me?"

"They cannot be defeated with fear," Falin said. "Only when you find peace within yourself can you face a nekrin."

"I don't understand. That was my strongest attack."

"Jack," Falin said. "You are an amazing boy who has been through circumstances that no child should ever face, but because of them, there is much in you that seeks out the path of anger. If you do not reach outside of yourself, one day you will be like them. A user of the Cloud."

Falin's words pierced him like a sharp splinter. _Anger?_ Was he really angry? He always tried as hard as he could to be a good boy, yet the words drove inward. It was true that he thought poorly of his father, but anger? Fear? Did these words really define him? Normally, he would have listed such comments as ineffectual prattle, but with the situation they were in now, and the strength of the man who said them, he knew he couldn't simply brush them away.

Deep in his gut a name appeared. A name of a being he had neglected his entire life. "You mean the Founder, don't you?" Skinny Jack asked.

"Yes, Jack," Falin said. "There is none other who can release you from the clutches of despair."

It may be true that Skinny Jack had been hiding the part of him that sought vengeance for the wrongs done to him, and for the wrongs done to the people he cared about. But he had learned ways to cope with it—he considered himself an expert at appearing as if all was right. And now, with one mention of fear, a small voice began to speak inside him. The words it used were _release_ and _let go_.

"If He cared so much about me," Skinny Jack said, "why did He leave me with a man like my father?" The aggression in his own voice surprised him.

Falin straightened and faced the nekrin. "The man who gave you life," Falin said, not turning as he spoke, "was under the same curse as you."

A bolt of lightning shot from the sky, but Falin absorbed it with his staff. A deep rasp of thunder roared throughout the valley.

"Blame is not the answer," Falin continued. "There is only one way to stop the cycle of pain. You must bring it to a halt so that it does not continue to haunt your family for generations to come. Do what your father could not. Bring an end to the bondage."

Putrid words came from the cliff below. The nekrin chanted a spell, which repeated over and over in a formation that sounded something like, "Noshtel, flarmine, zurask, mourana, karual."

Unnatural rain poured down from the sky above. The droplets fell so hard that each one felt like the sting of a wasp. Kip formed a sheet of magic, ran over to Skinny Jack, and raised it above both their heads. The water slammed against the shield, but Kip held it at bay.

Not budging from his stance, Falin stood firm and erect as if the rainfall was nothing more than a slight breeze. He no longer looked like an old man, but one of youth and vigor. His shoulders stood upright, strong, and his arms looked as steady and solid as tree trunks.

"It is up to you," Falin continued, speaking above the rain, "to make a decision." His eyes were firmly planted on the nekrin, but his words were directed at Skinny Jack.

"What decision?" Skinny Jack felt a trembling in his legs.

"To listen to the voice, and break the chains of the past. To prevent the curse from passing down to your own children one day."

Energy surged inside Skinny Jack's chest. "But I'm not strong enough," he said, resisting its pull.

"There is one who is, and He is ready to lend you all the strength you need. All you have to do is reach out and grab it."

Falin took something out of his pocket, tossed it in the air, and pointed his staff. A deep hum accompanied what looked to be a large seed. Before long, the seed became as big as Falin's head. The next moment it spanned the entire width of the hill.

The object wiggled as it rose toward the sky and then came to a standstill. Waves of green energy swirled within as it hovered above the companions, shielding their bodies from the assaulting water.

Kip lowered her magical shield and gazed knowingly into Skinny Jack's eyes. "Listen to Falin," she said—her voice was soft and compassionate. "Listen to the Founder."

A bolt of lightning dashed against the side of the cliff. The battle around them raged on, yet a new battle grew inside the vessel known as Skinny Jack. Small as he may be, in many ways, this battle was much larger than Tyron himself.

* * *

Skinny Jack had taught himself that emotions were things to push aside. They only confused matters. He depended on his sense of reason and logic to get him through life's challenges. Yet no matter how hard he tried to cover them up, he knew that the emotions still existed. In fact, the more he covered them up, the darker and more damaging they became.

Regardless, for him to understand the situation now, he needed to cover them up once again. With a deep breath, he engaged his objective reasoning in an attempt to process Falin's words. The wizard was right; attacking the nekrin would be pointless in his current state. The Cloud user would only managed to find a place within his magic that wasn't pure. From there it would be used against him like before.

With this in mind, he closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on removing any trace of anger or hatred. The energy of the Blue flowed through him, merging with the energy from within himself. When he opened his eyes, a funnel spun against his palm—a mixture of both his personal signature and the power of the Blue. If any part of him wasn't sound, then, too, his magic would be unsound. This was just one of the basic lessons he learned at the WC. At the time, he didn't give it much thought, but now that he faced a true opponent, things became more clear.

"Jack," Falin said. "Until you are confident with the mixture, it is best if you only target the wolvarks."

The comment was like the stab of a knife, but Falin was right. He would have to overlook his pride and make logical choices. "Kip," he said. "Do you think you can throw your star far enough to hit the nekrin?"

"I don't know," Kip said. "I can try."

"Falin. If the two of us can distract the nekrin, he might not see Kip's attack."

The old wizard smiled and then nodded. "A good plan," he said. "Let us proceed."

The funnel left Skinny Jack's hand.

At the same time, Falin lifted a batch of grass from the ground and released it in a flurry of spikes. Like small blades, the grass shot forward, leaving a line of holes in a group of unsuspecting wolvarks. The beasts dropped dead to the ground, but the grass continued to advance.

Before both funnel and blades hit their mark, the magical user lifted his arms. Lightning shot from his fingers and wrapped around the attack.

"Now Kip!" Skinny Jack shouted.

A golden disk shot out, headed down the hill, and then disappeared underneath the darkened hood.

The nekrin stumbled backward and then collapsed to the ground. Its body shook a few times and then lay still.

The remaining grass and wind slammed against several wolvarks before they too disappeared.

"Great throw, Kip," Skinny Jack said. A smile formed on his face, but then vanished when a hint of jealousy took over. There was nothing blemished about her magical formation. Her innocence and purity wasn't tainted like his. Yet that was partly his doing; keeping Kip away from the dark side of their father was a decision he made.

"A plan well executed," Falin said. "But the time for celebration is not at hand."

A large number of black dots appeared in the distance.

"Are those what I think they are?" Skinny Jack asked.

Kip cried out. "An army of nekrin? But we can't stop them!"

"It would seem so," Falin said, and for the first time, his voice betrayed a hint of unease.

# Chapter 36

A FLOOD OF memories swam through Traphis' mind. As far back as he could remember, Mardin and Anjetta had been a part of his life. He vaguely recalled the time when Mardin brought stones into the kitchen. The two of them used the stones to build a stove for Anjetta. Even though Traphis had been somewhere between three years of age and five, the image stuck out in his memory because it was the first time he really felt useful. Of course, he knew now that he had been of little help, but Mardin didn't seem to mind.

No matter how stern his parents were at times, Traphis always felt like they loved him. He knew their punishments were meant to guide him rather than make him suffer. Because of this, he wanted to become a wizard like his father. Yet it wasn't until now that he understood why Mardin sheltered him from that life; to protect him from Tyron and the dangers that came with learning the arts. Mardin tried to give him a simpler and happier life. Just like a true father would have done.

A wave of sorrow and regret washed over Traphis. With each rebellious act against his parents, he had only been hurting himself.

Who was this man to tell him that Golan, not Mardin, was his father? Other than the fact that Tyron was the enemy of the WC, Traphis knew very little of him. As it seemed, the dark wizard was the enemy of his father and mother as well. So why would he trust him above the others?

Between himself and the island of dark sand, the ruthless tyrant stood. Eyes lit up with yellow gold. Tyron held out his arms in a welcoming gesture, but Traphis knew better than to trust him.

"I know this is hard for you to accept," Tyron said. "But I have no reason to deceive you. No, I am not the one who has told you lies. You have never been informed of what really happened those many years ago."

"They said you destroyed the Kingdom of Golan," Traphis said.

"Destroyed? By no means. I sought to save it. Save it from the corruption that overtook those who ruled."

"If that's true and Golan was really my father, then that means you betrayed him too."

"Betrayed?" Tyron's voice remained friendly and soft. There wasn't the slightest hint of anger in it. "The times were complicated, Traphis, you have to understand; things were not what they seemed. The Kingdom of Golan was not a place you would have found to your liking."

"Rexor said it was prosperous."

"Rexor? I see. So one of the other Five Jinx has contacted you. I would expect him to deceive you no less. Perhaps Golan was indeed prosperous as he said, but does wealth alone define prosperity? Traphis, your true father became obsessed with riches. Yes, at first, the people loved him, but eventually your father taxed them so hard that their groaning could be heard to the far reaches of the great waters. Food was in abundance for those in the castle, for those like Rexor, but not for those of the village and those who tended the fields."

"What do you mean? My father lived with little and grew food with his own hands."

"Your father. You mean Mardin. Perhaps he did when he raised you, but it was not always as such. It is often out of guilt that people continue their lives, but guilt does not erase the sins of the past. Mardin followed your true father, and both were guilty of the same crime."

"You killed him, didn't you?"

There was a pause before Tyron spoke again. "Traphis, who did I kill?"

"My father!"

"Which are you referring to?"

Traphis' hands shook as the anger inside continued to build. "One of them, both of them, it doesn't matter. You killed them."

Tyron lowered his arms and took a single step forward. A ripple spread across the lake. "My dear boy. You have been confused for far too long. I only ask that you open your mind and embrace that which is true—"

"You're not answering my question."

"Before I tell you, let me take you back in time. Back to the Kingdom of Golan. I know it well for I was the head of the Wizarding Committee. Yes, Traphis, I was Elder Controller of the Ninth Order, before Daymon."

A picture of bushy eyebrows and blue retinas came into view as Traphis recalled his first encounter with Daymon.

"Yes," Tyron said. "It is as I have said. I was once the leader of the order you follow, but when I saw the depravity and exploitation, I had to act. It would have been wicked for me to let things continue as they were. Because of this I have been branded by them as an enemy. So be it. If to act justly and rightly makes me so, then I welcome it with open arms."

"But if you are over a hundred years old, how can you be who you say you are?"

Laughter echoed up the walls of the pit. "Only in youth would such an observation be made. You must not misunderstand. I am Tyron and I am not. The man who I once was held the name of Nahan—"

Traphis recalled his conversation with Rexor and the mention of Nahan, who supposedly betrayed the others.

As if reading his thoughts, Tyron said, "I was one of the Five Jinx. It was I who taught Mardin, Shino, Falin, and Zebabel how to become stronger. And because of this I am partly to blame. You see, Traphis, in order to put an end to the tyranny, the man once known as Nahan called out to me for help. He was strong, but not strong enough to overthrow a kingdom on his own. He needed the power I offered and the strength of my army. I only gave him what he wished for."

"I don't believe anything you say."

"My dear boy, some things are true whether you believe them or not."

Traphis paused. Not long ago Rexor shared a similar statement.

"Why don't we ask the one you call mother?" Tyron continued.

At this, Traphis jerked his head and searched his surroundings, but Anjetta was nowhere to be seen.

"As I told you," Tyron said. "She is safe. I have not brought harm upon her even though she chose to be my enemy." With a wave of his hand, a bubble formed on the surface of the lake. It slowly lifted and separated from the fluid below. A few paces from Tyron, the bubble hovered in midair. Inside the bubble, a woman with blond hair and dark brown eyes stood and gazed at Traphis as if he had been the most valuable item in the world. Her lips were moving, but no sound came from them.

Traphis' heart sank. When he took a step forward, his foot dipped into the water, so he pulled back. Reaching out with both arms, he called out the name of his mother.

* * *

Shortly after Anjetta appeared, Tyron motioned at the water near Traphis. A wave shot up and splashed against his cheeks. Wiping the moisture away, he saw that the wave was holding its position without failure. Countless droplets of water sprayed, but the wave itself remained steady and solid.

An image of a young woman appeared on the surface of the wave. Her blond hair was curly and long. It grew down the woman's back and rested against the leathery armor with which she wore. A long and slender blade hung at her side as a vigorous and alert expression surfaced on her face.

Traphis looked back at his mother, who remained a prisoner in Tyron's bubble. It was clear that the image was a younger version of her, and as she gazed back at him, her eyes told him it was true.

Titch grabbed Traphis' hand as if to comfort him, but he pulled away. "What are you showing me?" he asked.

"The truth," Tyron said. With a wave of his hand, the image of his young mother disappeared and two other figures came into view. Both wore the robes and hats of a wizard. Their faces and postures were identical against what appeared to be a brick wall.

"I do not agree," the first man said. "We should confront the king about this matter."

"He will not listen," the second said. "His heart has become hardened by the softness of this palace."

"But we cannot simply overthrow him," the first said. "That would be an act of rebellion."

"And you believe it is right for him to treat the people as slaves?"

"No, I do not. But he is still the king."

"Your duty bounds you for ill," the second returned. "Do not make me go against you, brother. We have been as one since the very beginning."

"If you do as you said, then it is you who chooses the path that strays."

The sound of footsteps interrupted the conversation.

The second man looked around nervously as does a child when caught taking sweets without permission. "We will continue this conversation later."

"No, Nahan, we will not. I have said all there is to be said. Going to Tyron is not the answer."

Nahan spat at the ground, turned, and then walked out of the picture.

"You see, Traphis," Tyron said. "Falin chose not to take action. Because of this, his brother was forced to take matters into his own hands. That is why I came here; to restore order to the kingdom and to right the wrongs that were done."

Another image appeared against the wave. This time the background was painted with flames, and a throne was painted with blood.

"What have you done?" Falin shouted.

The man known as Nahan came into view. His eyes were yellow as they are now, but his hands were stained red. "I had to put an end to it," he said. His voice was shaky and uncertain.

"No," Falin said. "You have started a war, one which will produce a world much darker than it was before."

Cries from a baby could be heard in the distance. Nahan jerked his head in the direction of the sound. "We can rebuild," he said. "There is a new king."

"He is only a baby."

"But he carries the blood of Golan; the only family to pass down the Crimson Flame. He is the rightful heir to the throne. We can raise him together. We can teach him how to live true. We can make him into a virtuous leader. Come, brother, let us mold him with our own hands."

"To speak of virtue after such a horrendous act . . . I will not let you use him as a tool for your gain. I have no choice but to stop you."

The yellow in Nahan's eyes grew brighter, and an expression of anger appeared across his face. Energy shot from his hands, which crumpled Falin to the ground. "I do not wish to kill you," he said. "But you give me no choice."

Another blast of magic shot from his fingers and encompassed the body of Falin.

Screams came from the wizard as he writhed against the floor.

A door sliced in half and the tip of a sword announced a dark man, who hurled himself into the room. His eyes focused on the dead body of the king and then onto Falin. An instant later, he charged Nahan and struck him with the end of his blade.

"I will hold him here," the man said. "Go and rescue the baby; he is our only hope now."

Falin scrambled to his feet and disappeared from the room.

"You are making a mistake, Shino," Nahan said, and then with a yell, "I will find him one day, do you hear me, brother? One day he will ignite the Crimson Flame, and I will track him down."

Water splashed up against the wave as the images faded. With another splash of water, a new visual formed.

Falin held a bundle of cloth, which squirmed as he ran to the edge of a forest. Dead bodies lay all around, some of them men in armor, others wolvarks.

A woman slashed back and forth with her sword, dropping a blackened beast to the ground. She jumped back as soon as she saw Falin approaching.

"Anjetta," he said. "Take this baby and raise him as your own. He must not learn to use magic or he will be discovered. I will send along someone to help you and explain more, but for now, you must flee."

Her sword dropped to the ground and a moment later her arms rose, hesitated, and then lowered as if reluctant to take the child.

"Falin!" a voice shouted.

Falin turned to look. From a tower high above, Nahan glared down at him.

"You must go now," Falin said. He pushed the baby into Anjetta's stomach, forcing her to grab the bundle.

With that, he turned and charged the tower with staff raised.

The wave of images slapped against the surface of the lake as it merged back into the waters below.

"Now you have seen what really happened," Tyron said. "No lies. No deceit. Look into your mother's eyes and tell me it is so."

* * *

The anger that Traphis had been holding onto left his body like air from his lungs. He sank to his knees and stared at the floor. He never imagined that Falin had a twin brother, let alone one that rebelled against both him and the king. Was it really true? Had Traphis' father been a corrupt ruler? Did Nahan do the right thing by stopping him?

Before his very eyes, the parents he loved so dearly proved to be a lie. They had been forced to take him as their son . . . the two people he loved most didn't really want him. It was a chore. He had been a task, a mission.

"I don't believe it," he said at last. "Mardin was my father, I know it." He looked over to Anjetta. "And my mother . . ."

Tyron motioned toward the top of the bubble surrounding Anjetta. It popped, leaving only the lower half intact.

Anjetta's sad eyes stared back at Traphis as she spoke. "I'm sorry, Traphis," she said. "I know we misled you, but it was for your protection. When Falin handed you to me, I was terrified. More terrified than I had ever been before. A vicious wolvark I could face, but a helpless baby was too much. When Falin sent Mardin to help me, I became stronger. I became a wife. I became your mother."

An overflow of questions ran through Traphis' mind, but all he managed to say was, "Why?"

"I love you, Traphis," she said. "And I grew to love Mardin too. We became a family, and I have no regrets with the life I chose. Being a mother to you brought more happiness than I ever had as a warrior. You were everything to me. You still are."

"But . . ."

At this, the top of the bubble reformed around Anjetta's head; her words became soundless.

Tyron walked up to Traphis and knelt down. "Traphis," he said. "I have only ever wanted to make you king. One to rule with a true hand and a good heart. Will you not stay with me now?"

"But you hurt so many people. And Titch . . . you deceived me with Titch."

A gentle hand pressed up against Traphis' shoulder. "Traphis," Titch said. "I want what's best for you. For us. When your family line is back on the throne . . ." Her face turned as red as her hair. "I will be at your side."

