Part I
“Half-light is neither day nor night,
neither reality nor delusion, and neither life nor death.
It’s in-between our worlds and in-between our truth,
beneath the surface of existence and beyond the mirror
of our consciousness.
And most of all: In half-light time stands still,
and every second is eternal.”
For Meggie
The Castle of Tá
He opened his eyes and could hardly breathe. The sight was magnificent. This was the place he had been dreaming of for all those months, the place where he had seen her. At last, he finally was there in person.
Thin wisps of fog glistened between the mountains, barely visible in the distance. The gentle morning breeze smelled like a new spring. Sangit sat on the edge of the battlements atop the tallest tower, his feet dangling high above the castle grounds.
The first warm rays of sunlight touched his skin, with everything below still masked in shadow. The surrounding forests were draped in a pure golden glow, the sky tinged vibrant pink and amber. Sangit inhaled the beauty of the moment, taking deep breaths, until a blundering noise broke his benign tranquility.
“Are you insane?” The timber creaked as Lyrian reached the last few steps, his eyebrows arched, hands firmly clawed into the stone railing. “Fuck me, that’s way too high. You can’t be serious, sitting up there,” he stuttered, gasping for air.
Lyrian inched forward against the wall, one foot after another, until he finally reached Sangit. His heart was beating like a drum. “You’re absolutely nuts! Get down from there this instant.”
But Sangit didn’t move. “It feels as if I’ve been here before, even though it was just in my dreams.” He didn’t turn to Lyrian as he spoke. He felt perfectly safe— he could never understand his best friend’s fear of heights. Slowly, he slid his hands across the stone beneath him, teasing its mossy surface.
Lyrian glanced down and quickly shot his gaze back upward, his stomach turning at the sight of the vast drop. “Get down!” he shouted. “I beg you, please! At least get off the edge. We didn’t venture all the way to put your life at risk so recklessly.”
“We came to find her,” Sangit said. Then he turned around and jumped down from the edge, back onto the floor. One of the planks cracked underneath him, but nothing collapsed. “See? It’s rock solid! This castle stood for centuries, and it’ll certainly outlast us, so calm down!”
“I don’t think so.” Lyrian shook his head, and Sangit knew Lyrian was partly right. While the heart of the castle was intact, many of the outer sections were in ruins. From up here the full extent of the decay looked even worse.
“Quite a few roofs need fixing,” Sangit said. “Nothing our men can’t manage.” He patted Lyrian on the back so hard he almost tumbled forward. For a moment Sangit feared he’d overdone it, but it would take much more to really upset Lyrian.
“We’re only seven men so far. We need all the support we can get. Shall we raise banners? I won’t come up here for a second time,” Lyrian said, unrolling Sangit’s family crest he’d unboxed just minutes before. Azure, a golden sword and rose erect. The Haylans’ coat of arms.
“No, not yet,” Sangit said. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
“Your call. I’ll leave this with you then.” Lyrian rolled the flag back up and handed it to Sangit, grinning and raising a questioning eyebrow.
“We need more people!” Sangit burst out.
“What?”
“How are we ever going to rebuild this entire castle with a group of seven?”
“You’re beyond help sometimes.” Lyrian rolled his eyes, then bowed. “Seriously, there’s still a lot of work to do. I’d appreciate Your Lordship on the ground. Shall we?”
From the looks of it, this was all Lyrian could come up with. Work, however, wasn’t Sangit’s strong suit, so the landlord didn’t make a move to leave. He turned again to the amazing view, taking a long breath, sinking him deeply back into his thoughts.
It was quite the impossible task to rebuild the great Castle of Ta, but nothing could stop Sangit once he’d made up his mind about it. His wild, silver mane danced in the cool morning wind. From up here, the entirety of the castle was visible; the weathered tent they had to spend the night in, the carriage and wagons they brought along on their long journey, and the grand masonry surrounding them. He could even make out the path they’d taken through the thicket to get to the castle. Amongst the broken castle walls, all sorts of plants and smaller trees grew out of nowhere, in wicked places they didn’t belong. Some trees even came through broken roofs of former buildings.
“See that?” Sangit asked, smiling. But Lyrian wasn’t going to approach the edge. Sangit could only imagine what a powerful and busy place this castle had once been. He was still eyeing the premises, not to assess its beauty any further, but to get a thorough overview of what was now in his possession. After all, no one else had claimed ownership of the castle for centuries, and Sangit intended to make sure no one would ever try to.
“This part looks weak.” Sangit removed his hands from his pockets and pointed straight downward, finally finding a way to make his friend look down. As Lyrian peeked over the edge, his face went pale, eyes frantic. He’d fallen for it. Sangit braced for shouts of anger, but apparently something even more disturbing had attracted Lyrian’s attention.
“What does he think he’s doing over there?” Lyrian yelled as he spotted Alisson, one of the carpenters, walking on the ridge of the great hall, jumping from one beam to another. Sangit couldn’t care less. To him, Lyrian had always been a dauntless warrior. That fear of heights was just annoying.
“Relax, he’s just examining the roof. We wouldn’t want the rain to fall onto your precious head, would we?”
“He’s mad! This guy is really mad. Where do you find those people!” Lyrian shook his head, still clinging to the railing.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, and so will you. Get ahold of yourself.”
Lyrian rearranged himself, threw Sangit a cold look, then went back down the stairs, the wood creaking painfully beneath him. Sangit hoped he wouldn’t break the staircase. He leaned over the edge again, waiting for Lyrian to reappear at the bottom of the castle.
Only a few moments later a pretty girl with long dark braids entered the yard next to the tower base. She slammed the wooden doors of the great hall shut behind her with a noise so loud that Alisson jumped with fright, but fortunately still didn’t fall off the roof. Keena was heading straight for the fireplace, past the giant magnolia tree.
She was the only woman in the group, sort of the misfit amongst Sangit’s men, and Lyrian couldn’t stand her. She was, however, the most precious person in the team, because she had something the others had no clue of. Something Sangit had always admired. Keena possessed the gift of magic. In fact, she was the only person Sangit had ever known who did. And Sangit knew she was about to use her special skill.
***
This wasn’t cheap tricks or illusions, but real magic; something Sangit always wished to master, and something everybody else carefully avoided. Magic skills were deemed unwanted, even feared. At one point centuries ago, magic had even been outlawed, but in the present days it was simply widely forgotten. Not so, however, in Sangit’s life. He had been taking any chance to learn for years, and whenever Keena did a spell, he was transfixed.
“Kahran will be proud we’re here,” Sangit yelled, jumping down the last few steps. He couldn’t have come down the tower any faster. He barged past Lyrian towards Keena, glowing with excitement. Keena, however, ignored both of them. Sangit’s relationship with her was strained ever since they left the village of Acaria. In fact, Keena’s relationship with everyone was quite complicated at the moment.
It wasn’t just Lyrian who disliked her, but most of the group. No one seemed to understand why Sangit even wanted her to come along. In general, having a woman in the party was uncalled for. Apart from that, everyone knew she was a witch, and they didn’t trust her, no matter how meticulously Keena tried to keep her knowledge private, no matter how devotedly she tried to serve the group. Even though times had changed and witchcraft hadn’t been an issue for decades, the fear of magic was still anchored deeply in the core of people’s hearts.
The general mood this morning was far from cheerful. The long journey Sangit had put them through had taken its toll on everybody. Indeed, he was the only one beaming with joy. To everyone’s annoyance.
“Kahran will be so proud!” Sangit said again, expecting Keena to elaborate.
“Kahran is dead!” she snapped. “Why don’t you leave me alone? I shouldn’t even be here. They all can’t stand me anyway.”
“But I can, and I need you. We all do. They just don’t get it yet. Kahran’s not dead. Stop saying that.”
Keena grunted. Sangit knew her temper and her tendency to withdraw. But she was actually the kindest and most honest person he had ever known.
“I never wanted to come here,” Keena said.
“But you did!” Sangit looked smug.
“Because you begged me to! And whilst I’m here, I’ll at least be useful,” Keena said. “So let me do my work and go do yours!” She pointed at the surrounding mess, hinting he should help unload the carriages.
“Do it then.” He sat next to her and waited. As disapprovingly as she glared at him, she didn’t faze him. He knew well enough she would calm in a minute.
“Fine. You are as stubborn as your father was.” Keena rearranged her leather vest, pulled back the sleeves of her blouse and knelt down facing the fireplace. “Don’t get me wrong, I mean no disrespect. I do have faith in all your visions, but I still think there is another explanation. There’s no way Kahran’s still alive. We have no proof. You know how old he was. There’s just no way.”
“You didn’t see him,” Sangit said in a very low voice. “He reappeared to me, and he was real. I believe in him, even though he left us. He must have had his reasons.” The words almost got stuck in Sangit’s throat. “He always was a good friend and mentor. When he left, I knew he’d be back one day. And now he is. If I can sense it why can’t you? You’re the witch among us! You’re the magic one!”
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Sangit knew he shouldn’t have gone there. There was her stinging look again. Silent, she turned stoically back to the fireplace. Sangit considered apologizing, but it seemed pointless.
The first morning at the castle was eerie. The huge unknown environment, the spoiled mood, the strained friendships. Keena wasn’t the only one on edge. There was an atmosphere of gloom they all felt in their bones. As Sangit watched the group arranging firewood and unpacking bags, the tension was written on everyone’s face. It wasn’t their new home, however, which was annoying them— it was Sangit, and he was well aware of that. He wasn’t helping anyone while they did all the dirty work. But he was their landlord. They were subordinate to him, and as much as he hated to pull rank, he wasn’t there to carry crates.
Sangit knew he had to trick them into joining him. None of them believed in magic, and he could never have explained to them how much it meant to him. Fortunately, they were all in his debt. So he had asked their favor, trust, and loyalty, and they had given it without a moment’s hesitation. They were honor-bound.
The most peculiar matter, however, was that Sangit wasn’t even acting on his own behalf, but on a much higher authority: A magic book with empty pages, and the last wishes of Kahran, the man who asked him to move to the castle. These were things about which he had to keep the group in the dark, things they’d never understand. And there were things Sangit didn’t even understand himself, at least not yet. He needed Keena to be there for him; he needed her to listen. She was the only one he could confide in. She was the only one who understood. If only she was more cooperative, and if only the others wouldn’t treat her like an outcast.
If anyone in Khedesh Creek knew Keena engaged in witchcraft, that the ancient rituals were more than just a subject of historical study to her, the long-standing peace between the outer villages and coastal cities would suffer. She was a well-known scholar at the Immortal Library amidst the waterfalls and was eminently respected amongst the Khedesh townsmen. She had a renowned reputation, and no intention of losing it.
To normal folk, magic was little more than myths and legends. It was the stuff fairytales were made of; mostly unsettling ones, and some of them intriguing, especially to Sangit, who saw much more than just a story in them. They were tales of magic brotherhood, great rituals, mysterious spirits and the otherworld. Kahran had always called it half-light, and his knowledge about magic was unmatched. But as much as those tales fascinated Sangit, and although Kahran had entrusted him with the secrets and legends, reality had always brought him right back down to Earth. When Kahran ultimately disappeared, Sangit’s only source of history had vanished. Today, there was no living proof of magic anymore— except Keena.
“You know,” Sangit said, “you would have loved him. He was a kind and enigmatic character. You’re very much alike.”
“I bet he was,” said Keena, putting an emphasis on “was” to point out once again how little she believed in ghosts. “Now focus. This place is dangerous, and we know nothing about it. Thinking you can hold this castle is just foolish. Take it from me!”
“We’ve been at this for weeks. If all the others trust me, why can’t you? I told you everything that happened, everything Kahran told me.”
She stacked the last of her available firewood onto the pile. “More firewood!” she cried, looking beyond him.
“Over here, woman! Help yourself,” Lyrian shouted from behind the carriage, showing no intention of moving anything for her.
“I’ll get it,” Sangit said. It was the least he could do to gain her favor. Why was it so hard for her to have a little faith in him? They’d come so far already, but Sangit hadn’t realized how much work was still in front of him. This was just the beginning.
Back at the carriage, Sangit tried to stack as many logs as he could hold with one arm. Lyrian rolled his eyes and lifted up two crates at once, as if they weighed nothing at all, to carry them into the hall.
Everyone else who was unloading things had trouble picking up just one of those crates. The number of tools, construction materials and resources they had taken to the castle was immense. But it was necessary.
“What is it with her and that stupid fire anyway,” Lyrian mumbled from behind the crates he held. He didn’t even wait for an answer, walking off to carry them inside. After the crates came barrels with water, wine and sacks of grain.
It took a while for Sangit to pile up enough firewood in the grand fireplace; just as many walks as his men needed to unload the last carriage. Lyrian clapped the dust off his hands, and everyone gathered around the fireplace: Henric and Edwin the carpenters, Jack the lumberjack, and Alisson Gaveston, artisan, builder, and architect. None of them had ever seen magic before.
“Why would we need a fire in the middle of the day?” Lyrian spat at Keena. “It’s not as if you’d cook something,” he added.
Keena took a deep breath. Then she stood and turned to face Lyrian. He was still taller by a head or two, but it must have made an impact, as Sangit could have sworn he saw Lyrian flinch.
“Fire is sacred,” Keena said in a loud, clear voice. Everyone turned to listen, her sudden confidence compelling. “The flame is our protection. Hence it should always be kept burning.” “And you should stop annoying me!” Keena hissed into Lyrian’s face. Before he could react, she had already signaled him to shut up.
Lyrian smiled and sat down on a barrel to bring himself to eye level with her. “Go on then,” he said, crossing his arms, arching an eyebrow.
Keena knelt back down before the fireplace while everyone else stepped closer to observe. As much as Sangit wanted them to get along, now was not the time to intervene. Keena was in witch mode.
“Anyone talks about this outside these walls, you’re next!” She flicked her bare hands as if throwing invisible dust, in one quick, forceful motion, into the fireplace. A puff of smoke exploded, so big and unexpected that they all jumped back and froze in awe. “Now pay attention,” Keena said. The tension between her and Lyrian had been growing for days, but finally she had the edge on him.
Lyrian had an utter lack of comprehension of anything otherworldly. The only thing magical about him was the amount of food his satchel could hold, and how quickly it would vanish in his mouth. He was solely physical and not easily impressed. But watching Keena now, he was silent.
