Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (29 page)

At this point, Master Latva gestured to the other council members and all of them moved back to stand in a half circle around the Bowl of Souls. Master Latva stood at the center of that half circle, directly behind the bowl. In front of the pedestal on which the bowl sat, was a single circular rug.

Latva spoke again. “As I call your name, step forth and stand before the Bowl of Souls. At that point you will grip your ceremonial dagger with both hands and dip it into the water contained within. Then I will speak the oaths that you must take in order to advance to the office of apprentice. After each oath, you will give the answer ‘I will’.

“If at any time you feel that you are not ready for such responsibility, you can refuse. If you do so, you will stay at the office of cadet for two years. At this time if you are still not ready, we will repeat the process again with a one year gap between each opportunity. Am I understood?”

The cadets nodded in response. Master Latva raised his arm and his staff began to tremble and glow. When he next spoke, his voice filled the room, burning with authority.

“Cadet
Anndra
, step before the bowl.”

The cadet, a shy girl with dark hair and bright eyes who always smiled at Justan but had never spoken to him, stood and walked forward to stand on the rug in front of the bowl. With hands trembling, she dipped the tip of her dagger into the waters of the bowl.

“
Anndra
, daughter of Argo, Cadet of the Dremaldrian Mage School, you stand today in the Hall of Majesty in front of the High Council of Wizards and the Bowl of Souls, to become an apprentice in the art of magic. Will you swear before the witnesses here to take upon you the mantle of apprentice with all seriousness?”

“I will,” she whispered and a swirl of light flowed from the tip of the master’s staff to settle about her shoulders.

“Will you promise to obey the commands of your master as soon as he has chosen you, and heed only the words of this council before him? As an apprentice of the magic arts, will you set forth an example of dignity to those without the gift of magic and to the cadets here at the school? Finally, do you swear to keep the nature of these oaths to yourself and only speak of them to another who has taken these same oaths?”

She answered in the affirmative to each of these questions and with each answer, another swirl of light settled upon her shoulders.

“
Anndra
, you are now called to the office of Apprentice in the
Dremaldrian
Mage
School
.” Latva smiled and stepped forward to embrace her. She shook hands with the other members of the council and was directed to leave the hall where she would be escorted back to the entrance of the
Rune
Tower
.

This process was continued with each of the cadets and Justan saw that he was going to be called last. He trembled with excitement, but his sore muscles complained and his knees ached from kneeling so long on the hard floor. He hoped that Professor Beehn would be the one to choose him as Apprentice.

Gwyrtha started to send thoughts out to him that were laced with worry and fear. Justan figured that his agitated state was confusing her, so he sent back soothing emotions and pushed her thoughts way down, where they would not interrupt his experience in this important ceremony.

Justan watched impatiently as the last student before him left the council members with a proud smile on his face. Then Master Latva looked to Justan and raised his staff.

“Cadet Justan, step before the bowl.”

Justan stood with a wince and his knees popped loudly. His face turned a little red as he fancied the sound traveling far enough to reach the council’s ears. He was so excited that his heart was in his throat.

As he stepped off of the rug, he felt strange. His chest began to burn and with each step he took forward, his heart pounded faster until, as he stood on the rug before the council, his blood roared in his ears. Here he was at the Bowl of Souls. He could barely believe it.

Justan looked down at his reflection in the bowl and he gripped the handle of the double-bladed ceremonial dagger that Lenui had given him. As he dipped the tips of both blades into the water, a quiet chanting voice echoed in the center of his mind.

Justan began to worry. Was this normal? The other cadets didn’t seem to be this agitated. But somehow the authority in Master Latva’s voice came through over that quiet chant.

“Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce, Cadet of the Dremaldrian Mage School, you stand today in the Hall of Majesty in front of the High Council of Wizards and the Bowl of Souls, to become an Apprentice in the art of magic.”

When the arcs of light settled around his shoulders with the answer to each question, the pounding of his heart and the chanting in his mind grew louder. The voice in his head was speaking in a strange tongue and Justan grew confused. Soon, he had to struggle to concentrate on what Master Latva said. He barely heard the last question and when he answered, the voice grew so loud that he could not contain it.

Master Latva grew worried at the look of confusion on Justan’s face, but passed it off as excitement. As the last arc of light settled upon the young man’s shoulders, Latva saw Justan's face turn red and his mouth begin to twitch. Then with a loudness that made every member of the council jump, Justan shouted forth in a strange tongue that was all too familiar to the ancient master.

“Oh my,” Master Latva whispered.

Justan had no clue what was happening, but it was out of his control. His lungs heaved and his mouth moved in a foreign way. A stream of words boomed forth from his mouth and the roaring in his ears pulsed and throbbed with every beat of his heart. With each chant, the words became louder and the pounding became more painful until he thought he was about to die.

Professor
Beehn’s
jaw dropped. “This can’t be happening,” he gasped.

All of the other wizards on the council had similar reactions except for Valtrek, whose face wore an astonished smile.

