Soul of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 1)

TEN

The big room was worthy of its name in every sense of the word, as Kyra soon observed as she stepped into the room. It was so big it almost rivaled the compound housing the castle itself. It was probably built as an assembly ground for the wizards who originally lived there, Kyra thought to herself and was soon contemplating how different their lives would have been, before the whole witch-hunt that is.

Dome-shaped, the room was built with gold, the real, very refined, extremely expensive kind, from the floor to the ceiling, the sun coming from the top windows causing to shine bright in the sun. Runes of various shapes and sizes were etched into the wall; and with a solid pentagram built into the floor, the feeling of magic was unending there. Coupled with fact that it was as quiet and still as lake a good spring day, it was no surprise really that Ghalador had chosen it as his meditation room.

And speaking of Ghalador, the seer was sitting down lotus style in the middle of the pentagram, hovering just above the structure. In truth, when Kyra had thought of him with everything in accordance with everything she’d heard, she imagined that he would be a very old, wizened man bending over a cane with a very long flowing beard. But much to her surprise, the seer couldn’t have been more than forty-five years old. He was tall and straight with a long brown hair which he tied into a ponytail. His beard was brown too but of a little darker shade than his hair; and not at all flowing.

All of a sudden, Ghalador’s eyes snapped open and Kyra gasped; they were all white. It was as if he had no pupils. "Is he blind?" she whispered to Lucian but Ghalador seemed have heard it as he laughed; a strong sound from a strong man.

"No, Kyra, I'm not," he replied and glared at Lucian, which was quite effective with his all-white eyes. "This happened because someone decided to interrupt my meditation even though they should have known better." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath before opening them again and Kyra saw them return to normal.

Ghalador’s eyes turned out to be a shade of gold; if eyes could be classified as golden. And they were very piercing too. It was as if they could see right into the soul, and Kyra suspected that they might.

"It’s so nice to finally meet you, young one," said the seer as he floated out of the pentagram and landed in front of Kyra. To her surprise, he took her hand and bowed as he kissed it; all the while holding that same awed look that Kyra had seen earlier on the faces of both Lucian and Keith.

"Okay, what is it with you people and looking at me like that?" she said to him, very confused by the entire matter.

"You're very important to us, Kyra. Surely Lucian already told you that by now."

“Important how?” she asked again. “And no vague seer nonsense. I want the real truth. Now.”

Ghalador sighed deeply, trying to get comfortable under the intense look that Kyra was shooting him: she really wasn’t joking about wanting to know the truth. "Are you sure that you're ready for this?" he asked her. "Once you learn the truth, there is no unlearning it."

The way he made the statement really gripped Kyra’s heart and she started to feel unsure. The truth must really be serious; Ghalador and Lucian wouldn’t have created so much fuss about it if it wasn’t, she was sure of that. But regardless of how serious or altering it might be, she still needed to know it; that was equally important too. "Tell me," she said.

And the seer did. "We look at you the way we do because you're the greatest creature to have ever walked this earth," he began. "You're the very thing that flows in our vein, the essence that makes us who we are, the idea that we hold most dear to our hearts.” And holding her hand with a reverence that was only befitting a god, Ghalador broke the seal on the truth that Kyra had been brought all the way to find out, “You, my dear, are the Soul of magic."

***

Time seemed to come to a halt for a very long time, everything frozen to its spot around Kyra. She could hear herself breathe, hear Ghalador saying something to her, feel Lucian touch her in the hopes that she was okay. But she couldn’t see any of it happening, almost like she was stuck in a mental loop and unable to reconcile herself with reality.

But all of sudden, she snapped back into place. And then she did something that neither of the men in her front had expected; she ran away.

Kyra had no idea where she was going but her legs were moving and she let it. She kept turning around the seemly labyrinthine Castle, not quite knowing where she would end up, and not quite caring either.

But just as it seemed that Kyra would end up lost, she suddenly burst out of the castle but not into the compound like she had expected. She was in a garden, one that was once beautiful but now overrun by weeds. Kyra wondered why the garden had been left to fall into ruins since the whole Castle was being restored but never really gave it much thought; it was none of her concern, at least for that moment. She had her own reality to face and none of it included a garden unfairly left abandoned.