As the smoke cleared, the logs blackened and began to crackle. Keena closed her eyes and held her hands over the firewood, her fingers stiff and weirdly flexed. As she drew a deep breath, the wood cracked open and set fiercely ablaze. A penetrating warmth filled Sangit’s chest, and all tension in the group loosened, light flooding the premises, changing the gloomy atmosphere into a beautiful one. A few seconds later the sun reached over the top of the walls, painting the morning in still more vibrant shades of gold.
“How do you do it?” Sangit breathed. The rest of the group had quickly lost interest, resuming organizing and puttering around the castle.
Keena sighed. “Just speak the magic words, either aloud or in your mind. You need to focus hard, then you cross over and simply manifest your will.” Her voice was low, her dark eyes narrow, recovering their focus.
“Cross over?”
“Yes.”
His mind raced with questions. “You mean you can go to the other side and come back again?”
“What other side?” said Keena. “Don’t think so shallow!” She closed her eyes and took another unusually deep breath, as if she was about to fabricate another spell. “Look— this is very intricate. It took me years to learn. Magic is all around us. You just enter a different realm when you perform it, the magic realm our ancient brothers called half-light.”
“How do I get there?” Sangit asked.
“You don’t.” Keena opened her eyes again.
“But—”
“Imagine you leave this world for a split second and shift into another one that lies beneath it, or rather deep inside yourself. It feels a bit like dreaming, but it’s not— and you know how much I hate talking about it. I’ve told you many times before.”
Sangit sighed, tired of her secrecy. “We’re at the Castle of Ta, the former epicenter of magic. What in all sympathy are you afraid of?”
“Can’t be too careful.”
By the tone of her voice, Sangit couldn’t safely tell whether he was welcome to dig deeper, or should leave it and run. So he tried a different approach. “I have these dreams… they feel so real, but they’re not. Almost every night. I can’t control them. But I’m sure they’re more than dreams.” He hoped Keena would use this as an opportunity to finally open up. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the flames.
“The girl, I know. The reason we’re here,” she said. “Maybe we should—”
“Be working!” Lyrian said suddenly, standing behind Sangit. “Stop chatting and help me.”
“Go away,” Sangit said. “This is important and private.”
Lyrian rolled his eyes and left.
“What’s his problem?” Keena asked, comforting herself in the warmth of the fire.
“Nothing, he’s the best man we could ever have on our side.”
Now Keena rolled her eyes.
“You’ll see, everything will fall into place,” Sangit added. He wished the others would already share in his enthusiasm, but he was sure they would once they’d settled in. For now, a little discontent was fine.
“You should look after your little sister. We can talk tonight,” Keena said. She patted Sangit on the shoulder and headed off while the work around them continued. The sun had finally reached all corners, and the last of the morning cold was gone.
***
Kiki was still sleeping when Sangit went back to his tent. Gizille had curled up on top her, a grey ball of fur rising and falling with Kiki’s breath. Sangit still thought bringing the cat was pointless, but Kiki didn’t want to leave without him. He had to be glad the journey was finally over.
As she noticed her brother, Kiki turned, almost throwing the cat off the sheets.
“Sorry Gizzly,” she said, rearranging him on her belly. He purred. “Why did we have to come here?” she asked Sangit, visibly tired.
“Because an old friend asked me to. And I’ve told you many times before, I gave him my word. I deeply honor every promise.”
“Kahran, I know.”
“Yes.”
“So it’s real?”
“What is?”
“Magic!” Kiki said. “You haven’t told me anything at all! Not about magic, and not much about Kahran either.”
“You’re way too young to know about those things. Magic is dangerous, and it’s forbidden.” That very moment, Sangit realized, he sounded exactly like Keena, or even like his father. He flushed with shame.
“I’ve seen you trying to do magic many times, I’m not stupid. Tell me the truth. I want to know everything about magic.”
Sangit had never realized his little sister’s interest in witchcraft, nor had he realized how thoroughly she was keeping an eye on him when he thought he was alone. Her curiosity was just as strong as his own. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad to finally include her in his journey of discovery. At least a little. He could use someone to talk to every now and then, after all, and Kiki was getting older.
“Look,” Sangit said. He took a deep breath and sat down next to her. This was a conversation he didn’t expect to have with her for years, but suddenly it was time. “Magic was outlawed a very long time ago. We don’t speak of it— most people don’t even know about it. Back in the day, terrible wars were fought against mages and witches. The Matara vanished and took their knowledge of the craft with them. Only a few scholars still remember, or even dare to show an interest in it. And there are even fewer people who still possess the power of witchcraft. Kahran was one of them. But he too kept it a secret, even from me.”
“Why?” asked Kiki, her blue eyes round with intrigue.
“You know exactly how our father was. He always told us there’s no such thing as magic. He would have banned Brother Kahran from the village had he known. And I would have lost a true friend and my dear mentor. So in a way, I guess Kahran protected me.”
“But you can do magic, can’t you?”
“I can’t do magic,” Sangit laughed. “It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. For years I’ve been gathering just about everything I could get ahold of on magic. And Kahran’s book is my most precious possession. Even though its pages are empty, it’s full of magic, I know it. There’s more behind it. Something we can’t see yet, and maybe never could. It’s not magic we need to fear, but rather those who tried eradicating it.”
“But we’re far from anyone. Why are you afraid?”
“You never know. We can trust no one but our friends. Our presence here could provoke another war. There are things better left alone inside this castle, but I owe it to Kahran to find them.”
At that moment Gizille opened his eyes and stood up, stretching himself.
“Hey Gizzly,” Sangit said, stroking the cat’s head and hoping for a way out of this conversation. To be entirely honest, Sangit didn’t know anything about the war, just what his father always told him: Magic is forbidden. Any attempts to bring the subject up were always shot down. In general, his parents always forced him to forsake his interest in the occult. The only useful information Sangit could acquire were historical studies at the great library of Khedesh Creek, Keena’s home town. She’d always been a kindred spirit to him, the only one who understood his interests.
There was a long pause, then Kiki looked up from underneath the sheets again.
“Keena can do magic, can’t she?”
“How do you know?”
“I heard you arguing about it.”
Sangit shifted his weight. Kiki’s worn-down travel bed was barely able to hold him.
“A very long time ago, there was magic— magic so powerful and beautiful, more than you could imagine. And then the knowledge vanished. Kahran was the last to know, and he guided us here to recover it. Ever since you found that drawing in the old book again, I wanted nothing more than to find her.”
“The girl you love? The one from the book?”
“Yes. Kahran told me, only here the truth reveals itself. And only you can find it.”
“Me?” Kiki’s eyes widened.
“You were the one who found the drawing again. You brought her to me.”
“Well, all I did was browse an old book. All the pages were empty, anyway. All but the one.”
“I looked for 14 years, and I could never find that page again until you opened it. You’re the key, that’s why I brought you with me. Do you believe in magic?”
“I believe in you,” said Kiki. “If you think it’s real, then so do I.” She flung her arms around her brother’s neck and hugged him tenderly. “And I believe in Keena. Why did you argue with her earlier?”
Gizille jumped up and left the tent.
“She said I’m stubborn.” Sangit still was a little hurt.
“Of course you are!” Kiki laughed loud and clear as a bell, and Sangit smiled, his anger melting away. “Can we send a falcon to Grandma Sofie? Let her know we’re finally here? I miss her.”
“Of course we can,” Sangit said.
Kiki took the book out of the chest next to her bed, flicking through the empty pages. That book was even more of a mystery than Kahran and the entire history of witchcraft. It was Sangit’s most precious possession, those bare pages brimming with old magic.
“Did you dream of her again tonight?” asked Kiki, stopping at the one page Sangit could never find on his own, which showed a drawing of a beautiful girl. The girl he was in love with ever since he first saw it. The girl he dreamt of every night.
“I didn’t,” Sangit said. “To be honest, I couldn’t find much sleep at all last night. Way too excited.”
“Then you should sleep tonight,” Kiki said, and shoved her pillow behind Sangit’s head. “I’ll watch over you! You always said I wasn’t old enough to hear the truth, but now I am. It’s about time you tell me the entire story.” Then she closed the book, brushed gently over the leather and looked at her brother with big wide eyes.
Kahran's Cottage
They were all still children on the day of Kahran’s disappearance, long before Kiki was even born. Not even well-behaved ones, but the rebellious and adventurous type, painting the town red whenever possible. The mystic forests of Acaria were their beloved refuge whenever village life became unbearable. One might say Sangit was the worst, but Lyrian was just as bad. They knew every corner, every tree and every canyon. Not a single stone remained unturned when Sangit, Lyrian and the old Wayland’s kids went on a playful quest. Only when Kahran visited the village did they stay in town and listen to his thrilling stories. Sangit’s old man, however, approved of neither the quests nor the storytelling. And so it was extremely rare that Sangit and his best friend Lyrian wouldn’t face proper trouble at the end of the day.
Chancellor Lestin was just as strict as the village landlord, Sangit’s father. Kahran was always the number one point of contention. Even though highly respected by the landlord as a counselor, his contact with the kids was formally unwanted. To them, he was the loving father they’d never had. He taught them things their parents never would have ratified. But then one day, Kahran’s visits ceased, and he never returned. It didn’t take a week until Sangit and Lyrian made the decision to get thoroughly to the bottom of Kahran’s disappearance. Nothing could stop them. Maybe Kahran was sick, maybe he needed help, maybe something had happened to him. They had to find out the truth.
“If your father catches us, we’re done. We’ll be slaughtered,” Lyrian said, barely able to keep up with Sangit on his horse.
“He won’t catch us,” Sangit said, rushing over the bushes along the small trail through the forest.
“I can’t get in any more trouble since that thing at the mill with Aleena.”
“That was epic!” Sangit laughed.
“Shut up! I took the blame for all of us and I’m not going to do that again. Next time you have to cover for yourself. And your little girlfriend. My father would kill me.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“That’s what you think,” Lyrian said, rolling his eyes.
“Still funny though,” Sangit said. They couldn’t help but laugh the more they talked about it.
“Must you ride so fast?” Lyrian cried as Sangit shot ahead.
“You’re such a chicken,” Sangit said, not even sure if Lyrian could hear him. He knew Lyrian hated riding; atop a horse’s back was too high for him. Beside his mediocre riding skills, he was afraid of falling down. Horse riding was the only thing Sangit was better at than Lyrian, and he just had to rub it in his face whenever possible. Lyrian remained silent for the rest of their ride, and it wasn’t long before they’d arrived.
Kahran’s cottage, hidden deep within the forest, looked deserted. Sangit and Lyrian had never seen the old man’s home before, but he had told them quite some stories about it. They had no clue why Kahran lived so far away, like an old hermit. Sangit was sure he had his reasons; maybe he didn’t like the town folk, or maybe he just loved seclusion. They’d always imagined Kahran’s home with smoke coming from the chimney, herbs and flowers growing alongside the exterior. An enchanted haven. But reality was different.
The stone walls were brittle and worn down, everything overgrown by ropes of ivy. Roof tiles were missing, windows broken, raw, rotten beams exposed and weathered. Nobody had lived there for a long time.
Lyrian was just glad to finally get off the horse. He slid down, struggling like an idiot, then took a weird tumble to roll clear of the horse’s hooves. Sangit and Lyrian’s lack of sympathy for one another was quite mutual. Sangit was thoroughly amused and jumped off his own horse elegantly, tying them together.
“Are you sure he lives here? This looks like it was abandoned decades ago,” Lyrian said. He picked up a stone and tossed it towards the wall. The rocks crumbled like wet sand, a gaping hole appearing.
“Stop it!” Sangit cried. “No need to make things worse. Have some respect.” He went straight to the entrance and rattled the lock, but he couldn’t open it. He kicked it in rather easily, the wet wood breaking apart. “Stay here, I’m going in.”
“See if you can find some food,” Lyrian called.
“Unlikely.” Dust from the doorframe fell behind Sangit as he stepped inside.
“I’m hungry,” Lyrian cried after him, but Sangit had already vanished.
The cottage was bigger than it looked from the outside, a myriad of bookshelves paving the walls, all dusty and some decomposing. One book was open on an ornamented stand. The pages were empty. Sangit carefully turned page by page; nothing. Maybe it was the last thing Kahran had been working on, but Sangit couldn’t find a single inscription. Then, as he flicked another page, a drawing emerged. Faint at first, but then the image cleared. It was a drawing of a beautiful young girl.
Just a few lines, a few ink blots, but her face seemed so lifelike. Sangit couldn’t do anything but stare, the image burning itself deep into his mind. He could swear the image was moving, a pulse thrumming beneath the girl’s jaw. There was unspeakable grace and a certain sadness in her eyes, a mysterious and powerful yearning. This must have meant something. Sangit had no doubt that he was destined to find this book.
“I found something,” Sangit called. “We have to take it with us.” The book was leather-bound, and Sangit ran his fingers along the huge brass fittings on its edges.
The more he checked around the cottage, the less he found an explanation for Kahran’s disappearance. On the contrary, the entire place seemed to be proof that no one ever lived there in the first place, at least not for the last few decades. This raised even more questions, and no answers. Except maybe that book.
Sangit tried to lift it from its prominent stand, but it was heavier than he expected. He needed Lyrian.
“Come in here! I need to take this book!”
“What book?” As Lyrian entered, he stirred up much more dust than Sangit had and even hit his head on the doorframe.
“Sometimes I wonder why you’re not afraid of your own height, because I really am.”
“Not funny,” Lyrian mumbled.
“This book. I don’t know what it is, but it feels important.” Sangit browsed through the pages again. “There was something in here, a drawing. It moved, but I can’t find it anymore.”
“You know what I’m afraid of? Your imagination.” Lyrian laughed. To him, this entire place was just a bunch of old crap.
“I need to take this book with me.”
Lyrian closed it and lifted it with one hand. He wanted to say something, but his demonstration of strength spoke for itself. Sangit quickly went through the other rooms, but even if quite a few other books looked interesting, he wasn’t capable of carrying them.
They had no idea as to where Kahran had gone, but Sangit knew he’d left the book behind for him to find. He just knew.
“What’s so special about a book with empty pages?” Lyrian asked, turning the pages.
“The drawing, the drawing of that girl. And now it’s vanished.”
Lyrian chuckled. “Are you in love?”
“Shut up,” Sangit said as he slammed the book shut. A wisp of dust emerged from the pages, and for a moment, a glow encircled the book, small sparks dancing in the air. Sangit froze— it was magic, he just knew it. He reopened the book, but no matter how carefully he turned through the pages, all were empty. The image was still gone.
