14: The Sage and the Swordsman

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Owen and I sat silently in the church awaiting our judgment. The tough-looking man from before positioned himself between us; his broadsword scrapped the tile floor. Tiny licks of green flame sparked where stone met blade. This man's attentive eyes and stern brow assured us that any attempt to escape or fight back would end in immediate failure. I shifted uncomfortably as my paralyzed limbs tingled back to life. The pain of the taught rope binding my wrists and ankles started to show on my face leading this man to tighten his grip around his blade's handle.

I peeked at Owen to know if he too was feeling the same. Instead of pain his eyes carried an overwhelming concern mixed with deep regret. Before he could catch me staring, I turned away focusing my attention back on this man between us. He scowled at Owen any chance he got leaving me to be the third wheel in this divisive relationship.

A fear creeped into my mind as I contemplated what terrible fate would befall Owen and I. As far as the townsfolk understood we had no reflection like the Half-Lives that destroyed their village and after our display in the street perhaps just as heartless. We might be put to work, or jailed, or worse put to death. Maybe this is what my abuelita in the dream was warning me about. Silly to think it did little to help me now.

With my nerves reaching an all time high I began hunting for a distraction. I found solace in the structure around me. The church, untouched by the departed blaze, breathed simplicity in its architecture. The artistic wonder came instead from its ornate frescoes and carvings. Unfamiliar with the type of worship in Tartarus, I started to make comparisons to similar cultures I had read about in books. From what I could see in the colorful images, it showed a striking resemblance to Greek and Roman mythology mixed with Medieval artistry. Everything from the creation of the universe to the stories of the stars played out in one extensive vision. Behind the desolate stone altar rested a painting of a torso and arms. They appeared to be that of a man rising up from a silver lake. The face of which had been crudely chipped away, and the roman numerals CVIII were etched beside it.

After what seemed like an hour, the front doors opened, and the old woman with the long blond hair and decorative robe came treading up the center aisle. Following behind her were a small troupe carrying trays of food and clothes to wear.

"Sir Daarith?" asked the old woman to the tough-looking man as she arrived before us, "why must you always appear so condescending. The time for fighting is over. Sanctuary and understanding reside here in the walls of the church." In accordance to the woman's instructions, the followers placed the trays and clothes down on a wooden table by the altar and hastily departed. The old woman smiled at Daarith as the doors of the church closed shut. "Now be a dear and cut their bonds. Let our honored guests eat their fill and be merry."

"Cut their bonds! Honored guests!" Daarith gasped. He stiffened his posture in protest. "I do believe my lady sage has lost her mind. These monsters are—"

"Our friends," interrupted the old woman leaning over the altar. "And they are to be treated with the highest respect."

"Have you forgotten that they kicked poor Benjamin and raised their weapon at us."

"If I am not mistaken, I do believe you were the first to brandish a weapon, Daarith," said the old woman as she raised an eyebrow. "Besides, you were filled with so much rage that you failed to see the blessing your small village has received." The old woman turned to me. "My precious child, there is no need to fear. These people did not know who you are and attacked blindly. Forgive them for their ignorance. You are among allies." The woman stretched out her arm and with a flick of her wrist, the rope holding my hands and feet fell to the floor and disintegrated. "I know what you are. The Half-Lives came to this village and slaughtered its people to find you. I implore you not to blame yourself. Nothing could have prevented the events of yesterday. What happened here was not your fault." The old woman whisked her hands in the air and the candles in the room caught light. She turned once more to me. Her presence once powerful and unyielding out in the street showed now in the candlelight a charming and welcoming individual. "What shall I call you, oh great Mirrorbender?" said the old woman as she bowed her head. Daarith jolted to his feet in alarm and disbelief.

"It's not possible," he cried. "There is no such thing as Mirrorbenders. They are legend, myth. My lady sage, you must be unwell."

"I possess no sickness," said the old woman as she began walking towards me. I sat perfectly still. The sage smiled. "The Mirrorbenders have been gone so long that legend has begun to replace truth. So do many things in history that linger in songs and stories. The legacy of the Mirrorbenders is one such truth that song has made a distant memory." The old woman caressed my matted hair. Between her fingers a stream of blue light escaped and filtered into my hair. The magic weaved in and out straightening and shining my hair brighter than any product could achieve back home. I felt a renewed vigor fill my body. My bruises and my aching limbs healed instantly. I looked down and grabbed my hair, shocked by the results. "Ignore my friend's foolish antics," apologized the old woman stepping away. "He does not yet understand that with you here, the world is about to undergo a great change. Now please, child, what is your name?"

I gazed up at the old woman. For a moment I was speechless. "My... my name is Hope... Hope Martinez."

