Flameseeker (Book 3) (8 page)

* * *

Omari could see colorful light crackling around
Jarial’s eyes as the man paced Omari’s room, drawing the curtains over the
window and searching for possible eavesdropping points under tables, Omari’s
bed, and along the stone walls. Percival scampered out of the man’s way and hid
under a bed pillow. When Jarial was satisfied of their total privacy, he faced
Omari, his eyes returning to normal.

“I know he did it,” Omari said, breaking the
awkward silence.

“You know
nothing
, boy!” Jarial retorted.

Omari frowned. Jarial’s sharp tone made his blood
boil.
He won’t listen. He never listens!
“You don’t understand, Master
Glace!”

“No,
you
don’t understand! And here I
kissed their asses just so you can be guaranteed your Council seat!”

Omari’s rage quelled.
He what?
He slowly
sat down on the edge of his bed and regarded Jarial curiously. “What have you
done?”

Jarial crossed his arms. “I’m playing along with
their petty politics. You must shadow the Councilmember of Illusion—
me
—for
a time until you become acquainted with the rules and whatnot.”

Has Master Glace returned to the Council?
Omari stared, wide-eyed, not believing what he was hearing.

“And here you are already, causing a scene and making
me look like a damned fool!” Jarial threw his hands up in exasperation.

“No, Master Glace, I—”

“Be quiet!”

Omari clenched his jaw and sat very still.

“First of all, we do not have any viable
proof
to accuse Saris of anything, so don’t go around harassing him about it anymore,
understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Omari replied bitterly. “How do you explain
the dagger, then?”

Jarial’s expression hardened. “How? It being branded
with the
Ben-nyu
symbol does not necessarily mean that Saris is the
culprit. But it matters not now.”

Omari arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Someone knows transmutation magic, for the dagger
was enchanted with the
disintegrate
spell. It is now but a pile of dust
in the Council’s chambers.”

Omari gasped.

“Therefore, Saris can’t
possibly
be the
prime suspect, because he is studying Illusion, not Transmutation. To apply
such a spell on a weapon like that takes extreme focus and mastery.”

“If Saris is not a suspect, then who?”

Jarial took another turn around the room and
stopped in front of the curtained window. “Tell me more about
Ben-nyu.
”

The strange random-seeming question brought
nothing but bitterness in Omari’s heart, reminding him of his enemies. “The
Ben-nyu
is the firebird of Ankhram. My people tell old tales about the
Ben-nyu
being Ignis’s pet, sometimes his steed. Others say the
Ben-nyu
is
actually the Firelord’s rage, for the flames that the bird is comprised of burn
hotter than hot, and of the purest white.”

Jarial turned. “Interesting. So you are saying
that
Ben-nyu
and Ignis are somehow connected?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“And here I thought the most revered deity of
Ankhram was Malik.”

“It is. He is my patron deity. But there are few
who follow other ways. Ignis and Malik are not necessarily enemies. However,
Ankhram is Malik’s domain, and Ignis likes to claim things that do not belong
to him.”

Jarial stroked his chin as he slowly returned to
Omari. “While I do not believe that Saris is the primary one responsible for
Na’val’s death, I’ve not ruled out the possibility that he might have been involved
in its plotting in some way.” He snatched one of the pillows from the bed, uncovering
Percival. The weasel squeaked and scurried to the other end of the bed. “Send
your familiar out to Saris’s quarters to do a little scouting. We may find out
some clues.”

Omari tapped his chin, and then nodded. He went to
Percival and picked him up by the scruff of his neck.
“It is all up you now,
my friend,”
Omari said to him, as he set the weasel on the floor by the
exit.

* * *

Percival slunk through
the sparsely populated halls of the student dormitories until he arrived at the
door to Saris’s quarters. He scampered off nearby and hid behind one of many
potted plants that decorated the halls, awaiting Saris’s return or departure.
He watched the students who occasionally passed by, some in a hurry to reach
their next class, while others dawdled to reach theirs.

The distant sound of
Saris’s voice caused Percival to perk his ears. It came from down the hall, and
he seemed to be speaking with another student.

Shadows danced along the
torchlit walls, and two figures emerged from the dark, drawing closer. Percival
sniffed the air and confirmed Saris’s presence. The figures—two men—stopped
near the door.

“Christo and I are going
to rehearse our speeches in the auditorium. Care to join us, Saris?” one of the
men asked.

