The soul knows no fear, no pain, no joy. It knew freedom, however. It was
free now. It sped across the dunes, through the woods, over the wastelands
and stopped in front of the West Gate. This place had a familiar feel to
it. It felt like home. The soul was free, however, and no longer bound to
familiar places. Slowly it drifted upwards, to the heavens. The soul did
not know what awaited it there, but this new place was home. It was going
home. Upwards and upwards...
A sudden wrench pulled it down. No! The soul was no longer tied to the body! It was free! Another jarring wrench. The soul strained against the pull, but the caller was persistent. The soul had to submit. Home would have to wait a while longer.
******
Naramira sat upright with a jolt, a soundless scream upon her lips. Air, she needed air! She filled her lungs, thinking to herself that the dry, dust-choked air of the Commonlands had never seemed so pure before.
'I'm alive,' she realised then, bewildered. Her throat was raw and bruised, her whole body ached. It felt like a herd of centaurs had trampled all over her. Then she remembered. A being of swirling air, untouchable, ethereal, and yet malevolently real. Ice-cold fingers around her throat!
Suddenly she was aware of her surroundings. She was sitting in the dust, not far from the cave in the mountainside of the East Commonlands. Someone was standing protectively over her.
He was dressed in leather and carried a scimitar around which mystical leaves danced in the air. He smelled like the woods, a scent combined of the aroma of moss-covered trees, fresh dewdrops and clean air. A wild smell. Although he looked young to her, Naramira knew elves were never as young as they seemed. She suspected this elf had seen many ages pass by. Great power radiated from the figure.
He smiled kindly at her. "You'll be alright now. No, keep still, don't move," he cautioned as she tried to stand up. "It will take a few minutes for you to recover."
"What... what happened?" she asked shyly, completely in awe of the powerful elf.
"An air elemental," he replied grimly. "I was too far away to help, but at least it was not too late. You are very lucky."
Naramira frowned. She did not understand. "But I died. I know I did. And yet... I'm alive now." She was painfully sure of that fact. She had to be alive to be this sore. She looked at the elf, confused.
"Yes," he smiled. "I happened to be doing business with a Templar of immense power when I saw the elemental attack you. It was he who summoned your soul back and resurrected you."
"Resurrected?" Naramira asked, wide-eyed.
"When you die, your soul returns to the place it was last bound," the elf explained. "But it only lingers there for a few minutes before it departs. If you are very lucky, someone will come along in those few minutes, find your body and resurrect you. Not just anyone, though. Only a cleric or a paladin with great faith in his god has the skill to summon the soul back to the body. So, young lady, you are extremely lucky that you died when and where you did."
"As lucky as anyone who dies can be, I guess," Naramira replied, rubbing her throat gingerly.
The elf grinned. He helped her to her feet and said: "Elementals are magical beings summoned from another plane of existence. They cannot be harmed by ordinary weapons. You need a weapon with magical properties to kill them." He pressed a small velvet bag of coins in her hand and laughed out loud to see the astonished look on her face.
"Why are doing all this?" Naramira asked incredulously.
"Because I was once young, and I remember well what it was like to make your way through the dangers of this world, unskilled and unarmed." He smiled kindly. "I think you deserve more than to die here today."
Naramira didn't know what to say. She curtsied deeply before the elf, eyes shining with gratitude. He took her hand and helped her up wordlessly. Then he bid her farewell and walked back towards the cave. Naramira stared after him long after he was lost among the crowd of people gathered there. He had shown her great kindness and generosity, and she didn't even know his name.
******
Naramira made her way through the dusty streets of Freeport towards the Academy. Her thoughts and emotions were in a turmoil. She had died. Did she have the right to be alive now? Why had her life been given back to her, and Breya was still dead? The wood-elf had been courageous and kind, she had deserved life more than Naramira did.
As always, when a difficult problem weighed on her mind, the young enchantress made her way to Master Jusathorn's study. But this time, the birdman did not answer her timid knock at his door. She asked a passing novice where she might find the guildmaster.
"Master Jusathorn is out of town at the moment," the novice replied. "He did not say when he'd be back."
Naramira would have to face this dilemma alone.
