Silver Cathedral Saga (13 page)

“Surely it
would make sense to use a flame shield, then I can absorb it back
into me.”

“That would
be some sensible thinking, child. Ematay told me you were both
clever.”

Eleanor
went a little red, not knowing what to say.

“So you
choice is the flame shield then? I only asked because it’s down to
personal taste. We have Spell-casters who are extremely talented in
either, or in some rare cases, both.”

“Then my
taste would be for the flames,” said Eleanor, smiling.

“Okay, take
a break. Go back to sleep. I will see you at ten o‘clock. So you
have…” the Master looked at his magick sundial, one that was
identical to Ematay’s that he sold.

Eleanor
rushed back up to her bed. Nobody else was awake, or so she thought
to begin with.

However,
even this early in the morning, she managed to see Prince Etch
talking to himself in his bed robes on a bench she ran past. The
female child looked back to pay attention, and her eyes were not
deceiving her. She stopped, and saw Etch looked next to him on the
bench; he was talking to someone, as if another person was there.
She heard him say some female name she had not heard of before. The
prince was so out of it he didn’t even notice her passing him.
Eleanor put it down to sleep walking of some sort. Even if she had
only heard about it; it would still make a whole lot more sense to
her then a lot of other things on this world of Astora.

As she ran
to her room she kept keeping the words of the Master in her mind.
To remember ‘all magick has limits and consequences”. How could she
forget something like that. She’d waited so long for some true
magick of her own, then she finds out it still has to live by rules
and limits. Eleanor put it down to nonsensical ideals of life;
anything without rules would end up dangerous. Or would it? She
thought of all these things as she flung herself on her bed in her
Fire-caster robes made of a light and fine microfibre material. All
Spell-casters were also required to wear a white tunic underneath,
along with a white fabric that breathed well as trousers.

The
hours went by quickly and Eleanor woke up yet again. It was just an
hour away from her starting her next lesson.

She went to
Christian’s room and knocked on it. But there was no reply. The
child then worked her way down to the mess hall for breakfast, her
stomach feeling completely empty. It seemed using magick for her
made quite an appetite.

Eleanor saw
him in the hall, eating and drinking water from the Shade sea. The
water that tasted as if it had a powerful after taste, making you
want to drink more than less, which always baffled their minds.

She sat
down next to Christian. “Hi,” she said to him. He replied with a
forced smile, the kind that creep people out.

“What’s
wrong?” she asked, sounding concerned. The hall echoed with her
words. Both of them were the only Spell-casters in training at this
time. It seemed the war had stopped most of the progression on that
part.

The Master
told Eleanor that when basic training was complete that they go
with their Master on missions to understand their own powers better
in the field of duty. Where it’s more important to find out what an
individual can do when it matters.

“Oh, it’s
nothing,” replied Christian. There was a three second pause before
he put his fork down and spoke:

“I thought
being here would make me the happiest person alive. But I can’t
help but wonder about my father now. I thought I could finally
settle down and put him at the side of my mind. I mean, if he cared
he would have come looking for me, right?” He looked to Eleanor,
hoping for her reply to be a ‘yes’.

“I honestly
don’t know. The truth is we don’t know where he is. He could be
living it up, but at the same time he could be trapped somewhere
too.”

“I doubt
it. From what my mother told me he wasn’t the kind of person who
stuck around for anyone.”

“I… I don’t
know what to say again. We’ve both lost our fathers in different
ways, at least—before everything else was taken from us. I know how
hard it is to not have known a father. I can hardly remember my
own.”

Christian’s
head hung over his bowl of porridge, then his hands slid over his
face, masking himself. Eleanor stroked his back.

“Are you
okay,” she said, sympathetically. He didn’t reply. Instead, she saw
a single tear drop in his porridge bowl. She knew how rare a sight
this was; for Christian to allow himself to look vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,
Christian, but I better go. I have a lesson.” She felt awful right
then.

“Oh, hold
on,” said Christian, “I have one too. I’ll come with you.” Eleanor
immediately didn’t feel so bad after hearing this.

Christian
used his robe’s left sleeve to dry his tears without her friend
noticing. She could see he had been crying. There was still
reminiscence of water in his eyes, and his face was redder than
usual.

She tried
not to draw attention to it, and thought it would be better if they
both tried to focus on their next lesson.

Clash

This
time, both Hiva Aura children were in the training room.

Eleanor was
on the right side, Christian on the left.

Each one
was doing something different, of course.

“Now that
you know how to repel someone’s touch, you have a strong foundation
to start for a single offensive ability,” said the Xenne Master.
“But today we are not doing much of a practical lesson. Words are
your aim today. To be able to recall them when it matters.

“This
lesson will focus on weapon combat. When you have a weapon—your
power can be enhanced by it. Like for example, take the
quarterstaff.” The Master chucked a quarterstaff at him as he said
the last sentence; he was hiding it behind him all this time by
standing it up behind his body. It appeared the tallness of the man
hid it well.

“Though a
lot of our primary abilities you see us use focus on kinetic force,
we are still Masters of mind magick. Anything that can give us the
upper hand is useful. If you havn’t experienced it already, then
there will be a passive ability that will come in most handy to you
soon enough.”

“I can’t
say that I’ve experience what you are talking about. At least I
don’t think so,” said Christian.

“Oh, trust
me. You wouldn’t have just said ‘I don’t think so’ if you knew what
it was.” The boy’s mentor chuckled a little, which made Christian
all the more curious about what he was really going on about.

“Anyway,
Battle-casters absorb kinetic energy. Much like your friend absorbs
the light and heat from the sun. This is another thing you must
remember, because it is an important part of you now and you must
be made aware that although you absorb physical force, dampening
it, your resistance to blows will still have an impact and hurt at
the same time; though not as much as any other Spell-caster. Like
Fire-casters.”