Jumping to his feet, Traphis staggered back. Glancing back and forth between Anjetta, Tyron, and Titch, he said, "You all lied to me. You all deceived me. All you wanted to do was use me." He looked down at his hands. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Traphis grabbed for his knife and tugged. It didn't move. When he pulled harder at the hilt, the sheath yanked at the strap around his leg, but the blade itself failed to come free.

Without stopping, Traphis walked backward and headed toward the stairway where he had first come in. He tugged more violently now, but the knife remained as stubborn as he felt.

Tyron rose to his full height and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a hoard of wolvarks came scampering down the steps.

Traphis turned to see the ruthless beasts spilling onto the bricks like sand. His escape route had been blocked; there was nowhere else to run.

"This is your only option," Tyron said. "You must become king. It is your duty. I will be your Elder Controller. Together we will rid this world of tyranny, and we will be free from the confines of the Committee. There will be no more limits to our power—"

"And you will become the very thing you sought to destroy." The voice came from the shadows as if asserted by a ghost. As soon as it had spoken, Tyron took a few steps back.

For the first time, Traphis sensed fear in the dark wizard.

"How did you get in here?" Tyron asked. "My defenses . . ."

The fingers of a hand spread apart and a bluish glow of light revealed the face of a dark man. His eyes were as black as the island in the center of the lake, and his skin was as thick and leathery as a well-worn vest.

"The Founder guided me," Rexor said. "And not a moment too late."

"Traphis," Tyron said, his voice uneasy. "The wolvarks are at your command. Tell them what you wish, and they will obey."

Traphis' eyes went from person to person. He didn't know who to trust. All he wanted was to leave, disappear, hide in a small cave, and be rid of this situation. He wished that he had never found Mardin's books or attempted to use magic. He wished that he could go back to his home and return things to the way they were: pulling up potaras, tending to the tara birds, exploring the forest, and coming home to a warm meal made by his mother.

"It was a seal, wasn't it?" Traphis asked. "You hid a seal in one of my father's books. It activated because I used magic, and it sent out a signal of smoke to give away my position. That was the cause of the fire in my cave."

"I was right to believe in you," Tyron said. "You are wise beyond your years, and you are the perfect one to begin a new kingdom. Now tell the wolvarks to capture that man, so we can begin."

Traphis looked over at Rexor, and then back to Tyron. "But you already knew where I was," he said. "Because you had already killed my father, you came and killed Mardin. But you waited for me to use magic before I was worth taking."

"Traphis . . ." Tyron said, but then seemed as if he was at a loss for words.

"To build your kingdom," Traphis continued, "you want me to help you destroy those who are already in it. Don't you? You want me to take lives."

"Not destroy," Tyron said. "Cleanse. Cleanse this world of corruption and greed. Purify it from the clutches of injustice. Bring anew that which is good and worthy so that we can live and rule in a land of peace and tranquility. Only fire can do that. Only your fire, Traphis. Your Crimson Flame."

"That is not for you to do," Rexor said. "A world is changed not by men, for man's deeds and motives are not worthy. We divide ourselves between better and worse as frequently as the tide shifts in the great waters; therefore, we must seek that which is beyond ourselves. Changing the world on the outside will not bring about the peace you speak of. Purification must come into each man. Without this, external actions will never produce true goodness. Peace is found not by force, but by the transformation of each heart. One life at a time."

"Don't listen to him," Tyron said. "Tell the wolvarks to kill him now!"

"Why don't you command the wolvarks to do it?" Traphis asked. "If you have the power, why don't you use it?"

Rexor stepped forward and held out a blue crystal. "Because he is afraid. I have been sent by the Founder; the one who can both give life and take it away."

Tyron sailed over the lake as if deflecting an attack. He rose higher into the air, and with outstretched arms, he shouted, "Tyron is not second to Him. I will show you who is in control of this world."

# Chapter 37

NOT ONLY WERE Skinny Jack and his two allies surrounded by wolvarks, but the oncoming army of nekrin lessened their chances of survival. Even with the strength of the White Wizard, Skinny Jack knew that they were outnumbered and outmatched.

Kip pointed downward. "They're beginning to climb," she said.

As soon as Skinny Jack looked over the edge of the hill, he could see a mass of wolvarks grappling at the side.

"They have broken through the grass barrier," Falin said, his voice steady and calm. "We will need to change our tactics."

"What will we do?" Kip asked.

Falin pointed to the edge and said, "You two protect the hill while I deflect the spells of the nekrin."

The wolvarks sank their talons into the dirt like birds on a branch. "Kip," Skinny Jack said. "Use your stars, I'll use my funnels. Try to knock them off."

"All right," Kip said. She formed two sheets, one in each hand, and then chucked them over the edge. Yelps signaled their impact as two wolvarks fell to the ground.

Not wasting any time, Skinny Jack tossed his funnel over, which nailed the wolvark closest to the top. But as soon as one fell, two more took its place.

"They're going around to the back side too," Skinny Jack said. "Kip, you take the back, I'll cover the front."

With no response, Kip turned and immediately sent out a magical star. "I don't know how long we can keep this up," she said.

"Falin," Skinny Jack said. "All we can do now is defend."

The old wizard lifted his staff and braced for impact. A large boulder of ice struck his magical shield and then shattered to pieces.

"For now," Falin said, "that is enough."

Two more chunks of ice came at them. Falin deflected them both. Their remnants trickled over the heads of the ascending wolvarks.

Skinny Jack bit his lip and sent several more funnels over the side.

"You better keep them going," Falin said. "Otherwise, we may find ourselves in a melee. As you know, magical users are a poor challenge in close combat."

"I know. I'm trying." With each release of a funnel, Skinny Jack felt himself becoming more exhausted, but he would keep on until the very last. He would protect Kip to the end.

Kip screamed so loudly that he spun around before he knew what was happening. The snout of a wolvark crept over the ledge and its claws reached for her ankle. Without thinking, he ran over and kicked out with all the strength he could muster. His foot hit the snout and the wolvark cried out. A moment later, it released its grip and fell backward. Several yips and barks proceeded as the large body rolled down the hill.

"Keep going, Kip," Skinny Jack said. "Keep attacking."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "This is the end, isn't it?"

"You believe in the Founder, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Then trust that He will help us." Skinny Jack was surprised by his own words. As soon as they came from his mouth, he realized they sounded more like a question than a statement. It was as if he was sending a challenge to the Founder, willing Him to prove that He really existed.

"Over here, Jack," Falin said.

When he turned to look, Skinny Jack saw a paw creeping over the edge. "Is there no end to them?" he asked, but he knew the answer. With urgency in his step, he returned to his position and tossed a funnel directly into the face of the creeping wolvark. A thud reached his ears as the beast landed on the ground below.

Falin's staff reflected streaks of magic, which sprayed like the sparks of a fire. The power behind the attack pushed the wizard back several steps.

When Skinny Jack looked out and into the valley, he noticed that there were three Cloud users attacking Falin at once, with several more arriving. Deathly words emerged from under their hoods as a mixture of colors and elements sprang from their hands.

Skinny Jack wanted to help, but keeping the wolvarks off the top of the hill was challenge enough. As soon as he sent out three more funnels, a wolvark managed to pull itself over the edge. A snarl of triumph resounded as the beast rose to its feet and charged at full speed.

All Skinny Jack could do was shout a single word, "Move!"

* * *

It was too late. Skinny Jack's warning didn't reach Falin in time. The wolvark leaped at him and slashed out with its claws just as the old wizard turned. Sharp nails wrapped themselves around Falin's staff, and a roar of victory echoed from the beast's throat.

When the weight of the wolvark pulled against the rod, it twisted and jerked out of Falin's hands. Before anyone had time to respond, several things happened at once: Kip screamed, Skinny Jack ducked, and the wolvark sailed backward; as soon as the staff had been knocked loose, the flood of nekrin magic slammed into the creature's chest, killing it instantly.

"Grab the staff," Falin shouted.

Skinny Jack shook out of his daze. The wooden stick rolled past him. He dove for it and reached out a hand, but it was too late. With horror, he watched as the staff rolled over the edge and plummeted to the ground below. With a crack, it struck a boulder and split in two. Sparks of magic came from the broken ends and showered against the side of the hill. Masses of wolvarks dropped from the side as the fire engulfed their bodies.

Even though the broken staff had stopped the onslaught of wolvarks, it was only a matter of time before more took their place. Skinny Jack and Kip could try to keep them from reaching the top, but now there was no way to hold off the attacks of the nekrin.

Cringing, he closed his eyes and waited for Falin to lash out. It was Skinny Jack's fault for not stopping the wolvark from reaching the top of the hill, and it was his fault for not grabbing the staff before it fell to the ground. Falin was sure to come at him with all his wrath, and Skinny Jack was ready to accept the punishment. He would rather die at the hands of someone he respected than to die under the claws of the enemy.

When no such assault came, he opened his eyes. The old wizard looked back, not with anger, but with compassion. The connection between them lasted only for an instant, but it felt like a lifetime. In that brief moment, a volley of silent words had been communicated between them. Words that touched Skinny Jack like none had ever done before.

In the past, whenever he had made a mistake, his father would reach for the nearest object and beat him until his anger was exhausted. This was usually triggered by things such as forgetting to shut the door or spilling food on the floor. The fact that he just lost something as critical as Falin's staff gave the wizard more grounds to act than his father ever had. But instead, the wizard simply smiled. It was a smile unlike any he had ever seen before. It was a smile that offered a foreign and unusual gift. The gift of forgiveness.

No matter how hard he searched, Skinny Jack couldn't find any logic behind Falin's response. He had failed; he deserved punishment, yet he had been extended forgiveness. It didn't add up. Comprehension of such a thing was unfathomable. Forgiveness without consequence was so illogical that his senses became overwhelmed, and his reasoning shut down. Grabbing at his hair, he fell to his knees. Liquid streamed down his cheeks, and the taste of salt rolled against his lips. He had never received such an offering of grace before, and he didn't know how to accept it.

"Jack," Falin said. "Do not doubt the voice deep inside your heart. Reach out to it, embrace it, accept the forgiveness it offers. Know that you are a person of worth, a valuable treasure in the eyes of the Founder. Do not believe the voice that says you are a worthless person, unworthy of forgiveness. Life is being offered to you at this very instant; only you can embrace it."

As he lay, trembling against the dirt, a wave of goodness crashed throughout his being. It flowed into every crevasse; every corner; every fissure, gap, and pit. All the spaces within him that were covered in cobwebs and dust sparkled under the water's roar. The anger, the hatred, the sadness, and pain all washed away like rotten logs in a river.

And then the roar of water died down. It exited his skin like sweat on a hot day. Rather than leaving him empty, he had never felt more complete in his entire life.

When he opened his eyes, droplets of liquid hit the dirt just below his brow. He stood to his feet and took a deep breath as if emerging from a lake of water. His legs and arms felt lighter as if he could walk on the top of the very clouds themselves.

Suddenly, he remembered where he was. It was as if the battle around him had vanished in that small moment. Yet he knew it was still underway. And then he realized that the nekrin had ceased their attacks. But why? There was no better time to put an end to them than now.

Taking in his surroundings, he heard gasps of pain and howls of fear. The ground shook. How long it had been shaking, Skinny Jack didn't know. As he looked, he could see a thick layer of mud flowing under the legs of the wolvarks and nekrin alike. They were sinking into it as if standing on loose sand. The fluid-like mud grabbed their legs and pulled them under. It was as if a great mouth had opened up and was swallowing them alive.

"What's happening?" Skinny Jack asked.

Falin smiled and motioned with a finger.

A mass of pointed hats and shiny robes stood at the edge of the valley floor. Positioned at the front was the familiar horse-like face of his least favorite wizard, Jabool. In the wizard's hand was a staff, which pointed at the enemy. The staff released a wave of light, the color of brown and gray, and following in its wake was a layer of mud as thick as the boulders below.

* * *

"How did they? Where did they?" Skinny Jack looked on in amazement as Jabool's formation of mud continued to suck the enemy into the earth.

Falin relaxed his shoulders and said, "Timing of the Founder."

"But," Skinny Jack said. "How did they know we were here? How did they find us?"

Holding up a hand, Falin showed him the ring. "As you would have learned once you became a Gray Class wizard, our rings allow us to communicate with one another at great distances."

Skinny Jack blinked, but said nothing.

"I was not sure he would come," Falin continued. "But Jabool is more trustworthy than he lets on."

Kip skipped over and slapped her brother on the back. "I told you we'd find a way out of this mess."

"No, you didn't." Skinny Jack crossed his arms. "And you called him Jabool the Cruel along with the rest of us . . ." He put a hand over his mouth, having forgotten that Falin stood only a few paces away.

Falin ignored the comment. "He would not have come had his team not investigated the intrusion at the border," he said. "Once he saw the truth, I knew Jabool would come around."

Skinny Jack scratched his head. "Slow down, I'm trying to process this."

Kip slapped him again. "It doesn't matter. They are here, the wizards are here!"

"Hopefully enough of them for the task at hand," Falin said.

"How did they get here so quickly?" Skinny Jack asked. "I thought it would take days to go on foot."

Falin stroked his beard and said, "I kept a steady flow of magic in my ring so that they could follow my signature. Like the Revealers, it led them down a similar path as ours."

"But . . ."

"Oh, stop asking so many questions," Kip said. "We're saved."

"Not as of yet," Falin said. "Tyron has more than a single army at his command."

The yelps of wolvarks and curses of the nekrin ended as the last bit of mud flowed over them. As soon as Jabool relaxed his staff, the ground hardened, and a tremor shook the valley. Soon after, all was still once again.

Jabool nodded his head at Falin and then shouted commands at the wizards around him.

A new arrangement of sounds came into earshot. In the distance, another army of wolvarks and nekrin marched toward them.

Skinny Jack's eyes widened as he gazed at the sizable force. Jabool may have destroyed the enemy that was attacking them only a moment before, but new arrivals were about to take their place. It was as if Tyron had an endless supply of able bodies. Even with the assistance of Jabool's men, they were clearly outnumbered. "Where are they all coming from?" he asked.

"There is a tunnel under the river," Falin said. "It links the valley to the mountain. Unfortunately, we let Tyron become too strong. If only we had acted sooner . . ."

"Wonderful," Skinny Jack said, but as much as he wanted to, the old feelings of despair didn't resurface. Instead, there was a new sensation within him. One of trust rather than doubt. Trust in the Founder. He felt so refreshed that even the thought of his father couldn't bring him down. The forgiveness he experienced within was beginning to extend without. Even to one as undeserving as the man who called him son. It was as if Skinny Jack had become infected—not with an ailment, but a cure.

"Get out of my way, you fancy little blossoms." A large man pushed through the group of wizards and jumped onto the valley floor. He raised an axe over his head and yelled.

Skinny Jack squinted his eyes. "Isn't that Traphis' grandfather?" he asked.

"It seems as if his wounds are better," Falin said. "Though, I wonder; it is unlike Jabool to allow warriors to accompany him."

A laugh came from Skinny Jack's throat. It felt good. "Serves them right for not liking each other," he said.

"Jack," Kip said. "Now's not the time to be—"

Kip's words were interrupted when a wave of magic flowed from the group of wizards and splashed against the front of the enemy line.

Before his very eyes, Skinny Jack watched as the row of bodies turned to stone. Wolvarks and nekrin alike toppled over as if they had become statues.

Another wave hit as the troops climbed over their fallen comrades. This time instead of stones, the enemy became white like crystals and blew into the air as if they had turned to dust.

Skinny Jack watch with fascination as the group of wizards fought back, one by one, taking out sections of the enemy as if brushing leaves under a bush. But as quickly as the wizards executed their commands, so too the enemy doubled in size.

By now, the nekrin were close enough to chant their devilish spells. Magic, the color of black, rose from countless fingers and spread across the valley.

Forming a horizontal line, the wizards fortified their ground. Side-by-side they stood, taking turns attacking and defending. Magic crashed and spilled like waves. The sky flickered with light and flashed fiercer than a barrage of lightning strokes. Booms, deeper than thunder and shriller than the cry of a learcat resounded in the air. Screams and shouts mingled together with howls and curses. It was chaos, unlike anything Skinny Jack had ever seen before, yet somehow in it there maintained a purposeful intent. A command of authority that brilliantly orchestrated before his eyes. Even though death and war was a result, he couldn't help but stand in awe of the beauty and terror that unfolded.

"Can we do anything to help?" Kip asked.

"We're safer on this hill," Skinny Jack said. "Besides, Falin no longer has his staff."

"But you and I can fight without a staff," Kip said.

"Indeed," Falin responded. "A staff helps to concentrate and focus magical energy, but it is not the only means of delivery."

"But your power won't be as strong," Skinny Jack said.

"That may be so, but even an old man like me still has a little skill left."

"What about the ring?" Kip asked. "Can you use that?"

Falin lifted his hand for them to see. "These are more of a tool than a weapon," he said. "Rings can be used for limited defense, communication, creating seals, and other such tasks, but they do not aid highly in the way of assault."

A stray streak of magic flew past Skinny Jack's face. He jumped back to dodge it, but it had already gone by.

"They do not appear to be targeting us yet," Falin said. "But as you can see, we are not out of range."

"What do we do now?" Kip asked.

"Why doesn't Jabool just sink them into the ground like he did the others?" Skinny Jack asked.

"A command that great cannot be repeated so soon," Falin said. "Jabool needs to replenish his energy."

"They're breaking through," Kip said. She pointed at the enemy.

The attacks and defenses of the wizards were slowing down. Wolvarks had broken away from the onslaught and managed to land hits on several of the wizards. Traphis' grandfather fought them off, but he soon became overrun. Blood streaked the robes of the wizards as they continued to fight with their remaining strength.

"Looks like some of them are heading for us," Skinny Jack said. "We'll have to fight again."

Kip inhaled sharply. "More are coming from the distance," she said. "When will it end?"

"Tyron plans to defeat us with shear force," Falin said. "And at this rate, he will succeed."