Saris turned to his door
and muttered something. It opened with a click. “No, you go ahead,” he told the
other man. “I need to take care of something, first.”

As Saris opened the
door, Percival darted from his hiding spot, but halted when he caught a glimpse
of Horus, Saris’s familiar, perched on the headboard of the bed in the room.
The reddish-brown falcon greeted Saris with a throaty sound. Percival ducked
away from the bird’s line of sight and remained outside the door.

“That confounded
bird,”
Omari said in Percival’s mind.
“I guess we will just have
to wait until he leaves again. Hopefully he will bring Horus with him.”

Percival stood on his hind legs and leaned against
the door, sniffing the wood. He twitched his ears as he caught the faint sounds
of Saris’s voice beyond.

“Yes, I missed you, too, my friend....”

Footsteps caught Percival’s attention, and he
quickly scampered back behind the plant, where he remained. Several long
minutes passed when the door to Saris’s room opened, and Saris stepped out,
with Horus perched on his shoulder. Percival eyed the the ajar door, which
Saris paused to close to speak quietly to his familiar. “Do remind me to mail
that tomorrow before the symposium begins.”

The bird replied with a series of soft clicks,
affirming his understanding. But he looked around, warily, as though he’d
sensed something near.

Saris regarded his familiar curiously. “What? You
smell prey? Well there is plenty of it running around these halls. I will feed
you later. For now, let’s see how that ‘rehearsal’ is going, shall we?”

Percival bolted for the small space between the
doorway as the door begun to close. Percival got all but the tip of his tail in
the room, which got slammed in the door. To his relief, only a tuft of hair had
been lost when he whipped his tail out of the space. Percival listened to the
sounds of Saris’s footsteps grow fainter until he could no longer hear it.

Afterward, he scoured
the room, which was darkened by a red curtain covering the only window. Percival
grabbed a mouthful of the bottom of the curtain and pulled it back with all his
might. Light from the sunset sky filled the room. Percival’s keen nose picked
up the scent of fresh ink. Near the window was a desk, which was haphazardly
littered with parchments. Percival approached the desk and climbed atop it. He
began moving parchments aside with his nose. There were unfinished letters,
class notes, and more. Atop a small stack of books, Percival spotted a
recently-written letter, the ink barely wet. He examined the letter closely.
“Let’s
see what it says,”
Omari said.

Dear Father,

I thought you assured
me this plan would be flawless? The Elder already confiscated Masrah’s dagger,
and it did not dissolve like you said it would. Moreover, I think that Batsuyou
scum, Omari, suspects something, for he will not stop harassing me. If you do
not do something about this, then I will. I will not be blamed for Masrah’s
incompetence. My Council seat depends on it.

I will be attending
the symposium tomorrow, speaking on the contrasts of arcane light and their
correspondence to the elements. It is anticipated to be a large turnout this
year. I will make you proud.

May the flames of
Ben-nyu forever burn.

-Saris

P.S. Please brief me
on the situation at the Pyre in your next correspondence.

* * *

Omari snapped from his
meditation and looked at Jarial with widened eyes. “It is true, Master Glace!
He really
is
involved in all this!” He went on to explain his findings.

Jarial scowled. “Yes, so
it seems there is a bigger issue here.”

“He mentioned the Pyre
in the letter. That is where Kaijin is.”

“Yes, Kaijin could very
well be in trouble, caught up in the middle of this.” Jarial rubbed his chin.
“Well, I had planned on going there anyway to see him, so this gives me all the
more reason. And you will accompany me, for you can remember what the Pyre
looks like.”

“But I do not know its
exact location, Master.”

“Just knowing what the
physical structure looks like would suffice for what I intend to do. However,
if you know someone with a map to the place, that would, of course, be
beneficial.”

Omari thought for a
moment. Only one person came to mind.
Gods, no, not him!
He made a sour
face. “I know of one person, but I do not know if I want to get involved with—”

“If he is a valuable
resource who will help us get to Kaijin, then you
must
find him,” Jarial
interrupted.

Omari sighed.
And
here I thought I was rid of that little pest.
“Fine, I will locate him—if
he is still in town, that is. But even if I do find him, how will we ever get
to the Pyre?”

“I will get us there
quickly, via a teleportation spell,” Jarial replied. “It will take a lot out of
me, but we can’t afford for the trip to take longer.”

