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Hot Obsidian. Olga McArrow
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“Like elephants in a pottery store!” Eugenia laughed.
“Oh well!” Lar raised his brows in a silent exclamation. “Father must have foreseen what a TEAM of ten ambasiaths could do. Even though it has been over twenty years already since his last visit, the people of my city still remember him and his epic misadventures.”
Brother and sister laughed together, just as carelessly and wholeheartedly as they did when they were children… But, suddenly, Eugenia fell silent.
“Father… He’s a good man,” she said, looking her brother in the eyes. “Why does he need that war? Why’s he doing all that to us and the boys?”
“I don’t know…” Lar’s face turned grim as well. “I hope that he truly wants a better future for the whole Omnis and isn’t just mad with the thoughts about revenge.”
“Revenge for Erhaben!” said Eugenia bitterly. “It’s been poisoning countless lives all those centuries… Why keep the hate alive?”
They were silent for a long time watching the world turn dawn-red and golden like a fallen diadem fruit.
“I’ll tell you one thing, sis,” Lar finally broke the silence. “I taught my Orion that he’s a free man and that once his education is finished, he can decide whether he stays in the Order or not. I think you should talk to your Jarmin about this as well.”
“I will,” nodded Eugenia and hugged her brother again. “And now,” she smiled shyly, as if being afraid of scaring the new hope away, “let’s hope that our boys won’t do anything stupid or…”
“Dangerous?” Lar sniffed. “C’mon, sis, you’re an ambasiath yourself. You well know they have a right to their own adventures. And that they need some danger and mistakes in their lives to grow up…”
***
They were paying their rent in copper instead of gold now that they moved out of the inn, but that was fine with everyone: both the landlady and the Lifekeepers’ team. The flat the boys now lived in was in a crooked building clinging to the inner side of the city wall like a swallow’s nest. Only one of their rooms had a window and that window opened into a small enclosed pocket of space between the house and the wall. A tiny balcony bridged the gap. You wouldn’t fall from it even if you wanted to so no one minded Jarmin sitting there for hours, busy with his painting.
Slowly, one small patch at a time, the boy was filling the grey canvas of the wall with beautiful things, weaving a tale of an alien world. There were immense towers of glass and steel, each as tall as Vlada’s or Sereg’s, metallic, machine-like birds with angular wings, and a maze of bridges and roads.
Jarmin bought his paints and brushes himself, using the pocket money Kangassk Eugenia had given him. Juel scolded the little boy at first but even he came to like the alien landscape eventually. He didn’t take his words back, though, for the paints were expensive and the team was on a limited budget.
Jarmin knew what he was doing when he chose the best paints that Firaska could offer: with the paints of such quality, his alien landscape was going to stay there forever and neither rain nor sunlight, neither time nor flames would be able to ruin it. It was going to stay there no matter what, outliving its master for centuries to come.
Ambassa makes any talent shine and Jarmin’s was no exception. But, unlike his brethren, he was the quietest of the ambasiaths around.
Time passed slowly. While Pai and Milian were busy with learning Transvolo, the rest of the boys found something to occupy themselves as well. Oasis dived into Firaskian urban life, making friends and enemies, breaking old street rules and establishing his own. After Lainuver, who was older and more experienced in the way of shadows, had joined him, the duo turned into a force to be reckoned with.
Juel and Irin spent most of their days training with young Crimson Guardians. All Lifekeepers are skilled warriors, often being taught to fight since turning three, so the boys’ guidance was very welcome at the college training grounds. Several young mages, impressed with Juel’s swordplay, removed the handguards from their swords. Several days later, they were already calling the Faizul “master” and followed him everywhere like ducklings, eager to learn anything he was willing to teach them.
Irin became a regular at the college shooting gallery. He gained some fans – but not “apprentices” like Juel – as well. Every Crimson Guardian, young and old, wanted to see him shoot. Irin never missed. Wind, fog, darkness – nothing could stop him from hitting his target. But, despite his shining talent, no one liked the grim boy. Ambassa makes many things shine, and some of them are not nice. There was an aura of cold, menacing danger around Irin and people subconsciously felt it.
While most of the team kept their activities consistent, Orion, Bala, and Kosta didn’t. Orion could join Juel and Irin at the training grounds (young Crimson Guardians enjoyed his company) or Oasis and Lainuver at their shadow “business”, or Pai and Milian in the library. Sometimes, his wanderer’s spirit became so infectious that the other boys followed his example. Then you could see Pai and Milian spar with the college students or Juel and Lainuver spend a day in the library (Einar Sharlou gave them his permission to do so). Those two always sat in opposite corners of the reading hall but borrowed the same books from time to time.
Bala and Kosta spent their days differently from the rest of the group.
Bala, who was always hungry for stories, dedicated his time to gathering all the stories Firaska could offer. Since he always valued listening to stories over reading them, his main hunting grounds were Firaskian taverns. Soon all the tavern regulars, travellers, and barkeepers knew and welcomed the cheerful dark-skinned boy. Bala had little money to spend but was always generous and irresistibly charming when it came to sharing stories. He told people of his travels with his master, of North and South, of Ebony Islands and Chermasan Sea; he sang foreign songs and narrated foreign legends; he knew a good number of teasing verses too, both from Mirumir and Adjaen. Whenever Bala Maraskaran visited a tavern, curious folks followed him and the tavern owner’s business got a pleasant boost because of all the drinks and food they bought.
Kosta’s case was more complicated.
At first, hungry for knowledge, young Ollardian used to spend his days in the college library with Pai and Milian but then his illness got worse. On his last visit to the library, he borrowed a book titled “Tome of Dark Creatures”. That was how he spent his time now: bedridden, coughing, and reading the darkest textbook imaginable. Kosta’s breath was wheezy, superficial, difficult; if he tried to breathe deeply, his cough returned, making the boy painfully bent double in his bed. It seemed that his lungs were slowly filling with liquid with every passing day.
Kosta’s teammates, concerned with his condition, didn’t hear a single complaint from the stoic boy.
“It’s all right,” he always said. “It happens to me sometimes but it will pass.”
One can only guess how painful his life must have been that he had learned to accept such suffering as normal.
Kosta's condition worsened with each passing day. First, he put his book of horrors aside because even reading became too difficult for him, and then he stopped talking.
Bala brought a foreign healer to him once, a powerful mage who had happened to visit the city tavern Bala was a regular at. After examining the patient, the mage healer said, perplexed,
“Physically, he's fine. His illness resembles a severe case of magical addiction but it’s unlike any case I’ve seen.” He turned to Kosta. “Tell me, my boy, have you ever been to the No Man’s Land or the No Man’s Waters?”
Kosta nodded. He indeed had travelled with his father a lot.
“Did you enter any anomalies? Handled magical objects beyond the stable territory?”
Kosta shook his head.
The