The next morning brings with it new insights into who my little sunbird has become.
I emerge from my bedroll in a blind search for tea, hoping to caffeinate my encroaching headache away. Instead, I find Callum and Evin sitting beside the fire. The boy's head hangs down, obscuring his face behind golden hair that has grown shaggy over the fall. Callum doesn't speak but there is a comforting air in the way he rests his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Is everything alright?" I ask.
Evin looks up, shocking me with the puffiness around his eyes. In the blink of an eye, he stands and crosses to me, throwing thin arms around me and burying his face in my shirt. Unsure what to do, I pat his back gently as tears seep through cloth to chill against my skin.
With stilted movements, that are the exact opposite of the flamboyant man I had come to know, Callum moves to disentangle Evin from me. The boy goes reluctantly but eventually lets himself be led back to the fire as long as I sit beside him. Onua, ever observant, brings me a tin cup of tea.
I don't know why it takes me so long to put the pieces together but when I do, I flick my eyes around the camp in search for confirmation. When they return to the fire, I know why Evin is crying.
"Vala left?" I ask Callum, my voice weighted by hurt.
Callum nods, "We will meet her in Corus."
"Why couldn't she stay?" Evin asks, new tears making his voice crack, "We were going to Corus anyways."
"She never stays, Evin, you know that, but we always find her again."
"I don't understand," I say, furrowing my brow, "She did not indicate that she was planning to leave."
"One of the sparrows came," says Evin, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "She always leaves when the sparrows come. I hate them. They aren't like robins and bluebirds. They don't sing songs for us; they only bring messages."
"Sparrows?" I ask Callum, still thoroughly confused.
"I don't fully understand it myself but it is a pattern. A sparrow arrives and then Vala disappears. It has been that way as long as I've known her."
"She's mentioned a Master of Sparrows before. Is that who sends the messages?"
Callum only shrugs, "She's never told me who the Master of Sparrows is. Only that all the mage hunters are afraid of him."
"How far are we from Corrus?" I ask, between sips of tea, my mind moving faster than I can truly comprehend.
"About a week," Callum replies, "Why? I thought you weren't all that excited about going to Corrus?"
"I'm not but Vala has a lot of questions to answer and she WILL answer them."
"Good luck," Callum's sarcasm is borne of heartache.
Despite his evident love for Vala, I know Preet far better than he does. I know what questions she will answer and which ones she won't. Rather than say this though, I turn to Evin with a soft smile, "Master Evin, shall we pick up where we left off last night? Surely I have room to improve."
"Why do you keep calling me Master?" Evin asks, keeping his eyes on the flames as if they could burn his sadness away.
I furrow my brow in a jester's fashion, "Is that not the proper term for one trained in the ways of magic?"
"I don't know real magic," Evin says quietly, his shoulders slumping.
"On the contrary," I reply, raising my long nose into the air in mock-arrogance, "everyone has a gift and each one is as wonderous as the rest. You have your own magic."
Evin lights up, the shadows not entirely leaving his eyes but not as all-consuming as they had been, "You think so?"
"I know so."
A small smile blooms across the boy's face and in its light I feel I have finally done something good for the first time since leaving Carthak. Perhaps Callum had been right. I had never stopped being Master Arram Draper. It was the only title that seemed to fit, even when I wished it wouldn't.
No, Arram was nothing more than a memory- a boy with too much curiosity and not enough practicality. I know who I am; player, mage, scholar, and teacher all rolled into one.
I am Master Numair Salmalin.
Over the next week, I fall into a routine. Evenings are spent around the bonfire with Evin. He shows me every trick he knows and, in the afternoons, I put what I learn to use earning coin on the streets of the closest city.
Despite things returning to a semblance of normalcy, I no longer join the others on stage. I prefer to work alone and no one speaks of the change. It is just another thing they accept, like the barren trees and the metallic tang of snow in the air — a shift in the season and nothing more.
My mornings are spent meditating. The consequences of my magic being caged but able to draw from other magical sources is that no amount of focus seems to keep it from rushing to the surface with every wayward emotion. I laugh and magic dances in my chest, I get angry and my gift vibrates under my skin, I become lost in absent thoughts and it drifts lazily through my bones. It has become nearly sentient, a mindful being that permeates my body. My gift is a frightening thing but it is as much a part of me as a limb. I can no more go on ignoring it. Eventually, it will break through its confines and I had to be prepared for that eventuality.
As we ascend the final hill that will take us to Corrus Valley, Evin keeps watching me out the corner of his eye. When we crest the summit, I come to understand why. The valley is one giant city cut in the center by a wide river that lets out into a distant cove. At the far end of the valley, a white dome is surrounded by four towers and backed by fields that give way to a forest that extends as far as the eye can see.
"It's pretty, huh?" Evin asks me.
"It could give Carthak City a few lessons," I joke.
Onua chuckles as she pulls the cart up beside me, absently reaching out to the shaggy dun pony that never seems to be far from her side, "I wouldn't go that far but Corrus has a certain charm to it. Me? I prefer the open desert. No city looks right compared to that."
"I like cities more," says Rian as he stops at Onua's other side, Jarra and Mookie close behind.
"He thinks they are cleaner," Jarra says with a laugh that offers her differing opinion on the subject.
The last to join them on the hilltop is Callum but, unlike the others, he does not stop to admire the city below.
"You all know where to go. Numair and I will join you shortly."
"Where are we going?" I ask him though I have the feeling I know the answer already.
He starts down the road toward the southern gates, "You boasted about getting answers. I have to say, I'm looking forward to watching you fail."
"Your faith means the world," I tell him sarcastically as I start to follow but Evin catches my sleeve before I can take a full step.
"I'll see you tonight for lessons, right?"
I flash him a grin, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Good," he replies easily, immediately reassured by my answer.
When I turn back to Callum, he is watching Evin walk toward the city's main gate with the others in tow, ready to protect him from the world if need be.
"I wish Vala understood what she does to him," Callum says, not meaning to confess aloud, "Right now, Evin lights up every time she's around but eventually that will change. I don't want him to hate her but that is exactly what will happen if she keeps flitting in and out of his life."
"Then tell him the truth," I reply simply, "It can't hurt any more than having your mother disappear on a whim and not knowing why."
"I don't think he would understand," Callum's head falls forward, defeated, "How does one explain to a ten-year-old that his mother isn't exactly human?"
Moving to his side, I clap him on the shoulder, "I don't think you're giving him enough credit. He's a smart boy. I suspect he knows a lot already but he just can't put it all together. He needs his father to fill in the gaps."
"You're probably right, Master Numair."
Callum stands a bit taller as he starts toward the city once more. In view of the northern gate, his flamboyance intensifies (if that's possible) and he blows a kiss to the gate guard as we pass.
The guard is dressed in dark blue from head to toe and has a single silver dog's head embroidered on the right breast of his tunic. Around his neck, he wears a chainmail collar and I can deduce what it is for. In his left hand, he holds a halberd in a tight grip, his whitening knuckles the only indication that Callum's gesture angered him. I expect him to stop us but he merely waves us through with a grimace.
At my confused expression, Callum smiles deviously, "Don't worry, we have protection."
Past the threshold, we quickly find ourselves in the darker part of the city, the part where shadows rule supreme. There are no street vendors or people milling about. Everyone eyes us, taking in our clothes and faces before cataloging the information for another time.
"What kind of protection?" I ask as I inadvertently catch the eye of a young man wearing a tattered leather jerkin and roughspun trousers. Unlike the Flying Snakes of Tyra, there is nothing to mark him as a gangster but I know what he is just from the glassy eyes and soured smile.
"The only kind that matters in Corrus. We have the protection of the Rogue."
"I thought you didn't work for the Rogue anymore?"
"I don't. Not directly. This way."