# Chapter 38

TRAPHIS PULLED AT his knife, but it remained secure within its sheath. A cool breeze pressed up against his cheeks and sent a chill across his skin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to panic. He had to relax. He had to keep his senses.

An image of Mardin flashed through his mind and then his father's words stood out as clearly as they were etched into the blade.

"Always be true," Traphis said. "No matter what the cost, no matter what wrongs are done, always be true." He paused and then added his own words. "At first, I wasn't sure what that meant, but now I'm beginning to understand. Regardless of what others have done, I must be true to myself. If only because of this, I cannot join you."

"Do not be foolish, boy," Tyron said. The Cloud user kept his distance, but was still within earshot. "The truth is not so easy to understand. What you have been taught was a lie. What you know to be truth and what you hold onto has no real meaning. You were raised to think and behave as if you had been given the facts, but now you know that is not so."

Rexor took several steps forward. "He is trying to confuse you," he said. "He speaks of truth as if it were defined by men. The very existence of truth proves that its power lives outside of us. Including Tyron. No matter how much he twists it for his own gain."

Tyron laughed. "Truth outside of men? There is no such thing. At every instance, truth changes and takes on a new shape. It bends to the will of the beholder and is given a new name with every utterance. Where is it written—this truth outside of us for which you speak?"

"You know just as well as I do," Rexor said. "As the great waters were formed and the land risen above, these things were interwoven into the fabric of life."

"You talk of riddles," Tyron said. "The truth you speak of is only that which you have made for yourself."

Rexor lifted the blue crystal in his palm and said, "If I were to say this was a tree, would that make it so?"

There was no response. Even Traphis thought the argument seemed silly for a time such as this.

"Only by deceiving myself would I believe such a ridiculous thing," Rexor said. "No matter how much I wished this were a tree, it is not." He rotated the crystal in his fingers. "It was formed by the source of life which made it what it is. Not what I wish it to be. Nor what you wish it to be. What you showed to Traphis was indeed what happened, but what you failed to show him makes all the difference."

"Riddles," Tyron said. "Traphis, I have told you more truths than anyone in your life. I only wish for you to put right all the wrongs that have been done."

"Nahan's intentions may have been good," Rexor said, "but they were misguided. In order to obtain the power to defeat Golan, he destroyed the only truth that was left in him."

"I have not destroyed any such thing," Tyron said. "I have become more powerful than any wizard could ever dream. I am not limited by the source of the Blue. I can do what I wish and when I wish it. With this, we can create a kingdom as we see fit. Think of the possibilities, Traphis. Men would kill their own children to be given the opportunity I am extending to you now. You would be a fool to refuse."

"But this is where you are mistaken," Rexor said. "You may indeed be powerful, and you may indeed have control over that power, but you failed to miss the most important thing."

"Which is?" Tyron asked in a mock tone.

"You are no longer in control of yourself."

"That is preposterous," Tyron said. "I tell my arm to move and it obeys. I tell my eyes to look and they see. Unlike you, I do as I wish."

"You have merged your soul with an energy greater than you imagined. And because of this, you have lost your identity. You are no longer Nahan, but a slave to the desires of Tyron. And you are deceived into believing that those desires are yours. The Nahan I knew would never have wished such destruction on this world. He fought to save it, not to destroy it."

"Traphis," Tyron said. "This man does not know of what he speaks. Command the wolvarks and end this now."

"One thing I still don't understand," Traphis said. "Are you Tyron or Falin's brother?"

The dark wizard lowered himself from the sky and placed a foot against the surface of the water. "If you look left and then right, so am I."

Traphis scrunched his forehead in an attempt to make sense of his words.

"We are one in the same," Tyron continued, "and together we stand. I called upon the power of Tyron to achieve my goals, and in doing so, our goals became one."

"I may not understand all this," Traphis said, "but I do have one more question for you. If you were only Nahan now, without the power of Tyron, would your actions be different?"

The yellow in Tyron's eyes flickered, and for a brief moment, his retinas turned gray. The once confident face appeared worried and doubtful. But soon the yellow returned, and his expression became solid once again.

"We are one," Tyron said. "We have the same goal."

"But you didn't answer my question," Traphis said.

"Traphis," Rexor said. "Because he cannot. Nahan is no longer himself, he is—"

Rexor's words were cut short when a bolt of energy plunged into his chest. He flew backward and slammed against the ground. The crystal left his hand and clinked against the brick.

"I was willing to listen to both of you," Traphis said. "Why did you attack him?"

"This man was deceiving you," Tyron said. "He had to be silenced."

"But he was once your friend. He was Nahan's friend."

"Our time for friendship is long past."

Traphis paused for a moment and then looked back at Titch. "You are still my friend," he said to her. "Aren't you?"

Her head lowered and she stared at the ground. "Traphis . . ." Titch's voice quivered. "I can understand if you wish that to change."

"Regardless of what happened, you are the same person you were before. Right? You are the same Titch who read books with me in the library, who sat with me when we ate, and who protected me from your cousin."

Titch remained silent.

"Why did you bring me here, Titch? What did you hope for?"

She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. "Because . . ." She paused, and then said, "I don't deserve to be your friend."

"Titch, tell me honestly. Why did you bring me here?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know anymore."

"Do you see?" Tyron said. "Shino has not only misled you, but confused my only daughter."

* * *

Traphis' eyes widened. "Tyron is your father?" he asked, the words came out slowly as if he couldn't believe he was speaking them.

Titch looked away. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "He is."

"But," Traphis said. He looked at the wrinkled forehead and white beard of Tyron and then back at the young face of Titch. "That can't be. How old are you?"

Titch took a deep breath. "I was an orphan," she said. "Nahan saved me. He rescued me and raised me as if I was his own daughter."

"I don't understand," Traphis said. "Who are your real parents?"

"I don't know. I was told they died during the fall of Golan. But it doesn't matter. Nahan was more of a father to me than anyone I've ever known. Just as Mardin was to you."

The comment hit its mark. Traphis instantly understood where she was coming from. For him to have betrayed Mardin would be the same for her to have betrayed Nahan. It became apparent that she helped to guide him through the mountain because her father wished it. If their roles had been reversed, Traphis might have done the same thing.

Pausing to consider the implications, Traphis counted the fingers on his hand. "If Nahan is your father and Greagor is your uncle that means Falin, my teacher, is your uncle too." An even greater realization struck him. "Greagor and Falin are brothers?" He rubbed his head. This information was all too sudden and all too much to process at once. To think that his teacher was related to the man who courted his mother and who was the father of his boyhood enemy. It was unfathomable.

"No," Tyron said. "Greagor is not our brother. His wife was our sister, but what does it matter? You are both here, together now. It does not make a difference who your father was. It does not make a difference who her father was. We can become a new family, if only you will embrace it."

"But that means . . ." Traphis' mind blurred, as if hundreds of thoughts were competing with one another. "That means you killed your own sister."

A bewildered expression surfaced on Tyron's face. "I did no such thing," he said. "She died of an incurable sickness."

"But you killed my father, you killed Mardin, and he was keeping your sister alive."

The yellow light in Tyron's eyes faded to gray once again. "I never meant to, I never wanted her to . . ." His words sounded like that of a child. Fear and confusion mixed in like the water flowing under his feet. "That was an unforeseen consequence," Tyron said, his voice became bold once again as the yellow light returned. "Mardin had to be stopped. He was keeping you a prisoner. I had to set you free."

"Unforeseen?" Titch said. "She was our family. You never told me what really happened. You said we were going to make the world a better place. You said that Traphis and I could be together . . ."

Rexor forced himself back onto his knees. "Do you see how far he is willing to go?" he asked. "There will be no end to the death, and if he has his way, there will be none left in the kingdom to rule."

Tyron lifted a hand; several streaks of lightning shot out and impacted against Rexor's chest. The warrior skidded across the floor.

Blood spilled out of Rexor's mouth as he lifted his head. "Titch, look closely. Is the wizard before you now the same man who raised you?"

"I . . ." Titch said. "He . . . he's . . . I-I don't know anymore." She grabbed her hair and pulled it with a sharp tug. Her face winced from the pain.

Traphis looked at Titch, then to Rexor, and then to Anjetta as she remained a prisoner in the magical bubble. He could see the pain that Tyron had caused them and thought back to the pain he felt after the death of his father. The knife, which stabbed Mardin in the back, belonged to this dark wizard. Back then, Traphis had run to Mardin's side. Blood smeared his hands as he reached out. And then Mardin handed Traphis his staff. The next moment he was dead. He was gone.

Traphis recalled the warm tears as he watched his father's body disappear into the sky, never to be seen again. And then he sensed the pain in the days that followed, as he and his mother struggled to survive on their own, all the while fighting the emptiness that Mardin's death left behind.

"I don't know who to believe," Traphis said. "But I do know that you are my enemy." As he spoke, he pulled the blade from the sheath. It came out as if nothing had ever hindered it before. "Now I understand." He lifted the dagger to his eyes. "This knife was composed by my father and forged by my grandfather. The metal contains elements which connect it to the power of the Blue." Taking a posed stance, Traphis pointed the knife directly in front of him. "And in order for me to wield it, I must obey the words written on the blade." An instant later, a flame roared up from the metal and burned as if it were a torch. "And with it I will stop you from causing more pain."

* * *

Red flames burned against the blade as Traphis held it tightly in his hands. How he had produced the magic so easily he wasn't sure, but now was not the time to question his abilities. There was no room for doubt in his mind; he had to act. The man before him wished to put an end to the world as he knew it, and there was no way he would allow that to happen.

"Do not be a fool," Tyron said. "I am more powerful than you can imagine."

"No matter the cost," Traphis said. "The truth is that I cannot follow you, and I cannot allow you to continue. I must do all I can to stop you."

"Those words will be your ruin," Tyron said. "I did not wish to harm you, but so be it. You give me no choice. I will carry out my mission without you."

As soon as Tyron finished speaking, a rustling came from behind Traphis, but he dared not take his eyes away from the dark wizard.

The rustling turned to clicking, as if countless fingernails were tapping against the bricks, and then low growls told Traphis what the noise was.

"I will hold off the beasts," Rexor called out. "You keep your sights on Tyron."

Traphis recognized the swish of Rexor's sword as it pulled from its sheath. An instant later, the cavern filled with a barrage of howls.

Strange noises were normal in the thickness of a forest, yet here, in this mountain, Traphis had never heard anything so horrific before. The wolvarks were terrifying, but they were still secondary to the threat of Tyron.

Logical reasoning told him that his chances for survival were null. Yet this was not the time and place to listen to logic. It was true that logic had helped him to get through many difficult times in the past, but now he had to listen to a different voice. One which spoke truer to him than any mental calculations ever could. A voice down in the very depths of his bones, which told him it was time to fight. To protect. Even at his own peril.

And then an idea occurred to him. "Titch," Traphis asked. "Whose side are you on?"

There was no response.

He knew she was there, but the situation must have proven to be too overwhelming for her. This wasn't unexpected, and besides, Traphis wasn't thinking of her when considering an increase to their odds. After all, she couldn't use magic and was nowhere near a warrior, but he wanted to make sure she wasn't going to get in the way.

A bolt of lightning came for Traphis so fast that he almost didn't see it coming. It struck. Numbness engulfed his senses and for a moment, he couldn't move. A surge of pain crawled throughout his body as his vision blurred. As soon as the pain released, Traphis dropped to his knees.

"So that's what Rexor felt when you attacked him," Traphis said, his voice rattled.

With the knife still clutched in both hands, Traphis coughed and forced himself back to his feet. Before giving Tyron another chance to attack, he took several steps back and then jolted forward in a run.

Bricks passed underfoot in a blur. He jumped at the water's edge and flew into the air. Under normal circumstances, Traphis considered himself to be the best jumper in Hoshan. Ever since he was a child, he practiced jumping from one side of the creek to the other. Even though he never quite made it all the way across, each year brought him closer to actually doing so. Still, the distance he needed to travel now required more effort than he had ever put forth.

Air hummed against his ears as he hastened to his goal. The muscles in his legs burned like the knife in his hand. Reaching out with all his might, he plummeted toward the water's surface. He hadn't traveled far enough. He wasn't going to make it. His plan was going to fail.

A surge of frustration entered his heart, but he forced it back and closed his eyes. An instant later, he saw a lake. This was not the same lake below his physical body, but one containing the presence of the Blue. The white island and blue sky surrounded him as if he was safely within their walls, but he knew his body was back in the physical world and needed help, fast. Without a moment's hesitation, he tried something he had never done before. Running to the edge of the island, he jumped. The moment his feet touched the water, his eyes opened.

The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer falling, but skidding across the surface of the dark lake. Traphis looked down. He wasn't sinking. And then he saw a red flame surrounding each foot. The leather coverings on his feet crumbled as the flames ate at them like leaves, yet his flesh remained unharmed.

When he took a step forward, his foot bobbed against the water's surface. Two more steps later, he nearly lost his balance, but soon regained it. It felt like walking on the squishy layer of a marsh, but this was clearly water. The magical flames on his feet were keeping him afloat.

"Your abilities are advancing quickly," Tyron said. "But not as quickly as they would if you used energy from the Cloud."

Traphis gripped the knife as Tyron walked closer to him.

"I told you it is useless," Tyron continued. He raised a hand.

The expected crackle of lightning didn't travel from the wizard's fingers. Instead, when Traphis tried to take a step back, he found that he could no longer move.

"I can control your body as easily as if it were my own," Tyron said. He flicked his fingers and the knife in Traphis' hand lifted and pointed toward his own throat.

No matter how hard he tried, Traphis couldn't regain control of his arm. It was as if he had been turned into a puppet.

"I could end this with a simple flick of my wrist," Tyron said. "Traphis, I do not wish to kill you. I implore you to reconsider my offer."

There was no way Traphis was going to be used by this dark wizard, either now or in the future. He closed his eyes and saw the Blue once again. Without hesitation, he dove headfirst into the magical fluid. As quickly as his lids closed, they opened again. A wall of red flames encircled his flesh as if he had walked into a stove. The next moment, both the red wall and yellow magic around his body dispersed in a flash.

"Your magic has no power over me," Traphis said. He moved the knife away from his throat and pointed it at Tyron.

"He repelled it," Tyron said, as if talking to someone else. "He stopped our magic."

Traphis dove forward and slashed out with the knife. Tyron jumped back. Even though the dark wizard was not within reach, Traphis' blade hit its mark. The bubble surrounding Anjetta burst and she splashed to the water below.

"Are you all right?" Traphis called down.

"Yes," Anjetta said. "I can swim."

"So your plan was to set her free," Tyron said. "Simple minded and pointless."

"I wasn't able to jump far enough the first time," Traphis said. "But now that I'm able to walk on the water, I can move as freely as you."

"This makes no difference. You will not touch me."

"Traphis," Anjetta said. A wave splashed over her head, but she blinked the water out of her eyes. "No matter what happens, know that I am proud of you."

"How touching," Tyron said. The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. He shot a bolt of lightning, which headed directly for Anjetta.

Traphis dove at the yellow energy and punched out with a fist. The bolt slammed against his ring. Red light encircled the ring and the blast deflected. The fire bolt flew upward and echoed in the distance.

"This time," Traphis said. "You will not harm her."

Tyron dove for Anjetta as she swam for shore, but an instant later, Traphis appeared between them, forcing the dark wizard to halt his advance.

"I said," the knife in Traphis' hand grew a brighter red, "you will not harm her."

The features on the Tyron's face resembled that of a bewildered child who had its toy taken away. And, as a child who realized what just happened, a look of fury entered his eyes.

"It is time we put an end to this," Tyron said. "You have destroyed any chance of survival. Now you will die."

# Chapter 39

NO MATTER HOW hard he tried, Skinny Jack couldn't think of a way to stop the enemy. With most things in life, there were choices. Whether good or bad, they still existed. This was one of those few occasions where the only available option was death, which didn't really feel like a choice at all.

Having come to this conclusion, Skinny Jack opened himself up to the next level of possibilities. Death may be certain, but how he died was up to him.

The army had worn down Jabool's wizards to the point of exhaustion. Even though they continued to fight with all they had, it was obvious that their bodies couldn't hold out for much longer. Soon the enemy would break through and charge at the three companions standing on the small hill. If that wasn't bad enough, Falin was without his staff and Kip was turning into an emotional wreck.

Death. One single word filled with so much meaning. If someone had asked Skinny Jack the day before if he feared death, he would have shrugged it off and said it was nothing special, but now that it was before him, his mind moved in a different direction.

It was true that he had become an expert at covering up his true feelings, but for the first time in his life, he felt as if he didn't have to pretend. It was as if the Founder had reached inside and reworked the very structure of his being. If someone were to ask him how he felt about death now, strangely enough, he would have responded with a single word: Peaceful.

This new change of heart surprised him. The heartache and pain he had been holding onto for so many years had been lifted from his chest, and nothing would stop him from embracing this new feeling. Not even the loss of his life.

The worst part was the realization that Kip would die too. He felt a sense of loss on her behalf, knowing that she would never become a wizit, live to an old age, or start a family of her own—one that would be raised by loving hands rather than those of bitterness and fear.

Because of this, Skinny Jack decided not to die without doing all he could to help Kip to live on. It was true that the enemy would break through, but not before suffering a great loss at his hands. Not if he could help it.

Falin stepped to the edge of the hill and said, "No matter what happens, know that you two have accomplished more today than many wizards before your time."

"Does that mean we are officially wizards now?" Skinny Jack asked.

Falin laughed. "I never thought humor would be present at such a time as this," he said. "You truly are an amazing boy."

"I take it that's a no," Skinny Jack said.

"As far as I am concerned, you are far greater than I am."

At this, Skinny Jack smiled, but he knew the truth. Arrogant as he was at times, even he knew that Falin was far above his stature. Still, the compliment proved to be uplifting.

"We have enjoyed a moment's rest," Falin continued. "But now is the time to continue our contest. Trust that our aim is not for nothing, and that your courage is being watched by the Founder himself."