Omari blinked. Such
spells were accessible to only the most adept mages, and even then, he’d only
heard of few who were able to cast them successfully. “Are you sure about this?
What if the spell fails?”

Jarial bristled. “You
dare
question my abilities, Omari? It will not fail.”

“Forgive me for doubting
you, Master.” Omari lowered his head and swallowed.
I still think this is
dangerous. Even for Master Glace.

“Your concern is noted.
If I had any doubts about this, then I wouldn’t have accepted the
responsibility of helping you become a Councilmember. Now, then. I plan on
setting out early tomorrow. Meet me outside the Celestran aurorium in
Ghaeldorund. Be sure you are nowhere near the Citadel by the time the symposium
begins.”

Omari nodded slowly.
To
avoid the crowd, perhaps?

Jarial departed, and
Omari remained in his room for the rest of the night. It wasn’t until
Percival—who had to await Saris’s return before sneaking back out—had safely
come back that Omari finally shut his eyes and drifted to sleep.

VIII

Kaijin stared helplessly at his spellbook, the
words and runes a blurred jumble on the pages. His thoughts continuously diverted
to Vargas and the afriti. It had happened so fast that Kaijin still had trouble
remembering it had been real, and he couldn’t believe that he’d managed to
sleep that night after the incident.

He finally shut his spellbook. It was impossible
to memorize any spells. His thoughts drifted to Ranaiah.
I should try to
talk to her about this. Find some answers to what had transpired.

He retrieved a stack of books he’d borrowed from
the library and left his quarters. Miele flew down from the ceiling and landed
on his shoulder as he shut the door. He treaded down the warmly lit hallways of
the east wing of the Pyre, the sounds of his soft footsteps echoing off the
obsidian walls.

Upon arriving at the grand hall, Kaijin looked
toward the massive altar, upon which was the ever-burning brazier, bright with
divine flames. A group of high clerics gathered at the altar, but Ranaiah was
not there.

Kaijin went to the library, which was located near
the main entrance to the Pyre. Acolytes, young and old, traversed the aisles of
bookshelves, perusing through the spines and sorting books. As Kaijin was
returning his books to their respective places on the shelves, he felt a
presence behind him and heard a man’s voice.

“Let the young boys do that, Kaijin.”

Kaijin spun around and faced the speaker, an
elderly priest. The man’s crimson vestment was embroidered with flame-like
golden designs along the hem.

Kaijin set the books aside on a nearby table. Two
boys, acolytes in training, hurriedly gathered the books and disappeared
between the aisles.

“Is Ranaiah here, sir?” Kaijin asked the priest.
“May I see her?”

The man smiled under his thick, grey beard. “But
of course. She has gone out for her daily walk down the mountain path. Would
you like me to take you to—”

Kaijin didn’t give the man time to finish. He
headed straight for the main entrance, where he politely brushed past two
clerics standing watch and opened the door himself.

The sky was hazed over with smoke and clouds, but
still bright. Miele took the opportunity to fly off his shoulder and stretch
her wings, darting and swooping through the sky. After a moment of scanning the
area for Ranaiah, Kaijin concentrated and slipped into Miele’s mind. He saw the
view from her eyes high above him, just above the thick blanket of smoke.
Rivers, lakes, and forests dotted the landscape below the mountains—something
Kaijin had not seen in days. He realized he’d not ventured outside since his
initial arrival at the Pyre, and he had forgotten the beauties and splendors
Aransiya held.

Kaijin spied Ranaiah accompanied by two other clerics,
ascending the mountain path. One of the clerics carried a basket. Kaijin left
Miele’s mind and ran down the path to meet them.

Ranaiah stopped and greeted Kaijin with a smile
when he stood before them. Taking the basket, she dismissed the two clerics,
who hurried back up to the Pyre. “Oh, Kaijin, I was just on my way back. I
wanted to talk to you.”

Kaijin returned the smile. “I wanted to talk to
you, too.” He glanced down at the basket, which was filled with fresh-picked
fire lilies. “Would you like me to carry those for you?”

“How sweet of you, Kaijin. Thank you.”

Taking the basket, Kaijin watched her walk ahead,
treading up the mountain’s narrow rocky path, her red and yellow vestments gently
flowing over the curves of her hips. He ran up beside her and walked with his
head lowered.

“I know we have not talked much since that ... incident,”
Ranaiah said solemnly.

Kaijin looked at her, tracing the gentle features
of her face. “I’m rather confused about it all, actually.”