Callum leads me down a broad street where a hanging sign marks an out of place manse as the Dancing Dove Tavern. Inside, the shadows become thicker, brought forth by flickering lamps encased in glass that hasn't been cleaned in far too long.
"Barnie, my old friend. It has been oh so very long!" Walnut shells crunch under Callum's boots as he saunters toward the barkeep. A dozen eyes follow him; each set narrowed in varying degrees of suspicion.
The barkeep is a weasel-like man in a dirty apron with shadows permanently surrounding his deeply sunken eyes. "Whatcha doin' here, Poet?"
"I've come to find my sparrowling. Has she checked in?"
"She's about as much yers as I am da queen. Now get outta here. Yer kind ain't welcome here no more."
Callum is taken aback by this but I can only tell because his smile has grown tighter, "Since when? As far as I remember, we've always been welcome at the Dove."
"Things change. De Rogue gotta new home, so he don't care 'bout us little people no more. It ain't gonna be long 'fore he's feeling the pinch for marryin' dat noble broad. Gettin' hisself all entitled and shite."
The air around Callum turns dangerous and before I can blink the tip of his wrist-sheathed dagger is embedded in the wooden countertop. Still, he maintains a nonchalant demeanor, idly playing with the simple grip as he says, "You had better be careful, my friend. Some people might not take kindly to your insinuations. Just think if the Rogue himself heard you. His feelings would be rather hurt."
Barnie is hardly impressed by the show, making visual contact with each patron and silently warning them away from the knives they had gripped in reaction. "Yer threats don't mean shite here, Cal. Yer gonna have ta bring a lot more backup if yer gonna cut inta me counters."
Callum removes his blade from the wood with a grin, pointing it casually in my direction, "You misunderstand the position you are in, Barnie. You see that young man? He might not look like it but he is one of the most powerful mages in the world and he owes me a life debt. He could turn you into a frog with a thought."
Turning his dark gaze on me, the barkeep scans me from head to toe, "What's yer name boy?"
"He doesn't speak common. He only speaks Thaki, the language of sorcerers, but if I make this gesture-" Callum makes a strange signal with his hands, but I understand this game.
Raising a hand, I mutter Old Thaki words under my breath. They are gibberish but my entire being starts to vibrate with energy as my gift begs to be unleashed. Even Callum's eyes widen slightly as the room is filled with shadows that move as if alive.
The patrons, so ready to defend the barkeep a moment ago, froze. They are not foolish. The brave were remembered, but the smart lived longer.
"Hey now, dere ain't no need fur all dat. Tell 'im not ta burn de tavern ta de ground," Barnie says quickly, backtracking as he realizes the actual danger.
Callum waves me off and, with a deep breath, I pull my power back into my core. It takes a lot more effort than it should but no one else needs to know that.
"Great!" Callum says, resting his elbows on the bar like any other patron, "So, tell me where my sparrowling is."
"She told me not ta tell ye," Barnie admits reluctantly, still eyeing me warily, "so once ya find 'er don't tell 'er I'mma one dat sent ya."
"You have my word."
"She's at de Gilded Lily."
"Thank you, my good man. Now if you'll excuse us, we'd best be on our way."
Slapping the counter, Callum turns on his heels and waves me toward the door. Before following I bow my head toward the barkeep and say, in excellently pronounced common, "Have a nice day, sir."
Callum bursts out in laughter at the thunderous look on Barnie's face as we exit.
Once we are outside, Callum's laughter dies, and he curses in vivid fashion, "If she's at the Lily she'll have people watching her."
"What kind of people?"
"The powerful kind." Callum nods to the west where the palace looms like a shining beast.
"You can't be serious."
He waves away the tremble in my voice with an exaggerated gesture, "Don't worry, Numair. This is not Carthak. Here, even the most powerful of people can be reasoned with, you only to know how to play to their vanity."
"And I suppose you were trained in this art?" I ask sarcastically.
Callum smiles darkly, "I suppose we'll have to see if I was a good student."