The Sorcerer noticed how much time Sage had spent in the library. He found it cute that she liked to curl up with myths and legends. She'd been making her way slowly through a volume of Farainian lore of gods and myths. It was that book that helped him make his first selection for where they should visit.

He could have introduced her to those gods of legend. They sometimes liked to take up residence in his castle. They were hardly omnipotent, but the immortals of the quadrant who'd inspired the Farainians' gods were powerful and almost impossible to kill. Purvi was one of the few children of the quadrant. He'd allowed Purvi to stay at his castle as a favor to her father, Totec.

They had not heard from Totec or his siblings in over six moons. The Sorcerer considered it a great honor that the quadrant trusted him. He knew that the previous sorcerers had gone mad with power and inspired fear along the continent. When he took over the power, he swore to curb the spirit's baser urges. So far, he'd kept his power relatively in check. At least as much as a spirit of pure magic and wrath could be ordered about.

Purvi had dressed Sage warmly for their trip. She wore thick furs over her plant-woven tunic. She'd even donned a headscarf, which she said was traditional for a Sage as a connection to her people wrapped around her head but was also so less of her skin would be touched by the sun. He didn't have the heart to tell her they'd see little of the outside world today.

He transported them to the outside of Luna Rana, the tunneled fabled city of the Khan of the Midlands. It was one of the oldest places on the continent of Eleim. The Farainians had fought a long and bloody battle centuries ago to drive the native Manu bull men from the mountain to claim the city as their own. The city was still well guarded out of tradition, and he knew if they entered the city without permission, they'd draw the ire of the dangerous Khan and his wife.

At the gates, the guards looked Sage up and down with mistrust. The Sorcerer knew the clans of Farain were suspicious of outsiders. They'd fought a four-year war recently with the Potentate, and for the first time in living memory, the Khan had withdrawn his forces and bargained a truce. The Sorcerer suspected the Khan felt like he hadn't had a choice since he lost the last of his sons in the war.

"I am the Sorcerer of Trabir," he said. "We have come to see the catacombs of the old elementals."

The guards didn't question his declaration. The Sorcerer knew that no one in these lands would dare impersonate him. People were too afraid of his wrath. The guards opened the gates and let them in to the ancient city of stone.

He had been to Luna Rana only a few times in his life. Sage soaked in the city beside him. Her gray eyes were wide as they passed through the tall caverns and tunnels that were intricately carved and painted with ancient pictures. They passed warriors polishing weapons and women dressed in armor cleaning the caves and preparing meals in ovens carved into the stone walls.

Despite the blistering cold of the mountains, the caverns were impossibly warm. The Sorcerer knew Luna Rana held many secrets, and he'd never asked how they kept their homes heated. Its people were battle-hardened and full of secrets. He admired their strength and their harsh look at the world reminded him of a place and people he once called home.

"The richest of the three clans of Farain, the Midlands," Purvi said. "Home of the most ancient archives and some of the world's oldest secrets."

"It is the center of the world," the Sorcerer said. "And if anyone is to discover knowledge, Luna Rana is a good place to start."

He led them down the main halls and into the depths. The catacombs of records were far below. When they reached what seemed to be the bottom of the mountain, they reached a massive room with honeycomb-like cubbies. Each had a scroll from the times of the ancient. The room was empty except for a middle-aged man with lighter skin than most Farainians and long, curly brown hair that fell just past his shoulders.

The Sorcerer recognized the scholar. He'd even once allowed the man to grace his own archive. The man looked up as they approached and the Sorcerer noticed more gray in the man's hair than there had been fifteen years ago. His eyes were the same, though, a weary duo of blue and brown. He looked up at them and a frown crossed his full lips.

"What is the Sorcerer of Trabir doing in Luna Rana?" He mused.

The Sorcerer smiled. "I might ask the same thing of you, Kaden Butler. You are quite far from home."

"Yet this city has been my sanctuary in my exile," Kaden said. "Who are your friends, Sorcerer?"

"This is Purvi, daughter of Totec and the Sage of the Shuilhou," the Sorcerer said. "Sage likes Farainian tales, so I thought this was a lovely place for her to experience the capricious myths in their original forms."

"I thought the Sage of the Shuilhou was with the Potentate," Kaden rose from his desk. "Curious. I didn't know she was with you. I'll see if I can find some stories for you, Sage. What language would you like them in?"

"Language?" Sage asked.

"The collection here is written in an assortment of languages," Kaden said. "Elemental, northern dialect, ancient mountain, and even languages from across the sea. The Khans of Farain have always been avid studies of history."

"I read a little elemental," she said. "I doubt you have any stories written in the ways of the river."

The Sorcerer should have thought of that. Sage's people read in a very different dialect than most. They preferred representative pictures to tell their stories. Most of the rest of the continent used elemental as a common language to read and write. The Shuilhou spoke elemental, but they still kept their pictographic writing system and memory of the words once spoken in ancient times.

"I'll see what I can find," Kaden said. "The Sorcerer knows his way around the library. I'd recommend the dawn of magic as a place to start."

Kaden disappeared into the honey-combed cubbies. Purvi took off to follow him. Sage lingered and when the Sorcerer headed towards the ancient pictures in the back of the library, she followed him. The dawn of magic was the eldest story on the continent of Alefia. The last records of it were here in this library. Most had forgotten it, but the Farainians remembered it.

The most ancient record of it was drawn across the ceiling of the back of the library. Translations of it weren't entirely accurate. They only had interpretations of the ancient pictures because no one knew exactly what they meant. Even the names of the first elemental magic users were lost. Only their representations remained: Fire-Smoke, Air-Wind, Water-Ice, and finally Stone-Dust.

The four elements had worked together to fight an ancient evil, a word that ancients had translated as Ether or Dark-Light. Not even the Sorcerer understood exactly what Ether was. He only knew that somehow the elements had divided it to banish its dangerous power.

If her brother is right, then Sage holds the same power that the ancients did. You must learn of her magic, Dalton. We must know if she is the air itself.

Sage gazed at the picture of Air-Wind standing with his arms outstretched against what looked to be a cloud of chaos. The colors had faded only to red paint. The other elements stood behind him, each indefinable by an elemental rune on their chests.

"I've heard the story before," she said. "But this differs from the pictures we draw at home."

"Scholars think this is where the elements made their last stand against the monster of the ether," the Sorcerer said. "Though they disagree if this was a sacrifice on Air-Wind's behalf or not. This is the only record we have of this battle."

"Did he die?" Sage asked.

"The pictures show the elements parting ways after the battle," he replied. "I may be old and ageless but even the Sorcerer wasn't alive in this ancient time. We were created by the second elementals."

"We?" Sage looked at him.

He wondered how she wasn't repulsed by him. His own father thought he was a curse because of his birthmark. His old man had seen little problem selling his son to the old Sorcerer Master Callux. Then he'd been Master Callux's slave until the old sorcerer had seen his magic potential and convinced him to take the spirit since he'd broken his own curse.

Everyone thought you deserved misery because of your face. The old fool before you didn't realize that my power sets you free. You still think no one will see you for who you are? Even the former puppet of the Potentate sees your potential.

"Sorry," he shrugged off the spirit's voice in his head. "I was born in the far northern isles. My father decided I wasn't worthy. The old sorcerer only saw my magic as useful. When I took the spirit from him, he was free and I was bound."

She smiled. "So there's hope for you. You could be free, too."

"I could," he said. "But I don't need your pity. This is my curse. I would not wish it on anyone. The magic of the Sorcerer's spirit was a mistake. It's good that a man who would harm no one has control of such power. I'm not sure that giving the power to another is wise. Sometimes it even consumes me."

"Is that why you retreat upstairs away from us?" She sighed. "I'm not afraid of you, Dalton. You are a good man. Otherwise, you wouldn't have saved me."

His name. The word made a warmth bloom in his chest. It was the first time someone had spoken it with such conviction in a long time. Sage could see him.

He pushed away the thought before it could take root as hope. The spirit should never pass on. He'd already promised himself he would put no one through his daily agony. He'd lived two hundred years like this.

"Dalton?" She took his hand and looked at him with her big gray eyes.

The Sorcerer knew the importance of names to Sage. "Am I a part of your family now?"

"Family names are for the tribe and only spoken in the presence of ones that you claim as your tribe," she said. "And I think you've earned that right. Your first family may have abandoned you, but your heart is Shuilhou."

"Then I am delighted to be a part of your tribe," he said.

For the first time in a long time, in the depths of the catacombs beside depictions of the old elementals, Dalton felt something even the spirit hadn't in five hundred years. Sage seemed to charge the air between them.

"I want to see all of Alefia with you, Dalton," she said. "And I want to see more of you, too. Please don't lock yourself up anymore."

"I'll try, love," he said. "I promise. You won't be alone again."

He meant it with every fiber of his being. In his two-hundred years he'd always thought the spirit's desire for love a strange quest. Now he understood it.

He would live a happy life beside Sage of the Shuilhou River tribe if the spirit was willing, but he knew eventually it would end. The spirit would eventually turn on both of them. Still, he could enjoy this moment. He would just have to make sure he didn't hurt her in the end.

"Clocks" by Coldplay spoke to me while I worked on this chapter. The Sorcerer is trapped between two options. He is himself a broken man once called Dalton and the host of a dangerous piece of magic with an agenda of its own. The Sorcerer is the identity he's created to balance the two sides, but ultimately, he must decide if he'd rather be driven by the spirit or reclaim his identity as Dalton. 

"Confusion that never stops 

Closing walls and ticking clocks 

Gonna come back and take you home 

I could not stop that you now know 

Singin' come out upon my seas 

Cursed missed opportunities 

Am I a part of the cure 

Or am I part of the disease?"

Be sure to keep reading. Your support means the world to me-- Eliana Hale