“As am I.” Ranaiah took longer strides.

Kaijin followed suit. “What was he thinking? Was
he trying to kill me or something?”

She didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the
path ahead of her.

Kaijin blinked.
Was he really ... ?
“Ranaiah?”

She kept her silence and a steady pace.

He decided not to press the issue further until
she felt comfortable discussing it.

They returned to the Pyre, and Kaijin, rejoined by
Miele, continued to follow her through the grand hall, turning down the
brightly-lit halls of the south transept and eventually arrived at the vestry
located toward the end. Ranaiah ushered Kaijin inside the quaint private
meeting room and closed the door behind her.

Miele took her place on the ceiling of the cozy windowless
room, which looked only big enough to hold seven people. A small, rectangular mahogany
table surrounded by seven chairs sat in the middle of the room. Gold-framed
portraits of Ignan clerics of the Pyre both past and present hung from the
stone walls. A long, narrow carpet spanned the length of the table. At the rear
of the vestry sat a small brass-laden hearth, which was currently unlit. Some
spruce logs were piled neatly beside it.

Kaijin set the basket on the table and pulled out
a chair for Ranaiah. Instead of sitting, however, she swept over to the hearth.
She placed two logs inside and then murmured a prayer. Orange flames enveloped her
hands and when she touched the logs, they caught fire.

He smiled, watching her with delight. The flames
in her hands and hearth enhanced her beauty.
She is so beautiful.

Ranaiah extinguished the fire in her hands,
breaking Kaijin from his thoughts. She stoked the hearth with an iron poker
that had leaned against the wall beside it, causing the flames to flare before
calming. “There. Much better.” She returned the poker to its place and stood
back and watched the dancing flames. “I feel at peace just watching the fire
burn, listening to the soft crackles of wood. It is a constant reminder of the
wonderful gift that the Firelord has bestowed upon us.”

Smiling, Kaijin approached her. He fixed his eyes
on the hearth, watching the flames dance, feeling very much at peace. “I often
find it hard to imagine that something so ...
serene
can be a gift from
Him.”

Ranaiah glanced over her shoulder at him, arching
an eyebrow. “Why is that? Like the flames, Ignis is as capable of peace as He
is of chaos.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve read about it in some of the
books here. But most of my life has been nothing but chaos.” Kaijin frowned,
remembering his lost family and friends, his hardships, his internal struggles ...

“You’ve experienced Ignis’s peaceful side, too,
Kaijin. You just didn’t realize it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Life cannot flourish without the five elements,
and fire is one of them. Many species of plants rely on intense heat in order
to be able to release their seeds.”

“Like pinecones,” Kaijin stated. He’d learned his
share of botany from Jarial, his former master who had also dabbled in alchemy.

“Yes, exactly!” Ranaiah nodded. “Ignis provides us
with so much. From candlelight to heat for cooking. He provides warmth during
cold nights, and soothes us with steaming hot baths. These are just some of the
many things that the Firelord provides. He is not always as destructive as you
perceive him to be.”

Kaijin considered her words.
Wow, she is right.
How could I have been so naïve?
He blinked. “You make it sound so simple,
and yet your meaning is so powerful. No wonder you are the high priestess
here.”

“And as the high priestess, I prefer to encourage
the teachings of Ignis’s peaceful side. Life does not prosper with chaos
alone.”

“And what about Vargas?”

Ranaiah turned to him, and her eyes narrowed. “Vargas
has been obsessed with gaining power, driven on by some radical—I dare say
blasphemous
—pretense
of the Firelord’s will.”

“Could it really be Ignis’s will for what had happened
in the chamber?” Kaijin asked. “That somehow He is using Vargas as a tool for a
darker purpose?”

“Perhaps.” She sighed and lowered her gaze. “I
cannot question the will of the Firelord, though I have continuously prayed
about it, hoping for answers. But He has already given me a task—to help you. I
cannot stray from that path.”

Kaijin fixed his eyes on the hearth, deep in
thought.
She’s been tasked to help me, and yet Vargas is trying to kill me.
Why? It doesn’t make sense. Do I not belong to you, Ignis? Why are you using
Vargas to destroy me?

To Kaijin’s surprise, the fiery voice in his mind
answered,
“Your simple mortal mind is incapable of understanding the way of
the Flames, Kaijin Sora.”

“What do you mean?” Kaijin asked aloud. “Stop
speaking in riddles!”