“What the...”
“What’s wrong?” Lyrian was still smirking.
“The page is gone, the one with the girl.”
“Let me check, you’re probably just blind.” Lyrian skimmed lovelessly through the book, but the pages were as empty to him as they were to Sangit.
“Maybe you annoyed it,” Lyrian said, shutting the book again. He threw it at Sangit, who was stumbled back as he caught it.
“I’m gonna take this with me whether you like it or not.” He tried to cram the book into his bag, but it didn’t even fit halfway.
“Suit yourself,” Lyrian said. “But don’t let your father catch you with some magic book. He’ll take it from you.”
“We’ll make a pact and hide it.” Sangit knew Lyrian hated talking about magic, but this time he didn’t care.
“Okay,” Lyrian said quietly. “If it’s so important to you, you have my support. We’ll hide it. But it better be useful one day.”
From this day on, the old book was the kids’ best-kept secret and most sacred possession.
A few days after Sangit and Lyrian returned home, the villagers paid Kahran their last respects in a beautiful funeral ceremony. Then life went on as normal, with one exception: Sangit would never believe Kahran was really gone, and he could never forget the drawing of the beautiful girl the book had revealed to him. There wouldn’t pass another day where he wouldn’t go through all the book’s pages to see if he could find it again. There wouldn’t pass another day where he didn’t wish he could see Kahran again.
Slowly all of Sangit’s friends lost interest in the book. Eventually, even Sangit’s focus on it faded as he matured and grew closer to Aleena, although their love didn’t last long. When Aleena’s parents left the village due to her mother’s sickness, and Lyrian had started working in the neighboring village, Sangit’s life became quite dull and lonely.
But just a year later, Kiki was born. His little sister.
***
Kiki was ten when their parents died. Sangit never mourned their death as much as everyone expected. Not only did he have to step into his father’s shoes straight away and take over all responsibilities, but he was always closer to Kiki and Grandma Sofie than to his parents. Moreover, Sangit wasn’t good at showing sentiments. His parents had often given him a hard time, maybe too often, for his taste. And even now, the obligations he had to fulfill as new landlord were nothing he’d ever wanted. He hated titles as much as he hated the duties that came with them. His independent and adventurous life was over.
Dozens came to the Haylans’ mansion paying their last respects to their departed landlord and honoring their new one. Another huge funeral service was held at the village, and it took months until things went back to normal again. All that time, Sangit evaded the public as best as he could, spending his time with Kiki and their grandmother.
“You are the Goddamn landlord now, act like it,” Grandma Sofie said. Sangit sat at the kitchen table.
“I don’t care.”
“You’re a grown man now, and your people need you.”
“Give me a couple of days to get my head cleared up,” Sangit mumbled.
Sofie just shook her head, but deep down she sympathized, and Sangit knew she understood his feelings. Besides, she was cooking her famous stuffed cabbage leaves for him, which always cheered him up. He was the landlord now, and he knew damn well he had to act accordingly whether he liked it or not. There was another thing that would have cheered him up— another person, to be specific. But Aleena was far away, and they hadn’t kept in touch for a very long time. He didn’t even know where to find her.
While Sangit ate, he decided he would try to find her. As soon as he finished his meal, he jumped up and climbed the stairs to the attic, where his parents had stowed away his childhood belongings. This would go on for days. Right after breakfast, he would disappear.
“Why are you up here all alone?” Kiki asked one day. She had monitored her brother’s absence closely and finally confronted him. As big as the Haylans’ mansion was, nothing would ever get past Kiki unnoticed. “You’ve been here for days. What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just need to be alone.”
“I know,” said Kiki. “I miss them too, but I don’t want to hide.”
“I wish I could,” said Sangit.
Kiki sat next to him and put her arms around her brother as he was looking through a crate of things from his childhood. A tearing sadness filled him, and the entire world seemed grey.
“What’s in here?” Kiki asked. A wooden box had caught her attention, and she jumped up to draw it closer. “Can I open it?”
Sangit shrugged. “It’s probably old clothes.”
But as Kiki opened it, Sangit remembered. This box had all the sad memories in it; everything about Aleena. The things they collected in the forests together, a leather bracelet she’d made for him, and a beautiful blanket she once gave him to remember her by. It was pale blue, made of artfully woven fine fabric, and it was embroidered with a gold sun, moon, and stars. She’d given it to him the day they parted. After all these years, it still even smelled like her.
Sangit inhaled deeply. “Aleena gave this to me.”
“Who’s Aleena?”
“Someone I miss dearly. She was my childhood love but went away long before you were born. Her mother got ill and the entire family moved to Travandis, seeking help at the cloister gardens. I never saw them again… haven’t heard from her in years.”
“Why not? Have you tried reaching her?”
“At first we sent a falcon every now and then. It was hard for us. But eventually our contact slowly broke off. I guess she moved on, and so did I. You can keep the blanket if you want. It’s cozy.”
“So sad,” Kiki said. “I’ll happily take care of it. And if you ever want to remember her, we can get under it together.”
Although Kiki was old enough to have her own room, they often slept in the same bed, tucked underneath a shared blanket, especially since their parent’s death. Sometimes being alone was still unbearable for Sangit, especially at night, and Kiki felt the same.
“What’s in those other boxes?” Kiki asked. After getting such a beautiful present, she wanted to know whether all the other boxes held similar treasures. “This one looks dangerous.” Underneath a bunch of lambskins, which Kiki quickly pulled down to sit on, there was a huge wooden chest with a compass rose inlay on top.
“I haven’t seen this for a long time,” Sangit mused as he opened it. One item in particular immediately caught Kiki’s attention: An old leather-bound book. The very same book they’d once found in Kahran’s cottage.
Apart from that, there were a lot of scrolls and scripts, countless vials with herbs, resins, and dried flowers in them, and a couple of magical utensils. But those didn’t interest Kiki at all. She took the book and opened it.
“Is this Aleena? She is beautiful!” Kiki said. Her words hit Sangit right in the face, and he jumped up. It couldn’t be Aleena. Kiki had found the drawing he’d searched for all those years.
“What did you do? How did you— ?” Sangit’s voice fluttered. “How is this possible? The pages were all empty. I’ve been trying to find this drawing for years. I saw it once, then it vanished.”
“I didn’t do anything. I just opened it. If she’s not Aleena, who is she?”
“We don’t know. Lyrian and I found this at Kahran’s old hut after he had passed away. It must be some magic book, I guess, only revealing what it wants to. But we could never find out who she was. She’s captivating, isn’t she?”
Kiki and Sangit stared at the drawing for a long time. Finally, Kiki looked up at him again.
“She is. Who’s Kahran?”
Sangit didn’t know how to explain. “An old friend… a very old friend. He was a father to me whenever ours wasn’t.” Sangit paused. He didn’t want to hurt Kiki’s feelings. “He was the last of the Matara, a master of magic, from an old secret brotherhood.” Sangit was sure she wouldn’t understand.
“I thought there was no magic anymore.”
“But there once was. When Lyrian and I were little kids, we wanted to discover its secrets. We thought this book would help us. It seemed like a key to lost knowledge, but it never revealed anything. Until you opened it again.”
“Maybe I’m magic,” Kiki said with a broad smile.
“That you are.” Sangit reached toward the book. “May I?”
Kiki carefully handed him the book, hoping the drawing wouldn’t vanish again. Sangit touched the page, and the drawing remained. His heart pounded as he looked down at the lines that made up that familiar face. It looked just the way he remembered, and it showed no signs of disappearing.
“I saw this only once before and never managed to make her appear again. I must have looked a thousand times. Eventually, I moved on.”
“Well now it’s there again. What do you think this means?”
“It means you’re a genius, little girl!” Sangit laughed, tracing the contours of the drawing with his fingers on the rough old paper. “I always loved her, and I always wondered who she really was.”
“If you loved her, then you should probably never forget about her ever again,” Kiki said with an irresistible smile. Sometimes she was smarter than Sangit, especially emotionally.
“I never will,” Sangit said and hugged her.
“Maybe you’ll dream of her tonight,” Kiki said. “Maybe she’ll take your mind off things. Would do you good!”
A little distraction and a soothing dream were more than he could wish for at the moment.
“Don’t leave it up here, put it on your writing desk,” Kiki suggested.
“Okay, I will.”
Kiki took her blanket, and Sangit the old book. He didn’t dare shut it, so his descent from the attic was a little shaky, but with his sister’s help he managed.
In the evening, the drawing was still visible. Sangit had spent the whole afternoon staring at it, and as he went to bed, the image had already burnt itself into his memory as deeply as it could. Kiki was with him, tucked in tightly under her beautiful new blanket. Sangit’s bed was massive, and his huge feather mattress would easily fit three or more. He tossed and turned a lot, so all the space was helpful. Sangit’s bed was one of his favorite places in the world, his sanctuary after an exhausting day.
Kiki had already fallen asleep as Sangit finally closed his eyes. His mind wandered back to the day when he first saw the drawing, and he recalled the feeling of excitement that flushed through him back then. Questions came up again. Who was that girl? Why was he so enchanted by her? And how could Kiki possibly bump into it so easily? How could he ever have forgotten about the girl? The only thing he came up with was Aleena. As they became closer, magic played less and less a role in Sangit’s life. Today, however, he had found his way back to his past. And what a profound and wonderful day it was. Sangit could barely hold his thoughts together until finally, dragged under by exhaustion, he fell asleep.
It felt as if only seconds had passed when a strange and soothing warmth spread in Sangit’s chest. He was already far away and dreaming. The images were vague and fleeting, but what he dreamt would change his life forever.
Giant rose bushes grew around an old stone well in the midst of a castle’s garden. It felt incredibly familiar, though Sangit had never seen this place before. Big white foulards hung from trees and arches, slowly waving in the wind and casting beautiful half-shade. It looked as if someone had decorated them just for this occasion. But one thing really caught Sangit’s attention. It wasn’t the captivating beauty of the setting. It was the girl who sat directly on the edge of the well, her head bowed, lost deep in thought. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, down to her knees. Her white dress floated weightlessly around her soft figure as if moved by magic.
Sangit was mesmerized. He had seen many girls before, but none of them as beautiful and ravishing as this one. She didn’t look at him, nor did she even note his presence. But then it came to him: She wasn’t someone random. She was the mysterious girl from the drawing. Sangit could even feel it, the same obsession he’d felt all those years ago, but this time it felt a thousand times stronger and a thousand times more real. In fact, the feeling was so overwhelming he could barely breathe.
Sangit wanted to move closer, to say something, to do anything, no matter what, to catch the girl’s attention, but he was motionless. However hard he tried, he couldn’t get control over this dream. Once again all the old questions shot through Sangit’s head. Who was she? What was her name? Why did he even dream of her at all? Unfortunately, all those questions would remain unanswered. That’s just the way it is with dreams. The more you try to think about them, the faster they vanish.
Everything faded back to black. The only thing remaining was the warm feeling in his chest and some lingering butterflies in his stomach. And what was even worse: From then on every single night, the dreams repeated, and always went the same. Out of the corner of his eye Sangit would see the beautiful castle, and there was always that strong sense of familiarity, that would never leave him.
***
Winter was hard that year. The nights were cozy, but the days unpleasant, cold, and lonely. As much as Sangit wanted to go out, Grandma Sofie wouldn’t let him. The freezing cold forced them to stay inside the Haylans’ mansion. It would be dangerous and stupid to leave the house in raging snowstorms. But winter had a joyful side: the festival of Yule was close. Kiki and Sofie had prepared a feast with lots of food, plenty of firewood and ample stock of everything they needed to survive the winter. There was Grandma Sofie’s famous roast, simmering over the kitchen fireplace since early morning, filling the house with the delicious smell of meat and spices.
“Four plates? Are you expecting company?” Sangit asked as she set the table.
“I am,” Sofie said. “You’ll see in a while. Don’t be so nosy.”
Sangit gave her a doubtful look. Who would be dumb enough to come out here and freeze themselves to death along the way? Even the mansion’s staff had stayed home these last few days. Had she asked Lyrian to come over? She couldn’t have, as he was with his family in Thistle. But who else could be joining their Yule celebrations? The curiosity plagued him, but Sangit wouldn’t harm the contemplative calmness of the day.
“Don’t stuff yourself before dinner,” he said to Kiki, who was nibbling on a bowl of smelted siffle nuts. As much as Sangit wanted a piece of that delicious roast, according to Sofie, he had to wait until evening, landlord or not.
He and Kiki were bored. There wasn’t much to do; Sofie was on the top of things and wouldn’t accept any help.
“I dreamt again last night,” Sangit said, sitting down next to Kiki. “Same thing as the last ten days.”
“I wish I could dream of her too. I wonder how she looks for real.” Kiki stuffed another siffle nut into her tiny mouth, the juice smeared all the way up to her ears.
“You’d love her. But what I wonder is why I dream the same damn thing every single night. I didn’t use to dream before at all. I like it though. The dream is like my sanctuary now. I just wish it would evolve and finally reveal more.”
“Maybe you need to be more patient. Or maybe we just have to study the old book again.” Her sharpness once again impressed him. Sangit always appreciated Kiki’s judgment.
“We will tonight. I promise,” Sangit said and kissed his sister on the sticky cheeks. He didn’t really like the taste of siffle nuts, but he loved Kiki above all.
Until the evening came, any of Sangit’s attempts to sneak into the kitchen failed miserably. No matter how hard he begged, Sofie wouldn’t let him have a piece of the roast before it was ready. Sangit gradually grew more restless and grumpy. Kiki, however, had a big laugh, watching gleefully.
Then Sangit had an idea to distract himself, something to help him pass the time: Creating a good incense mixture for the evening. Sangit loved working with oils, herbs, resins, roots and dried flowers. He had quite a lot of them stowed away in his chambers, stuffed in countless bottles, flasks and jars. He’d collected all of them during the past few years. Those were the things his father hated. Lord Haylan often threw away things seized from Sangit’s cabinet; mostly things he didn’t understand or deem legitimate, mature or at least useful. There was another thought about his father that annoyed Sangit. Another reason for distraction.
Sangit opened his recipe notebook. For a good blend of Yule incense, he needed mugwort, pine resin and cedar, dried mistletoe, laurel and cinnamon. After carefully grinding
everything in a big brass mortar, he added juniper berries and rosemary, as well as a few drops of various essential oils. Delicious festive smells spread from the vessel, and he smiled, already soothed. Sangit poured the entire mixture into a glass jar, put a stopper in it and went downstairs again.