At this, Kip asked, "Do you really think so? Is He watching us?"

Skinny Jack was the first to respond. "For once, I believe He is."

Kip closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the uneasiness that was there a moment before had vanished. "Right," she said. "I'm ready."

"It's about time," Skinny Jack said, and then he felt the familiar impact of knuckles against his arm.

"Don't be mean," Kip said. She pulled her fist away.

Skinny Jack rubbed at the spot, but he couldn't help but smile. Oddly enough, the punch felt good, as if an old friend had returned from a long vacation.

"You always—" Skinny Jack's words were cut short when Kip pushed him to the ground. "What are you—" A flash of light struck the ground.

"You're welcome," Kip said. "For saving your life."

"They are close enough to attack now," Falin said. "Be on your guard."

* * *

"I remember that day," Traphis said, "as if it happened yesterday."

A streak of lightning came at him, but he moved away before it hit. The water below snapped as the energy submerged.

Traphis glanced back to see if Anjetta had gotten out of the lake. He was relieved to see that she had. In fact, she had already managed to take a weapon from one of the wolvarks.

"I remember how you killed my father," Traphis continued. "I watched the whole thing."

Tyron thrust his palms against the surface of the water, which lifted and formed a large wave. It came at Traphis like a school of hungry fish, but he managed to jump into the air just as it arrived. His body rose higher than it ever had before, and the wave passed harmlessly underneath.

He could feel the energy of the Blue flowing through his limbs, greater than it ever had before. His eyes became sharper, his ears picked up the faintest of sounds, his muscles felt solid and strong, and his head was as clear as a cloudless sky. Even time itself seemed to have slowed to allow him to react to the speed of the dark wizard's attacks.

"You came and challenged him to a duel," Traphis continued. "Even though you hid yourself in a cloak, and even though he wasn't there, Falin knew it was you. Mardin knew it too, which is why he accepted your challenge. But because he did, no other wizard could interfere; it would have broken their rules. This was your plan from the very beginning, wasn't it?"

"There is no need to waste words with you any longer," Tyron said. He slapped his hands against the water once again. This time the wave doubled in height.

Traphis held his ground as the wave propelled toward him. "He beat you. Mardin beat you. Even with the power of the Cloud and even with the power of Tyron you were defeated."

The wave plowed into Traphis, but not before he punched out with the signature ring. A fiery shape formed against the surface, and a moment later, the wave exploded into a shower of rain.

"He let you go without killing you," Traphis said as liquid streamed down his cheeks. "But that was a mistake." The droplets sizzled against his knife as the flame evaporated them like mist. "You walked away, but as soon as his back was turned, you pulled out a knife and stabbed him."

Tyron formed his hands into a ball, separated them, and then thrust them forward. A blast of wind came at Traphis and hit him across the chest.

The gust sent Traphis skidding across the surface of the water, but he remained on this feet. As soon as he lifted his ring, the wind split in two and rushed past his sides like rapids around a jagged rock. It continued on until striking a group of wolvarks. The beasts screamed as the breeze split them in half like a knife sinking into a hunk of meat.

"You couldn't defeat my father with magic," Traphis said. "And you couldn't defeat him—"

"He was weak," Tyron said. "I would have beaten him, but something happened to me."

Traphis slashed out with his knife. The Crimson Flame extended from the tip like a spear, which remained connected to the blade. It headed straight for the dark wizard's heart.

An orb of yellow energy formed around Tyron, which deflected the attack. Soon after, the fire returned to the blade.

"You are not the only one with protection," Tyron said. "Attacking me is futile."

"What happened to you?" Traphis asked. "Why couldn't you beat my father in an honest duel?"

"Because Nahan became unstable," Tyron said. "When we fought, Nahan's essence pushed me aside, and in that brief moment Mardin landed his final blow."

"But I thought you and Nahan were one."

At this, the dark wizard's eyes flickered from yellow to gray, but the yellow returned as quickly as it faded. "He was confused," Tyron said. "Mardin confused him with words, just as you are trying to do now, but I will stop you before your poison can interfere." He lifted his arms above his head and pushed slowly upward as if lifting an invisible stone.

A rumbling came from below. When Traphis looked down, droplets splashed against the surface of the water like hot oil. In the distance, he could see the island shaking, and when he turned to look behind, both the wolvarks and warriors were bracing themselves against the ground.

"Both you and the one who claims to have made this world will bow to me," Tyron said.

At first, Traphis wasn't sure who he was referring to, but then it hit him. "You can't even say His name, can you? As powerful as you are, you cannot say the name of the Founder."

"My name is all that matters. It will be spoken on the lips of all men, and with it, fear will forever live in their hearts."

Several stones broke free from high above and crashed into the lake below. Large splashes of water followed in their wake, which sprayed high into the air.

The dark liquid poured down on Traphis, leaving black streaks against his flesh, but he didn't budge.

And then, as the dark wizard clapped his hands over his head, a mixture of wind and water came at Traphis and crashed into him with more force than he imagined possible. When he lifted his ring to defend, the pressure overpowered him. In the blink of an eye, Traphis was hurled backward. His body traveled through the air like an arrow and landed with a thud against the bricks at the water's edge.

Pressure impacted his back so hard that he was unable to breathe.

"Goodbye, Traphis," Tyron said.

Another blast of wind and rain came at him, dispensing the final blow.

* * *

The clouds in the sky above remained as gloomy as they had when Skinny Jack first arrived in the valley. Sunlight struggled to make its way through, but managed to produce a haunting glow, which lighted the masses of bodies below. Some living, some dead.

After thanking Kip for saving his life—even though he was sure she enjoyed pushing him down anyway—Skinny Jack got back to his feet and gazed at the charging enemy. Several nekrin were forming spells as the wolvarks approached the hill.

"Jack," Falin said. "Now is the time to show your true potential. Reach into your heart and harness the new energy within you. They can no longer take command of your attacks—your signature has been made pure."

With a nod, Skinny Jack cupped his hands and produced two funnels. He placed them together to create a single mass of whirlwind. Not stopping there, he formed another funnel on his right palm. He then added it to the ever-growing formation on his left, making sure to keep it steady so not to offset the balance. He repeated this process several times; each addition increased the funnel's size until it was nearly as tall as he was.

"Be careful, Jack," Kip said, her words were barely audible over the howl of wind.

He glanced back at her. Kip was holding her head as hair snaked between her fingers. Loose dirt lifted from the ground, pulled inside the funnel, and spun within like the sides of a top.

It still wasn't enough. He had to make it bigger. Skinny Jack took a deep breath as he formed another funnel and added it to the mix.

Falin's mouth was moving, but by now, Skinny Jack couldn't hear what he was saying. For some reason the old wizard looked worried.

With shaking hand, he produced several more funnels and combined them as he did the others before.

Arm extended as high as it could go, the funnel roared against his palm. It was so tall that he struggled to keep it from toppling over, but additional energy increased its speed and balance.

"That should do it," Skinny Jack said, though he couldn't even hear his own words. They simply vibrated against the bones in his cheeks.

Kip and Falin dove at the ground and grabbed for something to hold onto. The action forced a giggle, but Skinny Jack didn't stop to take pride in his accomplishment. Rather, he took several steps forward and tossed the funnel into the air. Instantly, the tip plummeted toward the ground. Using his two top fingers, he directed the magic with his thoughts.

The spinning whirlwind obeyed his command and glided through the air. Masses of dirt, stones, and sticks pulled inside, increasing its ever-growing mass. The bundle of magic became nearly as large as the hill itself, as if a natural tornado had bombarded the valley.

Kip's voice became louder as the funnel moved farther away, but her words only came through as, "Stop, too much, your body, can't handle, kill you."

He knew she was warning him about using too much energy, but this was a risk he was willing to take. The mixture of the Blue and his newly formed signature felt so good that nothing would stop him. Especially if it would help Kip to survive.

Standing to her feet, Kip joined his side. She positioned her mouth at his ear so that he could hear her. "We can do this together," she said. "Combined, it will be stronger." Her hands jerked forward and a stream of gold extended from the tips of her fingers. It headed straight for the funnel and was sucked inside. Rather than disappearing within, it wrapped itself around the surface like a ribbon.

Falin joined Skinny Jack at his other side. With palms flattened and pointed outward, the old wizard directed them at the funnel. As soon as he did so, the whirlwind turned a darker shade of green and increased in size.

Skinny Jack felt a pull against his magic as the signatures of his companions mixed within his own. He concentrated harder knowing that, if he relaxed now, there was a good chance the funnel would turn around and head straight for them. He had to maintain control and keep it directed at the enemy.

Having noticed the oncoming jumble of magic, the wolvarks skidded to a stop, but it was too late. As soon as they were within several paces, their bodies pulled inside. Even the nekrin turned and began to run away, but they too were not fast enough.

Skinny Jack, Kip, and Falin kept their arms extended, maintaining the magical onslaught. A mass of dirt swirled into the air and circled around the funnel like a ring. Directing it to the best of his ability, Skinny Jack forced the tornado deeper into the heart of the army.

Flickers of green and gold brought down destruction like an overpowering storm. Wolvarks were thrown into the air while others became trapped in the lifeless prison. Nekrin stood off in the distance and hurled magic at the spinning cyclone, but Kip's golden sheet deflected each attempt.

"It's working," Kip said. "We're stopping them."

The WC wizards paused in their attacks to watch the spectacle; the distracted enemy allowed them a moment of rest. Given that this mere boy protected even Jabool, Skinny Jack knew that the wizard would have to recognize him now. Maybe the bad attitude would change once they got back to the WC. But as he thought about it, he knew this wasn't very likely. Still, living to another day would be reward enough.

Dirt and blood sprayed into the air as the funnel continued its course. Dismembered bodies slammed against the ground as sparks of magic bounced off the sides. The nekrin hopelessly fought to bring the funnel down.

At first, their attacks were useless, but the farther the funnel traveled, the weaker it became. Skinny Jack could feel the energy draining from his body. Keeping the funnel strong required a continual flow unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he knew he couldn't maintain the connection for much longer.

His legs wavered back and forth until finally he was forced to his knees. Without lowering his fingers, he continued to direct the funnel with his remaining strength, but the power behind it dwindled. Before his very eyes, the funnel shrank until it was only a little taller than the nearest wolvark. A moment later, Skinny Jack collapsed to the ground, and the last thing he remembered seeing was an outburst of green and golden magic, which exploded with a bang.

# Chapter 40

UNABLE TO BREATHE or regain enough strength to stand, Traphis closed his eyes. The cold bricks jostled his body as the fearsome might of Tyron came at him. If only he had been as strong as his father, then he could have won this fight. But now, because of his own weakness, he was about to die. In the end, the power of the Blue didn't fail him, but his own lack of strength did.

The blast of water and wind struck him hard. Oddly enough, it felt warm rather than painful. Warm and soft, like flesh. The end wasn't so bad, after all.

When he opened his eyes, Traphis saw the color of red. It was painted on countless strands of hair, which brushed up against his cheeks. And then he realized he was holding something. Something tender and delicate.

The vibrations on the ground stopped, the wind died down, and the surrounding air made its way into his lungs. As he took a deep breath, a familiar scent traveled into his cavities—it was similar to that of flowers. When he reached out, he felt a soft layer of skin, and a thick, gooey substance smeared against his palm.

The object that rested against his body suddenly felt heavy. Too heavy. He pushed up, but when he did, a voice cried out in pain.

A trail of blood trickled down from between the most beautiful lips he had ever seen. Ones that he once wished to embrace. Green eyes, which had melted his heart so many times before, looked back at him like hollow shells.

"Titch?" Traphis said. "What happened? Why are you on top of me?"

The girl's eyes blinked.

"Traphis," Titch said. A cough splattered blood against his cheek. "I'm sorry. I never meant to . . ." She lowered her lips, as if to kiss his cheek, but instead her eyes closed, her body became limp, and air ceased to fill her lungs.

Without delay, Traphis shifted, rotated, and then set Titch gently on the ground.

"Titch," he said. Blood stained her crimson hair. He reached out to touch her, but as he did, he noticed more blood against his hand. "Titch," he said again, but there was no response. She lay motionless, breathless.

Growls came within earshot. When he looked up, he could see Anjetta and Rexor between him and the pack of wolvarks. They were fighting to protect him, and for a brief moment, Anjetta glanced back. Her eyes connected with his and an intense look of sadness reflected in them, much the way they did when Mardin had died.

"No," Traphis said. He pressed against Titch's ribs, but the beating of her heart had ceased. His chest tightened and his arms stiffened as the coldness of the mountain sank into his flesh. With jaw clenched, he jumped to his feet and turned toward the water.

"You killed her," he said. His heart beat slowly, each pulse thumping hard against his chest. "You killed your own daughter."

To Traphis' surprise, the dark wizard's arms hung limply at his sides. His eyes were wide with the color of gray, and to Traphis' further amazement, he noticed that the man was crying.

"You don't deserve to weep for her," Traphis said. He felt a flood of rage and fury build inside of him.

Tyron said nothing. He only stared down at the broken body of Titch.

Traphis squeezed his eyes shut. He had to call on the power of the Blue to avenge her death. He would seek for justice. He would kill Tyron.

A moment later, he found himself standing on the white island. He couldn't believe that Titch had jumped in front of the attack to save him; she traded her life for his. With a thrust of anger, he grabbed a handful of sand and plunged it into the water. The expected sparks and bubbles didn't arrive. He tossed the sand aside and grabbed another handful. Slamming his fist into the fluid, he watched for the ignition of magic, but none came.

Traphis stood up and threw the sand as hard as he could. "Where are you?" he shouted. "You didn't stop her from dying, and now you won't even help me avenge her?"

Silence.

He stomped back and forth across the island, shouting curses and kicking at the sand. When no response came, he approached the edge of the water and slapped it with his hand. The next moment, he found himself staring into the face of Tyron.

The old wizard did not attempt to move. He just stood on the surface of the water as if he had turned to stone.

_Why didn't the Blue work?_ It was as if Traphis' consciousness became an unwelcome guest. Closing his eyes once again, he focused on the Blue. Instead of the white island, he saw a great emptiness without form. This was the first gate; the one he had to enter before connecting to the source of magic. Had his connection to the Blue been severed?

Traphis' body floated in the white void. Aimless, blinded, desolate. He called out, flailed his arms and kicked his feet, but nothing came. With a scream, the anger inside intensified. He meant to form words, but nothing intelligible resulted. In answer, a collection of particles formed in the distance. They took on a shape like that of a puff of smoke.

Darkness sank deep into his consciousness as a cloud came into being. The flavor of burnt meat touched his tongue, yet his hunger took satisfaction in the bitter taste.

He swam toward the mass of darkness, longing to acquire the power it possessed—to grasp it in his own hands and use it to kill his enemy. Tyron was right after all. The Blue rejected him when he needed it most. It abandoned him and gave him no other choice. But he no longer cared; he would take whatever was available and use it his own way.

Light flashed as Traphis entered the Cloud. The color of yellow and red mixed as streaks of lightning passed by.

A chorus of voices spoke in unison. "Fear, come, become, one, together, us," they said.

Each word felt as cold as ice, but Traphis listened intently.

"Fear, come, become, one, together, us," they said, chanting their dark melody. "Join, take, power, ours," they continued. "Join, take, power, ours."

As Traphis reached out, a bolt of lightning streaked across his path. He grabbed it with both hands and screamed as the energy coiled around his arms.

"Fear, come, become, one, together, us," the voices said.

The howl of a beast roared in triumph. When Traphis looked around, he realized the noise came from his own throat. Then his body shook with excitement, thoughts of sinking his knife into flesh gave him pleasure, and the desire to cause pain produced a surge of jovial laughter.

"He is ours now," the voices chanted. "He is ours, he is us; we are one."

* * *

Traphis opened his eyes. A scowl took shape on his face. The screams and cries of the wolvarks filled him with an intense pleasure. With each stroke of the blade, Rexor and Anjetta presented him with a chorus of wondrous pain.

As his head tilted down, he glared up at Tyron. The wizard appeared weak and frail, as if he had already been defeated by the work of his own hands, but Traphis wouldn't let that stop him. The man had to be killed. Tyron had to die. He would do what Mardin could not. He would put an end to it all.

Stepping away from Titch's body, he raised his knife. When he thrust out the blade, the expected blast of fire didn't come; the motion was empty, no flame disembarked. He tried again, but still nothing came. When he lifted the knife before his eyes, it appeared dull and useless. Whatever power it possessed before was clearly gone; instead of a conduit of magic, it became a worthless tool.

Traphis tossed the knife over his shoulder. It clanked against the brick and slid away. He had no reason to waste any more time on it now.

With hands spread apart like claws, he rotated his palms so that the tips of his fingers faced one another. As soon as they touched, he found himself speaking these words, "Ohdarah, koreal, sumara, raseen, bisthal."

In the empty space between his palms, a ball of magic formed. Yellow mixed in with the crimson red, and an aura of orange spun as the sphere took shape.

Traphis glared down at the circular energy with hungry eyes. He could feel the Cloud's power flowing through his body. It burned within as if he had taken a drink of liquid flames, yet the bittersweet sensation made it all the more worthwhile.

Aside from the strange words that came from his mouth, Traphis knew that he was taking charge. Soon he would have his vengeance. Soon he would make everything right. And then . . . And then. His thoughts tried to move toward the future, but instantly stepped back. There would be time to ponder what came next later. For now, there was only the present.

The orange magic grew and spun between his fingers. Sections of flame shed from the sides and singed his clothing, but he didn't care.

With a stretch, he pulled his arms behind his head and then catapulted the magic forward. The fireball spiraled through the air and slammed into Tyron.

The dark wizard noticed the threat too late. The magical flame followed him into the depths as he crashed into the water below.

Six breaths passed before any signs of Tyron came into view, and then a hand broke the surface, which gripped at the water like the top of a mountain. A pair of thick eyebrows appeared underneath a cap of white, aged hair. Below the eyebrows, two furious eyes blazed with yellow light, brighter than Traphis had ever seen them before.

