First Apprentice

Chapter 1 Part 2

Magic spun off my fingertips and twisted into the first healing rune. The thread broke. The rune fell, landing on the palm of my right hand. My palms itched as they scabbed over. A tweak formed the second rune in the simple three rune seal. The scabs peeled off, revealing pink flesh. One final rune and the pink scars disappeared. "Better?" I demanded as I healed the other.

"You still haven't answered the question. Do you want to be caught?"

My teeth morphed into fangs as I lost control of my form, slipping back into my half-state. I gnashed my teeth. "Of course not."

"You're no Endellion." My face heated at the reminder. "You can't teleport without broadcasting your location. Vinetta is crawling with sealers here for tomorrow's trials. If you teleport without someone shielding you, you might as well send them a map."

I wanted to insist my control had improved, but I wouldn't lie to myself. I couldn't even maintain my human form consistently. How did I expect to teleport without leaking magic like flood waters spilling over a river bank?

Easy answer. I didn't.

"One whisper in the wrong ear and you'll spend the rest of your miserable life as breeding stock, which assumes the Dracon don't kill you outright. Six months are all that stand between you and complete freedom and you want to risk everything over a little rain!

"Have you forgotten your lessons? Wars were fought over magics weaker than yours. Millions perished because a group of old men wanted to breed someone like you! Control you! Unleash you upon their enemies! My clan died!"

Sacrificed themselves more like, but I held my tongue. Some wounds never heal. They remain raw and festering, eternal reminders of our failures. Selim's were gaping, people-sized holes.

Silence fell as I clutched my cloak shut with one hand and sprinted towards the harbor. The cobblestones dug into my feet as the soles of my shoes slipped off the wet stones then the seals I'd sewn inside my shoes activated. Leather gripped stone. One foot stabilized as the other left the ground.

Focus, grip, and release – the simple control exercise Endellion concocted for me using the sliding rock on the stream behind the stables given a practical use. I wore out several pairs of trousers sliding down that rock before Endellion decided I was too old for such things. I still resented her for that. Ten was not too old.

Selim's presence retreated to the back of my mind. Twice my magic spiked, escaping my control. Each time, he ate the excess. No need to ask what he got out of this deal. Like all Gates, the Central Keystone was a parasite. It lived off magic and blood. I supplied both in amounts few could touch. Protecting me simply protected his favorite food source.

Hesitant fingers caressed my mind almost like he was mentally stroking my hair. "You are not just a food source," he whispered as pipes began playing in the distance. The song crescendoed as magic pulsed into the gates' dimension, demanding his presence. "Stay safe. I'll be listening." A ghostly image of an obsidian gate hovered in front of me. The seal – jagged runes as if carved by a palsied hand – always looked strange to me. The first rule of sealing is seals must be perfect. Each stroke exact. Runes arranged in a symmetrical pattern. Otherwise, you risked losing a limb or, worse, your life. His was shaped like an ink blob. The runes looked like they were carved by a five-year-old. It shouldn't work, but it did.

I rounded the corner. Light spilled onto the street as the door to an old warehouse opened. Two drunk sailors stumbled out with their arms wrapped around each other for support. I grimaced. The sun was barely down and Pell was already kicking people out. Not good.

I caught the door with one hand and slipped inside.

"Thank the Mother," the doorman said as the door slammed shut behind me. "I thought old Pell was about to make me play."

"And risk losing his customers?" My joke fell flat as his mouth settled into a grim line.

"Perhaps. He's in a right state tonight. Even worse than when he caught the cook butchering cats for the stew pot." And pocketing the silver Pell set aside for meat. The substitution didn't bother him; theft did. "Mind yourself, Alannah. He's already put three girls out on the street."

Not surprising. Rainy nights always brought in new blood. Young girls tossed out of their homes for various reasons, homeless and desperate, entered for a dry roof and a hot meal. Most left, but Pell always had rooms for the pretty ones.

Through hooded eyes, I surveyed the crowded room. A nervous redhead grabbed a man by the hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. Pity swelled within me. Six months from now, she'd either be pregnant or diseased. Either way, Pell would put her back on the streets just like he did the girl she replaced.

I reached inside my cloak and touched a seal sewn inside the collar. Water sheated off the oil skin garment and flowed down a drain in the floor. I inclined my head towards the burlap curtain cordoning off the cloak room, silently asking if it was unoccupied.

He nodded once and flicked the curtain aside. I stepped inside. The second the curtain fluttered shut, I pressed my cloak against the bracelet on my left wrist. My finger touched one of the disks, barely feeling the etched symbols through the fabric. Magic pooled in my hand – a ball of jet black energy with red, purple, and blue flames dancing across its surface. I pushed it through the cloak and into the seal etched into the back of the bracelet. With a small pop, the cloak disappeared – safely stored in a small dimension accessible only by the seal on my wrist. My fingers slid to the next disk, lingering on two raised bumps for a brief second, before my magic connected with the seal.

Touching my thumb to my index finger, I drew my hand away like a spinner drawing fiber. Black threads turned to ropes followed by a jerk like a fish swallowing a hook then swimming downstream. A flick of my wrist followed by another pop and my violin case fell into my hand.

I twitched the curtain aside and poked my head out. "Clear?" I whispered.

"Clear," the doorman replied. His gaze lingered on my violin case then he pursed his lips. "Thought you were just another two-pip musician."

"Tonight, I am," I said with a shrug. Should I alter his memories now or wait? My fingertips tingled, signaling another shift. I coiled my magic tighter, compressing it as much as I dared. Pain lanced through me. Fire raced through my veins. Best wait, I decided. After the day I'd had, I was more likely to kill him than erase anything.

Across the room, my piano player lifted a glass of amber liquid off a stool beside him and tossed it back. I grimaced. Just what I needed, a drunk banging on a piano.