Sofie was in defensive mode. As soon as Sangit came into the kitchen, she jumped between him and the fireplace, the sweet roast dripping right behind her.
“I just wanted a piece of ember for my incense,” he said. He used a pair of iron tongs to pluck an ember under Sofie’s watchful eye. Had his father seen him taking embers from the stove, he’d have killed him. Another thought Sangit could live without.
“What are you doing?” Kiki asked when Sangit entered the hallway, carefully carrying the glowing coal in front of him.
“It’s time to burn some herbs,” he said. “Might calm me down!”
He put the glowing piece of coal on an old plate right in the middle of the parlor table. Then he sat down and carefully spooned a small amount of the incense powder on the glowing ember. Immediately the mixture sizzled quietly and went up into a soft swirl of smoke, filling the room, then the hallway, and a few minutes later the entire mansion. The scent was mystical and soothing. Strong a first, but then it spread nicely. It smelled like a bonfire in the forest, yet lighter and sweeter. The fumes would cleanse the house and welcome the good energies of Yule. And they would make Sangit forget for a moment about all the times he dreamt about magic and the unknown girl.
Kiki was enchanted by the scent. Her giggling seized and she looked smitten, staring at the smoke. She didn’t say a word, fanning the smoke towards her face. She had just purified herself with magical incense, all without even knowing. For a second, Sangit saw a magic sparkle in her eyes. He smiled with pride, then quickly went to get the book as he’d promised.
Night had long fallen, and Kiki and her brother indulged deeply in the old book. It was their favorite thing to do since Kiki found the drawing. They both went through every page, hoping to find more information. Squinting hard at the blank white paper. Turning it in the light. Suddenly someone was knocking loudly at the door downstairs. Sangit looked up, startled. Who would be out this late in such a dreadful winter storm?
He went to the hallway, but Sofie turned up right behind him, shoving him out of the way.
“Hey!”
“Don’t be nosy.”
Sangit followed her downstairs. As she opened the front door, a tall girl stood in the dim light, wrapped in a furry coat and covered in snow. Cold air rushed into the house around her. Her breath was visible, and there were tiny icicles around her collar. Sangit shivered.
“Come in, come in. You must be frozen stiff,” Sofie said, pulling the girl inside and shutting the door quickly. A good amount of snow had blown inside, and as Kiki came downstairs she tried to catch the falling flakes on her tongue, but they’d already thawed.
“Everyone, this is Keena!” Sofie announced.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Sangit said with a polite nod.
“The honor is all mine, My Lord,” Keena said through chattering teeth. “I must say, I’m quite relieved I’ve finally made it. That was some journey!” Then she turned to Sofie and they fell into each other’s arms.
Sangit frowned. Hearing her call him “Lord” displeased him. He wasn’t used to his new title yet, and in his home, no one called him that.
“It’s Sangit,” he said. “Just Sangit, please.”
Keena let go of Sofie. They smiled as if they were old friends, though Sangit had never seen Keena before.
“How do you know each other?” he asked.
Sofie laughed, closing her eyes. “Hang on,” she said, reaching for Keena’s coat. She gestured for Sangit and Kiki to go on upstairs while she took care of Keena’s coat and baggage.
“Well,” Keena said, “If you must know—”
“He must not!” Sofie shouted. “Come, let’s all sit down and eat. We can talk later. You must be starving, Keena. Sangit, let the girl rest!”
Moments later, Sofie finally brought the roast out. The platter didn’t even fit into the space left on the table. Sangit had to clear away his incense to make room for a few smaller bowls of cabbage, carrots and parsnips, as well as a hot loaf of freshly baked pandemain.
Keena, though clearly tired, dug in right away, ripping a huge chunk off the roast. Sangit looked up at Sofie, who shot him a cutting look, no words required. Keena likely hadn’t eaten for a while— but neither had Sangit.
“Enjoy your meal,” he said to everyone at the table, then smiled at Sofie. “Thank you for making it.”
It didn’t take long for all the plates to fill and then empty. Every now and then Sangit peered curiously at Keena. After everyone was full, Sofie and Kiki cleared the table and brought the dishes to the kitchen, leaving Sangit and Keena alone. Keena instantly reached across the table and grabbed Sangit’s collar, pulling him close.
“Look, you don’t know me— yet. But we both had a common friend, and I came all the way from Khedesh Creek— just to see you.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Sangit said, freeing himself from her grasp and rubbing his bloated belly. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
“Can I trust you?” Keena asked, her eyes intense. “I never trusted anyone with this, so I need to know if I can really trust you.”
“Why? I mean sure, of course you can, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never even met.”
“Look closely!” Keena raised her arms and held her hands in front of him with her palms close together but not touching. Then Sangit felt a strange sensation; something had changed. Before he could say a word, a force beyond his comprehension struck him. Warm, powerful and fulfilling, yet unfamiliar and overwhelming.
As Keena closed her eyes, her arms began to tremble, and then a light emerged between her palms so bright Sangit had to close his eyes. But he could still see it through his eyelids as clearly as before. It didn’t bother him, though; on the contrary, the light stirred a multitude of different emotions at once— hope, sadness, boundless desire. Superiority and might. Love. Then it went dark and cold again. As quickly as it came, the light was gone. Sangit blinked.
“What did you do? What was that?” Sangit struggled to catch his breath.
“Magic,” Keena said bluntly. “The power you’ve been looking for your entire life. I learned it once, at least a little. But you can never tell a soul. You have to promise!”
“But what…”
“Promise!” Keena hissed, her eyes cutting Sangit.
“Okay, I promise! But how did you do that? Where did you learn to—”
“You ask too many questions. It’s nothing I’m proud of, or at least nothing I ever thought I should be proud of, at least not for a very long time. But times keep changing.”
Sangit shook his head. The house was quiet now, Sofie and Kiki having gone to bed. “Can you even imagine how long I tried to find real magic? To prove it once existed? How did you learn it? Please, I need to know!”
“Why would you even look for such old skills? Witchcraft has always been forbidden and it’s long forgotten.”
“It’s not forgotten. Not for me. I had an old friend telling me about it when I was little. But he’s gone.”
Keena raised an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe a word of what Sangit was saying. But then it came to Sangit as clear as a mountain lake.
“You said we had a common friend. It’s Kahran, isn’t it?”
Keena looked staggered, creasing her brow. “Indeed.”
“You really knew him? Did you learn this spell from him?” Sangit blurted out.
“Yes,” she said softly. Then she looked down with sudden sadness. “Once again, no one can know, and I mean it!” Keena looked very strictly at him, the sadness turned back to seriousness; a threat, even. While Sangit stared back into her deep brown eyes, he noticed that even though he’d never seen her before, she seemed somehow familiar. He felt like he could trust her, although moments ago she was nothing more than an annoying stranger. Maybe his grandmother had her reasons to bring them together.
“I need to show you something.” Sangit jumped up and seconds later returned with Kahran’s book. “Have you seen this before?”
“Where did you get this?” Keena’s eyes widened.
“Found it in Kahran’s cottage as a kid, few days after he vanished.”
“Can I?” Keena reached for the book. Every bone in Sangit’s body wanted to say no, but if Keena possessed magic, then maybe the book would give out further information in her hands, so he handed it over and slid closer to observe. But all pages were empty again.
“It’s a great book of empty pages,” Keena said. “But if Kahran left this for you, it must be important. Too bad he’s dead and we can’t ask him.”
Anger flashed in Sangit’s chest. Why would Keena assume Kahran was dead? Did she know something Sangit didn’t? Did she have proof? Or did she simply assume he passed away after he disappeared?
Suddenly a new soulmate had appeared for Sangit, a person with whom he could share his thoughts on magic. Someone who knew Kahran on a level Lyrian and all the others never did. But Sangit was afraid to ask her more questions. He was convinced Kahran was still alive, and nothing would destroy his hopes— not even someone who knew magic.
A New Home
“Okay, enough stories,” Sangit said, clapping his hands together. “Time to get moving. It’s almost noon!”
“Oh, please continue!” Kiki begged, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “What else did Keena tell you that night? When did you become friends?”
“Another time, love.” He lowered his voice, “Everyone’s mad I’m not helping.”
“I reckon.” Kiki covered her mouth and giggled. They were still sitting together in the tent, and Kiki was still covered in her blankets.
“My Lorrrd!” came Lyrian’s voice from outside.
“Told you,” Sangit whispered to Kiki. “I’ll be right there!”
“My fault,” Kiki called, grinning. “I ask too many questions. My brother never tells me anything.”
“His fault then, is it?” Lyrian stepped inside, a large leather satchel strung over his shoulder and an axe fixed to his belt. His looming frame barely fit through the entrance of the tent; he ducked awkwardly beneath the hanging lanterns like a bull in a china shop. “Come along! There are some things I must show you.”
As Sangit stood and brushed off his pants, Lyrian took a red apple from his pocket and ate it as quickly as a horse. Kiki giggled.
“What?” Lyrian snapped.
Sangit turned to exchange a knowing grin with her before leaving the tent. “Come on, what is it you so desperately need my attention for?”
“We have to check the premises and map everything out,” Lyrian shoved aside the tent flaps with one massive sweep of his arm. “You brought me here to keep you safe, and that’s what I’ll do. Now, the tour commences.”
Sangit faltered. “A tour of everything? That must be over a thousand paces!”
“Far more. Unless you want to stay and help carry the crates in instead, that is…” Lyrian left the suggestion suspended in the air, carefully watching Sangit’s reaction.
“Fine,” Sangit sighed, “let’s walk.”
“If there’s major damage to the outer walls, we need to fix it quickly.” Lyrian tossed the leather satchel at Sangit’s feet. It landed in the mud with an audible slap! “Some ropes, parchment, charcoal, tools and provisions. You’ll need it.” Then he handed over a huge knife in a half-rotten leather sheath.
Sangit frowned. “What’s this for?”
Lyrian smiled broadly. “Enemies, of course. Well, mainly vines, rats, and spiders. Now come along.”
“May I come too?” Kiki asked, standing outside the tent in her nightgown. “I want to see the castle.”
Sangit shook his head. “Stay with Keena. She’ll show you everything you need to know.” Kiki sulked back inside, and Sangit glimpsed Lyrian rolling his eyes.
Sangit knew Kiki’s presence here would complicate things. Lyrian had expressed his disapproval—he questioned how they could care for a child in these dangerous ruins. But Sangit was her big brother; her only family. And she was all he had. He needed her at his side.
“Let’s walk along the perimeter first,” Lyrian said, heading straight for the main gate. The ancient wood squeaked and groaned as they pushed the heavy gate open. It was the height of three people, with beautifully ornamented details and bulky metal fittings, all stained and blackened by the passage of time. One man alone was barely able to move it, let alone Lyrian. The lock was damaged from their elaborate break-in last night. To open it, Lyrian had to scale the walls and lever out the locks from the inside. It took much longer than anticipated, and Lyrian seemed still embarrassed about the destruction he had caused. When Sangit raised his eyebrows at the damage, Lyrian threw him his stern don’t-you-dare-talk-about-it look and Sangit walked ahead, chuckling.
“Are you sure anyone would come up here? This place has been deserted for decades,” Sangit said, still not convinced of the need for this inspection.
“Word spreads quickly. Others will come, and they won’t necessarily come to help us. We have no guards, no watch, no army. How are we going to defend ourselves? With magic?” Lyrian laughed.
“As long as no one knows we’re here, there’s nothing to defend.”
“Still, we’ll need more people. The Firths have offered to bring about twenty good craftsmen and mercenaries in a day or two, as soon as you give the order.”
“But can we trust them? I’ll have to think about it,” Sangit said.
It was only a short climb down to the bottom of the castle walls. But the flanks of bedrock were steep, and only a narrow path led along the outside walls, barely wide enough to walk on. Lyrian looked less than thrilled, but he did not complain.
“Give them the order,” he said, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. “If one of them is devious, I’ll kill him personally. Slowly,” he added with a wicked laugh. But Sangit knew his friend was softer than he let on.
“Very well then. Edwin and Henric have always been nothing but faithful. If they have men they trust, then so do I,” Sangit decided.
A myriad of bushes, vines and trees grew sideways out of the slope, so at least there was plenty to hold onto as they marched carefully along.
As they walked, Sangit noticed the massive foundation of the castle looked surprisingly intact. No one could penetrate those walls, nor climb them unnoticed. But between the base of the main tower and the second buttress, a few stones had collapsed, forming a crevice large enough for someone to squeeze through—at least in theory. Those walls were closest to the water, and constant spray had washed away the mortar.
“That’ll need mending,” Lyrian said. “But otherwise I’m impressed. What a well-built structure.”
Old trees loomed high above, and tiny rays of midday sun hit the bottom of the clear mountain stream running along the terraced ravine in pools and waterfalls. Farther away, a small wooden suspension bridge led to the other side. The smell of wet rocks, moss, black mint and blossoming lamiana flowers wafted in the breeze. This was a place of pure tranquility, perfectly hidden from the outside.
“I wonder where the bridge leads,” Sangit said. “No way to cross that stream from here.” On a small roll of parchment, Sangit tried to map out the layout as precisely as possible, marking all the spots that needed fixing.
“Enough doodling. Let’s move,” Lyrian urged.
It was a long march until they reached the end of the path, traversing chasms, boulders and fallen trees until the mountain rose before them, feeding the stream from a tall waterfall. The backside of the castle was built straight into the massive mountain rock, towering above them. Only three sides of the castle were exposed. As they turned back, Lyrian stumbled over something.
“What in all hell is this?” He pointed at the ground as Sangit approached, stuffing a bunch of weeds into his satchel.
Half buried in the ground, overgrown by moss, a broken gargoyle lay at their feet. Many similar gargoyles were mounted on the edges of the castle high above them; one must have fallen.
Sangit bent to touch the grimy sculpture. “What a lovely relic for my collection back home.”
“Don’t even think about it. It’s far too heavy, and I’m not carrying it. Besides, this is our home now.” Lyrian pointed at the castle with his eyebrows raised, and Sangit nodded.
“Do you think she lived here?” Sangit asked as they walked on.
“Who?”
“The girl from my dream, of course—” Sangit began, but then quickly realized Lyrian knew exactly what he meant.
Lyrian was smiling. “Well, if she did, it must have been long ago.”