“Okay,”
replied Christian, quite fascinated. He looked over to his friend’s
side, seeing her trying to generate something around herself, which
then popped around her like it was always there, in reality; it
formed a cagelike mesh of fire around Eleanor that resembled more
of a prison than anything else from the outside. It glowed
fiercely, making it hard for him to focus right now on his own
task.

“Christian,
you must listen. What I am about to tell you could save a person’s
life someday, or maybe even more than one.”

“Sorry,” he
said, before looking to the floor and staring back up at his Master
to carry on.

“I’m going
to hit your staff now. However, I want you to let me, and make sure
you don’t move either.” The man hit the quarterstaff and it
resulted in being flung across the floor effortlessly. “It is
important for you to understand that kinetic energy can be stored
for roughly up to three days. Then it will steadily decline. As
with all Spell-caster energy being redirected.”

Christian
heard the mentor on Eleanor’s side congratulate her on her efforts
before his own continued. “You must know that our magickal power is
a two way system. It is granted to those who believe in the god
they follow. So—the more you believe—the stronger your magick.”

“Ah, I
see,” replied the boy. His magickal foot in the door seemed to
crank it open, understanding a bit more about this new tangled life
he began to lead with his friend. He looked back to Eleanor, slyly,
making sure his own Master didn’t notice.

Christian
started to feel restless. All the talk and learning of words might
be important, but there was no physical learning at the minute,
which made him a little sour; because he could see his friend had
already outdone him here and now.

“Okay,
Christian. You know the defensive ability, and the basics of how it
all works now. Now remember, the stronger your belief, the stronger
the magick. Before we move on I want you to try the defensive
ability again.

“But you
are really far away from it, even farther than yesterday,” replied
the Master.

“I know. I
am curious. You can do it. Just do it like you did yesterday, only
believe…” he stopped his sentence short, as he figured his new
student would know what he was going to say now off by heart.

So, he done
as he was taught, believed, imagined all that was asked of him, and
then felt something press upon him quickly this time without any
warning. As he opened his eyes he saw his Master hurled across the
room to the other side near Eleanor, an easy twenty feet. As the
disciple of Xenne flew through the air, with his cloak fluttering
around him, Eleanor noticed the man and stepped to the side
quickly. She responded there after with an impressed expression
upon her face.

“Well, I
never,” said the Xenne follower getting up. “Never in all my life
have I seen such power in a mere two days of learning. I knew it. I
really did. You are one of those very rare people who are at their
best in the field, reacting naturally to others actions without
warning.”

Eleanor
looked at the man who just interrupted her and her Master talking.
She moved her head to look at her friend again on the other side of
the room until a single word came out of her mouth, if you could
call it that: “Huh,” she blurted, not believing what she just
saw.

Christian
looked across the room before holding his hands together, miming
the words ‘thank you’ to his goddess who just gave him the power to
do exactly what he needed.

Under

There
was still some of daylight left; being a few hours before four in
the afternoon.

Prince Etch
was looking up to the floating land outside the cathedral on his
balcony in his little outside compartment attached to one of his
rooms. He looked at the earth and mud beneath the rock that held it
all together, and gave a long sigh, as if to vent and signal an
internal problem that had been building up.

“How will I
ever live up to my father’s expectations. He might as well be the
greatest king that has ever lived. Everyone loves him. You of all
people know what I am talking about.” The prince looked at an empty
space again. Yet he talked as if somebody he knew was right
there—with him.

Prince
Etch’s doors swung open, then the king and someone at his side
stood in the doorway. “I don’t understand why it is taking this
long for a few measly readers. Or rather, a response. That would at
least be nice, and appreciated. Simple manners should exist between
worlds for gods sake.”

The man
beside the king gave a very shocked luck after his leader
blasphemed. The king looked to the man, before correcting
himself:

“Sorry, I
apologise. I may be king, but having manners is a basic principle
of leadership when you can use it; no matter who you are.” The king
looked around frantically. His actions clearly stated he was
stressed with everything that was going on. “Etch. Etch, where are
you?” He went looking around the room. Although Etch mostly spent
his time in his two rooms they were still both mightily big in
size; as royalty must have royal sized rooms. The father walked
around for nearly two minutes before spotting his son on a bench on
the balcony. “Son, why didn’t you answer me?” he asked, politely,
trying to snap the stress out of himself. King Almare noticed there
was something peculiar going on straight away.

“No, I
think he loved you more than me. You were his favourite,” said
Etch. “You were always together, you, father and mother. The royal
trio. Then I came along to ruin it all.”

“Son, who
are you talking to?”

But he
could see there was nobody there for Prince Etch to talk to; where
his body language faced and kept gazing to and from the floor.

“You’re
worrying me,” said the king, his father. He snapped his fingers in
front of him, yet… there was still nothing. For a time the king
didn’t doubt his son, but himself.
Am I dreaming, or worse,
dead? Can I not be seen? Is this still reality?
If so, there
was something tremendously wrong now and he knew he had to find out
what it was. “Come on, we’ll get you to bed.” The king himself
guided the prince back to his king size, four poster bed. He folded
the sheets back to keep him warm, as the seasons were changing,
growing nearer the cold. “You can leave us,” said the king to the
man who followed his every move. He then left.

Prince
Etch’s father stood over his son by himself now; his son’s black,
curly, pristinely clean hair was medium length. His father stroked
his thick curls before looking out to the balcony door which had
simple glass, so a view could be seen from inside.

The king
started to move, but then his son mumbled something. Out some more
words came: