Chapter Two: Rastaqouere

They turned and left, not noticing that the pieces were slowly forming back together....

The pieces formed together, and the aged door screeched ajar. A blonde head poked out, sunshine hitting the locks of perfect hair and shining. Circe stepped out, watching Elba and Eliac turn towards the bookshop.

“Father!” Called Circe, the pig keeper showed up a moment later. He was still in Eliac’s daze, not quite aware of his surroundings-- but he knew his daughter’s voice.

“Yes, my poppet?” He asked, a far away smile upon his face. Circe rolled her eyes as though in great disgust, and glared at him a moment before replying. While she glared at him, an idea occurred.

Her blue eyes glimmered like heartless sapphires when she said, “Father, what did our friends tell you?”

“They said… They needed to talk to you. Since I was their friend…” His brow furrowed in thought, but due to the detail that Mr. Amur would forget all that Eliac told him, Circe’s father could not remember. Thankfully, he was an honest man.

“I cannot remember,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t remember?” Snapped Circe, “How can you not--” Her angry face melted away as a second idea occurred. Her eyes lingered briefly on the mended pendant, she gently picked it up from the ground.

“Of course you can’t remember,” She said gently, beautifully, trying a different approach. “Our friends were playing a game with you.”

“A game?” Mr. Amur’s face lost its haze, for Circe knew that he hated being treated as a child. But the haze returned, after a moment.

“Oh,” He said. Silently, Circe cursed Eliac-- she appeared to have thought of everything.

“Yes,” Said Circe, a film forming over her eyes. If Eliac’s spell wasn’t going to break the easy way…

“They want you to forget about them. But you don’t want to, because you won.” Mr. Amur, poor enchanted Mr. Amur, blinked stupidly.

“I won?” He asked, blissfully unaware of what was happening. With good reason, that question was-- he rarely won anything.

In fact, he dug them a hole finically a few months ago that Circe had been forced to bury, several people had taken a vacation. A permanent vacation. No one could prove anything, of course. She’d made sure of that.

“Yes,” said Circe, her tone soft and persuasive, “You did. Now go inside, and have a glass of wine. A celebratory glass of wine for winning, yea?”

The fool had no idea she’d taken the liberty of poisoning his wine. He wouldn’t wake up for several days, if at all. She didn’t dwell on this-- she was bored with him, after all.

As her father slumped inside, she allowed herself a smile before re-fastening her real talisman. She would handle Eliac, and Elba, when the time came. But for now, she knew she must wait. She’d get them one at a time.

From the top of a nearby rooftop, a tall figure that was hooded and cloaked watched Circe go inside.
There was another of similar garb to his left.

“She might be a problem, that one,” It said in a booming voice, nodding its hood at Circe. The other creature shrugged.

“When the master decides to take one, he’ll take one. We needn’t worry, you know that.” This one paused for effect, its voice was soft. Almost as if speaking it was unforgivable, it said quietly, “Our master is invincible.”

Three days later, a great festival arose from the shadows of Cesium. The people shouted and cried with great joy at the coming of the trainers-- the legends from all the stories that had been so long gossiped of.

There was G the great hunter, Warlic the greatest Magi of all time; Keelie, the undefeated champion in the blade, Robina hood, who’d been giving lessons to most children anyway.

There were even rumors of Artix himself coming-- but most people weren’t stupid enough to hope for such things. Most people, that is, excluding the Marquis…

“Niendel!” Cried Peter for the thousandth time that day, “Straighten your day! Milord Artix will be here any moment!”

You see, the decree that Peter had received three days hence was of grave importance. It was the training festival of the year.

This meant that every child would be selected by the judges for their craft-- they may even be taken back if they so wished.

Every master of any craft was welcome, as long as they had parental consent the children were allowed to do what they pleased.

Horns blared and drums sounded as the colored tents were set up in the courtyard, children of all ages crowded around the exciting tents and left the rest alone.

Several tents’ occupants were so ignored that they fell asleep, heads resting on table tops and hoping for a child to be brave enough to wander over.

Their patience was hardly rewarded as the day grew hotter and wore on, scorching many a person in the crowd.

Niendel wandered to a tent where a brown-haired woman was speaking plainly and with great stress on every syllable.

Her garb was a plain blue armor, and a sword was buckled with expert precision on her side. Her skin was tan, with freckles scattered about, her sharp brown eyes beheld the world with a savage intensity that was downright unsettling.

“Every man can bare a sword, or any woman for that matter,” She explained in that annoying clear voice to several concerned-looking parents, “They won’t be injured unless they don’t properly follow my instructions-- Hello, boy!” She said suddenly, a bright smile turning towards Niendel.

Niendel stood up straight, and bowed slightly. His green woolen tunic was hot in the sun, and he just wanted to go home.

“Greetings, Madam. Who might you be?” The smile of the woman faded as she beheld his uptight manners, his shiny shoes, his silk tunic and his slight makeup.

“You are of little use to me, youngling,” she said coolly, “Be gone from my sight if I am so hard for you to deal with.”

“I am nobility,” Niendel said with an altogether arrogant air, “I expect someone of your station to treat me with respect that position requires.”

The brown-haired woman laughed, a deep chuckle similar to a man‘s. “Robina!” She bellowed, “Come ‘ere and check out this young ‘un!”

A woman appeared from the tent next door . Her hair was also brown, her eyes a kindly hazel unlike the other woman’s intense brown.

She wore a green bandana on her head, a green mini skirt and sports blouse that barely reached her stomach at all. Her skin was pale, a bow slid over her shoulder with several knifes at her belt.

One of them looked to have a faint red stain. Niendel tried not to gag.

“You aren’t giving him one of your boring old lectures, are you Keelie?” She asked, laughing. A light laughter, it sounded like rain hitting pavement.

Niendel fought the urge to laugh with her-- blushing, he realized he thought she was rather attractive.

“No,” Said Niendel, “I assure you she is not ‘bothering’ me in the least.” Robina raised an eyebrow as she glanced at Keelie, who shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Winking, Robina turned back to Niendel and said, “Oh? I don’t know, I heard the whole thing. I understand, lad…”

She weighed her words carefully before answering, “I understand your position, but you’d better stay away from grouchy old Keelie. A lad like you isn’t meant for hard work at all.”

Grumbling, Niendel went to the next tent. Keelie and Robina stood where he’d left them, laughing.
“ ‘Scuse me, musses,” Said Jack, “What’s this tent then?”

He tipped a hat William had left him to show respect. Speaking of William, oddly enough, the ‘spell’ had been broken when Eliac had smashed the pendant.

Keelie looked like her wildest dreams had come true as she examined the strong, lean Jack. Jack, however, did not share her confidence. In fact, he seemed slightly self-conscious.

“This is the fighting tent, boy. Where the stuff of heroes is. You can take the sword, and take honor at its tip, or you can fire valor from a bow as Robina teaches. The choice is yours.” Jack’s eyes grew wide.

Impressed, he responded, “Well, I don’t know nothing about me bein’ a hero, but it sure does sound mighty fine to hold a shiny sword. I always bin quicker then I need be-- livin’ on the street will do that to ya.” Robina laughed, and Keelie patted his shoulder.

“Good! Now, here, you can take this one…”

Elba glanced Jack taking hold of a fine sword from the Swords Master, but brushed by it. She wasn’t much of a fighter, never had been. Instead, she walked towards a musty old tent the other children seemed to be avoiding for some reason.

A silver bell sat on a counter, she rang the bell and its peal caused her to shroud her ears in pain.

An elf appeared from behind the tent flap. His hair was bleached white from too many years of age, his eyes a coal-like black and his skin a perfect pale.

He held a black cane with a white tip, and wore a nice looking suit. Elba regained her composer when she realized she’d been staring.

“Sir, what do you teach?” She put forth hesitantly, her hand tracing the scroll hanging in her belt as was habit.

The elf simply stared at her, and Elba sighed. She’d already considered the fact no one would take her because of her green skin-- she desperately hoped an elf would be beyond such things, but apparently not.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, then.” Bowing deeply, she turned away from the tent quickly so the elf wouldn’t see her tears.

“Falerin,” a voice said. Elba spun around, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, what did you just--”

“Falerin. My name is Falerin, and I am the Lore Master.” Elba looked as though her wildest dreams had come true (They probably had.)

“The Lore Master? That lives on the Isle D’ Omens? That’s impressive-- the keeper of all books!”

Falerin sighed expressively. “You don’t understand just how impressive it is. I’ve been alive longer then the first of your line-- you think you can handle immortality?”

He was trying to scare her away, but it wasn’t working. Every word he said drove her closer.

“I can handle being alone,” She said softly, “And isn’t that the most terrible thing about being immortal anyway?” Falerin glanced at her, her hazel eyes shining gently in the light.

A stirring within him made him reply.

“Then we’d better talk to your parents about a little side trip…”

Eliac saw that Elba had found a craft as assistant lore master, which made her laugh musically for some reason. When she had stopped laughing, she turned around to be facing a Magi’s tent.

She knew it was a Magi’s tent because the tent bore the seal of Magi-- the same symbol that had been on her father’s ‘borrowed’ commission sword.

Bravely, and with long strides, she walked inside the tent. Several bottles clanged against each other like wind chimes, and a cauldron bubbled in the center of the red tent. Eliac looked around, but saw no one.

She held her hands over the cauldron and said, “Algernon unlenthrinel, insilco iris nor!” a steam of black smoke filled the tent. Eliac was immensely pleased, and continued the spell while pretending to ignore the smoke.

“Unmyamay, ungalayay, congou neiris for!” The effects were immediate-- the smoke stuttered and hissed then turned an ugly yellow before reeking horribly of rotten eggs.

Coughing, Eliac stumbled from the tent. Once outside, she took several breaths of fresh air. A hand closed around her hand Eliac was unceremoniously pulled to a large, young-looking man.

The man had pale violet robes, trimmed in gold, he carried a yew staff with an emerald emitting power at the top. His face was placid, his expression set as stone.

His eyes were a shrewd periwinkle, his hair white and cut in an unusual style. Eliac recognized him at once, and normally would’ve been thrilled-- but he seemed angry.

“Well?” He hissed, “What have you done?” Eyeing the yellow smoke steaming from his cauldron, he screamed, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?” Eliac gulped.

“I’m--I-- o-oh, I’m s-so s-s-sorry!” She managed to stutter out at last, “It was a complete accident!” Slowly, Warlic let go of her wrist.

The marks of four fingers and a thumb remained on Eliac’s pale skin as Warlic went inside. In moments, he walked out, no trace of the smoke or the smell remaining.

“Congratulations,” He said with an odd smile of gleaming white teeth, “You’ve made my day.”