“Indeed, the castle looks quite different in my dreams. I wonder—”
“Relax.” Lyrian stopped and turned, putting his hand on Sangit’s shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can. We’ll find the truth. No need to worry all the time—a little patience, yes?”
“All right.” With all the nagging going on, it felt good to hear that they still stood by him and took their assignment seriously. “Great warlocks built this. We’ve got big shoes to fill.”
“Big shoes I have.” Lyrian smiled, patting Sangit on the shoulder once again. “We’ll manage, trust me. Besides, I already love this place! Couldn’t be happier.” He looked up at the giant walls, and so did Sangit. Standing this close, the castle looked even more magnificent.
Striding back at an easy pace, Sangit remembered how a few months ago he had to persuade them to join him at the castle. He’d been forced to pull quite a few strings and call upon a lot of favors to ensure their getaway. Hearing Lyrian say he was happy really meant a lot.
“I’m glad you like it,” Sangit said.
“How could I not? I mean, just look at it. This structure is magnificent, and I can only imagine what secrets it holds. The more I look around, the more I feel at home. The fortifications are formidable and in outstanding shape. I just don’t understand why no one lives here anymore. As you said, this was built to last forever. We need to memorize every corner and secret passageway and we’ll be kings of the land.”
“No one dares live here because they all fear magic. A few tried, but no one lasted long. I think the castle has a mind of its own, and we should be very deeply honored to be welcome and accepted.”
Lyrian raised a brow. “How do you know we are?”
“We’ve been summoned by the last Matara,” Sangit said. The fact that Kahran himself bid them to come here was by far the biggest blessing he could have hoped for.
“I thought the Matara were just fairytale.”
“They’re not. How many times must I tell you?”
Lyrian shrugged. “Until I see proof.”
“Haven’t you seen enough?”
But Lyrian didn’t answer. Soon they reached the gatehouse and climbed onto the proper walkway back inside.
“I need to see that door over the ravine from the other side,” Lyrian said, heading straight across the yard. Sangit ran after him. Keena had a big pot on the fire, cooking stew. Kiki was helping, Gizille sneaking around her feet.
Past the great hall, dormitories and kitchen house, a small arch led to another colonnade, and with a few flings of his sword, Lyrian had cut it free and climbed over the remaining bushes. It must have been the castle’s gardens, now wild with various species of plants. Lyrian plucked a pear from one of the large trees and ate it. The branches, heavy with fruit, hung so low they almost touched the ground.
Towering before them at the end of the colonnades was the inside of the great outer wall, and there it was, the little iron door, held shut with a beautifully carved lock bar. Lyrian opened it, and in rushed the lush sound of flowing water.
“I’ll be damned,” Lyrian muttered.
The moment they stepped through the door, they were met with an incredible sight. In dappled shade and sunlight, small mossy stairs led down to the wooden bridge they’d seen before.
Before Sangit could utter words of caution, Lyrian ran down the steps and jumped onto the bridge. To Sangit’s amazement, the wet wood didn’t fail under his weight. On the other side, some more steep stairs led back up the slope.
Lyrian moved carefully across the slick planks, the entire bridge shuddering. The wood creaked loudly. Sangit followed, his heart pounding—not really from the bridge, but because he was beginning to realize this must have been a very special place. And there it was, as they reached the other side and climbed the last few steps.
“This is it,” Sangit breathed. “This is the place where lightning struck, parting the mountain—it’s not just a ravine. This is where magic is strongest, the border between worlds.”
“You know I don’t believe—”
But Lyrian stopped short when he saw the view. A giant ledge jutted out like a secret plateau right behind the trees. A short length up the ledge stood another broad stone tower, apart from the actual castle. No visible path led up to it. Next to the tower, the plateau was surrounded only by steep mountain, and on the other side was a deep brink into nowhere. But the view over the forests was breathtaking. A huge circle of standing stones and an altar had been erected in the midst, wildly overgrown by thorny bushes. This must have been the secret ritual place of the Matara. Sangit had always known it existed, but he never thought it would be this big. He assumed it was somewhere within the castle—in the great hall or the dungeons.
Sangit got goosebumps as he stepped forth. Lyrian stayed behind.
“We have to show Keena,” Sangit said.
But Keena was already standing behind them, followed by Kiki. “Stew’s ready!” Kiki called, startling them.
As Keena stepped through the trees, she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening on the scene before her. Then she quickly knelt and bowed her head. “The holy ritual ground. You’ve found it.”
“Yes,” Sangit said, running his finger over the altar. He hoped to feel something, but it was just a block of stone. No tingling, no shivers up his spine. No magic.
“It hasn’t been used for centuries,” Keena said, reading the disappointment in his face.
“It’s beautiful!” Kiki blurted out, jumping over the thicket to the standing stones. “Just needs a little weeding.”
“Be careful of the edge, it’s a long way down,” Sangit said. “Anyhow, let’s go eat. We have many more areas to map before we can start to work on them.”
Keena stood, her eyes focused dreamily on the ritual ground.
Back at camp, Sangit put his notebook on the old wooden table, made from a tree trunk cut lengthways. A beautiful place to rest and relax, beside the well in the great courtyard.
“Eat,” Lyrian said. He smacked a wooden bowl with roasted meat and stew in front of Sangit so harshly that some stew sloshed out. Then Lyrian sat next to him, placing an even bigger bowl in front of himself. Before Sangit could thank him, Lyrian began devouring the stew. He did not even chew.
“Sometimes,” he said, stew dripping from the corners of his mouth, “I really wonder how you made this happen.”
“Made what happen?” Sangit asked, sipping his first spoonful.
“Made us all come here.”
As Sangit gazed out at all his friends laughing, he realized he was eating the very first meal they’d ever made at the castle. He smelled the earth, the wood, the fireplace, the boiling pot of stew. Paired with the rush of exploration and Lyrian’s approval and delight, it all came together perfectly. He really was home.
“How bad is it?” Keena asked as she ate.
“Not half as bad as I expected,” Lyrian said with his mouth full. “The walls are strong, but most of the inner buildings need a lot of woodwork. Many of the roofs are ruined, and we need far more men than we have at hand to fix them.”
“It’s just a little bigger than at home,” Sangit said. His own mansion had always been quite an eyeful, but the Castle of Ta was something else entirely. Giant walls, hidden passageways, a ravine crossing the entire premises, old occult ornaments and secrets to discover everywhere. He could feel the magic just by standing in its midst.
“Would you leave me the gardens?” Keena asked.
“Of course,” Sangit smiled. “They’re yours.”
Lyrian rolled his eyes, and Sangit kicked him in the shin from under the table. Lyrian would be the first to stuff his mouth with anything that grew there; no need to mock a castle garden if Keena offered to tend it. Besides, Kiki loved to help with gardening as well.
***
After the meal, Lyrian suggested they scavenge through the main castle buildings, especially downstairs in the vaults. “Hold these,” he said, handing Sangit two large torches and a lantern. “We’ll need them.” Then he shoved away a couple of crates blocking the cellar door.
Sangit’s heart pounded with excitement. Who knew what was down there? Whatever it was, it would be all theirs. Maybe they would even stumble upon the remains of former warlocks.
“Watch your step,” Lyrian said, pushing open the door underneath the main staircase.
Broad stairs led down just half a floor to a moist spiral staircase, only wide enough to walk single file. The air was full of dust and spiderwebs and darkness. Lyrian went first, carrying a lantern. Sangit followed with one hand on the wall to steady himself, carrying the torches under his other arm and holding his swaying lantern as securely as he could. The light flickered unevenly as they descended.
“For fuck’s sake, I hate those,” Lyrian growled as his face caught a cobweb. Sangit grinned; with Lyrian leading the way, he avoided the worst of them.
The stairs ended at a long, high corridor. Lyrian wiped the spiderwebs out of his face and cleared away those still in front of him with one of the torches. Then he held it up to get a better view. The vaulted ceiling was unusually high. There were tall pointed doors on every side of the corridor.
A stale, musty scent filled Sangit’s nose, the familiar smell of old vaulted cellars, much like at home. Lyrian slid one of the torches into a holder on the wall, but the far end of the hall disappeared into darkness. Sangit wondered where it led to, but Lyrian had already pushed open one of the doors, entering a chamber. The hinges had rusted away and the wooden door hung loosely for a moment before crashing to the stone floor, breaking apart and raising a cloud of dust. The noise echoed endlessly in the hallway. The room was completely empty. Lyrian mumbled under his breath, disappointed.
The echo hadn’t silenced before he threw himself against another door on the opposite side of the hall. Another fallen door and empty room. More mumbling.
The third door didn’t give away so easily, but in the end, it too fell victim to Lyrian’s brute force and slammed open. This room was full of earthen pots and kegs, some sealed with wax and leather, all lined up on a wooden shelf, sorted by size and wrapped in dust and spiderwebs. In the middle of the room was a huge stone table and a broken tower furnace. A long stone basin lined the fourth wall, covered in an unidentifiable sticky residue. Small shafts at the ceiling delivered tiny patches of daylight.
“Disgusting,” Lyrian said.
“Go ahead, open it,” Sangit said, referring to the big clay pot in front of Lyrian.
“No. I don’t need anything to jump out at me. You do it.”
“Could be all sorts of reagents.” Sangit realized this room had been an alchemist’s laboratory.
“What’s a reagent?” Lyrian asked, taking a good step back.
“Alchemical substances. Quite dangerous, but very useful.”
“Dangerous?” Lyrian’s face paled.
“Useful!”
“For what?”
“For me and Keena. There could be pure poison in any one of these jars, but some might contain things that could be helpful in our efforts.” Sangit cut open the old leather lid with the knife Lyrian had given him. A pungent smell of brimstone hit his nose, and he smiled. “Exactly what I thought.”
Lyrian turned away as Sangit opened another jar. “Bluestone. They were well equipped down here,” he said.
“Let’s move on,” Lyrian said. But Sangit remained. He heard Lyrian push open another door, then another.
“This is more like it!” echoed Lyrian’s voice through the hallway. Sangit put down the pot and went looking. Farther down the hall, the open chamber was full of barrels, casks and chests stacked up to the ceiling. Food. Lyrian had already lit the room with his remaining torch. Some sections of the floor went further down some steps, others went up a few, turning the open space into a labyrinth with different levels. In the far corner the ceiling had a huge trap door, with no stairs or ladder to reach it.
“We must be right underneath the kitchen. That’s quite some storage room,” Sangit said.
“Is any of this still good?” Lyrian jumped up the first platform and ripped open a crate. “Oats! And wheat over here. Tons of it. Unspoilt!” He crouched over one of the upright barrels and ran his hand through the grains, then dipped his head to smell. “Mmm.”
“You’ll be happy with these,” Sangit said, tapping one of the smaller barrels in front of him. “Very old wine and spirits, still full. The castle’s finest, I’d wager.”
“I’ll be damned! Give me an hour and I’ll turn this room into a charming tavern cellar,” Lyrian said. “A table there, and a few stools—”
“We’ve more pressing things to do than build a tavern! We can always take a keg upstairs. Have Henric make a ladder and bring all our supplies down here. It’s cold and dry, perfect for storage. And hang a few more lanterns. Let’s check the rest, then get Keena.” Sangit grabbed his lantern and walked off into the darkness of the hallway, past an open metal gate.
The further they walked, the more the floor declined downhill and the walls transitioned into solid rock, with occasional bricks to fill the voids or stabilize the overhanging rocks. They eventually entered a giant cavern below the castle, deep inside the mountain. A cool, moist draft blew through their hair. In the dim light, Sangit was unable to determine the full extent of the cavern. Seemed like a whole bunch of nothingness. But as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he suddenly stopped.
“What?” Lyrian asked. Then he looked down, already petrified.
At their feet was a bottomless pit. High cliffs and chasms lay ahead, and distant dripping noises hinted at groundwater far below. Shreds of rope and pieces of chain bridges hung loosely from the cavern walls, descending into the blackness. This was an obvious dead end. Without another word, Lyrian slowly turned and they both walked back out, as quickly as they could.
“What is it?” Keena asked as the two finally emerged. “What did you find?”
“I’ll need a minute.” Lyrian sat by the fire, taking measured breaths.
“We went down to the cistern, as far below the castle as we could,” Sangit said, ruffling the moisture from his hair. “The basement’s quite elaborate—an alchemy laboratory, giant storage rooms. And there’s an endless, impassable cavern even lower. Steep depths.”
“I see,” Keena said. For a moment Sangit thought she’d use the cue to mock Lyrian for his fear of heights, but she didn’t.
“Make sure no one ever goes down there. I want that gate locked at all times.” Sangit said. Keena nodded and went off to pass his orders to the Firths.
As the sun went down, it was time for everyone to move into their chambers. Lyrian had already picked the one closest to the kitchen, at the far end of the hallway. All the other men were assigned adjacent quarters. The Firths shared a room, and Jack took the one closest to the yard.
“Well done!” Sangit looked at their proud faces as the group lined up in the hallway. “You’ve earned a good night’s rest—the first real night in our new home!”
“If we don’t count the tents,” Lyrian muttered. Sangit threw him a sharp look, then nodded at everyone. The group dispersed.
Halfway along the torch-lined corridor, a double staircase led up to what Keena referred to as the Lord’s chambers—the room she’d assigned to Sangit. He quietly followed her as she explained, Kiki and Gizille trotting behind. The narrow staircase windows offered a stunning view of the dark forest below. Soft purple engulfed the forests, the bright moon resting above.
“Come on,” Keena called. “My chamber’s right next to yours. There are a couple of other large rooms, but they’ll be empty. Another floor up is an empty hall, and another one above that’s the attic.”
But Sangit wasn’t listening; all he wanted was to finally rest.
She pushed the Lord’s chamber’s doors aside. It was a large room with giant candle holders, broad alcove windows, a lit fireplace, a desk, bookshelves and dressers. The walls were as pristine as if they’d been perfectly preserved for him for all those centuries. No damage, no decay. The bed was even more splendid than his former one at home—sheets, furs, pillows and all. Gizille promptly jumped up and began kneading.
“Exactly eight of them,” Keena said, pointing at the cushions. “Just as you like it.”
Sangit grinned. How did she know that? He sat down and let himself fall back, right next to Gizille.
“Thank you. I don’t know what to say. I would’ve taken any normal room.”