She briefly visited her room, high up in the tower, where she put on her old novice robe and then took her green elven robe and the silk shirt Drutt had given her to the Academy's seamstress. The woman assured her that the clothes could be repaired and Naramira left it in her capable hands.
Her thoughts were morbid as she sat alone in her room. She decided to get a breath of fresh air and soon found herself drifting towards the marketplace in the north of town. Somehow, all the colours were brighter, the people friendlier and the smells wafting from the inns better than she had remembered. Her mood lifted and she began giving everyone she passed a bright smile. She was glad to be alive!
"Hello Lindie," she greeted one of the merchants. "How are you today?"
The girl looked up from a deep wooden chest at the back of her stall. Her face was tanned, proof that she spent many hours of the day under the relentless desert sun. No hint betrayed that most of her life had been spent indoors, studying the magical arts with Naramira. They had been good friends, although she had never shown an aptitude for her studies. And when Naramira had been awarded the first spell-circle, Lindie Rains had opted to join the Coalition of Freeport Traders.
"Not too bad," Lindie smiled. "What can I do for you today?"
"I need a magical weapon," Naramira replied. "Do you have anything like that?"
"I have many weapons, but only a few that are magical. Let me have a look." She rummaged through the chest, her head almost concealed from view. "Here's something. A velium scimitar." She stood up and held the weapon out to Naramira.
The young enchantress laughed. "Somehow, I just can't see myself wielding a big heavy sword, Lindie," she smiled.
"Well, it's not all that heavy, really," the merchant said but stopped short when she noticed her friend's raised eyebrow. "Alright, it is," she confessed. "Let's see what else I have..." She delved into the chest again. "Hmm, I guess you won't be interested in a jade mace either... Aha! I've got it." She pulled a long steel dirk out of the chest and held it up for Naramira to inspect.
The sun glinted off the razor-sharp blade. Naramira could see strange symbols carved into the hilt, a language unknown to her. It was polished to a rich sheen, the previous owner must have treasured it greatly.
"It's a dragoon dirk," Lindie said. "A magic blade, and as long as you're wielding it, it improves your dexterity and increases your protection against magic."
"It's perfect!" Naramira exclaimed. "How much do you want for it?"
"It's not cheap, Naramira. I acquired it from an adventurer recently returned from the Desert of Ro. The least I can let you have it for is ninety platinum."
Naramira had made more money than she had ever seen selling strands of spiderling silk, but she could not afford the dirk, as much as she wanted it. She fingered the dagger strapped to her waist. 'This will just have to do.'
"Would you like me to keep it for you?" Lindie asked, seeing her friend's crestfallen expression.
"Yes, please," Naramira replied. It meant she had to hunt more spiders, and risk going to the cave in the Commonlands again, but if that's what she had to do, she would do it. She just had to be more careful this time. That made her think of the elf and the purse he had given her. She hadn't opened it yet, but she had brought it with her when she came to the marketplace.
She took her leave from her friend and made her way to the bank. In the past she had not really had the occasion to visit the bank very often, but Banker Silverfield nevertheless recognised her immediately. Naramira knew he prided himself on having an excellent memory of all his clients.
"Good afternoon, Naramira. Back in novice robes, are you?" he asked, indicating her plane brown robe.
"Afternoon, master Silverfield. It is only temporary. I had... an unfortunate incident, and my initiate robe is in need of repair."
"Nothing too serious, I hope," he replied.
A brief frown crossed her face, but was immediately replaced by a hesitant smile. She handed him the velvet purse, which he opened and emptied its contents on the counter top. Naramira looked in amazement at the pile of platinum pieces. She waited in hushed anticipation as the banker counted the coins.
"Two hundred platinum," he finished. "Will that be all?"
'Goddess of Love, bless that elf for his kindness,' Naramira prayed fervently under her breath, hardly able to believe her ears. She could scarcely conceal her joy and beamed a bright smile at the banker. He returned the smile, but didn't say anything. "Can I have ninety platinum, please? And would you keep the rest safe for me?" she asked.
"Of course," he promised and counted out the amount she had asked for. He put the rest in a wooden box that had her name carved onto it, which he locked away in a vault at the back of the bank.