"It was unwise to awaken me," Tyron said. "Nahan would have spared your life, but I will not." As the dark wizard pulled himself out of the water, a blackened mark appeared against his chest, exposing flesh where a section of cloth had been a moment before. Traphis' attack had hit its mark, but only damaged the surface.

Immediately forming another ball of flame, Traphis held it in one hand. "You should be the one worrying about life," he said. And then he muttered more, seemingly random words of a spell. Energy took shape around his feet. The next moment, he charged at the water. His weight supported as if the fluid had been made of solid stone.

The distance between him and Tyron closed in a few breaths. He stretched out his hand and plunged the ball of magic into the dark wizard's chest. With as much pressure as he could apply, Traphis drove the magic forward.

A sinister laugh came from the dark wizard. "I see now," Tyron said. "So you have called upon the power of the Cloud at last."

Traphis pushed harder. "I will do whatever it takes to kill you," he said.

"Is that so?" Tyron twisted his body to the side, which sent Traphis stumbling forward. "You may have surprised Nahan with your attack, but you will not break through my defenses. The Cloud is indeed powerful, but you are far from becoming its master."

Traphis fell against the water, but managed to stay afloat. He shouted out a sequence of words that somehow seemed to protect him.

"You truly have opened yourself up," Tyron said. "The voice of the many speaks through you and aids you, but they cannot overpower me."

Getting back to his feet, Traphis turned toward Tyron. He formed another sphere between his palms. "I don't care how it works," he said. "As long as you die."

"Silly boy. The reason I do not speak spells is because I _am_ the voice of the Cloud."

Traphis paused for a moment. _The voice of the Cloud?_

With a smile, Tyron said, "I am Tyron and I am eternal. You cannot kill me. You cannot use my own power against me and expect to win."

A surge of rage filled inside of Traphis. He darted forward. With hand raised, the spinning magic propelled at Tyron.

The dark wizard moved aside and sent a stream of energy at Traphis, which nailed him directly in the back.

A scream of pain emitted from Traphis' throat as he fell against the water. Waves slapped against his chin as if mocking his feeble attempts. When he tried to move, a surge of pain disabled his limbs, and he fell back to the surface.

"How quickly you fall," Tyron said. "But I do applaud your efforts. It has been many years since I have had this much fun."

"Don't you even care?" Traphis asked. "Titch is dead because of you."

"Sacrifices must be made. It was her own fault for jumping in front of you. No matter. She became too rebellious in the end." His voice took on an arrogant tone. "Teenagers can be such trouble."

Anger burned inside of Traphis. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You don't deserve to be her father," he said. And then, ignoring the pain, he struggled back to his feet. His body swayed back and forth as he stood before Tyron, yet his defiance remained intact.

Tyron raised a finger as if flicking off a bit of dirt from his sleeve. Yellow energy shot out and slammed into Traphis.

He screamed so loudly that the inner walls of his throat stung, but he managed to stay erect.

"You are a stubborn one," Tyron said. "But one more should put an end to that."

* * *

Traphis may have survived the previous blows from the dark wizard, but he knew he couldn't live through another. His only option now was to dodge, but it took everything he had just to stand.

Looking back at his mother, Traphis saw blood flowing from her shoulder. She stood her ground, fighting to protect him as best she could. Her efforts allowed him to fight this battle without distraction, as if she believed in him. As if she trusted him to do what was right. And here he was violating that trust; unworthy of it; unworthy of her.

If only the Blue hadn't abandoned him, but wishing it were so only made it worse. Sickness overtook his gut and he wanted to vomit it out.

"I don't want it," Traphis said. "It's eating me up inside . . . but I can't let go. I can't let Titch's death be for nothing."

For the moment, Tyron held back his final blow. The yellow in his eyes dimmed. "You have no other choice," Tyron said. "The Cloud will make you stronger."

"To what end?" Traphis asked. "I don't want to be a monster."

"Do I look like a monster? I am the most powerful wizard that has ever lived. I have a mind of my own and a will that demands success."

Traphis stared directly into his eyes. "Only a monster kills its young and feels nothing." When he reached down and felt the empty sheath on his leg, he remembered that he had thrown away his most precious gift—the last thing that his father left behind. He had tossed the knife aside as if it was meaningless. An inconvenience.

"Go ahead," Traphis said. "Finish me off. I don't want to be like this anymore."

"If you wish to die so easily, then I will oblige." The dark wizard raised a hand.

Traphis nearly closed his eyes, but then decided he wanted to see it coming. He wanted to see the end. He wanted to make sure justice was fulfilled, even if his executioner was a wicked man. Somehow, he felt that putting an end to himself would make sense of Titch's death.

His fists unclenched. He took a deep breath and relaxed the muscles in his body.

And then, three things happened at once: Light shot out from Tyron's fingers, a blurry object fell from the spout of a nearby waterfall, and Traphis sank into the water below.

All sound muffled. The water turned bright for a moment and then was dark once again. The murky substance stung his eyes, but he kept them open. Bubbles trailed from his nose and made their way upward. His flesh became numb from the intense cold, but somehow he felt warmth extending from within.

It wasn't physical warmth. It was the kind that comes when a large burden is released from a person's shoulders. Realizing that his connection with the Cloud had been broken, Traphis smiled as he sank deeper into the liquid. The power under his feet, which had previously kept him afloat, left him just in time.

If he had been able to speak, he would have laughed. Yet he knew death still awaited him; he didn't even have enough strength to swim. It would only be a matter of time before he ran out of breath, and then he would drown in the frigid lake. Oddly enough, instead of fear, he felt relief.

At the corner of his eye, Traphis caught movement. He flinched as two blue eyes appeared before him. He tried to reach up, but his arms were too numb to move. The face of a beautiful woman took shape. _Is this the one going to bring me to the next life?_ Traphis wondered. _Is this the one sent by the Oracle to take me away?_ Yet there was something familiar about those eyes. Less celestial and more like that of a young girl.

The girl's eyes blinked; at least, it looked like a blink. And then the pale face came closer. Blue lips covered his own. He would have pulled away out of embarrassment, but his body was too weak.

The kiss was warm and soft and filled Traphis with a sensation he had never experienced before. Tingles of excitement flooded into his body, yet he still couldn't move. His cheeks puffed up with air, and a moment later, the air made its way down his throat and into his lungs. The sharp pain in his chest went away as if he was able to breathe again. Yet it wasn't he who was breathing, but the girl. She restored vitality where a moment before only death resided. Her breaths returned that which he had nearly thrown away: his life.

# Chapter 41

TRAPHIS COULD BARELY see through the dark, murky water, but what he did see triggered a sense of familiarity. The first person to greet him at the WC was now giving him a chance at life. She continued to instill him with breath as her body pressed up against his, providing a much needed warmth. Sensation slowly came back to his limbs, and blood flowed throughout his veins.

Saleena pulled away for a moment and then mouthed something, but Traphis didn't understand. Pointing to her neck, she shaped the words again.

For the first time, Traphis noticed that the water had turned Saleena's complexion into that of pure beauty. Her eyes radiated with a jewel like innocence, and her flesh glittered as if droplets of dew had reflected light from the morning sun.

Not understanding what she meant, Traphis shook his head. Several large bubbles escaped from his mouth.

Saleena pulled herself close to him once again. Her lips pressed up against his as she forced air back into his lungs.

Heat entered Traphis' cheeks and his heart beat heavily.

When she pulled away, he saw something around her eyes. The object was so thin that he hadn't noticed it before.

"Revealers?" he asked, but the word sounded more like a sequence of hollow hums. Bubbles escaped from between his lips as he spoke.

Saleena's index finger raised and pressed up against his lips. Every movement she made was slow and graceful, and her demeanor was so majestic that it made Traphis blush.

She grabbed his wrist, kicked with her feet, and pulled him along.

Her grip was tight yet gentle, and the girl's slender body moved so gracefully through the water that it seemed as natural to her as walking on land was to him. Not much time passed before Traphis found himself facing a brick wall. He reached out and touched the algae growing at the side, but quickly pulled away from the unpleasant layer of slime.

Saleena swam to the surface, exited the water, and then reached down. Traphis stretched and grabbed hold of her hand. She pulled him through the depths as easily as a stick from the mud; the strength in her arm was amazing. The next moment he found himself set down safely onto dry ground.

With a deep breath, Traphis coughed up water. He gagged and gasped for air, and then rolled onto his back.

A loud clapping echoed across the water. Traphis looked up and saw Tyron gliding toward him.

"Most formidable," Tyron said. "You released your hold on the Cloud right before I struck, and then the water itself produced a friend to protect you."

Anjetta's voice came from behind Traphis. "Don't let him distract you," she said. "Traphis, we need to get out of here, now." Blood smeared her garments, and exhaustion displayed on her face. Wolvarks littered the ground—arms and legs were separated from their hosts and heads lay without bodies. It appeared as if they had all been killed.

"No," Traphis said, bile rose to his throat as he surveyed the scene, but he pushed it back. "If we leave now, he will only find us again. We have to stop him."

"Traphis." Anjetta's voice took on a tone of motherly authority. "The wolvarks are dead, but we are still outmatched. You are in no shape to use magic."

"Traphis is right," Saleena said, speaking in her usual slow pace. "Tyron must be stopped, and it would not be right to leave Titch here."

Traphis turned to see Saleena hunched over Titch's body. She passed a hand over the girl's eyes, which closed for the very last time.

Standing, Traphis bit his lip and staggered over to the dead body of his beloved friend. The muscles in his legs burned, but he didn't let that stop him.

"I may not have liked her," Saleena said, "but she was one of us."

Traphis knelt down and reached for Titch's hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for everything."

"How touching," Tyron said. "Watching you almost makes me feel young again." He lifted a finger. "But we all die in the end." Energy released and a loud snap crackled in the air.

Anjetta fell to her knees.

Rexor jumped forward, but as soon as he did, another bolt of energy came and engulfed the warrior. The next moment he too knelt down before Tyron.

"If you will not submit to me," Tyron said. "Then perhaps they will."

Traphis gazed at Rexor and his mother, unsure what was happening to them.

"Will you be so kind as to kill your son?" Tyron asked.

Anjetta cried out, but her body remained in an obedient posture.

"I will accept that as a yes," Tyron said. He lifted his hand and fluttered his fingers like the legs of a spider.

Anjetta stood, hobbled over to a wolvark, and then pulled a spear from its corpse. Blood spurt from the wound and splattered against her face. Her movements were slow and rigid as if her joints had stiffened. With a sharp jerk, she lifted the spear and began to weep.

"Please," Anjetta said. "Stop this. You can't make me—"

"Oh, but I can," Tyron said. "I can do whatever I wish, and you have no choice but to obey me."

Traphis watched as his mother came closer to him. Her legs snapped outward and the spear directed at his heart.

"The only way to stop her is to kill her," Tyron said. "It is your choice as to which one of you will live."

* * *

The words Tyron spoke echoed in Traphis' head. Was it true that he would have to kill his mother?

She approached slowly, tears in her eyes and spear pointed outward, ready to kill her son.

But he wasn't her son and she wasn't his mother. This woman was a warrior commanded by Falin to raise him. She pretended to be his family, and nurtured him by force. Yet, no matter how much this idea pervaded his thoughts, he couldn't stop the flood of memories. Mother or not, she still provided for him, took care of him, and loved him as if he was her own. Traphis loved her too, and he would rather die than kill her.

"Traphis," she said. "The spell is too strong. I cannot stop myself."

"I know. He used the same spell on me, but the Blue stopped it."

"I-I am a warrior. I cannot use magic like you."

"But you are stronger than me."

"No. You are stronger than all of us. You always have been."

"Fight it . . . don't give up."

"Warriors can only manipulate the physical, and he has taken control of that."

"But I see you struggling. Your legs are resisting."

Anjetta looked down. Her legs quivered, but forced into another step.

"It is not her fault," Saleena said. "She cannot stop it."

"What do we do?" Traphis asked. "We have to help her."

Saleena grabbed at something that was looped around her neck, lifted it, and then handed it to him. "We found this," she said. "To stop Tyron with."

"What is it?"

She grabbed his hand and forced the object into his palm. "That is for you to discover."

Before he had a chance to respond, Saleena dove into the water and then was out of sight.

"Saleena," Traphis called out, but there was no response. He couldn't believe she left him. Saleena was gone; his mother fought for control, but was losing; Rexor stayed bowed down like an obedient servant; Titch was dead; and he no longer had any magic. If there was ever a time to give up, this was it.

Anjetta stood only a few paces away. Her eyes looked empty as if her senses had fled, unable to bear what was about to happen. Traphis would have moved away, but he knew it didn't matter anymore. He was going to die one way or another and the thought of being killed by Anjetta gave him more peace than dying by the hands of Tyron.

Even if he wanted to kill her, he couldn't. Besides, it seemed pointless to struggle and make his mother wait any longer. She would be forced to track him down no matter where he moved to, and the results would be the same. His death was inevitable.

As the spear came for his heart, a splash of water sounded in the distance. It was followed by a shout, which ended abruptly.

Curiosity forced Traphis to look. When he turned, he couldn't believe his eyes. In the place where Tyron stood a large formation of ice had formed. It came from the surface of the water like the tip of a mountain peak. Clear as a sphere of glass, Traphis could see the shape of the dark wizard within.

Tyron remained motionless, frozen.

A thud hit the ground behind Traphis. He turned to see Anjetta's body collapsed in a heap. She appeared to have lost consciousness.

"Your friend has released us from Tyron's control," Rexor said. He stood to his feet. "But I fear it will not be for long."

Traphis looked back at the ice sculpture. "Saleena?" Traphis asked. A yellow light formed around the circles of Tyron's eyes and then a crack appeared.

"She is giving you time," Rexor said. "But you need to act now."

"What am I supposed to . . ." Traphis suddenly remembered the object that Saleena had given him. He looked down at the circular shape in his hand. Two silver arms were etched into it, seemingly locked into an eternal wrestling match.

"What do I do?" Traphis asked. "Even if I could access the Blue, I don't have enough strength to use it."

Rexor offered no response; he seemed to be just as unsure as Traphis was.

Gripping the amulet in both hands, Traphis pressed it against his forehead. "Please, I don't know what to do," he said. "I cannot do this on my own, I need your help."

He fell to his knees, and then looked at Titch's lifeless form. "You were never able to use magic . . . but you gave your life for mine. In the end, you used a far greater magic than me." He leaned over and gazed at her closed eyelids. The amulet brushed up against her chest.

Several more cracks could be heard. The ice around Tyron was weakening.

He pressed his forehead against hers and rested his hands against the amulet. The faces of his remaining family and friends ran through his mind, and then he thought of the Founder. From somewhere within him a prayer formed. "Please don't let his power become stronger than yours. My life no longer matters; you can have it, just save them."

A splash told Traphis that a large piece of ice had broken off. He bit his lip. "Please, protect them and make this right. Forgive me for not trusting in you sooner." He shifted and then kissed Titch on the forehead. "Don't let her sacrifice be for nothing."

Warmth resonated against his palm. When he opened his eyes to look down, a blue light came from between the cracks in his fingers. He heard a single thump. It felt deep against Titch's chest. There was a long pause and then another thump came. This time it sounded like the beat of a heart, but it was as strong as a hammer hitting a drum.

Traphis pulled his hands away and gazed down at the blue light. The amulet lay against Titch's chest and hummed as if it had become a musical instrument. Slowly, the interlocking arms woven into the silver released their grip and stretched out as if waking from a long slumber.

Another deep thump sounded.

The arms flexed and extended until the hands touched. As soon as they gripped one another, the blue light grew brighter and a wave of energy erupted. It flowed from the amulet like water from a geyser, which poured over Titch's lifeless body. The blood on her shirt washed away as mud from a stone.

Traphis inhaled sharply; beneath the amulet Titch's chest rose.

A deep thump pounded inside his own chest, which synchronized with the beat of the amulet. As it did, Titch's chest lowered, and a waft of breath exited her nostrils.

The magical water flowed from the fists and expanded to the bricks below. As soon as it touched the stones, the darkness covering them vanished, restoring their natural redness.

Titch's chest rose again, and the sound of air rushed through her throat.

"Titch, it's me, Traphis. Say something. Tell me you're alive."

Thump.

Out of the corner of his eye, the water extended beyond his sight, but he wouldn't take his eyes away from her. If she was alive, then hope was not lost. It felt as if doors, previously shut by an unknown jailer, began to open within his heart. He sensed the presence of both hope and love as the picture of a box came into mind.

Air released as Titch's chest fell.

"Titch. Wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up."

Ba-dump.

"Titch."

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

Her eyelids twitched and Traphis put a hand against her cheek. "Titch," he said. "It's me, Traphis."

Green eyes blinked open and then squinted from the brightness of the blue magic.

He wiped a tear away from his cheek and then brushed her hair aside.

Titch blinked and then said, "Traphis?"

"Yes, it's me, are you—"

"Why are we lying here?" she asked.

"Don't you remember?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes," she said at length. "I remember." And then the muscles on her face went limp as if returning back to the land of the dead.

* * *

Traphis grabbed Titch's shoulders and shook her. A single tear streamed down her cheek.

"Come back," Traphis said. "Don't leave."

Her lips shook as she spoke. "I shouldn't be here. I don't belong—"

"What are you talking about? You are my friend. You belong with us."

"I have done horrible things . . . I don't deserve—"

"Don't talk like that. The Blue brought you back. Don't you know what that means?"

Her eyes opened. "The Blue?"

"Yes, it is because of you. You unlocked its power, Titch, not me."

"I did?"

"I don't know how, and I don't care. You are here. You are alive."

"My father?" Titch sat upright so fast that she nearly knocked Traphis over.

Several sections of ice had broken free, exposing areas of Tyron's flesh, but he remained sealed in the prison of ice.

"What happened to him?" Titch asked.

"We tried to stop him, but he was too strong . . . just forget about that. You are back. You are with us."