“It’s for you and Kiki. I want her to feel comfortable here.” Keena turned to Kiki and winked, and Kiki bounced excitedly on her toes. “It’s exactly as we found it, except for the sheets—and your things, of course. I’ll leave you to it.” Keena left, silently shutting the door behind her.
“I love it!” Kiki said, darting into the alcove, which was decorated with another bunch of furs and pillows for her. “What a cozy place to rest and watch the yard through the windows.”
For a moment, Sangit watched Kiki and tried to forget about the work that lay ahead. If only every room in the castle was already as beautiful as this one. Then they could focus on their quest instead of all the reconstruction work. It had never been an option, though, to leave the castle in this state. He’d always imagined reconstructing it, if not for the mere purpose of honoring Kahran’s legacy.
“You sure brought a lot of stuff,” Kiki said, pointing to the pile of crates and boxes which had been stacked next to Sangit’s bed. “What is all this? I don’t remember you packing that much.”
Sangit turned to the boxes. He didn’t remember packing all those things either, but he must have—he’d almost brought along his entire house full of belongings.
“Clothing, supplies and all my books and magic things, of course.” And an old harp he often played for Kiki. He bent to open the first crate atop the others. Inside were rolls of parchment, stoppered bottles, leather pouches and other miscellaneous goods. “You can help me unpack if you want.”
Kiki hurried over, but she was barely tall enough to see inside the box. Sangit reached in and withdrew a couple of bottles before finding something very special. He handled this item with caution.
“What’s that?” Kiki asked.
“It’s called an athame, a ritual knife.” The golden dagger had been carefully wrapped in a piece of dark velvet. The blade brightly reflected the chandelier above them as Sangit unwrapped it. “It’s very old,” he added.
The crate held a few other things Kahran had given him when he was little. Sangit had always kept them locked away, first and foremost from his old man, but also for the simple fact that most of them were magical and therefore probably invaluable.
Kiki looked impressed by all the peculiar gadgets and gizmos Sangit pulled from his boxes and carefully arranged on the table and shelves. The chamber gradually transitioned into a cozy magician’s lair. The sky outside grew darker, and long shadows enveloped the corners of the chamber.
Kiki pulled a stool close to the boxes and took another peek. “What’s this?” she asked. An opalescent, heart-shaped crystal lay cushioned on a cloth. “It’s beautiful.” Kiki held the crystal up into the light, and all its facets sparkled. It was bound to a golden chain.
“Hm?” As Sangit turned, he froze in shock. “Careful!” For a moment he wanted to take the crystal out of her hands, but then he remembered it was something he’d always planned to give her. Shrouded in legend, it was gifted to him long ago by Kahran. “It’s called The Heart of Immortality. It’s said whoever wears it can’t be harmed by magic.”
“It’s even more beautiful than the crystal pendulum around your neck,” Kiki said, pointing at her brother’s chest. Then she held up the heart again to look at it more closely. “Does this one really work?”
“How would I know?” Sangit laughed, taking the thing from her to take another look of his own. His fingers ran across the many facets. He’d always wondered if it was real, but he’d never dared to test it, nor had he even had the chance to do so. Before he could say anything else Kiki took it from his hands and swung it around her neck with ease. It fit her perfectly.
“Can I keep it?” she asked eagerly.
Sangit smiled. Kiki looked almost like a grown-up with her sparkly new jewel. “Of course. I want you to be safe.” Even if it wasn’t magic, at least it looked pretty. There was no harm in believing.
The Broken Spoon
Sangit wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that he dreamt the same thing over and over again. As much as he loved the dream, it was a bit… eerie.
A few weeks before they came to the castle, right after Sangit had made friends with Keena, he had summoned Lyrian to meet him at the Broken Spoon, his favorite tavern. It was located on an unfrequented back street fairly close to his mansion at the town square of Acaria, yet perfectly out of sight. Although the Broken Spoon had always been filthy and dark, it was one of the best establishments in town for clandestine meetings.
Sangit and Lyrian had been involved in many binges there before, particularly on those long and lonely winter nights, drinking until early morning. But that night had turned out slightly differently. It was the first time Lyrian met Keena, marking the crude beginning of a very different chapter of their lives. A chapter that changed everything, not only everybody’s drinking habits.
To an inexperienced nose, the stench of rotten fish and stale ale was outright disgusting. It was as if no one had ever cleaned the tables, nor bothered dumping the leftovers. The door to the kitchen stood wide open, and the maids were jumping in and out through the smoky air, busy serving the many people who sat crammed in the little nooks and candlelit alcoves throughout the tavern. It was both cozy and revolting at once.
“Who’s this friend of yours we’re waiting for?” Lyrian asked irritably, tapping his fingers on the wooden table with a dull thrumming sound. “How long do we have to wait to eat?”
Lyrian and Sangit sat far from everyone else, concealed in the darkest corner of the Broken Spoon. The maid rarely found her way all the way back to them. As filthy as this tavern was, the food had always been the best in town, and Lyrian was hungry. Keena would arrive any minute now.
“You’ll like her,” Sangit said.
Keena was a fascinating personality, full of wisdom and knowledge. Sangit was confident Lyrian would love her—maybe she’d even fancy him. He hoped the two of them would hit it off. Little did he know how wrong he was.
“What battle did you run away from?” came a loud voice from around the corner. For a moment, Lyrian thought he’d finally be served his pot roast, but then Keena flitted around the table and slumped onto the bench opposite him, staring at his furry coat with highly raised eyebrows.
“Excuse me?” Lyrian said.
Keena took a huge gulp from the tankard she had brought with her. The contents spilled on the tabletop when she set it down again before the lid flipped close. She turned to Sangit. “I had expected more.”
“This is Keena,” Sangit offered.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lyrian demanded. He glanced down at his arms, chest, and legs to check if he could make out anything unusual, but it was just his normal evening attire of worn leather armor and old rags of fur. He never bothered cleaning them; this was the way he liked them. They were exceptionally comfortable, and most of all, kept him warm.
“Nothing is wrong with me!” Keena hissed. “It’s just. I might have had a few. And I don’t drink. That much.”
Lyrian’s face was red, but he tried to appear calm as Keena’s eyes went back and forth from him to Sangit. Finally her expression stiffened. She took a long, deep breath.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
Sangit reached under the table into his satchel and pulled out the old book Keena knew very well already, slamming it open in front of her. All the pages were empty. Sangit flicked through a few of them until all of a sudden, on one of the pages, the drawing appeared. Keena’s eyes widened.
“I knew it!” she blurted out.
Sangit wasn’t sure why Keena couldn’t see it in the first place during Yule, but maybe the time hadn’t been right, and they weren’t close enough back then.
“Please tell me you’re not still into that old drawing,” Lyrian groaned.
“It’s worse,” Sangit said. He glanced to Keena, her eyes cutting.
“Why am I here?” she asked again, this time slowly, every word emphasized.
“First time we saw this was at Kahran’s cottage. For years, no matter what, I couldn’t get a single page to reveal anything. Then, just a few months ago, Kiki found it again, and this beautiful girl immediately appeared. This girl who burned herself into my mind. And now I’m even dreaming of her. But not only once. I’m dreaming of her every night. Ever since then.”
Lyrian shook his head. Although Sangit had already lectured him over and over on this during the past few weeks, he still didn’t seem to understand the importance.
“I need to get to the bottom of this.” Sangit stared intensely into Keena’s eyes, hoping for sympathy. “Today’s the exact date on which we went to Kahran’s cottage 14 years ago. The day we found the book. I’ve waited far too long. We need to go back there. We need to find out more.”
“Kahran is dead,” Lyrian said.
“He’s not!” Sangit cried. “You’ve got to help me, both of you. We leave tomorrow.” He took the last gulp from his mug, slammed the book shut and stuffed it back into his satchel, turning his back on Lyrian and Keena. But before he could leave, Keena grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.
“Do you even know who Kahran was?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Over 200 years ago, magic was taught and protected by a secret brotherhood. Before the schism of the northern lands, magic was lost. Banished. What if he were somehow connected to that brotherhood? This book of yours, it couldn’t be of any other origin. I sense strong magic in it. Far stronger than I ever felt before.” Keena leveled her eyes on Sangit, commanding his attention. “It frightens me,” she said quietly.
“All the more reason to get to the bottom of this. I need to find out who she is.”
Keena shook her head firmly. “I can’t help you.”
He looked to her desperately. “If I don’t find her, I’ll never sleep again.”
Keena sighed. Her cheeks were red from drinking. “Let’s see what you can find out, both of you, and then we’ll talk. If you can give me more, I’ll listen. That’s all I’ll promise you.”
Sangit beamed, covering her hands with his own. “Agreed!”
Kahran’s hut was buried deep in the forest. Even though they had only been there once as children, Sangit remembered exactly how to get there.
“Never thought I’d get you to come along a second time,” Sangit said.
Lyrian muttered inarticulately, leaning heavily on his horse. It was early morning, and the sun rose vividly beyond them. They passed the village of Thistle toward the ancient woods.
“Do you think his house is even still there?” Lyrian groaned. He readjusted and started chewing on a carrot that was meant for his horse. “I hate riding just as much as I did as a boy. This saddle’s killing my balls.”
The trees rustled, long rays of sunshine dancing in the leaves and casting awkward shadows of the riders onto the ground. Lyrian asked once again, calling to Sangit who rode a distance ahead, “Think it’s still there?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Sangit said. He hated shouting around in the wilderness for no rational reason.
“What do you think happened to him? Kahran, I mean.”
Sangit knew Lyrian didn’t care about Kahran, but he appreciated his efforts.
“I honestly don’t know. He was old, but…” The idea of Kahran being dead was something Sangit didn’t like at all. Kahran hadn’t been seen for years, but deep inside, Sangit knew he was still out there. Someday they’d meet again. That thought alone meant more to him than he could put in words. That thought kept him going. Sangit and Kahran had always shared a certain bond that was beyond the comprehension of others. Kahran knew how to quench Sangit’s thirst for knowledge—he had been almost like a father to Sangit, whereas his real father had always despised Sangit’s interest in magic.
They trotted through narrow forest paths for hours before they reached the farthest clearing. And there it was. On a small rise of rocks built into the side of a steep hill stood Kahran’s cottage, falling apart and covered in brush. It hardly looked like a home. But as Sangit and Lyrian got off their horses, something strange happened. With every step they walked toward the ruin, more of the rubble vanished. Broken bricks mended. Overgrown vines curled away.
“Lord almighty,” Lyrian muttered, crossing himself.
Sangit tied their horses to a nearby tree and embarked hastily up the rocky rise, ignoring Lyrian, until he reached Kahran’s door. Muffled noises came from within.
“Come in, please. I’ve been expecting you.”
Sangit looked back to see Lyrian stumbling up after him, eyes wide.
“Who’s in there?” Lyrian asked.
Kahran. It had to be.
Sangit pushed the rotten door open, and the warm smell of stew and fresh bread rushed out. A fire crackled in the hearth, and candles lit the whereabouts of ancient wisdom. Books over books, some covered in dust and stacked to the skewed ceiling, others lying on the floor, potion jars and endless rolls of parchment wrapped in spiderwebs; all looked like they hadn’t been touched for centuries. On a big wooden table in the middle of the lovely mess was a candelabra, lit, and two sets of plates and steaming mugs.
“Please, make yourselves at home,” said a deep and elderly voice from somewhere behind the books. “I’ll be right with you.”
A large tray of dried sausages and warm bread immediately caught Lyrian’s attention. He helped himself at once. But Sangit remained near the door, baffled. His oldest friend was here, his home they thought to be decayed unspoiled. How was this possible?
“Where have you been?” Sangit asked, trying to peek over the piles of books.
“My Lord.” The voice was frail. “How you have grown. Into a handsome man, no less. You were a little boy when last I…” Sangit waited, not daring to interrupt. “Where in the name of—” He emerged from behind the shelves, still browsing through the books. “Where is it? I have to find it.”
Sangit broke into a smile, his unease melting away.
“Kahran,” he said. His muscles relaxed. “I knew it.”
He looked exactly as Sangit remembered him, every line and wrinkle just as it had always been. Sangit wanted to fall into his old friend’s arms, but Kahran was still busy searching. When the old man finally stepped into the light, Sangit noticed the difference. Kahran looked pale and thin, almost as if the life had been sucked out of him. His eyes were sad and weary.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Sangit took the old leather book out of his satchel and held it toward Kahran, hands trembling. Finally, he would get to know the secrets of this book.
“Goodness, yes!” Kahran took the book and examined it closely. “Where did you find this? My old journal. I had it hidden so well.”
“We took it. Years ago, when we were little children. You’d been gone for months. We’d been looking for you everywhere.”
Kahran laughed, his eyes fixed on the book. “Thank goodness you found it. This book is the most precious thing I have. There’s not much left around here—”
“Where have you been?” Sangit interrupted. He couldn’t wait any longer for his answers.
“Well, here and there, not really anywhere.” The old man shrugged.
“How could you leave without a word? We thought you were dead!”
“Heaven’s, no. I’m not done with this world. I have yet to fulfill my destiny!”
“The pages are empty. All but one,” Sangit said.
Kahran put down the book, looked up at Sangit, and put his hands on his shoulders. He had never looked Sangit directly in the eyes before. “Which one? Please. I need to know!” He shook Sangit.
“A girl, it’s a drawing of a girl. And I’ve been dreaming of her ever since.”
Kahran’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears, and then there was a touch of joy. A subtle smile.
“I can’t believe—could this be true?”
“What?” Sangit shook himself free. “Kahran, what is this book?”
“After all these years, you are the chosen one. Who would have thought? My old friend.”
“Actually, my sister found it—”
“Splendid, a little sister! Ah, my old friend.” Kahran closed his eyes and pressed the book to his chest firmly, as if it were a person.
Sangit sighed and glanced to Lyrian, who was disinterested in the reunion, slurping stew noisily from his bowl. Sangit wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with fairy tales. He was a grown man and he demanded answers.
“The girl, Kahran! Who is she? Why am I dreaming of her?”
Kahran looked seriously at Sangit. “I cannot tell you who she is. But you must find her.” He came closer, whispering to Sangit. “She is all that’s left.”
“Why are all the other pages empty?”
“They are not—you just can’t see them yet. But you will learn in time. There’s someone who can help you. And only one place where she can. Your little sister, of course. Magic is strong with her.”
“What place?” Sangit hated when Kahran spoke in riddles. “Why would Kiki know magic?”