"Ah," breathed the old woman happily. "A befitting name for the first Mirrorbender to grace our lands in over five generations. My name is Martha. I am a sage, a sworn protector of peace and a master of the magic arts. And this tough-looking brute is Sir Daarith, soon to be the new appointed mayor of this town after the Half-Lives sacked the last one." Daarith grunted at Martha's introduction. "My order was created by the first Mirrorbender thousands of years ago to keep the peace in their absence. I am here to serve you, Hope, and guide you as all my ancestors have before me. It is an honor."

"Then you can tell me how to get home?" I remarked excitedly. Martha seemed less enthralled. She walked to the table and took a small bundle of grapes from the tray.

"I am afraid, young Hope, such knowledge is beyond even me. The ability to travel between realms remains a secret power only the Mirrorbenders themselves understand and possess. The Ether is not a place for the faint of heart to wander."

"Then I'll never get back home." I lowered my head. I tried to hold back tears but found them already down my cheeks.

"Oh, don't cry, young child. You will find a way. All the Mirrorbenders have. In the meantime, I think it is best you eat and get out of those other-realm clothes."

"Excuse me," interrupted Owen looking flustered, "I hate to impose on your friendly meeting, but I have been tied up patiently waiting to be freed for a considerable amount of time. I would greatly appreciate you untying me." Martha walked up to Owen. She placed her hands on her hips. She did not look pleased.

"You, young man, have been quite a handful. Don't think I have forgotten about your ruthlessness. You had no need to exploit these desperate people out of the few items they had left. Had you not been traveling with a Mirrorbender, I would have certainly buried you up to your neck in soil and let you writhe in the fields till dawn. Perhaps a glimpse of the Shadows would have settled your restless behavior. Yet," Martha rubbed her chin, "I forgive you, and in time this town will too. But if you continue being reckless and inconsiderate to others, I will not hesitate to put you down. Understood!"

"Yes, my lady sage," squeaked a fearful Owen.

"Good." Martha waved her hand, and the ropes fell off Owen's wrists and legs. He rubbed the soreness until the pain was gone.

"You sure tie a tight knot," he smirked.

"What is your name, boy?" asked Daarith puffing his chest and moving closer to Owen. "What might a weasel like yourself be called? Tell me so I know what to carve on the trophy I make of your head."

"My name is Owen DuBois."

"Hmpth," grunted Daarith. "A good name to have. I once served under a general by that name. Let us see if you honor it. Someday you will repay my village for your lurid actions even if I must see to it personally."

"Gentlemen," scowled Martha, "quit your bickering. I don't want to see another fight between you two. Now come and eat. There will be plenty of time to discuss these matters after a good meal."

Martha handed me a plate full of fruits, bread, cheese, and assorted nuts. It was good, but I craved a nice plate of steaming tamales with a generous helping calabacita. I doubted I would find such food in Tartarus. Daarith continued glaring at Owen whenever possible. Owen did so too. This led to Daarith raising his fist on multiple occasions. The two quickly halted each time they noticed Martha's turbulent gaze.

Martha explained to me the ins and outs to her purpose in town.

"After we sages undergo extensive training we are assigned a town to watch over and guard as well as be healers of the sick and a councilor of disputes should such occasions for violence arise." She made an example of the recent attack on the village.

"I placed the town in a barrier and tossed those Half-Life scum into oblivion. Sadly my power was still too weak to save everyone."

"Why did you not fight back?" I asked.

"Because Hope, Sages like Mirrorbenders must stray from violence or it would only corrupt your power and leave you powerless. Magic comes from a pure heart not from rage or selfishness. That is why magic born of goodwill will always overpower magic of corruption."

I started to get sucked into Martha's whimsical stories of the sages and magic. She spoke for hours until the sunlight bleeding through the windows faded to black.

"I pray you enjoy what I did with your hair, Hope," said Martha as she filled my glass with more of the sweet honey water I had come to love.

"It's quite impressive," I said running my fingers through my straight and shiny hair. "I wish I knew how to do this at home. I wouldn't need to comb and condition it."

"Well we can't present a Mirrorbender to the Council of Vetra looking like she had just fallen down a rabbit hole." Daarith looked up over his plate of food. He had not spoken a word since Martha had sat down.

"You are not seriously taking these two all the way to Vetra are you?" he asked. "You have duties here. in Bristondale And besides there are robbers and murderers on the roads as of late, not to mention hoards of Shadows wandering the wilderness. I can't imagine a sage, sworn to nonviolence to be much help."

"That is why you are coming with us," said Martha calmly plopping another piece of fruit into her mouth.

"You can't make me do that," said Daarith pointing a thick finger at Martha. "And I won't. Not when my people need me."

"If I recall correctly, you did say you would see Mr. DuBois repay this town for his actions even if you must see to it personally."

"Don't be using my words against me, Lady Sage," said Daarith as he grabbed his drink. "You can't force me to do that on words alone. Remember you're just this town's appointed sage after all. As mayor I can request a transfer."