A large crack stretched across the surface and then for a moment, all became silent. The eerie pause hung in the air until a thick chunk of ice fell to the waters below. Soon after, the yellow eyes of Tyron glared down at Traphis.

"You only delay your destruction," Tyron said.

"Father?" Titch called out.

The wizard's eyes darted at Titch, and then a puzzled look took shape on his face.

"Father, I'm all right. You can stop this now. Let's stop and go home."

"But you were dead, I saw you, I killed you." The light in Tyron's eyes flickered.

"I was brought back. I was given another chance."

"Impossible," Tyron said, the yellow returning. "No one can come back from the dead."

"It was the Blue. It healed me and gave me breath once more. Father, it is beautiful, there's no reason to remain in the Cloud. There is only ugliness there. The Blue is magnificent. It spoke to me. I could feel its power. It was far greater than anything I have ever experienced before. When it spoke, it was soft and gentle. Father, the Blue is good. It is the right way to go. Please, turn away. Reject the wickedness of the Cloud. Please, come back to me."

At this, Tyron roared and yellow flames engulfed his body, which shattered the remaining particles of ice. "You are no daughter of mine," he said.

Magical energy, thicker than it had been before, came from Tyron and headed straight for Titch.

Grabbing the amulet, Traphis raised it just in time. The bolt struck. Yellow light pulled inside like an endless hole devouring a lake of water. As it did, the amulet vibrated and hummed against his palm until every last bit was consumed.

The expression on Tyron's face was that of confusion, and then he seemed to have noticed the amulet for the first time. "Where did you get that?" he asked. Fear entered his voice. "No, it cannot be. Not again." He looked around and noticed something else, which forced him to release a scream of terror.

The flow of magical water continued to pour from the amulet as Traphis held it in his hands. The liquid spread across the ground, sinking into every groove and crack. It merged into the lake itself, turning the water from blackened muck to a pure, untainted blue.

Just as the dark wizard prepared to distance himself from the water, Saleena's hand shot from the surface and grabbed his ankle. It squeezed so tightly that Tyron was unable to pull away. Before he had a chance to send a bolt of energy at his captor, a layer of the blue liquid traveled up and onto his leg.

Tyron screamed and tore at his clothing as if removing it would stop the onslaught, but his attempts were in vain. The water coated his body like grass on a hill, and with one final shout, the liquid flowed over his chin, blanketing his head.

Through the transparent fluid, Traphis could see Tyron's eyes bulging out of their sockets. They trembled and shook as yellow light streamed out of them like poison from a wound.

The advancement of magical water continued to the center of the lake, which consumed the dark island before heading up the walls of the inner tower. As it went, the stones turned to brown, and the surrounding darkness became light.

As far as the eye could see, Traphis watched the effects of the amulet. Unable to put any words together, he found no way to describe its magnificence. Instead, he remained still and watched with silent admiration.

Titch grabbed his hand and squeezed. He could tell from the grip that she felt the same as he, yet their interests were divided in one area: the fate of the man known as Tyron.

# Chapter 42

SKINNY JACK DREAMED of pretty girls. They told him he was the greatest wizard who had ever lived. When he awoke, the face of his sister stared down at him.

"Go away," Skinny Jack said. "I was having a nice dream." He closed his eyes and attempted to return to his fantasy.

"Wake up, Jack," Kip said. She shook him.

"Stop." Skinny Jack pushed her hand away.

A golden light glittered through his eyelids and then suddenly he couldn't breathe. Lurching forward and grabbing at his face, his fingers clawed against a thin, slippery sheet.

"I knew that would wake you up," Kip said. She clapped her hands, and the golden sheet disappeared.

Skinny Jack took a deep breath of air. "I told you to never do that," he said.

"And when do I do what you tell me to? Don't forget, I'm older than you."

With a grumble, Skinny Jack rubbed his eyes and looked up. The sky was blue and cloudless. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Don't you remember?"

When he looked down, he saw a layer of black dirt against his arm. "Are we still on the hill?"

"Look around you."

He rubbed his eyes once again and then rotated his head. "Where's Falin?"

"Talking to Jabool."

Jumping to his feet, Skinny Jack said, "You mean he left us alone? What about the enemy?"

Kip giggled. "See for yourself."

Admittedly, Skinny Jack had not fully transitioned from his dream to reality, but even he remembered that they were in the middle of a battle. Before he fell asleep, he had watched his funnel explode into a shower of sparks. Even if it had taken out a large amount of the enemy, he knew there were still many more, and to take his guard down now would surely mean death.

"Go on," Kip said. She pushed him to the edge of the hill.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then rubbed them again. "Where are we?" he asked.

"In the Valley of the Black Mountain."

"No we're not. Stop teasing me." He pointed. "Where's the mountain?"

"Over there, silly," Kip said, changing the direction of his finger.

Obviously, there was something peculiar going on, but what he wasn't sure. When he followed the trajectory of his finger, he couldn't believe his eyes. In the center of the river, a tall mountain stood, but both river and mountain looked nothing like they did before. The river was as blue as the sky, and the mountain was covered in a lush layer of greenery, just as a normal mountain should have been.

"I don't believe it," Skinny Jack said. "How?"

"I don't know, but I think it has something to do with Traphis."

"Traphis?"

"You know," Kip said. "The guy we came here to help."

"Of course I know who he is. I was just saying . . . never mind. So where is he now?"

"I think he's still inside the mountain; he hasn't come out yet."

Skinny Jack scanned the valley. Bodies of nekrin and wolvarks littered the surface, but not a one appeared to be alive. "Where's the rest of the army?"

"You should have seen it; it was amazing. The enemy came for us; you passed out; the wizards tried to fight; they were overpowered; magic everywhere; wolvarks climbed the hill; Falin protected us; the nekrin—"

"Slow down, Kip, I can't understand you. Take a deep breath and relax."

"It's too exciting," she said. "We were outnumbered. We were losing. But then, suddenly, the entire mountain shook. It distracted the enemy for awhile, but when it stopped, they continued to attack. It seemed as if we were all going to die, but then something else happened to the mountain."

"What?" Skinny Jack asked.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said. "It was . . . sweating."

"Sweating?"

"I told you it's hard to explain."

"Try harder then."

Kip crossed her arms. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"A poor job."

"Fine. I won't tell you."

Skinny Jack sighed. "All right, I'm sorry, please go on."

Kip smiled. "That's better," she said. "Tell me I'm the best sister."

Skinny Jack rolled his eyes. "Fine, you are the best sister, go on already."

"Where was I?"

"A sweaty mountain."

"That's right. There was this fluid that came out of the mountain and spread across the surface. Even the nekrin stopped to watch. Then it flowed into the river and turned it blue. The fluid kept stretching and expanding until it came to the edge of the valley. As soon as it touched land the wolvarks and nekrin began to panic, but they were too slow."

"What happened to them?"

"I'm getting to that. First you tell me to slow down, now you tell me to speed up."

"Sorry."

"The liquid—"

"Sweat?"

"Let me finish . . . The liquid spread across the ground so fast that the army had no chance to escape. It hit them in a wave and sent them scattering."

"Did it touch you?"

"No, we were still on the hill."

"But it covered the mountain, why wouldn't it make it up this small hill?"

"I don't know. Maybe it knew we were not an enemy. Anyway, it was very strange. I could see the eyes of the wolvarks when they were climbing our hill, and then the water hit them."

"I thought you said the sweat didn't come up the hill."

Kip furled her brow. "Well, it did and it didn't."

"You make no sense."

"As I was telling you, I could see their eyes. When the water hit them, their eyes changed color."

"Changed color?"

"Yes. The yellow in their eyes just, well, it vanished, and then they turned black."

"Black?"

"Would you stop repeating everything I say?"

"Repeating?" Skinny Jack smiled. In truth, he was amazed by her story, but he couldn't help but tease her at the same time.

Kip punched him in the chest.

"Ouch," he said.

"Serves you right; you keep interrupting me." She glared at him and then continued. "When the wolvark's eyes changed color, their behavior changed as well. Some of them fled. Others turned on the nekrin and attacked them. The nekrin fought back, but were outnumbered by the wolvarks, so they tried to escape, but only a few got away."

"Why would they attack their own army?"

"I don't know, but the wolvarks chased after the nekrin and they all disappeared into the forest. It almost seemed as if the wolvarks had been under a spell, and the liquid broke it as soon as it touched them. Maybe the wolvarks were their captives or something and then wanted revenge when they were set free."

"You know what?" Skinny Jack asked.

Kip looked up at him.

"For the first time in your life, I think you might be right."

* * *

Traphis' mind raced as he tried to make sense of what just happened. Only a moment before, Tyron was winning the battle, but then the magical fluid, which had encapsulated the dark wizard, put a stop to everything. And Titch. Titch had been dead, but here she was, standing beside him, taking in breath and holding tight against his hand. She was given a second chance. But why? How?

If only there was a way to bring his father back too, but as soon as Traphis thought about this, he just as quickly knew it would be impossible. With Titch, she had been dead for a short time, whereas Mardin's spirit lifted to the world beyond long ago.

The only thing Traphis could do for his father now was to honor his memory by being the kind of son that would make him proud. Not only that, but the kind of wizard that the world could look up to, just as they did to Mardin.

He had always wanted people's admiration, but now he realized what a tremendous responsibility it was. There was nothing egocentric involving the true position of a wizard, and he was beginning to learn the hard truth of this. His life came last, not first. People looked up to wizards because they used their magic to protect them, not because they put on a good show.

In the future, Traphis hoped to become worthy of his father's name, but right now there was still one matter to address. What to do with Tyron.

As soon as the amulet had stopped its flow—and resumed the shape it had before being activated—Tyron splashed down into the lake. If it wasn't for Rexor diving in after him, the dark wizard would have drowned.

Tyron now lay, unconscious next to Anjetta.

"Will he live?" Traphis asked as he stared down at his former enemy.

Rexor placed a hand over the man's chest. "He will."

Titch inhaled sharply and squeezed tighter against Traphis' hand.

"Is he dangerous?" Traphis asked.

"I do not believe so," Rexor said. "The Blue has removed all traces of Tyron. The man before you now is only Nahan."

"But Nahan called out to Tyron in the first place. What would stop him from doing it again?"

"After what happened here, I believe he would no longer wish for such a fate." Rexor looked up at Titch as he said this.

Titch let go of Traphis' hand and knelt down beside her father. She brushed a hand against his cheek and said, "I forgive you, father. Let's start over and do things the right way this time."

There was a long silence as her words struck Traphis like an axe. He knew that she still loved the man, even after everything he had done, but did he deserve her forgiveness? Did he deserve anyone's forgiveness?

Traphis wanted to tell Titch that she was being foolish, but deep down he knew that even if Mardin had gone bad, he would have still loved him too. Thankfully, he never had to experience that. Though part of him would have traded a good Mardin for a bad one if only that meant he would still be alive.

Ripples stretched across the blue water as Saleena popped her head out of the lake. "I am going back," she said.

Before Traphis could thank her, she disappeared. There was something odd about Saleena, yet when he had seen her in the water, Traphis knew that, in her own element, she was truly magnificent. A blush formed against his cheeks as he thought about the kiss, but he knew it was only meant to keep him alive.

"Traphis," Rexor said. "Though words cannot describe what happened here today, know that you did a mighty work. Mardin would be—"

"But I used the Cloud," Traphis interrupted. "I gave into its power."

"What you meant for evil, the Founder used for good."

"But I failed Him."

"Failure is how we learn best."

Traphis clenched his fists and looked down at Tyron.

As if sensing his thoughts, Rexor said, "Do not let your failure speak words of guilt into your mind. It is not the voice of the Founder that you hear, but the voice of Tyron. Tyron would turn your failure into a weakness. He would make it haunt your heart and force you to brood for as long as it benefits him. Tyron's voice would grow stronger until one day overpowering your will, as it did to Nahan. Listen to the voice of the Founder who offers you forgiveness, just as Titch forgave her father."

"But how can I forget what Tyron has done? If I forgive him, wouldn't I be betraying my father?"

"Forget?" Rexor asked. "You never forget."

"Then how can I forgive him?"

"The same way you can forgive yourself. Do not forget your mistakes or those of others. Learn from them, help them to make you stronger, use them to make better choices when the time comes, but whatever you do, do not let your mistakes become stronger than you. Forgiveness releases the darkness behind the actions, but remembering is just as important."

Traphis shook his head.

"One day you will better understand. Just remember this; the past can be used in two ways. For good or for ill. The more you listen to the voice of the Founder, the less control Tyron will have over you."

"But I don't hear His voice."

"Do not think of them as words. The voices within do not come at you in the form of speech."

"Then how will I know?"

"Inside each thought, you will sense a presence. You will feel suggestions pulling you in different directions, and ultimately it will be up to you to decide which way to go."

"But how will I know which voice belongs to who?"

"Things outside of the physical are often hard to understand. Do you remember what I told you when we entered this mountain? I warned you about trusting your senses. Do not put all your trust in the senses you know. You must open up and grasp a world much larger. As you train your inner ear, you will hear better, and as you become more familiar with your true heart, you will know who speaks to it."

Nahan choked out water and then slowly opened his eyes.

"Titch?" Nahan asked. "Where is my Titch?"

"Father," she said. "I'm here."

He blinked and then focused on her face. "Can you ever forgive an old fool?" he asked.

Titch grabbed his hand, but said nothing.

Nahan blinked again and then looked around. "So this is how it feels to be free," he said, and then his eyes caught Traphis. "Thank you. Thank you for saving her. Thank you for stopping me."

Traphis looked away for a moment, then turned back and asked, "Are you really Falin's brother?"

"Indeed I am, though I have not been much of a brother to him."

"So everything Tyron said was true?"

"Yes. Tyron uses truth to gain our trust, but I was too foolish to see that in each word of truth he also spoke a lie. His words were sweet and convincing, but he twisted them for his own gain."

"Was Golan really my father?"

Nahan choked out more fluid. "He was." With a sigh he continued. "I would not blame you if you hated me for the rest of your life. I have taken from you what you gave back to me." He looked over at Titch.

Traphis bit his lip. Not only was Nahan responsible for the death of the father he knew and loved, but also the one he had never known. Yet, if Rexor was right, it would do Traphis no good to keep this anger inside his heart. Doing so would only invite the voice of Tyron in, and in the end, he would be no different from this dark wizard.

"I must forgive you," Traphis said. His words were so soft that he wasn't sure if Nahan had heard them. "I don't really know how, but I'll try. That's my only true option."

* * *

Traphis sat at the edge of the lake, staring at the blue water as if it contained answers to the questions running through his mind. Even though the water had become bright and inviting, Traphis wanted to depart from it and the mountain as soon as he could.

Unfortunately, he was stuck there a little longer; after Nahan spoke to him, the old man closed his eyes once again. It was clear that both Nahan and his mother needed to rest before they could travel.

Titch stayed by her father's side, watching his every breath. It seemed as if she cared more for him than anyone in the world. A pang of jealousy shot through him.

Traphis kicked at the water and sighed. He knew that he should have been happier with the way things turned out, but it felt like something was missing. It was true that he had managed to achieve what he set out to do, yet so many of the things he believed in were a lie. All he wanted to do now was to go back home.

Home, Traphis thought. I don't know what that is anymore.

Rexor paced back and forth, as if feeling a similar desire to leave. Something about Rexor reminded Traphis of a wild, untamed animal—trapped as the wolf had been inside the prison cell. Thinking of this made Traphis wonder whether or not the wolf had ever found its way out. A hint of envy came as he thought of the animal running through forests, and distancing itself from the negative effects of the mountain.

A groan came from the place where Anjetta lay. She shifted a few times and then whimpered. Seeing Titch leaning over her father suddenly made him feel guilty for not doing the same for his mother.

He stood and left the side of the water. When he knelt down, Anjetta opened her eyes. The familiar brown in them, which matched his own, reminded him of one more deception. Traphis cursed. "I have to stop thinking like that," he said.

Anjetta smiled, reached up, and rubbed at something on his cheek. "You are always getting dirty," she said.

"I saved the world and that's all you can say?" Traphis smiled. He missed the friendly banter between them.

"The world is a big place," she said. "I doubt the task of saving it is done."

Traphis rubbed his head. "You're probably right, but at least my part is over."

With a smile, Anjetta said, "Perhaps."

He was about to make an indignant remark when Anjetta suddenly gritted her teeth in pain.

"Does it hurt badly?" he asked.

"I think I broke a rib."

Rexor stepped forward. "It is because she resisted Tyron's control," he said. "The strength of her will kept her body back, but the power of Tyron forced it onward. Be thankful that the two opposing forces didn't cause greater damage."

Traphis looked away. "It was my fault."

Anjetta grabbed his wrist and squeezed it hard. "Don't say that," she said. "Don't ever say that. I would have rather died than cause you harm."

Traphis looked back. "Why? I'm not even your son."

Anjetta's hand raised and swung at his face, but she stopped it just before striking his cheek. "If you ever say that again, I won't hesitate."

"But . . ." Traphis said, taken by surprise.

"Traphis, you are my son, no matter what anyone tells you. That's all I have to say about it; we will never speak of this again, understood?"

The authority in her voice was real, and even though Traphis had grown into a young man, he knew that this was one subject he would never be able to question her on.

"Speak of what again?" He managed a wry grin.

"Now how do we get out of here?" Anjetta asked.

"There is a hidden doorway at the far corner where I came in," Rexor said. "I do not know if it leads out of the mountain, but there is a stream we can follow."

Nahan coughed, and with the help of Titch, he sat up. "There is another doorway," he said. "It follows the tunnel underneath the river and into the valley. Come, I will take you there."

"Father, are you well enough?" Titch asked.

"There are many debts I must repay," Nahan said. "The sooner we go, the closer I will be at fulfilling them."

# Chapter 43

THE SUN PEERED over a distant cliff, which washed the tips of grass in an orange glow. Leaves danced in the breeze, and the chirping of birds replaced the screams and cries of battle.