He received no answer.

He clenched his fists in anger, small white flames
bursting from his hands.

“Kaijin!” Ranaiah’s soft serene voice and gentle
touch on his cheeks brought Kaijin out of his thoughts.

The flames in his hands subsided. He found himself
staring deep into her eyes. “S-sorry.”

Her intent gaze didn’t waver from him. “I felt a
brief divine presence in you just now. What did He tell you?”

“That I will never understand.” Kaijin frowned. “I
am to forever be His pawn, it seems. I wish this would all just stop. I want to
live peacefully, like you.”

“You speak such sweet irony, Kaijin.” Ranaiah’s expression
hardened, and she pulled a folded parchment out from within the breast pocket
of her robes and handed it to him. “I think you should read this.”

Curious, Kaijin took the parchment and unfolded it,
finding a letter written in elegant script.

Vargas,

The business in Ghaeldorund will soon be
settled, and Masrah will return with the good news of our victory, with the
blood of that Batsuyou scum as proof. Now I expect you to honor my request and
return my sister to me in a timely manner, lest I send Masrah to deal with you
and your new acquisition, as well.

Ben-nyu shall soar, and the holy flames shall
conquer.

—Tachus

Kaijin looked up from the letter and furrowed his
brow.
Ghaeldorund? That is where Master Jarial said he was going when last
we met.
“I’m not sure I understand the purpose of this letter.”

“This is the handwriting of my brother, Tachus. I
ordered a search of Vargas’s quarters, and one of the acolytes found the letter
on his desk,” Ranaiah said. “It appears to have been written very recently. It
seems Vargas has been conspiring something with my family for quite some time
without my knowledge.”

“Your family?” Kaijin regarded her, deeply concerned
that her life could be in danger.

Her face fell, and she turned back to the hearth.
“It all makes sense now, why Vargas was acting so strangely, mistreating you
so. It was all to make me bend. I will not deny that I’ve felt as though he’s
been after my position for some time now, but I never expected him to conspire with
my own family—the very ones whom I vowed to never return to.” She frowned
bitterly.

Thinking to comfort her, Kaijin wrapped his arms
around her waist from behind her and listened to the soft crackles and pops
from the hearth. “Will you tell me more about your family?”

She paused, her soft body tensing in his arms.
Kaijin loosened his arms around her waist a bit, and she slowly relaxed. “I am too
ashamed of them and everything they stand for to say anything worthwhile.”

Kaijin paled.
What I wouldn’t give to see my
own family again—no matter how much they shunned me.
He embraced Ranaiah’s
waist again, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Are they truly that
despicable?”

“Indeed.” She sighed. “You are persistent in
wanting to know my past, and I feel as though I can tell you. I have not told
anyone else here about this.”

“I ... I ...” Kaijin swallowed. “I am so honored
that you trust me like this. I swear on my life that I will not reveal your
secret to anyone.”

Ranaiah smiled weakly. “Thank you, Kaijin. I do
not want to cause panic throughout the Pyre, should anyone else find out.” Her
smile abruptly fell. “My family, the Beshara, is very powerful in the northern
regions of Ankhram. They’re notorious for their obsession with control and
domination. They have always sought certain positions of power throughout the
world. My brother, Tachus, is a cleric of great power, fueled by the flames and
guidance of the Firelord.”

Kaijin digested the information and frowned. “So
you ran away from all this?”

“Yes. I did not—and still do not—approve of what
my family are doing. More so now. Masrah is my cousin. I thought he was such a
dear, sweet boy when I last saw him, but to find out that he would involve
himself in this conspiracy is appalling. This business with my family has been
haunting me ever since I ran away years ago. So when you say that you would
like to be like me and ‘live a peaceful life,’ I can’t help but smile, almost
laugh. There is never a time when I’m not fighting for peace within myself. But
I fight with the hope that one day it will happen, and Ignis will reward my
faithful efforts.”

Kaijin opened his mouth to ask in what ways Ignis
favored her but stopped himself. He didn’t truly know her relationship with the
Firelord, and he didn’t want to pretend he did. Instead, he gently caressed her
midsection with his fingers.
You will achieve peace someday. Together, we
will make it so.

Ranaiah exhaled, and then placed her hand over
his. She leaned back against him, and her eyes closed. “At times I feel as
though Ignis is testing my limits, testing how far I will go before I break—go
insane. I vowed to never be like my family.”