Sitting on a metal chair that was surprisingly still strong even though it had been conquered by vines and lichens, she began to think about her life. If she really was the Soul of magic,if that was even remotely possible, would that mean she wasn't human? She remembered Ghalador referring to her as a thing; not a person, the thing. She thought back to her foster parents who could never say anything tangible about her parents even though they claimed they were pretty close. Did they know what she really was or was some kind of spell casted on them that had them convinced that she was their niece without even a way to prove it? Nothing made sense to her. The truth hadn’t shown her a path, it had shrouded it the more.

Kyra didn’t know for how long she sat there before she looked up to see Ghalador walking into the garden with a tray of pottage and milk in his hands; it was already late in the evening.

"Thank you," she said weakly as she accepted the meal; she was very exhausted from all her thinking, which disappointingly didn't get her anywhere.

The seer allowed her to enjoy the meal uninterrupted for a while before he spoke. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Bad,” she replied truthfully; there was no point lying.

“I’m so sorry it affected you this way, Kyra,” he said, and really meant it. "I wanted you to be ready before I told you. I thought it would better prepare you for what is ahead.”

"And what is ahead, Ghalador?” she returned at him, her turmoiled emotions causing the breeze to pick up pace a little. "I mean, what does being the Soul of magic even mean for me as a person?"

"I don’t have all the answers,” the seer admitted. "But from what I’ve been shown, I know that the High wizards came together when they saw that our existence was about to be threatened and combined every branch of magic to bring you alive, our way out of this nightmare. And wanting to keep you safe, they transported over the town where you found your foster parents. The magic in you wanted you to grow up somewhere safe and so, it willed a spell that helped you fit into their lives using a very thin line between reality and illusion."

Kyra wasn’t sure if she was happy with the fact that she had magically deceived her uncle and aunt-in-law, who weren’t in reality, into caring for her. Of course, she had to admit that it did work; she definitely wouldn’t have survived without their protection. But deception was still deception, even if it was for a cause of saving the wizards; which she still had no idea how personifying magic would help.

“So, what now?” she asked.

“I don’t know, my dear,” Ghalador replied with a sigh and they both fell silent; each one receding into his thoughts on what was in front of them, and what laid ahead.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Ghalador suddenly asked and Kyra looked up. He was pointing to the statue of a woman in the far corner of the garden.

Just like the rest of the garden, the statue had fallen under the effect of age with the stones turned completely black with soot and vines running over almost every portion of it except the face. But even then, Kyra had to admit that the statue still had its beauty; a shadow of it, at least.

"That's Fara," Ghalador explained, waving his hands and suddenly the statue and the garden became as beautiful as they originally were; Kyra wondered why he hadn't done that a lot earlier. "She was the last witch to head the Council of magic before this misguided war killed both it and her. I knew her, you know. A fierce woman and full of spirit, just like you."

Kyra stood up to observe the statue better; very curious about the last Head witch. Judging from what was in front of her, Kyra deduced that Fara wasn’t very tall, not that she could exactly be called short either. She seemed liked to wear her hair down, very carefree about which way the wind blew it.

However, what intrigued Kyra most were her eyes. They were very sharp as they looked down, holding a very high amount of intelligence, courage, fierceness, and even a little bit of mischief and excitement. All in all, Fara must have being a very interesting woman and Kyra really wished that she had met her.

"This belonged to her," said Ghalador, holding a chain with a pentagram pendant to Kyra. The pentagram had vines coiled round it but in a pattern; almost as if in embrace. But they were dead, very dead like their owner. "I want you to have it."

"No," Kyra quickly declined. "This is a very important relic. I don't think you'd want to give it to me."

"It's perfect for you, Kyra," insisted the seer, pressing the chain into her palms. "Even Fara would want that, believe me."

Kyra didn't have the chance to refuse again as Keith suddenly burst into the garden, panting. "You have to come see this," he said before running away again.

It didn't take long for Kyra and Ghalador to join him and Lucian on the castle's wall. And as they looked down below, they saw what could be no less than an army marching towards them. And in that moment, it dawned on Kyra. The war had come to her doorsteps, and it wasn’t planning to show mercy.