Skinny Jack sat on the edge of the hill and gazed down at the newfound beauty of the valley. All signs of the battle had been removed. Even the dead bodies of the wolvarks and nekrin were gone; Jabool had regained his energy and used it to bury the masses under a thick layer of mud. Had Skinny Jack not been there, he would have almost believed the onslaught never took place.

Kip climbed down the hill and ran over to the group of wizards standing around Falin. Several were lined up as Falin sprinkled their injuries, but as far as Skinny Jack could tell, none of them had been fatally wounded. Not even Traphis' warrior of a grandfather.

With Traphis in mind, Skinny Jack wondered what was happening inside the mountain. If Saleena hadn't taken the Revealers, he would have gone looking for Traphis himself, but without them he knew he would only get lost. All he could do now was wait, and what better place to do so than atop the very hill where he had made a name for himself?

He took a deep breath and then slowly released it. The air was clean and fresh, which made him feel hungry. How long it had been since his last meal he couldn't remember, but now was not the time to think of food.

With legs draped over the side of the hill, he watched intently as if expecting Traphis to appear at any moment. Yet not so much as a silhouette came into view.

A sharp, pulsating sound interrupted his thoughts. He looked from left to right, but was unable to locate the source of the disturbance. And then the noise formed into words, which sounded something like, "Down, come, what, doing?"

When he tilted his head, he saw his sister waving her arms. As soon as she got his attention, she cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled, "Jack, come down."

It appeared as if she didn't understand why he remained at the top of the hill. The higher up he was, the farther away he could see, and the farther away he could see, the better chance he had of spotting Traphis.

"They want to talk to you," Kip said as she came closer. "Come down."

"Tell them to come up here," Skinny Jack yelled back.

Kip rested her arms on her hips. "Stop being such a lorax and come down."

Skinny Jack sighed. He knew that she wouldn't go away until she got what she wanted. If he remained where he was, then he'd have to listen to her yelling. With a click of his tongue, he forced himself onto his feet and prepared to climb down. As soon as he did, he saw a flicker in the distance. Lifting a hand, he shaded his eyes. Another flicker. Several shapes emerged from the ground. Human shapes.

"What's taking so long?" Kip asked.

"I see something," Skinny Jack said.

"What?"

"People, I think. Five of them."

"Is it him?" The stern tone in her voice vanished. "Is _he_ one of them?"

"I don't know; they are too far away."

"You are useless."

"Why don't you come up here and see for yourself," he said. His throat burned from hollering.

"You come down here, and then we can go meet them."

"But what if they're the enemy?"

"There is no more enemy, moarock."

"We don't know that." Skinny Jack rubbed his throat and then said, "Hold on." He climbed down the hill and ran over to Kip. "I'm tired of yelling. I was telling you that we don't know if the enemy is completely gone."

"We saw them leave."

"You saw the enemy outside of the mountain leave."

"But that's because the spell over them was removed."

"Over the wolvarks. I don't think the nekrin were being controlled by a spell."

"We can talk about this on our way there." Kip grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

"You are missing my point," Skinny Jack said, but he offered no physical resistance. "Besides, I thought the wizards wanted to talk to me."

"They can wait. Traphis and Saleena are more important."

"That makes two people. So who are the other three?"

"I don't know. I don't care."

"What if Traphis and Saleena are with archers? What if they are prisoners?"

Kip stopped for a moment and said, "I know it's him. I know he is all right. I can feel it."

Skinny Jack was about to object, but then saw his sister tearing up. "Come on," he said. "Let's find out."

* * *

Traphis and Rexor supported Nahan's weight at either side. The wizard had become weak after losing the power of Tyron. The dark energy, which deteriorated the once masterful Elder Controller, left him with the feeble body of an old man.

This didn't seem to bother Titch any, in fact she seemed happier because of it.

"There's something I don't understand," Traphis said as he took another step in the tunnel. Previously, Nahan had found the opening, which led the group underneath the roaring waters above. "If Nahan became your father when Golan fell, doesn't that mean Tyron was already in him?"

A voice—more similar to Falin's than Traphis liked—spoke up. "Sadly, you are correct," Nahan answered in place of Titch. The old man's weight pulled steadily against Traphis' arm.

"But if Tyron was there from the beginning . . ."

"I was not always a slave to him. When I raised Titch as my daughter, Tyron had little interest in it, so he allowed me to bring her up as I wished. He forced his will over mine only when my actions conflicted with his."

"There were times," Titch said, "when I was afraid of him."

"Why didn't you run away?" Traphis asked.

"Because no matter what happened, I knew my father still loved me."

Traphis shook his head.

"Traphis," Anjetta said. "There are some things you can't understand without experiencing them for yourself."

At this, there was an awkward silence. But Traphis did understand, he just didn't know how to express it. Titch loved her father, even though he had been tainted by Tyron. It was no wonder why she was so happy now. The villain's presence was completely gone. This was a time of celebration. A time to rejoice in the rebirth of a once great wizard, not a time for reminiscing over his dark past. Yet . . .

"The end of the tunnel is not far ahead," Nahan said. "And I believe your friends will be waiting for us there."

The way he said this made Traphis wonder if the wizard was planning on a way to escape. Yet it was obvious that he was too feeble to succeed.

"What will happen to you?" Titch asked.

"I have no choice but to meet my fate," he said in a weary tone. "And I will pay for my crimes."

"But that's not fair," Titch said. "They were Tyron's crimes, not yours."

"They were our crimes, and I am responsible for giving him dominance over me."

Titch stopped abruptly. "I won't let them. I won't let them hurt you."

"Whatever you do, do not interfere. It is my wish for you to join them, not become their enemy."

"But they'll take you away."

"If they do, you will have wonderful friends to stay by your side." Nahan looked over at Traphis.

Traphis studied Nahan and then Titch, who stood several paces ahead with her back turned.

With the amulet around his neck, Traphis squeezed it and said, "I will always be there for her."

Titch's shoulders quivered, but she said nothing. After a short silence, she began to walk again. Not once did she turn back to look.

The group continued on until clearing the opening of the tunnel. The brightness of the sun forced Traphis to squint his eyes, but soon he found himself taking in a deep breath of the clean valley air.

"We made it," Anjetta said.

"Indeed we have," Nahan said. "No matter what happens now, know that I am sorry for what I have done to each one of you. I cannot thank you enough for ridding me of that accursed power."

Not long after, Traphis saw two figures approaching from the distance. At this, the two warriors jumped forward in preparation for battle.

* * *

Rexor and Anjetta formed a protective line. Unfortunately for Traphis, Rexor failed to consider that he had been helping him to support Nahan. The weight of the old man suddenly became too much. Traphis struggled to the nearest boulder, and then set him down as gently as he could.

"I apologize for being such a burden," Nahan said.

Traphis looked him in the eyes and said, "I gave in to the Cloud just as you did. I allowed the voice of Tyron to speak to me and tempt me. You and I don't deserve pity. We don't have the right to apologize for anything."

Nahan closed his eyes and sighed.

Traphis continued, "The only difference between us is that no one was there to help you."

"You are wrong," Nahan said, opening his eyes. "There were people who tried to stop me." He looked over at Rexor. "But I was too consumed with anger and hatred, and I would not listen. You are much greater than I, Traphis. You prevailed where I gave in. Your sins are only a speck of sand in comparison to mine, and I expect that I will be apologizing for them until my very last breath."

"You don't understand," Traphis said. "It doesn't matter how big or small, in the end, it's the same thing." He squeezed the dagger at his side, which Anjetta had handed to him before they left the mountain. "When I threw the knife away," he said, and then for a moment he found it difficult to speak. When he regained his voice, all else became quiet. "When I threw it away, I felt as if I had thrown _him_ away. I rejected Mardin. I killed his words. I betrayed my father."

"We have already been forgiven where it matters most." Nahan gazed at the amulet around Traphis' neck. "We are here because the Founder gave us a second chance. We may not deserve it, but it is the greatest gift one could ever receive. I, for one, will not let that gift go to waste. Traphis, this is all we can do now. Do not let your story weaken you. Let it make you stronger."

Something about his words reminded Traphis of what Rexor had told him. But, even if the Founder had forgiven him, and if Mardin appeared before him and did the same, Traphis didn't know if he could ever forgive himself.

Rexor spoke up, "They are closer," he said and then, with a hint of confusion, "they are children?"

When he turned to look, Traphis saw two figures bounding toward them. He watched as they drew closer. A large grin appeared on the face of a young boy. Next to him was a girl with long, brown hair. Small spots, equally as brown, splashed against her cheeks as tears flowed over them. She ran toward Traphis with more speed than he thought possible, and an instant later, she slammed into his chest—nearly knocking him over.

"I can't believe you're safe," she said, her words came out so fast that Traphis barely had time to take them in. "You did it, you really did it, it's over, because of you, it's over."

"Kip," the boy said. "Let go of him; he can't breathe."

She squeezed harder. Her grip felt nearly as strong as his grandfather's, which was impossible given her small frame, but even in the tight embrace, Traphis felt her tenderness.

Glancing over at Titch, Traphis noticed that she was looking at the ground as if trying to ignore the scene.

"I'm all right," Traphis said.

Kip released her grip, pulled back, and then noticed the amulet. She smiled and said, "I knew it would work. I'm so glad we were able to help you." Wiping away the liquid on her cheek, she caught sight of Nahan. "Falin? How did you get here so fast? And why do you look so old?"

Nahan smiled, "So my brother is here," he said. "I would expect no less of him."

"Brother?" Kip asked.

Skinny Jack stepped forward. "The wizards came to help us," he said. "Even Jabool the Cruel." His eyes directed at Titch, and then he blushed. "Where's Saleena?" he asked.

"She went back on her own," Traphis said.

"Do the wizards know we are here?" Rexor asked.

"Who's that?" Kip pointed at Rexor. "And what happened to his skin—it's so dark."

"It's a long story," Traphis said.

"Your story can't be as exciting as ours," Skinny Jack said, and then he recounted the tale of how they found the amulet in the Attic of Elders, came across Falin who led them through the Nomadic Room, and then into the forest where they were attacked by a moarock, will-o'-the-wisp, and witch named Noxia the Rotten. He told of how they came to the valley, were attacked by an archer, then wolvarks, nekrin, and finally saved by the wizards. He spoke so excitedly that Traphis nearly forgot about his own tale.

"And then I created this humongous funnel that took out the entire army," Skinny Jack said.

"No it didn't," Kip said. "He passed out and left us to defend ourselves."

"Only after I defeated everyone."

"It was the liquid that defeated the enemy, not you."

"Oh, right, the sweat that I didn't see."

"Because you were sleeping."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was replenishing my energy."

"Is that what you call it?"

Traphis touched the amulet. "I know where the liquid came from," he said.

At this, everyone turned and looked at him. With reluctance, Traphis explained how he met Rexor, found his way into the mountain, and came across Tyron. When he was done, he finished by saying, "Titch unsealed its power and saved us."

Everyone looked at the girl, who blushed.

"Where were you, Titch?" Skinny Jack asked. "We looked everywhere."

"I . . ." Titch's voice was unsteady. "I don't deserve to be your friend."

Skinny Jack rubbed his head. "Am I missing something?"

Traphis had left out many details, such as Titch being the daughter of Tyron, a spy, and deceiver. He also didn't mention how he had given in to the power of the Cloud, and that he was the son of a dead king. That was something for another day, if ever.

Anjetta uncharacteristically approached Skinny Jack and hugged him.

Skinny Jack's cheeks turned a bright red. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out.

"Thank you for helping my son," Anjetta said. "Thank you." She released him and then faced Kip. "Thank both of you . . . there's just one thing. Do you know . . ." Her eyes formed a woeful glaze. "Is my father, is he, is Braun . . ."

"He's here," Skinny Jack said, motioning his thumb over his shoulder. "He helped defend the wizards."

At this, Anjetta straightened and gazed into the distance. "Where?" she asked, her voice desperate.

Traphis noticed a procession heading in their direction. At least twenty bodies walked side-by-side—most of them carried long sticks. Not long after, one of the men vanished. A film of dust appeared where he had been a moment before.

The shape came at them like a bolt of lightning, and then it stopped a few paces away. A large man with a gray beard brandished an axe. Blood dripped from the edges of the blade as the man tossed it to the ground. He opened his arms wide and said, "You are safe. You are both safe."

Anjetta instantly ran to him and was swallowed into his embrace. "Thank the Founder," she said. "Thank the Founder you are alive. When they came to take me, I thought that you, I thought you were . . ." The breath left her lungs as Braun squeezed. She cried out in pain and said, "Sorry, I think my rib is broken."

He let go of her. "You always were a tough one. Take after your father you do. It takes more than a few beasts to stop us." He turned toward Traphis. "I knew you had it in you, my boy," he said. "I always knew it. Come here and give your old grandfather a hug, or do you have a broken rib too?"

Traphis did as bidden, but not without reluctance; he knew everyone was watching. The sharp bristly beard poked against his cheek as the man squeezed him tight. Once freed, Traphis gasped for air.

"And now the skinny one," Braun said. "I understand that I owe you my life."

Skinny Jack blushed. "I'm glad to have helped, but," he said. "I don't think I can survive one of your hugs."

Traphis allowed a creeping smile to take shape on his face. It remained there until an unpleasant voice came within earshot. Instantly he knew it belonged to Jabool.

# Chapter 44

TRAPHIS COULDN'T HELP but admire the wizards standing before him. Some had torn robes, others brandished stern expressions, and several more leaned authoritatively against their staffs. Regardless of their stature, each one beamed with an heir of greatness. Had they been his enemy, Traphis would have panicked, but these men were with him. They were his allies.

Jabool stood in the center of the group. At his right was Falin—who gazed at the old man sitting on the boulder—and to his left was Saleena. Her blue eyes were steady and calm as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. Clearly, she found her way back without harm.

A warm breeze pressed up against Traphis as he waited for someone to break the silence. Waves from the nearby river echoed across the valley, and a weed rolled along the ground.

A moment later, the horse-like face of Jabool spoke. "Have we been informed correctly that Tyron is gone?"

There was a pause as Traphis considered how to answer. He wondered if the wizards knew that the man sitting on the boulder was Falin's brother; his worn out body no longer an exact duplicate. If he told Jabool that this was the man known as Tyron, then what would happen to him? To Titch? Yet the power and control of Tyron no longer flowed through the old wizard's veins. So, in a sense, Tyron was gone, but that didn't make his crimes go away.

The stern countenance of Jabool burned into Traphis. When no response came, the wizard's wrinkled forehead twitched. "Has the Claymear been telling us lies?"

"No," Traphis said. He met Jabool's gaze. "Saleena told you correctly. Tyron is dead."

Jabool narrowed his eyes and said, "Is that so?"

Traphis raised the amulet. "It was the Blue. It stopped Tyron. There is no longer any danger."

A few of the wizards gasped. One said, "So, Falin was right, it _is_ the enemy of enemies."

Jabool stomped over to Traphis and snatched the amulet from his hand. He stared into the center as if questioning its very existence.

"You can have it," Traphis said. "I don't need it anymore."

Jabool looked up. "Where did you get this?"

Traphis shrugged.

Jabool raised a fist, paused, and then lowered it. "Tyron is not dead. You have not killed him. He is not flesh and blood that can be destroyed by such trinkets." He bit his lip as if the following words were painful to speak. "Still, it may be that you have prevented a great calamity. Perhaps I underestimated you. If all is spoken truly, then you have done well."

The compliment sounded more like an accusation, but Traphis knew it was probably the best a man such as Jabool could offer. Motioning at his friends, he said, "They are the ones who deserve the credit. I mostly got in the way."

"That's not true, Traphis," Anjetta said. "You saved us all."

Several heads nodded in agreement.

But they don't know, Traphis thought. They don't know the truth. They don't know that I almost became a villain myself.

Besides Rexor, Nahan was the only other person who really understood what happened. Yet the old wizard stayed as silent as the stone he sat upon, neither speaking in Traphis' favor nor against it.

When Falin stepped forward, Jabool stepped aside. "Traphis, Saleena, Titch, Jack, and Kip," he said. "You have all acted today in a manner worthy of the wizards of old. Your courage in the face of danger proved commendable, and your efforts more valiant than the mightiest of warriors. Wizards, look upon these children and see your future. See the greatness that is to come. Tell stories of this day for generations, and may your children's children follow in their footsteps. A mighty evil has fallen; therefore, count yourselves blessed to have been a part of it."

"He mentioned my name before yours," Skinny Jack said, poking Kip in the side.

Kip punched him in the arm and said, "Be quiet."

Rexor walked up to Falin, removed his sword, and laid it on the ground. Then, with a bow, he said, "I am not worthy to be a part of this."

Falin reached down and forced Rexor upright. "How is this so?" he asked.

"Back then," Rexor said. There was a long pause before he continued. "I was not able to stop Tyron. I fled because of my shame." His head lowered to the ground.

"Yet here you are now," Falin said. "And your actions have helped to bring about an end to that which began long ago." He reached out and grasped Rexor's hands in his own. With a quieter voice he said, "We are still the Five Jinx, are we not?"

Rexor squeezed Falin's hands in return. He closed his eyes, nodded his head, and smiled. "We are." He released his grip, picked up his sword, and humbly stepped aside.

"There is another," Falin continued, "who has yet to speak." His eyes were upon Nahan. Clearly, Falin knew who he was despite his bedraggled appearance.

"You always did like to have men listen to your speeches," Nahan said. He attempted to prop himself upright, but sank farther down.

"And you always disregarded them," Falin returned.

"Perhaps, but a lack of hearing was not my sin alone."

Falin walked over to his brother and stretched out a hand. "You are right," he said. "I should have listened to you. I knew the king became corrupt and yet I did nothing. I left the task to you, which forced you to make a poor decision. If we had done what needed to be done together, then all this could have been avoided. I share as much blame as you."

Nahan closed his eyes and sighed. "I do not deserve your kind words. I alone killed Golan, and I alone must pay for my crimes."