Naramira immediately returned to Lindie's stall and handed the surprised girl the ninety platinum pieces.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"It's a long story." Although the two girls had been close friends before, Naramira did not wish to share the tale of her death with anyone just yet. It had been a traumatic experience, one she was not fully ready to deal with at the moment. She needed time to think things through first.
Lindie frowned slightly as she sensed Naramira's withdrawal, but didn't say anything. She accepted the money and handed the dirk over to the young enchantress. "Be careful, it's very sharp," she cautioned.
Naramira took the weapon warily. It was perfectly balanced and fitted right into her hand, as if it were made just for her. She drew her trusty dagger and replaced it with the dirk. It felt good, strapped to her waist. It made her feel more confident. She gave her old dagger a long, sentimental look before offering it to Lindie.
"Would you care to buy this from me?" she asked.
The merchant took one look at it and complained: "But it's rusty!"
"It has saved my life many times," Naramira countered. "I'm almost reluctant to part with it."
"I'll take it, but I'll only give you four gold pieces for it."
"That's fine," Naramira agreed. "I'll see you soon, Lindie."
"Take care, Naramira," the merchant waved as Naramira walked away through the throng of people. "It's a dangerous world out there," she called after her.
Naramira did not reply. She knew that all too well.
******
"Griffin!" someone shouted. There were many people in the woods that day, all hunting spiders for their silk, like Naramira was. She turned and looked up in the direction the man was pointing. Around her, people were running for cover. The man hesitated another few seconds, before flashing her a terrified look and also bolting.
Naramira watched the griffin approach in rapt awe. The creature had the body of a lion, but the head and wings of an eagle. She knew it was dangerous, that only seasoned warriors could face a griffin and live to tell the tale. Strangely enough, she was not afraid of it. The griffin flew right over her, barely so much as glancing at the young enchantress, the wind beating from its powerful wings whipping her hair out behind her.
Soon it was out of sight, and people began emerging from their hiding places. Everyone looked at her in amazement and wonder. Naramira could not explain what had happened, and their incredulous faces made her feel uncomfortable. She grabbed her satchel full of silk strands and made her way through the woods to the sand dunes, heading towards the cave.
When she approached the place she had died a few days ago, she stopped short. She looked at the sand in detached objectivity. The inner turmoil that had wracked her since her resurrection suddenly subsided, leaving her disinterested and unafraid. 'I've already died. What's the worst that can happen to me now?'
The cave was just as full of people as ever, but Drutt was nowhere in sight. Naramira sold her silk strands to another tailor and went to sit down at the entrance of the cave, watching the variety of people pass by and taking in the sounds of their haggling.
A man wearing a scarlet robe trimmed with blue lace and on which a yellow sun blazed came to sit next to her. His skin was a deep, rich brown and a high, shining forehead could be glimpsed from underneath his hood. Golden rings flashed from his fingers and he carried a staff with a gold-fashioned serpent's head on it. The man looked frail to her, as if he would not be much use in a fight, but Naramira could sense his overwhelming self- confidence. This was not someone to underestimate.
"Hail, fellow Mindweaver," he greeted her in a strange accent.
"Hail, good sir," she replied, unsure of what to make of this foreign man. He seemed too impressed with himself for the young enchantress' liking. His gaudy robes and choice of jewellery made her wonder whether he was a travelling actor. But the staff he carried made her slightly uncomfortable.
"You seem troubled, young one. May I offer advice?"
"You may speak freely, sir. I may choose not to follow your advice, but I will listen," she said, smiling.
The man let her comment pass, his pride undaunted. "I do not know what troubles you, but I can tell from your attire, although not your bearing, that you are a Mindweaver, as am I, and that, young one, means that you can and will resolve the issue without fail."
Naramira frowned. "Why do you call me that?"
"Because that is what you are, if I am not mistaken, and I very rarely am mistaken. A webspinner, threading the thoughts of others into a pattern that suits your purpose. Weaving their minds into a picture for your delight. Bending their will to yours and triumphing over their sensibilities. A god among ordinary mortals."
Naramira bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. A god among mortals? Surely the man must be deluded. She got up to leave and brushed the dust from her newly-repaired green robe.
"Good day to you, sir."
The man also got to his feet and bowed before her. "Remember, young one, you have the power to achieve anything. Anything." His black eyes held her own for a minute. With great willpower, Naramira shook her head, as if shaking off an enchantment, and looked away from the strange man's unwavering stare. She could feel his gaze on her back as she walked away.
******
'There it is.' Naramira was laying on her stomach in the sand, peeking out over the dune at the air elemental not far off. At the sight of it, an icy chill formed at the bottom of her spine, but she ignored it. She had not come here this day to be afraid. She would face her killer and triumph, or be killed again. 'I can do anything, anything!' she thought, whimsically.
A snake slithered past her in the sand and she recoiled slightly from it. Her bravery did not extend that far!
She got up and took two tiny daggers out of her satchel. A long incantation followed, after which a golden glow surrounded the daggers, animating them into a mockery of life that ardently floated behind her as she slowly, carefully followed the mountain ridge closer to the elemental. Then, a few whispered words and her magical shielding was up, her image turned hazy and her own strength magically enhanced. She was taking no chances.
She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. 'Goddess of Love, help me succeed this day in ridding Norrath of this great evil. Before it kills another innocent victim.'
Naramira said the words that would drain the creature's strength. The air elemental turned around in surprise as it felt itself weaken. It saw the enchantress and, with a roar as if Xegony, Queen of Air, herself had descended from the heavens, it rushed at the girl who stood steadfastly awaiting its approach. She fired a Suffocating Sphere at it and then drew her dirk moments before the elemental was upon her.
Naramira ducked out of its reach, avoiding its icy fingers, but she was just a moment too slow as it punched her with rage-filled accuracy, leaving a red mark on her cheek that turned into a blue-black bruise almost immediately. This propelled her animated daggers into action. They would not let their mistress be treated so. The elemental found itself being pierced from all directions at once, as the animation whipped around it, piercing it left, then right, then left, too fast for the creature to counter the onslaught.
The blades were not magical, however, and could not kill the elemental. Naramira knew this. She'd hoped her animation would serve as a diversion, giving her enough time to do fatal damage with her new weapon.
Bright colours fluxed about her, stunning the elemental motionless. With a hatred so intense Naramira was surprised at her own fury, she drove the dirk deep into the creature's ethereal body. This time, her magical blade did not meet with empty air. She forced it in so deep she could see her own hand through the creature's insubstantial torso.
And just like that it was over. The elemental fell to the ground and the swirling wind that formed its lifeless corpse dissipated.
A great burden lifted from Naramira's mind. She stumbled to the ground. Wracking sobs escaped her as she finally came to grips with her own death. She had faced her fear and had triumphed over it. There would in all likelihood be countless more life-threatening encounters, but now she no longer flinched away from the thought. She was ready to handle anything her destiny might throw at her.
The two animated daggers came closer, floating protectively over their mistress, as if wanting to lend their strength to hers. They did not understand that her tears were not of sorrow, but were rather tears of elation.
******
Master Jusathorn did not say anything, but his look of approval spoke volumes. He had summoned the young enchantress to his study soon after she had returned to Freeport. Naramira had recounted the tale of her death, no longer reluctant to share the experience. She had told him how she had searched out the elemental and how she had confronted and killed it.
"I am proud of you, young Initiate," was all he said. Naramira smiled. The guildmaster was not one to praise lightly. Those few words meant more to her than a long speech from anyone else would have done.
The birdman ruffled his feathers, as if changing the subject. "And so are the Elders. I received word this morning. You have been awarded the third spell-circle."
Naramira started. After all she had been through, she had not expected this. Often she had feared for her future practising the arcane arts and had more likely expected to be barred from the Academy. This was a reward she was very grateful for.
"Do not look so surprised, young Initiate. Did I not say to you that you show an aptitude?" the guildmaster asked. "The third circle is an important one, as it encompasses most of the basic skills of enchantment. Master this spell-circle, and there will be no stopping you on your path to becoming a great Coercer."
Naramira thanked the Aviak for his encouragement and took her leave. She closed the door to his study quietly behind her and gingerly touched the black bruise on her cheek. Then she took a deep breath and made her way down the tower steps and headed for the library, where she would purchase the spells for the third spell-circle.
A sudden wrench pulled it down. No! The soul was no longer tied to the body! It was free! Another jarring wrench. The soul strained against the pull, but the caller was persistent. The soul had to submit. Home would have to wait a while longer.
******
Naramira sat upright with a jolt, a soundless scream upon her lips. Air, she needed air! She filled her lungs, thinking to herself that the dry, dust-choked air of the Commonlands had never seemed so pure before.
'I'm alive,' she realised then, bewildered. Her throat was raw and bruised, her whole body ached. It felt like a herd of centaurs had trampled all over her. Then she remembered. A being of swirling air, untouchable, ethereal, and yet malevolently real. Ice-cold fingers around her throat!
Suddenly she was aware of her surroundings. She was sitting in the dust, not far from the cave in the mountainside of the East Commonlands. Someone was standing protectively over her.
He was dressed in leather and carried a scimitar around which mystical leaves danced in the air. He smelled like the woods, a scent combined of the aroma of moss-covered trees, fresh dewdrops and clean air. A wild smell. Although he looked young to her, Naramira knew elves were never as young as they seemed. She suspected this elf had seen many ages pass by. Great power radiated from the figure.
He smiled kindly at her. "You'll be alright now. No, keep still, don't move," he cautioned as she tried to stand up. "It will take a few minutes for you to recover."
"What... what happened?" she asked shyly, completely in awe of the powerful elf.
"An air elemental," he replied grimly. "I was too far away to help, but at least it was not too late. You are very lucky."
Naramira frowned. She did not understand. "But I died. I know I did. And yet... I'm alive now." She was painfully sure of that fact. She had to be alive to be this sore. She looked at the elf, confused.
"Yes," he smiled. "I happened to be doing business with a Templar of immense power when I saw the elemental attack you. It was he who summoned your soul back and resurrected you."
"Resurrected?" Naramira asked, wide-eyed.
"When you die, your soul returns to the place it was last bound," the elf explained. "But it only lingers there for a few minutes before it departs. If you are very lucky, someone will come along in those few minutes, find your body and resurrect you. Not just anyone, though. Only a cleric or a paladin with great faith in his god has the skill to summon the soul back to the body. So, young lady, you are extremely lucky that you died when and where you did."
"As lucky as anyone who dies can be, I guess," Naramira replied, rubbing her throat gingerly.
The elf grinned. He helped her to her feet and said: "Elementals are magical beings summoned from another plane of existence. They cannot be harmed by ordinary weapons. You need a weapon with magical properties to kill them." He pressed a small velvet bag of coins in her hand and laughed out loud to see the astonished look on her face.
"Why are doing all this?" Naramira asked incredulously.
"Because I was once young, and I remember well what it was like to make your way through the dangers of this world, unskilled and unarmed." He smiled kindly. "I think you deserve more than to die here today."
Naramira didn't know what to say. She curtsied deeply before the elf, eyes shining with gratitude. He took her hand and helped her up wordlessly. Then he bid her farewell and walked back towards the cave. Naramira stared after him long after he was lost among the crowd of people gathered there. He had shown her great kindness and generosity, and she didn't even know his name.
******
Naramira made her way through the dusty streets of Freeport towards the Academy. Her thoughts and emotions were in a turmoil. She had died. Did she have the right to be alive now? Why had her life been given back to her, and Breya was still dead? The wood-elf had been courageous and kind, she had deserved life more than Naramira did.
As always, when a difficult problem weighed on her mind, the young enchantress made her way to Master Jusathorn's study. But this time, the birdman did not answer her timid knock at his door. She asked a passing novice where she might find the guildmaster.
"Master Jusathorn is out of town at the moment," the novice replied. "He did not say when he'd be back."
Naramira would have to face this dilemma alone.
She briefly visited her room, high up in the tower, where she put on her old novice robe and then took her green elven robe and the silk shirt Drutt had given her to the Academy's seamstress. The woman assured her that the clothes could be repaired and Naramira left it in her capable hands.
Her thoughts were morbid as she sat alone in her room. She decided to get a breath of fresh air and soon found herself drifting towards the marketplace in the north of town. Somehow, all the colours were brighter, the people friendlier and the smells wafting from the inns better than she had remembered. Her mood lifted and she began giving everyone she passed a bright smile. She was glad to be alive!
"Hello Lindie," she greeted one of the merchants. "How are you today?"
The girl looked up from a deep wooden chest at the back of her stall. Her face was tanned, proof that she spent many hours of the day under the relentless desert sun. No hint betrayed that most of her life had been spent indoors, studying the magical arts with Naramira. They had been good friends, although she had never shown an aptitude for her studies. And when Naramira had been awarded the first spell-circle, Lindie Rains had opted to join the Coalition of Freeport Traders.
"Not too bad," Lindie smiled. "What can I do for you today?"
"I need a magical weapon," Naramira replied. "Do you have anything like that?"
"I have many weapons, but only a few that are magical. Let me have a look." She rummaged through the chest, her head almost concealed from view. "Here's something. A velium scimitar." She stood up and held the weapon out to Naramira.
The young enchantress laughed. "Somehow, I just can't see myself wielding a big heavy sword, Lindie," she smiled.
"Well, it's not all that heavy, really," the merchant said but stopped short when she noticed her friend's raised eyebrow. "Alright, it is," she confessed. "Let's see what else I have..." She delved into the chest again. "Hmm, I guess you won't be interested in a jade mace either... Aha! I've got it." She pulled a long steel dirk out of the chest and held it up for Naramira to inspect.
The sun glinted off the razor-sharp blade. Naramira could see strange symbols carved into the hilt, a language unknown to her. It was polished to a rich sheen, the previous owner must have treasured it greatly.
"It's a dragoon dirk," Lindie said. "A magic blade, and as long as you're wielding it, it improves your dexterity and increases your protection against magic."
"It's perfect!" Naramira exclaimed. "How much do you want for it?"
"It's not cheap, Naramira. I acquired it from an adventurer recently returned from the Desert of Ro. The least I can let you have it for is ninety platinum."
Naramira had made more money than she had ever seen selling strands of spiderling silk, but she could not afford the dirk, as much as she wanted it. She fingered the dagger strapped to her waist. 'This will just have to do.'
"Would you like me to keep it for you?" Lindie asked, seeing her friend's crestfallen expression.
"Yes, please," Naramira replied. It meant she had to hunt more spiders, and risk going to the cave in the Commonlands again, but if that's what she had to do, she would do it. She just had to be more careful this time. That made her think of the elf and the purse he had given her. She hadn't opened it yet, but she had brought it with her when she came to the marketplace.
She took her leave from her friend and made her way to the bank. In the past she had not really had the occasion to visit the bank very often, but Banker Silverfield nevertheless recognised her immediately. Naramira knew he prided himself on having an excellent memory of all his clients.
"Good afternoon, Naramira. Back in novice robes, are you?" he asked, indicating her plane brown robe.
"Afternoon, master Silverfield. It is only temporary. I had... an unfortunate incident, and my initiate robe is in need of repair."
"Nothing too serious, I hope," he replied.
A brief frown crossed her face, but was immediately replaced by a hesitant smile. She handed him the velvet purse, which he opened and emptied its contents on the counter top. Naramira looked in amazement at the pile of platinum pieces. She waited in hushed anticipation as the banker counted the coins.
"Two hundred platinum," he finished. "Will that be all?"
'Goddess of Love, bless that elf for his kindness,' Naramira prayed fervently under her breath, hardly able to believe her ears. She could scarcely conceal her joy and beamed a bright smile at the banker. He returned the smile, but didn't say anything. "Can I have ninety platinum, please? And would you keep the rest safe for me?" she asked.
"Of course," he promised and counted out the amount she had asked for. He put the rest in a wooden box that had her name carved onto it, which he locked away in a vault at the back of the bank.