Justan raised his dagger slowly out of the water far over his head. The council watched in awe as his voice reached a crescendo. With a shout, he plunged the dual blades of his dagger back into the waters of the Bowl of Souls and a burst of energy erupted from it, enveloping him in a shroud of brilliance.

As the energy of the bowl surrounded him, the roaring of his heart ceased and the chaos of emotions that surged through him were replaced by peace. The foreign words were gone from his mind, but one word was left and it burned within him brighter than any thought he had ever had before in his life. It screamed for release until Justan spoke it forth with conviction and clarity.

“Edge!”

The council collectively gasped and an invisible energy leapt from the bowl and entered Justan’s body, fusing with him. Justan staggered back, dropping his dagger to the ground, and stared in amazement at his hands. On the back of his right hand burned a warrior’s rune and on the palm of his left hand gleamed the rune of a wizard. He had been named.

He was Edge.

Chapter Nineteen

The High Council of the
Dremaldrian
Mage
School
stared in open astonishment at the student that stood before them gazing at his rune marked hands.

“This is unbelievable,” Wizard Beehn said. Everything about the situation was unbelievable. From the moment that Justan had begun chanting the words to the naming ceremony, the Professor’s mind had been buzzing.

First of all, apprentices just aren’t named. It hadn’t happened in a thousand years and even back then there had been extenuating circumstances. But the most bizarre part of what had just happened was that Justan had been named as both a Wizard and a Warrior. As far as Professor Beehn knew, that had never happened before.

Master Latva shook his head slowly as he watched the student before him. The runes on the apprentice’s hands glared out in his mind like a blazing fire.

“
Ju
-” he started, then stopped himself. Latva really didn’t know what he should call the lad now. It was considered an insult to call a named warrior or wizard by his old name unless asked, but he didn’t feel comfortable calling the student by that new name yet. Instead, he called out, “Apprentice.”

Justan swayed on his feet dreamily and he looked up at the master with his hands still raised in front of him. “What has happened to me?”

“You have been named,” said another voice within the council in an almost accusatory way. It was Wizard
Randolf
, a prudish, but powerful wizard that had never liked Justan. “This is not right.”

Wizard Beehn frowned.
“Now just a minute!”

A debate erupted amongst the wizards. Their voices carried long and loud in the huge hall.

Master Latva shook his head. The Hall of Majesty was a finely tuned place of magic and negative emotions tended to upset the harmony of the place. Finally, he raised his arm.

“Stop, gentlemen. This is not the place for such discussion. We must adjourn to the Council Chambers to review the matter.” With the aid of his staff, the master bent over to retrieve the student’s dagger that was lying on the ground. What he saw startled him. Numbly, he handed the weapon to the student. “You must come along. We will need you at the meeting.”

Justan turned the ceremonial dagger over in his hands. The light from the chandeliers that lit the room shimmered along the surface of the double bladed weapon. Etched in the sides of the blades were runes that matched the ones on his hands. The blade with the serrated edge was imprinted with the warrior rune and the blade with the smooth edge was imprinted with the wizard rune. He found himself looking to Professor Beehn, the one man in the room that he truly felt comfortable with.

“How?”

“As Master Latva just said, we have a lot to discuss,” the portly wizard replied and beckoned that Justan follow. The wizards filed from the Hall of Majesty through a door in the far side of the room with the newly named apprentice in tow.

They traveled down many long hallways and staircases, Professor Beehn using magic to float his chair up or down the stairs as needed. Justan struggled with his situation. He couldn’t process it all. He felt kind of hollow inside and he was more than a little afraid. Suddenly he didn’t know who he was. It was as if his sense of self had been yanked away.

He knew that he was now Edge. He had been named after all. But was he still Justan, the boy with all of the faults and frailties? Now that he was named did that all change? Was he now an excellent warrior and accomplished wizard? He didn’t feel any physical changes. 

Every named individual that Justan had ever heard of had one thing in common. They exuded confidence. They had complete knowledge and control of themselves and therefore were not afraid of any situation. Justan had wished that he would one day have enough mastery over himself to become named and despite the unlikelihood of it ever happening, he had often imagined how glorious it would be if that dream came true. Yet here he was, a named warrior and wizard. All he felt was fear and doubt.

Wizard
Randolf
had been correct with his statement. Something about the situation just didn’t seem right. Justan thought back to the portraits of the named warriors and wizards that he had seen on his way to the Hall of Majesty. He thought of Master Latva and his good friend Hilt, the only named individuals that he had known. He thought of them and their vast experience and suddenly, he was ashamed.

What had he accomplished to deserve such honor? Here he was
,
a clumsy warrior and an untrained magic user and he had been given rewards that great men like his own father had not been able to attain. He felt as though his naming was an insult to those other great and brave men.

The answers to his hopes and dreams had been dropped into his lap and they seemed hollow to him. Justan felt now that he had been cheated of the experiences that Hilt and Master Latva had been given. The powerful motivation to succeed that had driven him so passionately was now without a direction and the rewards felt like ashes in his mouth. What did he have to reach for now? What was there left for him to achieve?