"I don't need to do anything, Daarith. Your conscience and willingness to do what is right is all I need to guarantee your aid. So send that message. Request that transfer. Besides, I know you can't resist a chance at adventure, and a journey with a Mirrorbender is one you will not deny yourself. Also having Juprus's finest swordsman at our side would be quite nice should we run into trouble."

"I am retired," said Daarith. "I want to be a farmer like my father. I am tired of bashing my sword around for no cause or reason." Martha rolled her eyes.

"Daarith, as much as I know you love this town, you have no family here anymore. I ask you as a life long friend to please be our guardian on the long road to Vetra."

Daarith stomped his foot in frustration. He looked angrily into his drink. "Fine," he cried at last, "I will go, but just if I get paid."

"So you wish to be a mercenary." Martha laughed.

"Hey. Someone has to rebuild this town. I might as well make some money off this trip."

"And you will," said Martha assuredly. "The Sages will fund it fully when we arrive safely in Vetra." She turned to me and patted my back. I looked at her confused. "Though you do understand, Daarith, we must get Hope away from here and to Vetra as soon as possible. Word will spread fast and the Half-Lives will return to this town. We must make haste. Once they learn that a sage has found the Mirrorbender, they will begin hunting the roads. I dare not imagine what we would do if they find us."

"Yeah," sighed the big man. "I hear ya. And by soon you must mean tomorrow."

"Of course, at first light."

"What is the Council of Vetra?" I asked suddenly glancing up from my plate of food. Long had I been silent. My confusion level had reached its peak, and I needed answers. "I don't understand anything y'all are saying."

"Oh dear. I see I will have to be explaining a few things. The Council of Vetra," explained Martha slowly, "is an assembly of sages, wise men, wise women, and educated scholars who have devoted their lives to the preservation of magical energies and knowledge. Vetra is basically the home for the Sages where we teach, train, and study. It has been an age old tradition that each Mirrorbender who arrives in Tartarus meet the Council and the Vestal of Vetra for a test of their power. There the Mirrorbender will be assessed on the purity of their spirit and rewarded with an insurmountable power."

"A test?" cried Hope nervously. "I don't even know what a Mirrorbender is let alone be tested on it. I came here by mistake."

"I will train you on your power and educate you on your lineage while we travel," said Martha assuredly. "Do not fear. The Council is set up as a way to help you learn your true potential and your weaknesses. It is impossible to fail the tests. Though it would be in your best interest to gain the Council's favor and their liking by impressing them. Afterward you will be recognized as an official Mirrorbender, and your name and likeness will be recorded forever. This initiation is very important for once recognized as a Mirrorbender, you will be brought to the Pool of Tears where you will scry for all the council to see a vision of the future. The only thing you should be concerned of is getting caught by the Half-Lives. What they want with you I do not know, but your short time here has already had great influence."

"I have so many questions, Martha," I said twiddling my thumbs. "Like where did the Half-Lives come from, and how was I chosen to become a Mirrorbender?"

"Be patient, Hope. All things come in due time. For now, rest. We will set out tomorrow for Vetra." Martha stood from her seat. "The hour is getting late and an early start we will need. I will take my leave now and get things ready for our departure. Sir Daarith will be your guardian tonight and every night henceforth. Where you come from, Hope, Tartarus must appear fantastical, but I assure you this world is far from dreams."

Martha soon left the group leaving Daarith to collect two small cots for Owen and I to sleep on. When I asked where he would be sleeping, Daarith duly replied, "Sleep can only be found when one is tired." He instead sat against the wall and played an interesting hand-held instrument somewhere between a harmonica and an ocarina. The sound was soft and soothing. It created images in my mind of times long ago.

I changed my clothes in one of the alcoves bent into the walls of the church. The foreign material felt uncomfortable and itchy, but if it meant I could go by unnoticed by the Half-Lives, I was willing to cope with anything. Owen fell quickly asleep; his cot at the other end of the church. I observed for a time the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. Eventually I became bored and started focusing on Daarith's music. I imagined the church's painted walls shifting like ghosts in a mysterious magical splendor.

Caught by some spell, the dim candlelight pulsed off the art revealing a production of fluttering sprites buzzing from flower to flower, a pair of dancing pigs in vests, a smiling cat on top a tree, a woman without a face spinning thread, a dragon crouched in a dark cave, elaborately dressed horses and their riders charging into battle, robes adorned with red hearts, a giant shimmering castle sitting atop a rocky hill, and finally to the many other fantastic beasts of lore I had only read about in stories. Soon my tired eyes closed shut and the dancing images settled into my dreams. I dreamed a gentle vision that night; one filled with sages blasting beautiful displays of blue light and of swordsmen dancing with blades wrapped in green fire.  

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