“This,” Kahran said, turning away and reaching for a roll of parchment, “this is the place.” With a shaky hand, he dipped a feather in an inkpot and started sketching out a map. In as few strokes as possible, he drew some mountains and forests. “Go there, and we shall meet again. Make it your home and rebuild it.” He drew a solitary castle in the mountains, far in the north.
“What’s that supposed to be, Kahran?”
“The Castle of Ta.”
Sangit had heard many things about The Castle of Ta. Many great myths. “The ancient stronghold of the mages?”
“There are no mages. I am the last of them—last of the Matara. Magic died long ago. But you can find the ruins, and then take them. The castle is yours. You are the Lord.”
“The landlord of Acaria, that’s all I am,” Sangit said. And he didn’t even want to be.
“Not anymore. You’re Lord of the castle now. It is my wish. I say so.”
Sangit didn’t dare object.
“I need your help,” Kahran said. “I’m not strong enough to return there alone. There’s one last thing I must do before I finally find peace.”
“Why there? What’s so special about it? And who’s that girl? Who is she? Kahran, please. I have to know.”
“The mysteries lie hidden in the castle. I beg of you. Take your best men and your sister.” What he asked of Sangit was much more than just a favor. It clearly burdened him. Sangit had never seen him desperate for help.
“You’re not explaining anything,” Sangit said. He sighed. “But I have learned to trust you. I’ll do as you command.”
“Thank you,” Kahran said. “I can’t stay any longer, I’m afraid. My power’s weakening. I’ll meet you at the castle.” Kahran sighed and finally collapsed. Sangit reached out, trying to support him, but Kahran had already vanished, leaving the book and map behind.
The room went dark, dust and shadows engulfing Sangit. The warmth had gone, and once again the cottage looked as if no one had lived there for decades.
Though Kahran had created more questions than answers, Sangit was not afraid. His friend was alive, just like he’d always known. And his dreams where just as meaningful as they felt. Best of all, Lyrian was there with him to bear witness.
Sangit rushed towards the table. It was dark, but Lyrian still sat there chewing.
“Lyrian, did you pay attention?”
“Pay what?” Lyrian asked, wiping his mouth. “Who were you talking to?”
“The greatest mage of all time just sent us on a quest, and all you did was eat!”
Lyrian looked puzzled, not conscious of having done anything wrong. As he stood up, he slowly realized that all the lights had faded, his mug of mead had turn ice-cold, and all the food had dried and rotted.
“What in…?”
“Kahran vanished, then everything went dark. We talked. He’s alive. And he needs our help! This is the proof Keena asked for. Now she’ll join us!”
That last bit didn’t make Lyrian particularly happy, but he gave Sangit a friendly nod. He took another sip from the mug.
“Still good, even cold,” he said thoughtfully.
Sangit’s heart was pounding. Lyrian had never been impressed by magic. But for Sangit, this moment was monumental. Something that he was acutely aware would mark a historic turning point in his life—in everything.
“Kahran is alive,” he said, wrapping the precious book and securing it in his satchel. “I told you.”
Lyrian shrugged, following Sangit outside. “If it’s so real and powerful, how come no one does magic anymore?”
The sun shone fully now as they mounted their horses. “There have been times when magic was common. Now other forces reign the world. Bits and pieces remain, as you’ve just seen.”
“This Keena girl, she can do magic?”
“She mastered a few skills, but she would never teach me. And if she knew I told you, I’d be in major trouble,” Sangit said. “If I ever learned magic, I’d use it wisely. You know what I’d use it for.”
Lyrian knew about the dreams in every detail. Sangit hadn’t spoken of nothing else for the past several months. Although he pretended not to listen, Lyrian knew everything.
It took a week for Sangit to gather everyone at the Broken Spoon again. Keena came once again from Khedesh Creek, this time with more enthusiasm than before. What Sangit had experienced in Kahran’s cottage was finally enough to earn her undivided attention.
That night, the village of Acaria had been trapped under a bell jar of silence, underneath a cloudy evening sky. Here and there, the stars peeked through, and it was cold. The air still smelled of winter.
They had the tavern to themselves. The landlord had everybody else banned from the grounds, even the innkeeper and his maids. Tonight Sangit himself would pour the drinks and fill the plates—with help from Grandma Sofie, of course, who had been preparing food all day.
“Thank you for coming,” Sangit said as the door whipped open, and two sinister-looking men walked in, one of them tall and skinny, the other short and muscular. The Firth brothers. Then came Jack and next Alisson, all trusted friends Sangit hadn’t seen in a long time. Ever since his father’s death, to be exact.
The group looked at him with eyes wide open. Sangit guided them to the large table set in the middle of the tavern, right in front of the big fireplace. A couple of rolled-up maps and the great book lay in the middle, next to a stack of papers, ink and quill. He had all the other furniture removed; all the shutters closed.
“Brethren,” Sangit said, then hesitated. Everyone stared at him. Waiting.
“M’lord,” answered the taller brother.
“You all have known my father well; you know what he’s done for you. Tonight I ask your loyalty in return.” He wasn’t sure if this was the best way to open his speech, but he couldn’t risk anyone saying no to what he was about to ask of them. Best to establish hierarchy first.
“Please, have a seat and warm yourselves. There are still some people missing.”
While the friends walked all around the table, awkwardly establishing the seating order, Sangit filled a jug from the large keg of wine and pushed a couple of tankards their direction. Jack’s broad stature barely fit into his chair, and Henric Firth, who surpassed all of them by a good head’s height, couldn’t fit his knees properly underneath the table.
There was a loud knock on the door, three times. As the wooden door swung open, there stood Keena, eyeballing the room critically.
“Do you know how cold it is? This has to stop.” Her entire body was shaking.
“I’m glad you made it,” Sangit said. “Warm yourself by the fire. Lyrian’s still missing.”
“God, no!” she moaned, tossing her coat and satchel onto the table. She pulled a stool towards the fireplace and crouched herself into it, holding her hands into the flickering flames. It looked almost as if she touched them.
At once, Sofie came rushing from the kitchen and hugged her. Keena visibly relaxed, breaking into a smile. She whispered something into Sofie’s ear with her eyes fixed on Sangit. Sofie giggled.
Meanwhile, Sangit set up some plates in front of everyone. Not as fancy as he was used to from home, but he knew well the people he’d asked to come cared little for showmanship. Keena followed Sofie into the kitchen, and they returned with platters of food, Sofie’s finest. Before anyone dug in, three knocks came once again. This time the door almost flew off its hinges.
“Looks like I’m right on time,” Lyrian said, ducking his head as he entered. Only one chair was empty, and it was next to Keena, with just a little space between them. Keena groaned and rolled her eyes.
“Finally,” Sangit said.
“Sorry.” Lyrian squeezed his muscular behind onto the stool.
“I see you’re wearing your old cow again,” Keena said, her face twisted up in disgust.
“Actually, it’s two. I butchered them myself.”
She turned away sharply to focus on her dinner. Everyone else ate, too, so for a moment, there was absolute silence —only the noise of chewing, slurping, and the clicking of cutlery. As the minutes passed and the tankards emptied, the mood became less tense until eventually everyone was leaning back, relaxed. Smiling even. Sangit stared into his tankard.
“So why are we here?” Lyrian asked loudly. “Just to drink?” Of course, he knew precisely why his friend had summoned them. As did Keena.
“Well, the short of it is…” Sangit hesitated. “About those dreams of mine. We went looking, and we finally found Kahran. He needs our help. And I need your help.”
There was a haunting silence. Everybody knew about Sangit’s dreams, everybody knew he wanted to get to the bottom of them, and everybody knew his stories about Kahran. Still, no one had expected him to actually find Kahran.
Sangit had hoped for a little more enthusiasm. His eyes went from Keena to Lyrian, then past all the others. He rolled out the map Kahran had drawn and showed them.
“This is the Castle of Ta, high in the northern mountains. It was home to the Matara, an ancient magic brotherhood, over two centuries ago. It’s true. Kahran was one of them—the last one. He asked me—us—to go there.”
“I’ve heard stories of that place,” Alisson said. “No one dares go there. There’s nothing left but ruins and death.”
“Not true,” Keena said, jumping from her chair. “It was abandoned long ago, but it’s still there and standing strong. Ta is no ordinary castle. The place is haunted. Only a fool would risk going there. You’ll never get in besides. Only Matara priests could enter.”
“Kahran’s the last of the Matara, and he gave me the castle,” Sangit said. “It’s mine. I want you all to join me.”
A rush of excitement bubbled over the table.
“Forgive me, Lord Sangit,” Jack said, “but how exactly would we do that? How would we even get there? And how would we possibly be of any help to you? We know nothing of magic.”
“Leave that to me. All I ask for are a few helping hands and your architectural skills. I can’t go there alone. Apart from that, you all shall want for nothing. Keena will deal with anything magic.”
“What?” Keena snapped. “I am not going anywhere.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Henric and Alisson studied the map—at least they seemed interested.
“I don’t need your money,” she spat.
“I haven’t offered you any!”
Keena’s eyes burned with anger, and Sangit was sure she’d explode. Instead, she washed it down with wine. As soon as her cup was empty, Sofie refilled it, smiling.
“I’d come along if I were younger,” Sofie said. “But someone has to look after the house. And someone has to watch my grandson before he loses his head on all this magic nonsense!”
Sangit knew Sofie respected magic as much as he did, though she pretended to know nothing about it.
“I realize it’s a long journey,” Sangit said. “We might stay there for weeks, even months. But when will we ever get a better chance for a true adventure? We owe it to our ancestors to rediscover what they lost.”
Lyrian took a huge gulp from his mug, made an attempt to belch, but spoke instead. “Hell, why not. I’d follow you anywhere—as long as there’s food.” He smiled and continued drinking.
“Did you really see Kahran?” Keena demanded, turning to Lyrian and staring him directly in the eyes.
“Well.” He had seen nothing; only Sangit had. “Well, we were at his cottage, there was food, and then—”
“Did you meet him or not?” she asked louder. There was a lot of alcohol at play already.
“Yes!”
“You see a lot of things lately,” Keena emptied her cup again.
“I cannot order you to follow me,” Sangit said. “It’s your own choice.”
“All this because of a damn dream?”
“All this because of Kahran. This is for him, not me.” Sangit knew how much Keena admired his old mentor, even though she’d never admit it. But Keena’s trust and support were vital to Sangit. “You’re the magic one. You, above all, should care deeply about the castle and its secrets. Besides, I need you. I can never make it on my own. Look at them!” He pointed at Lyrian, who pulled a grimace. Of all the people in the room, Keena was the only one interested in magic.
“You realize magic is dangerous, don’t you? I’ve told you many times before,” Keena said.
“Yet you use it.”
“My studies barely ever touched the surface. Whatever you do in the other world will have tremendous consequences on this one. There are more threats than you can think of.”
“What threats?”
“Damage to your mind. Many have lost themselves to magic. Why do you think it was forsaken?”
“That’s all just myth. I’m not afraid of magic.”
“Your ignorance will be your downfall.”
All eyes fell on Sangit, and he was close to getting angry. He hated Keena’s negativity.
“I’m neither foolish nor do I intend to fail. I’ll leave without you all the same, but I would rather have you at my side.”
“Have at it, if you want.” Keena turned away and drank deeply.
“Have at it!” Lyrian mimicked Keena and slammed his mug in front of him so vigorously the remaining drops of ale slopped onto Sangit’s paperwork.
The speech didn’t go at all as Sangit had expected. A good drink would be the least he could get out of this occasion.
“Cheers then,” he said glumly, and his acquaintances hollered. The binge commenced, and after the wine came shire ale. Within the hour, they were all drunk, and nothing had been settled. And then, all of a sudden, Keena got up.
“For heaven’s sake.” She raised her cup. “Alright then, Lord Sangit. If by my counsel I can help you, then you shall have my loyalty and my protection. And we shall find your girl and your old friend.”
“Hear, hear,” said Sofie, raising her glass to Keena.
“Hear, hear!” came a loud cheer from everybody else, except Lyrian, who fought with being stuck to his small chair, until he finally got to his feet.
Sangit’s heart swelled. He stood and raised his tankard, beaming at his friends. Real friends after all.
“Forevermore, just like old times, we shall all stand together. For the adventure of our lifetime!”
“I reckon a good one,” Lyrian shouted, then took the last gulp from his ale. But before it had gone down, everything he had drunk that night came back up again. He spewed onto the table, then the floor. Everybody jumped aside in shock. It was a wonder to behold that nothing hit the book, nor Sangit’s precious scrolls.
After that night, Keena would never drink again. And so would Sangit.
Half-Light
“Why are you awake so early?” Kiki whispered.
“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” Sangit said.
Being at the castle of the ancient mages for the first night in his own room was simply too exciting. This castle was his, and his alone. Sangit was wide awake before the sun had come up, and he had dreamt much stronger and more intensely than ever before. A few candles were still burning and the room was warm and crammed with things, yet comfortable.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Sangit said.
“You didn’t,” Kiki yawned, then turned herself around and fell swiftly back asleep.
Sangit was tired too, but he couldn’t sleep. He somehow felt he was destined to get up this early. A new day of discoveries awaited him. The more time they spent here, the closer they’d get to learning about his dreams.
Sangit put on his robe, swung the feathered pelerine around his neck, and grabbed a small candlestick to light his way down the massive staircase into the yard, completely barefoot. It was quiet except for the cry of a falcon from afar, lazily circling the towers.
Without thinking, Sangit followed the bird. For a moment it went out of sight, but then it reappeared again, this time even closer. Sangit stood and watched contentedly until he realized with a jolt that this wasn’t just a bird; it was a message. He hastened back to his room as quietly as he could, pulled a leather gauntlet from one of his crates, then went back out. The bird was still circling the courtyard. Sangit held out his arm to lure it in. At once it aimed for Sangit, then approached and landed on his wrist in one swift motion. Sangit could barely hold the bird, which was still flapping rapidly while he tried to fasten the leash onto its ankles. Then the falcon calmed and started preening its feathers, panting heavily. It must have had a long journey.
“What are you doing?” Lyrian approached from the courtyard.
“Lyrian! Will you help me? Quick!”
Attached to the falcon’s foot was a leather capsule which Lyrian freed clumsily. A small piece of worn parchment was carefully rolled inside. The ornate lines of ink were dull and barely readable:
“Thoron a lumae calum etherne
ni tija mitawa en’areh
be neara di beltanae”
Sangit recognized the handwriting at once. It was Kahran’s.