Naramira immediately returned to Lindie's stall and handed the surprised girl the ninety platinum pieces.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"It's a long story." Although the two girls had been close friends before, Naramira did not wish to share the tale of her death with anyone just yet. It had been a traumatic experience, one she was not fully ready to deal with at the moment. She needed time to think things through first.
Lindie frowned slightly as she sensed Naramira's withdrawal, but didn't say anything. She accepted the money and handed the dirk over to the young enchantress. "Be careful, it's very sharp," she cautioned.
Naramira took the weapon warily. It was perfectly balanced and fitted right into her hand, as if it were made just for her. She drew her trusty dagger and replaced it with the dirk. It felt good, strapped to her waist. It made her feel more confident. She gave her old dagger a long, sentimental look before offering it to Lindie.
"Would you care to buy this from me?" she asked.
The merchant took one look at it and complained: "But it's rusty!"
"It has saved my life many times," Naramira countered. "I'm almost reluctant to part with it."
"I'll take it, but I'll only give you four gold pieces for it."
"That's fine," Naramira agreed. "I'll see you soon, Lindie."
"Take care, Naramira," the merchant waved as Naramira walked away through the throng of people. "It's a dangerous world out there," she called after her.
Naramira did not reply. She knew that all too well.
******
"Griffin!" someone shouted. There were many people in the woods that day, all hunting spiders for their silk, like Naramira was. She turned and looked up in the direction the man was pointing. Around her, people were running for cover. The man hesitated another few seconds, before flashing her a terrified look and also bolting.
Naramira watched the griffin approach in rapt awe. The creature had the body of a lion, but the head and wings of an eagle. She knew it was dangerous, that only seasoned warriors could face a griffin and live to tell the tale. Strangely enough, she was not afraid of it. The griffin flew right over her, barely so much as glancing at the young enchantress, the wind beating from its powerful wings whipping her hair out behind her.
Soon it was out of sight, and people began emerging from their hiding places. Everyone looked at her in amazement and wonder. Naramira could not explain what had happened, and their incredulous faces made her feel uncomfortable. She grabbed her satchel full of silk strands and made her way through the woods to the sand dunes, heading towards the cave.
When she approached the place she had died a few days ago, she stopped short. She looked at the sand in detached objectivity. The inner turmoil that had wracked her since her resurrection suddenly subsided, leaving her disinterested and unafraid. 'I've already died. What's the worst that can happen to me now?'
The cave was just as full of people as ever, but Drutt was nowhere in sight. Naramira sold her silk strands to another tailor and went to sit down at the entrance of the cave, watching the variety of people pass by and taking in the sounds of their haggling.
A man wearing a scarlet robe trimmed with blue lace and on which a yellow sun blazed came to sit next to her. His skin was a deep, rich brown and a high, shining forehead could be glimpsed from underneath his hood. Golden rings flashed from his fingers and he carried a staff with a gold-fashioned serpent's head on it. The man looked frail to her, as if he would not be much use in a fight, but Naramira could sense his overwhelming self- confidence. This was not someone to underestimate.
"Hail, fellow Mindweaver," he greeted her in a strange accent.
"Hail, good sir," she replied, unsure of what to make of this foreign man. He seemed too impressed with himself for the young enchantress' liking. His gaudy robes and choice of jewellery made her wonder whether he was a travelling actor. But the staff he carried made her slightly uncomfortable.
"You seem troubled, young one. May I offer advice?"
"You may speak freely, sir. I may choose not to follow your advice, but I will listen," she said, smiling.
The man let her comment pass, his pride undaunted. "I do not know what troubles you, but I can tell from your attire, although not your bearing, that you are a Mindweaver, as am I, and that, young one, means that you can and will resolve the issue without fail."
Naramira frowned. "Why do you call me that?"
"Because that is what you are, if I am not mistaken, and I very rarely am mistaken. A webspinner, threading the thoughts of others into a pattern that suits your purpose. Weaving their minds into a picture for your delight. Bending their will to yours and triumphing over their sensibilities. A god among ordinary mortals."
Naramira bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. A god among mortals? Surely the man must be deluded. She got up to leave and brushed the dust from her newly-repaired green robe.
"Good day to you, sir."