"Come," Falin said. "The past cannot be undone, but we can be a family once again."

Jabool stepped forward. "He's the one, isn't he? He was Tyron's vessel." He glanced at Traphis as if accusing him of telling a lie.

Opening his eyes, Nahan looked at Jabool and said, "It is as you say."

"Grab him!" Jabool yelled.

Several of the younger wizards charged forward, but then stopped dead in their tracks when Falin raised a hand. "You will do no such thing."

"But he is the one who destroyed Golan," Jabool said. "Countless deaths are upon his head. Even your dearest apprentice is gone because of him. Don't you care about justice?"

"You did not care about Baskas anymore than you cared about the others," Falin said. "You seek to inflict pain for the sake of your own pleasure. That is not justice. In this, you are more like Tyron than he."

"How dare you?" Jabool said. With reddened face, he raised his staff and pointed it at Falin.

Falin's ring lit up so brightly that Jabool had to cover his eyes. "Know. Your. Place." The words boomed across the valley—not only were they powerful, but an authority came from them that contained an even greater element of terror. Each syllable pierced Jabool like a dagger.

Traphis had never heard Falin speak so boldly before, yet his voice remained in complete control; not hindered by doubt or uncertainty. Had they been directed at him, Traphis imagined he would have melted into a puddle of water and soaked into the ground below.

When the glow of the ring died down, Jabool stood, fixated, with eyes wide and mouth gaped open. He let go of his staff, which hit the ground with a clank.

With an agreeable smile, Falin returned his attention to Nahan. "You are my brother," he said. "And should you choose it, we will become a family once again."

* * *

Traphis watch Nahan closely, waiting to see how the old wizard would respond. But by the time he spoke, even Traphis had grown weary.

"There is nothing more that I would wish for," Nahan said, "but you know it cannot be."

Falin gazed at his brother with an expression of pity. "There is no need for you to condemn yourself," he said. "Let us join together as we once were."

Nahan's eyes drooped and his body began to slide down the side of the boulder.

Traphis ran over and lifted him up before he hit the ground. "He's exhausted," he said. "We should let him rest."

"You are right, Traphis," Falin said. "Forgive me for not regarding the situation as well as you. Indeed, he should rest."

"No." Nahan opened his eyes. "I have not been with my brother for many years; it is only right that we speak of such matters now. You must know why you cannot welcome me back." He inhaled sharply as if in pain. "If you were to do as such, your name would become tainted along with mine. I do not wish this fate upon you. If I were still the Elder Controller, matters would be different . . . but that position ended for me long ago."

"I do not care what people think about my name," Falin said. "What matters is—"

Nahan leaned over and coughed. "Is that why you turned down the offer to become Elder Controller? Do you think so little of yourself?"

Traphis tensed. "You could have been the Elder Controller?" He couldn't believe his ears. The very idea never occurred to Traphis before, yet, as he thought about it, it only made sense. Falin contained all the qualities for such a position; he was humble, yet authoritative; insightful, yet compassionate. If only his father was still alive, both he and Falin could have become the most powerful wizards of all time.

"My reasons," Falin said, and then he paused for a moment before continuing. "Daymon was the better choice."

Nahan laughed, though it came out in a fit of spasms. "Come brother, Daymon?"

With a smile, Falin said, "I will speak to him on your behalf, but for now, it really is time for you to rest. And when you awaken, I trust that we will be together again."

"Wait," Nahan said, but his words came too late. Falin had already lifted his ring, pointed it at him, and formed the tree-like symbol on the surface. A moment later, Nahan closed his eyes.

"He will sleep until he regains his strength," Falin said.

With the help of Rexor, Traphis lay Nahan on a soft patch of grass. At the same time, Falin returned to the group of wizards and gave them some instructions. They turned and walked away after a brief exchange of words.

As if still in shock over how he had been treated, Jabool took a moment before realizing they were leaving without him. With a scowl, Jabool scampered off and caught up with the group.

"Please join them," Falin said, addressing those who remained. "I wish to speak to Traphis alone. Yes, that goes for you as well, Jack."

Skinny Jack shook his head, "But I haven't even—"

"I will bring him back," Falin said. "He will be safe with me."

Skinny Jack pouted for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and said, "Come on, Kip, let's go." He looked at Traphis. "Just wait until I show you what I can do. I know you will be amazed."

Traphis laughed, but said nothing. He would have thanked Skinny Jack and the others for risking their lives for him, but something told him they already knew how he felt. Having never bonded with anyone before, the experience was new to him, and a silent appreciation seemed like the best approach.

Kip looked back several times, but Skinny Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her along. Saleena followed shortly after, offering no hint of a goodbye.

Titch stepped forward, blushed, and then lowered her head. "I'll see you back at the WC," she said. She then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When she pulled away, her own cheeks turned a bright red.

Before Traphis had time to respond, she ran off and joined her new companions. From where he stood, Traphis could see that Kip moved away from Titch as if to avoid her. He wasn't sure why they didn't get along, but he hoped they would become good friends one day.

Rexor bowed to Traphis and said, "It was an honor to meet the son of Mardin. You have redeemed his name and would have made him proud."

"Come," Braun said, extending a hand to Rexor. "She will catch up." And then added, "Safe return, my boy." He waved his goodbyes, and then they too were gone.

Anjetta approached, hesitated, and said, "I . . . I'm—"

Traphis reached out and embraced her. Her body trembled for a moment and then became still. They held their embrace without speaking a single word. When Traphis released his grip, Anjetta wiped away a tear.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if deciding to let her words be known another day. A smile formed on her face, and an instant later, she left to join her fellow warriors.

Traphis watched as his family and friends disappeared into the distant forest. He was more thankful for them than they would ever know, and for the first time in his life, he felt as if he was the wealthiest man alive.

Other than Falin, the only other person who remained was Nahan—who slept so deeply against the soft grass that it was obvious he wouldn't wake for a long time. Traphis was about to ask why they remained behind when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. After readjusting his stance, he saw a figure standing at the top of a distant cliff. His first thought was to call out, but as he focused in on the form, he could tell that it was standing on all fours.

A long tail twitched as the creature seemed to be staring directly at him. For a time, Traphis stayed frozen, anticipating that the beast would charge him at any moment, but then he sensed a familiar presence. One that was both peaceful and friendly. As he extended his consciousness, he pictured winged ears, green eyes, and sharp teeth.

"Leara?" Traphis asked. He lifted a hand to wave, but as soon as he did so, she vanished: over the far side of the mountain and into the forest beyond.

"I see you have gained another friend," Falin said.

"I hope I will see her again," Traphis said. "But the Oracle is probably done with her now."

"Time for things to come is not for us to know."

Traphis scratched his head. Now this was the Falin he knew. One who spoke in a way that made no sense.

"I wished to discuss a matter with you alone," Falin continued. "As it pertains to your future and the future of our world."

* * *

Traphis couldn't imagine what his future had to do with the world, but it seemed they would have to wait for Nahan to wake before they could travel, so he figured he might as well listen to what his teacher had to say.

Taking a seat on the grass, Traphis asked, "Is it really over?"

Falin stretched out beside him and said, "That is what I wish to speak to you about. Traphis, I am indeed proud of you. Mardin would have been as well. Not only have you brought my brother back to me, but you also stopped Tyron. I knew you would bring peace to the country of Ronum once again, but in truth, I did not know it would happen so soon."

A light breeze licked at Traphis' hair. "But what does a potara farmer have to do with the future?"

"You and I both know there is more to you."

Traphis said nothing.

"When you were with Tyron," Falin continued, "did he tell you anything about your father?"

"He told me enough," Traphis said. Surprisingly, the words didn't sound as harsh as he thought they would. Perhaps he was getting used to the idea of his family not being what it once was.

"Then you know about Golan?"

"My real father . . . he was an evil man, wasn't he?"

Falin stroked his beard. "He was not an evil man. Not in the beginning. But he did allow the whispers of Tyron to get the best of him, and as a result, many people suffered."

Traphis was about to say something negative about Golan, but then remembered that he too allowed the voice of Tyron to take control. With a deep sigh, he decided to remain silent.

"And you know how he died?" Falin asked.

Traphis nodded. "Tyron showed me."

"Then you also know how the kingdom was thrown into chaos?"

Grabbing a strand of grass, Traphis bit down and started to chew. "I saw it destroyed."

"Though damaged, the castle still stands, and the town remains inhabited by its people. When Tyron took over, he was even harder on them than Golan was. He worked the villagers past the point of exhaustion, and when they failed to obey, he turned them into wolvarks."

"Why didn't the people leave?"

"He kept them there by force. His spells fortified the outer walls, and only a select few were given permission to come and go. The reason I know this, Traphis, is because I was able to disguise myself and find a way past Tyron's spells. I lived in Golan as one of the villagers for many years, observing, recording, and biding my time."

"Is that why you didn't become Elder Controller?"

Falin produced a low humming noise and then said, "It is only fair that I tell you, but if you will, I ask that you keep this between us."

"I will."

"Daymon is an honorable Elder Controller. He treats men as equals, makes fair decisions, and measures everything by weighing the costs. But he is not a man of action. He would rather keep peace in his own domain than do what it takes to extend that peace to the lands beyond."

"So why didn't you take his place?"

"Because I had a mission to fulfill. You see, Traphis, I was partly responsible for what happened—it was my brother, and my lack of action that resulted in the kingdom's destruction. I did not listen to the Elder Controller of the time, and because of it, he became obsessed, falling to the control of Tyron. Back then, I was no different from Daymon. I did not look far enough beyond myself."

"But as the Elder Controller, wouldn't you have changed that? Wouldn't you have had help from the other wizards?"

"As Elder Controller, I would have been weighed down with responsibilities. I needed to move freely and at my own discretion. I knew Daymon would maintain the Committee without fail, and he did just that. I also knew that Mardin would help him to see the importance of our mission, but alas, Tyron put an end to your father at the most critical of times. I had not foreseen Mardin's death, and my hopes of Daymon coming around were destroyed; he had become even more cautious and hesitant."

"But that doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

Falin smiled. "No, it does not. Things have greatly changed. You see, Traphis, when you came to the Committee that day, I saw in you the hope that I had been looking for. I saw a glimpse of a new and better world. A voice inside of me said to take you in and train you to the best of my abilities, and even though we had little time together, I knew that doors were opening. Ones that would lead to the fulfillment of my dream."

"Your dream?"

"To restore the Kingdom of Golan."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"You are the rightful heir to the throne, Traphis. Your family line goes back for many years, and you are the only one remaining. Tyron made sure of that; he tracked down your family and killed them."

"My family is dead?" Even though Traphis had never known his true family before, he couldn't help but feel a deep sorrow at their loss. Yet he knew that despite the evils that had been done, for the first time in his life, he would never be alone. Not anymore.

"I wish it were not so," Falin said. "But you are the only one who can rightfully help my dream to come true."

Traphis wasn't sure how to take in everything Falin had said, nor was he entirely certain what the old wizard was asking him to do, but there was a place, deep inside himself, where the sky was blue and the waters remained peaceful and calm. Where white sand supported his feet, and clean air filled his lungs. In this place, he knew answers resided and goodness abounded, and it was in this place that the world would be restored.

"So what do we do now?" Traphis asked.

Falin rested a hand on Traphis' shoulder and said, "Together we will rebuild a kingdom."

# Epilogue

My teacher, Falin, who is now my personal adviser, instructed me to write a journal. I never did care much for writing, but he said it was a standard duty of kings, so here I am.

I laugh even now at the whole idea of me being royalty. I still believe that I was meant to be a wizard like my father, but I guess my real father was a king, so now I'm stuck pretending to be one myself.

Thankfully, Falin continues to teach me how to use magic. Though he mostly uses it to bribe me to perform my "kingly" duties, still, they aren't too bad. At least I have a nice room to sleep in. Much better than the one at the WC. It's so big that I could fit five of my other rooms inside of it, and the bed is so soft that I often have a hard time waking up without someone forcing me to. I've never been so comfortable before, and it's nice not having any tara birds waking me up.

The food here is good too. There's so much in the palace that I can have all the meat I want. I don't even have to eat potaras! I was tempted to ban potaras as my first act as king, but Falin talked me out of it. I guess we don't want to hurt the farmers who still raise them.

One of the neat things about this castle is that there's a Nomadic Room, which leads directly to the WC. Falin said something about that being the main reason the kingdom was built here in Ronum. I have to get used to the way these people talk. They pronounce words differently, and I sometimes have to ask Falin to repeat what they say, but I'll get better at understanding them in time.

Speaking of the Nomadic Room, Skinny Jack uses it constantly. He goes back and forth between the castle and the WC. If he didn't, I wouldn't have much fun. He brings his sister with him, and at times Saleena comes too. They were all given signature rings, which are allowed special access to the royal entrance. I guess not all of the wizards have this.

Jabool let my friends become Gray Class wizards. He couldn't keep them back after all they did to save the world. They still had to perform in front of the Committee though. Jabool insisted. But that wasn't a problem for any of them. They all passed without fail. I guess Skinny Jack really had gotten stronger, which means I have a lot of catching up to do.

Of course, Kip and Saleena always argue as to who officially became the first wizit, but they stay close together as if they were really sisters. We talked about forming a band like the Five Jinx, but we have yet to choose a good name. Skinny Jack wanted to call us Jack's Minions, but no one else thought that was a good idea. Including me. Saleena suggested Lowly Landers, which we all pretty much ignored, and Kip wanted Magical Misfits. I liked that one the best, but there was no universal agreement. Still, since I am the king, I should be able to make the final decision, right?

I guess I'm a Gray Class wizard too . . . unofficially. Kings are a class of their own and do not appear before the Committee. Rather, the Committee appears before me when they have special requests. It feels strange. I guess kings are supposed to be more concerned with matters of the kingdom than with magic, but I still want Falin to teach me how to become a Blue Class wizard so that I can use my father's staff. He said it's not time for that yet, but I still plan to become a great wizard no matter what anyone tells me.

At least Falin allowed me to go back home for a while. I packed the things I wanted to bring, including the staff, which I hung on my bedroom wall as a constant reminder. I often feel that I'm unworthy to use it, even if I don't know how to yet. Still, one day, I hope to.

I said goodbye to the tara birds and all the other animals. I think I might actually miss that ill tempered fowl. Even though it was Greagor who bought them all, thankfully they have a new home and will be taken care of. I guess he owns several farms and plans on forcing Gaybec to work at one of them. Serves him right for being such a moarock.

So much has happened since the fall of Tyron, and I'm not sure how to fit it all in. Several seasons passed, and the wizards easily tracked down most of the nekrin and defeated them. Without the full power of Tyron, they were easy prey. I guess they were beaten pretty badly, and it will be a long time before they show their faces again. At least the ones who survived.

The people of Golan were happy to see them go, and so they have been very helpful with repairing this old castle. It's really big and nice in its own way, but it will never be as great as the forest. Even with the countless fireplaces, the rock walls are much too cold for my taste.

Anyway, my grandfather went looking for Neha when she never returned home. He found that she went back to the town of Opa, and that stable boy at the inn looked after her. As a way of thanking him, my grandfather offered to train the boy as a metal smith. They both live here, in Golan, and work in the castle workshop. Neha is here too, she is my royal steed and has the best stall in the stables. I go down and visit her all the time, though Falin won't let me go on long rides with her. Not without an escort, and even then, only on rare occasions.

Rexor is back to being in charge of the army, and my mother is assigned to me as my personal guard. She doesn't seem to understand that I hate it. She is always there no matter what I do, and she's always telling me what to do. Thankfully, she's away from that Greagor guy. I don't know what I'd do if they got married and he became my new father. Worse yet, that would make Gaybec my brother! I'm not sure what that would make Titch though, but I think I could still be with her. I offered to give her one of the best rooms in the castle, but she wanted to stay with her father. The Committee decided to allow Nahan to come back to their group, even though many of them were not happy about it. I guess being a king has its advantages. It wasn't like they had a choice. Even if I didn't think they should take Nahan back, I would have told them to do it just to annoy Jabool.

Besides, Titch is finally learning how to use magic. Like me, her father kept her from learning when she was growing up. She said it had something to do with him not wanting her to become like him, but now that she is being taught how to access the Blue, he's letting her learn. She was a little mad though when she found that her magical color was peach rather than lavender. I wish I could have seen her face! It seems that her special ability focuses on healing—like that bag Falin carries around. It's a rare ability, but she was disappointed that it wasn't prettier.

I like it when she comes to visit me. I look forward to seeing her even more than I look forward to seeing Skinny Jack and the others. When Titch comes, we sneak out of the castle. Having lived here with Tyron for so many years, she knows all sorts of secret passages. One of them goes outside of the walls and into the forest. We go for walks and just talk about stuff. It's nice.

Falin's calling me so I better finish my entry. There's probably some dispute or something that I have to settle. Being a king is not as fun as it might sound, but I guess this is one of my many duties to fulfill. After all, I am the last one of my family so there's no one else who can do it.

If anyone ever reads this, I want to leave them with one final thought. I may still be young and have a lot to learn, but I do know one thing for sure. My father was right when he said, "Always be true, no matter what the cost, no matter what wrong was done, always be true." These words have become the starting and ending point of all I do, and my hope is that if I continue to follow them, then this kingdom will one day become prosperous once again.

From the throne of the king of Golan, Traphis, Son of Golan, Son of Mardin, Wielder of the Crimson Flame, and member of the Magical Misfits.

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James D. Maxon (1977-Present) was born at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage, Alaska. His parents were divorced when he was three-years-old. Raised in a strictly female household, James grew up in the midst of mental illness and depression. He, himself, struggled in school due to a learning disability. Without a positive male role model, James learned how difficult it can be for children to realize their true potential. Having acquired a love for fantasy at a young age, he began to write stories of his own, providing children and teens with messages of faith, hope, and insight.

Other books by James, including **The Cat That Made Nothing Something Again** and **The Cat That Tamed a Flame** , are available for purchase. Visit jamesmaxon.com for more information.