“What is this rubbish?” Lyrian frowned.
“It’s the old language. Kahran taught me a few words, but I hardly remember. I was never very good at it.”
Lyrian stared at the old paper. “How’re we supposed to read it then?”
“Just let me think. Neara di beltanae is the night of Beltane, the night to the first day of Thrimia, the month of May. It says we will meet once again, by light of the eternal candle at that night.” Sangit paused. “I think.” He knew the ancient language had a thousand meanings for each word. It was a timeless language of depth and emotion. The language of magic.
“What’s an eternal candle? I could use one of those. Mine only last a few hours.” Lyrian laughed.
In fact, candles were a big issue. They had been burning through too many of them during the first nights, and they were barely able to make new ones. There simply weren’t enough bees nests to collect honeycombs and boil them to get wax, as Grandma Sofie had done back home. They had to learn to ration.
Lyrian put the young falcon on a post and took another look at the parchment, ripping it out of Sangit’s hand. He flipped the paper front and back. “Who wrote this, anyway?”
“Who do you think? Kahran. I’d recognize his hand with bandaged eyes.”
“Should’ve left some more instructions,” Lyrian muttered.
“Get up!” Sangit shouted as he slammed open the door to Keena’s chamber. “I told you so!” he went on, tearing open the curtains. Keena groaned from the bed, covering her eyes.
“Go away!”
“I’ve just received a falcon from Kahran.” Sangit held the paper right under her nose, and Keena squinted at it, her hair wild with sleep. Sangit tried to overlook the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything under the covers.
“You could at least turn around,” Keena mumbled, pulling up her sheets. Lyrian strode in, eyes wide.
“Damn it, what is the matter with you lot?” Keena demanded. “Haven’t you ever been around a woman? Show some respect!”
Sangit could have sworn he saw Lyrian blush. In all the years they’d known one another, that had never happened before. He had to admit, Keena was a real beauty. But the message was more important.
“Let me see this.” She ripped the piece of parchment out of Sangit’s hands, turned it around and held it up against the light coming from the window. The sky was just beginning to redden, and her sheet slid down agin. Lyrian turned, blushing even more.
“You think he’ll be alright?” Keena muttered, but Sangit didn’t answer.
“Well?” he said, trying to force the attention where it mattered. “Do you believe me now?”
“It’s real, all right,” Keena said. “You speak the ancient language?”
“No. Well, a little. Kahran taught me a few words. Maybe you could—”
“One step at a time,” Keena said. “Let me get dressed, then we can talk.”
“Move it!” Sangit shoved Lyrian out of the door and gave Keena a final nod before closing the door behind him.
“She’s something!” Lyrian whispered with a fat grin. His scarlet cheeks slowly turned back to normal.
“And you deem yourself good enough for her?”
“If only she could be so lucky, but she is not my type. Still something, no less.”
Soon daylight filled the halls, and everyone began to wake. Sangit and Lyrian had moved their talk to the kitchen, and Keena joined them. She and Lyrian exchanged an awkward look.
“What’s an eternal candle?” Sangit asked.
“I know of two types of magic candles,” Keena said. “The eternal candle is used for spirit work. Seeing into the other world.”
“The half-light?” Sangit’s eyes widened. “Can you make them for me?”
“No,” she said instantly.
Lyrian rolled his eyes, as if he had expected nothing less of her.
“You ought to realize those things are dangerous. I’m not about to let you tamper with magic. And we don’t have the ingredients to make them besides.”
“Kahran said we will meet again, by light of the candle. So we need them. See to it that you get whatever you need to make them.” Sangit pulled rank, although he knew this wouldn’t have any effect on Keena. But what else could he do? He eyed Lyrian, signaling him to leave. Sangit needed to talk with her alone.
“You don’t think it’s real, do you?” Sangit said. “The message.”
“It’s hard to believe, but I do. But candle magic is something I’ve never studied.” Now that they were alone, Keena could show a little weakness. “It’s common people’s magic. At least it was. The more I think of it…” She paused thoughtfully. “It makes sense. Maybe he thought it’s something you could easily achieve, instead of an elaborate spell.”
“Then let’s not disappoint him. We have until Beltane. I can’t wait for you to meet him.” Sangit smiled as he imagined introducing Keena to a real master of magic, finally proving his existence.
Sangit spent the rest of the day trying to tickle the fundamentals of candle magic out of Keena. He even set Kiki on her, hoping she wouldn’t be so secretive towards his little sister. There were indeed a lot of things required to make magic candles. Rare herbs and substances he hadn’t even heard of, and things quite gross and creepy. Blood and ashes and whatnot. But still, Sangit was confident they’d manage to get everything they’d need to make them. He was greatly looking forward to the reunion with his former mentor. The prospect pleased him so much that he went to bed early that night. Kiki was still up, staying in Keena’s room. They had connected well and were giggling all evening.
The fireplace was blazing, the room warm and cozy. Sangit crawled out of his robe and under his sheets. But before he was able to close his eyes, the heavy wooden door to his room opened, and an old man’s face emerged from the dimly lit hallway, the torchlight etching the outlines of his torn up robe. Not a single sound came from outside. It was as if the entire castle were asleep.
It was Kahran.
“I can’t believe it. You’re here!” Sangit was shaking with excitement as he jumped from under his sheets, reaching for a tunic. He had so many questions to ask, but settled for hugging his friend instead.
“I must get Keena! She has to meet you!” But as Sangit tried to loosen his hug, Kahran held him back.
“Not now. Please have patience. I’m here because of you, and you alone. And I can only stay for a few moments. There are still things I must do, but we will all meet again at the great ritual in a few weeks. I promise.”
“But…” Sangit took a deep breath. Patience was not necessarily one of his virtues.
“You can tell no one. This is between us.” Kahran said sternly. “Respect an old man’s wish, for goodness sake!” Kahran closed the door behind him and slowly trudged through Sangit’s chamber, carefully examining every item.
“Where are my manners? Can I offer you something? You must be exhausted from your journey. How did you even get here?” Sangit pushed a chair in Kahran’s direction, but the old man preferred to remain standing.
“I’m not that old and frail. Now listen to me.”
Sangit sat down on his bed and did as Kahran told him, his foot tapping impatiently. He was acutely aware that the book wasn’t safely in his satchel, but with Keena and Kiki. He hoped Kahran wouldn’t notice.
“This Keena girl,” the old man said weakly, still ogling every corner of the room, “be patient with her!”
“How do you know her? She doesn’t even believe you’re still alive. Which is why I have to—”
“She will teach you, as you’ll teach her one day. You need one another. And I need both of you. I can’t do it alone.”
“Do what?”
It took Kahran a great deal of strength to find the proper words. “I cannot stay tonight, but I’ll be with you again soon. Meanwhile, old friend, I beg of you to learn! Focus your mind, control your dreams! All of your questions will be answered at the night of Beltane. You have my word.”
With those words Kahran closed his eyes and left again, vanishing into thin air. Sangit jumped up, glancing around. Had Kahran really been here, or was it just another powerful dream? Tricked by his own vivid imagination once again?
The next morning Sangit got up even earlier, wandering along the castle wall and gardens. He was collecting herbs, dragging large bundles behind him. By the time the sun was up, he stood in Keena’s room again, packed with bushes and smelling like a field of tinsel weed.
The chamber looked quite different today. Keena and Kiki had unpacked and decorated. Not unlike his own chamber, Keena’s was now stacked with jars, bottles, and alchemy equipment. Sangit had to admit, it was quite a respectable collection, with many things he wished he owned himself. Kiki was curled up on the bed, still sleeping, the cat on top of her as always. But Keena was well awake and this time even dressed. Again Sangit hadn’t knocked, but Keena didn’t bother. She was pleased with the sight of him, and all the herbs he brought. Especially the ones from places she could never get to.
“Why must those grow on top of the walls,” she said, taking a bunch from Sangit’s hand.
“Sometimes you sound like Lyrian,” Sangit whispered, laughing as quietly as possible.
“Maybe I do, but I don’t want to. How do you like my room?” Keena gestured toward her collection. “I quite like it here. I’m actually glad you brought me. Who would’ve thought?”
“I told you,” Sangit smiled.
“Is it all you expected?”
“My dreams are still the same,” Sangit said. “Nothing’s changed. I can’t get a single step closer to her. But we’ve only been here a few nights,” he added, trying to be positive.
“Patience really never was your thing, was it?”
“Why don’t you help me?” Sangit asked.
“How would I?”
“Teach me some magic. I know you can. It’s time you share your knowledge, don’t you think?”
Keena looked worried. Sangit knew she considered being a witch a great responsibility, and she was very careful with the power she possessed. Keena would never experiment or try to widen her skills without an appropriate reason. She simply didn’t need more magic, and therefore didn’t pursue further. Sangit, on the other hand, was plain curious. He wanted to try everything, even if it meant trouble.
“Well,” Keena said quietly, “I reckon you already know about half-light. You have done quite some studying over the years, haven’t you?”
Sangit had never told her that—never told anyone. But the fact that she knew made things much easier. He could talk openly.
“I’ve heard of it. It’s in between the otherworld and this one. The magic realm.”
“That’s very simply put.”
“How would you put it, then?”
“Half-light is neither day nor night. Neither reality nor delusion, and neither life nor death. It’s in-between our worlds and in-between our truth, beneath the surface of existence and just beyond the mirror of our consciousness. And most of all: In half-light time stands still, and every second is eternal.”
“That’s beautiful,” Sangit mused.
“It’s dangerous!” Keena snapped. “Your soul is naturally bound to this world and body, not magic or half-light. The deeper you immerse yourself, the more you lose that bond, and the harder it becomes to return. And once your soul has passed over completely, your mortal body can’t sustain. In other words, you’ll die. Your body cannot live without your soul. You mustn’t lose that bond. Not ever!” Keena stared Sangit in the eyes as if she was expecting him to repeat what she’d said, much like a teacher—or his father, when he had lectured him.
“How long can I pass over into half-light then? Before I lose that bond?”
“You don’t pass over. You cross over. There’s a big difference,” Keena said.
“How long?”
“Can’t tell for sure. It all depends on how deep you’re entering the other world. If you cross over only faintly, I reckon it’s safe infinitely. As long as you’re strong enough to remain stable, and are sufficiently bound to this world. Strong magicians could go very deep; others got lost and faded away.”
“Meaning what?”
“Look, magic is a craft of discipline, self-control, and willpower.” Keena knew he lacked at least the first two. It made her laugh a little, and Sangit knew exactly why.
“And how do you cross over?” He tried to change the subject. He wasn’t really interested in ethics—he just needed to know how to do magic.
“Skipping the basics, are we? You need to focus and open your mind. It’s like an instant trance, a warmth that’s running through you, like a pulse of energy.”
“And how do I stay bound to this world?”
Keena hesitated. She knew how much of a dreamer he was, not bound to this reality at all.
“Never forget who you really are. Imagine all the things that keep you here. The things you’d miss if you died. The things that ground you. Everything you are—everything you live for.”
Sangit looked to the bed. Kiki was everything he lived for. She was his anchor. How could he ever forget who he was? How could he ever lose his bond to his own world? Surely not just from doing magic.
“If you’re meditating or dreaming, you shift sides, but not as strongly and as willingly,” Keena explained. “You just need to concentrate. Here, try this.” She grabbed him by his shoulders and directed him to sit in front of the fireplace. Then she placed a bit of firewood in front of him and knelt next to him. “Now make it burn! You’ve seen me do it many times. You have the power.”
Sangit was overwhelmed. He couldn’t believe Keena was finally willing to teach him. He wanted to be a good student. He had tried magic in secrecy for years, but never succeeded. It was very different this time. Within the walls of Ta, meditation seemed much easier; he was calm and felt strengthened. Maybe this time he would have no difficulties crossing over.
“Close your eyes and open your senses. Summon the magic flame. You even know the words. Just imagine them in your mind and let your energy flow.”
Sangit did as he was instructed. He reached around the logs with his hands, just barely hovering above them. His fingers stiffened. He tried to concentrate, but his mind went astray. If he made the fire burn, this would be his biggest achievement ever. A true honor.
“Focus!” Keena moved behind him and held her hands over his. Everything calmed, and Sangit finally pulled his thoughts together, not even noticing the woman clinging so closely around him. Over and over, he repeated the magic words in his mind.
He began to feel a warmth running up his spine, around his shoulders and down his arms. He opened his hands and surrounded the small pile of wood with his palms. Like Keena told him, he made the heat stream through his hands and let it cascade in the midst of his palms. The sensation was strange, yet empowering. The force kept pumping through his spine, sending jolts of warmth crawling along his arms, focusing it into blistering heat inside his hands. It felt as if they would burn, but Sangit didn’t flinch. It was now or never.
Soon small slivers of smoke came from the timber, then it cracked open, and little flames set off. Sangit pulled back his hands and stared in shock.
“Look at you! Very well indeed!” Keena laughed, patting his shoulders. “How did it feel?”
“I don’t…” Sangit shook his head, dazed. “I don’t know. Empowering and strange. I thought my hands would burn.” He rubbed his hands together absently.
“It’s your perfect mind alone that makes it real. If you know that fire cannot burn you, then it won’t. Just never doubt or hesitate. The magic comes from nowhere but inside of you. You have to trust yourself completely.”
“I know. I know,” although he didn’t. But he always reckoned willpower and belief played a big role in magic. It was a power of the mind. A power he possessed. Magic.
“For now, keep practicing your focus and your perfect trust in meditation. And don’t do magic without me!”
The sensation had been so strong and so overwhelming that the thought of trying this alone hadn’t even crossed his mind. The one thing he couldn’t stop thinking of was how proud Kahran would have been if he had seen. If he had only seen, if he could only know how Sangit had felt the warmth in his spine, in his bones, in his soul. The indescribable power.
Kiki poked her head up from the covers. “Did he do it?” she asked tiredly.
Keena smiled. “Your brother’s a natural.”
“Brilliant!” Kiki jumped up and threw her arms around Sangit’s neck, then turned towards the fireplace and slowly waved a hand through the blazing flames.
“Hey!” Sangit tried to pull her back, but then he realized that the magic fire didn’t burn her. He watched his sister’s small hand go red in the flames, unharmed.
“See,” Kiki said, “I believe in you. The heart of immortality works perfectly.” She looked up at him, grinning. “Now. Let’s have breakfast.”
The full novel contains 52 more chapters and is expected to be released late 2021