The man also got to his feet and bowed before her. "Remember, young one, you have the power to achieve anything. Anything." His black eyes held her own for a minute. With great willpower, Naramira shook her head, as if shaking off an enchantment, and looked away from the strange man's unwavering stare. She could feel his gaze on her back as she walked away.
******
'There it is.' Naramira was laying on her stomach in the sand, peeking out over the dune at the air elemental not far off. At the sight of it, an icy chill formed at the bottom of her spine, but she ignored it. She had not come here this day to be afraid. She would face her killer and triumph, or be killed again. 'I can do anything, anything!' she thought, whimsically.
A snake slithered past her in the sand and she recoiled slightly from it. Her bravery did not extend that far!
She got up and took two tiny daggers out of her satchel. A long incantation followed, after which a golden glow surrounded the daggers, animating them into a mockery of life that ardently floated behind her as she slowly, carefully followed the mountain ridge closer to the elemental. Then, a few whispered words and her magical shielding was up, her image turned hazy and her own strength magically enhanced. She was taking no chances.
She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. 'Goddess of Love, help me succeed this day in ridding Norrath of this great evil. Before it kills another innocent victim.'
Naramira said the words that would drain the creature's strength. The air elemental turned around in surprise as it felt itself weaken. It saw the enchantress and, with a roar as if Xegony, Queen of Air, herself had descended from the heavens, it rushed at the girl who stood steadfastly awaiting its approach. She fired a Suffocating Sphere at it and then drew her dirk moments before the elemental was upon her.
Naramira ducked out of its reach, avoiding its icy fingers, but she was just a moment too slow as it punched her with rage-filled accuracy, leaving a red mark on her cheek that turned into a blue-black bruise almost immediately. This propelled her animated daggers into action. They would not let their mistress be treated so. The elemental found itself being pierced from all directions at once, as the animation whipped around it, piercing it left, then right, then left, too fast for the creature to counter the onslaught.
The blades were not magical, however, and could not kill the elemental. Naramira knew this. She'd hoped her animation would serve as a diversion, giving her enough time to do fatal damage with her new weapon.
Bright colours fluxed about her, stunning the elemental motionless. With a hatred so intense Naramira was surprised at her own fury, she drove the dirk deep into the creature's ethereal body. This time, her magical blade did not meet with empty air. She forced it in so deep she could see her own hand through the creature's insubstantial torso.
And just like that it was over. The elemental fell to the ground and the swirling wind that formed its lifeless corpse dissipated.
A great burden lifted from Naramira's mind. She stumbled to the ground. Wracking sobs escaped her as she finally came to grips with her own death. She had faced her fear and had triumphed over it. There would in all likelihood be countless more life-threatening encounters, but now she no longer flinched away from the thought. She was ready to handle anything her destiny might throw at her.
The two animated daggers came closer, floating protectively over their mistress, as if wanting to lend their strength to hers. They did not understand that her tears were not of sorrow, but were rather tears of elation.
******
Master Jusathorn did not say anything, but his look of approval spoke volumes. He had summoned the young enchantress to his study soon after she had returned to Freeport. Naramira had recounted the tale of her death, no longer reluctant to share the experience. She had told him how she had searched out the elemental and how she had confronted and killed it.
"I am proud of you, young Initiate," was all he said. Naramira smiled. The guildmaster was not one to praise lightly. Those few words meant more to her than a long speech from anyone else would have done.
The birdman ruffled his feathers, as if changing the subject. "And so are the Elders. I received word this morning. You have been awarded the third spell-circle."
Naramira started. After all she had been through, she had not expected this. Often she had feared for her future practising the arcane arts and had more likely expected to be barred from the Academy. This was a reward she was very grateful for.
"Do not look so surprised, young Initiate. Did I not say to you that you show an aptitude?" the guildmaster asked. "The third circle is an important one, as it encompasses most of the basic skills of enchantment. Master this spell-circle, and there will be no stopping you on your path to becoming a great Coercer."
Naramira thanked the Aviak for his encouragement and took her leave. She closed the door to his study quietly behind her and gingerly touched the black bruise on her cheek. Then she took a deep breath and made her way down the tower steps and headed for the library, where she would purchase the spells for the third spell-circle.