Martok looked up at his father and smiled. He loved it when he was allowed to travel with him. On every journey he would get to see some new and magnificent wonder. The last time it had been the crystal caverns of Yulindria. And the time before that, the rushing sand river of the eastern wasteland. But this trip promised to be the most special one of all. He was now eight years old and was finally going to see what he had always dreamed of seeing. Dragons.
“How long do they live?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” his father replied. “Thousands of years, I would imagine.”
Ralmar was a great mage. In Martok’s young mind, by far the greatest mage of them all. The only thing he ever wanted was to be like him. “How do they manage to stay alive for so long?” he asked.
Ralmar reached over and mussed his son’s hair. “With magic, of course.”
The youngster considered this for a moment. “Does that mean you will live that long as well?”
Ralmar laughed. “No, son. I’m afraid not. Magic doesn’t work that way.”
“But uncle Sylas said that mages live longer than other humans. He said that's because of magic.”
“Mages
do
live longer,” his father confirmed. “But that’s because of magic’s healing properties. Our bodies don’t wear out as quickly, that's all. But it can’t extend our lives in the same way it does for dragons.”
“Why not? If it works for them, why can’t it work for us?”
“It just doesn’t, son. And your uncle should have told you that.”
“But if I found a way, I could make you live forever.”
Ralmar stopped to kneel and face his son. “Listen to me, Martok. Nothing, not even the dragons, can live forever. It’s just not the way things are supposed to be. We all have our time and then it’s over.”
Martok frowned. “But if I could find a way –”
“No, son,” he said, cutting him short. “And I don’t want you to think about such things. It’s dangerous. Many mages have wasted their lives seeking immortality. It’s not possible.”
He looked into his father’s eyes and recognized the sorrow that was all too frequent. “If you could have, would you have saved mother? Would you have made her live forever?”
Ralmar sighed heavily. “If I could have saved her, I would have. But no. I would not want either of us to live forever. One day my body will grow old and this life will be spent. But that is a good thing. My passing makes room for you.”
Martok simply couldn’t accept this. When his mother had died last winter his father had been devastated. It was over a month before he left their manor or even spoke a word. Martok had asked many times what had caused her death, but his father refused to tell him. He now looked at his parent stubbornly. “Well, I think there's plenty of room for both of us.”
Ralmar pulled his son in, embracing him tightly. “For now there is.” After a few seconds he eased him back and held his shoulders. “Listen to me. I don’t want you worrying over these things. And I especially don’t want you worrying about me. When my time comes, I will be just fine.”
He looked at his father skeptically. “How do you know that?”
Smiling, Ralmar stood and took hold of the youngster's hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The reassuring smile did much to make Martok feel better. Many times he had overheard his uncle and his father arguing about what was appropriate magic for a boy of his age to be learning. His father had warned Sylas repeatedly that it was not his decision. The last time they spoke of this it had nearly come to blows. Martok knew it had something to do with his mother and the way she had died. But not even his uncle would tell him anything about it. All the same, it made him think very hard about if there was a special way to make the people you love live forever. Was that the secret magic his father didn’t want him to learn?
It would take three days for them to walk all the way along the narrow trail that passed through a tangle of dense foliage. The jungle would have reclaimed the path long ago, his father explained, had it not been kept clear by the magic of the dragons. Their connection to Lumnia gave them unique powers. Even more excitingly, he then went on to tell a little of the special bond that the Dragonvein family shared with these wonderful creatures.
After choosing a place to camp on the second night, Ralmar lit a fire and set his wards to keep away unwanted animals and other pests. This done, he retrieved a silver flute from his pack and began playing a tune that Martok remembered his mother always saying was her absolute favorite. Often she would sing along with his playing, though the words would change with each performance. Sometimes they would be about heroes and quests. Other times the story of young love. She had been a remarkable woman. And one of the best healers in all of Lumnia. Even his uncle had said so.
A thousand people had shown up to her funeral, though Ralmar could not bring himself to attend – a fact that was widely frowned upon by many of the noble houses. They did not hold back on expressing their opinions on the matter either. It had enraged Martok to no end when they called his father weak and pathetic. Not a true nobleman. He knew better than anyone how deeply his parents had loved each other, and how great his father's sense of loss was when she passed away. It was as if a part of him had died too. That was the reason why, for a time, he hadn't been able to carry on as normal. None of those other cruel hearted mages would ever have been capable of understanding such love and devotion.
“It is not weakness,” his uncle had told him. “To love so deeply is beyond most men. And to find someone who you can truly love with all of your being is a rare gift. They are just envious toads. Don’t pay them any mind.”
When his father finished playing, he laid the flute gently in his lap. There was a faraway look in his eyes.
“What is so special about where we’re going?” Martok asked. “Uncle Sylas said you think it's the most special place in the world. But he wouldn’t tell me why.”
His father waved him over to sit beside him. “As I explained earlier, son, our family is unique. We were the very first to know the dragons. And of all the great mage families, only ours has the privilege of sharing a bond with them. It is a gift from our ancient past. Given to us by the greatest of all our ancestors.”
“Who was he?” Martok asked, wide-eyed.
“Actually, it's a she. And where I'm taking you is the only place in Lumnia where you can meet her.”
Martok's eyes grew even wider. “How can I meet her if she's dead?”
He stroked his son’s hair. “Remember how I told you that once I'm gone, I would be well taken care of. Well, tomorrow you will understand why.”
“Will there be dragons there too?”
Ralmar laughed. “Perhaps. But I don’t think you’ll care too much about that once you meet her.”
It was late into the afternoon when they arrived at their destination. Martok was sure he'd heard the distant roar of a dragon overhead as they set out that morning, and ever since then he'd found himself spending most of his time gazing hopefully up amongst the clouds. Much to his disappointment, clouds were the only sky bound objects he had so far seen.
The path had taken them right to the very edge of a deep chasm. A few yards away from this stood a small cabin. Ralmar led his son inside and set about building a fire in the hearth. The interior was modest, yet quite adequate, and large enough to accommodate four people if necessary.
After finishing a meal, Ralmar regarded Martok across the table. His expression carried a mixture of pride and anxiety.
“What is about to happen can be quite unsettling, son,” he began. “It certainly was for me when
my
father brought me here. But there is nothing to fear.”
Martok puffed out his chest. “I’m not scared.”
Ralmar laughed. “Neither was I until I met her.”
“Who is she? I mean really?”
“I told you. Heather was the first of our line to bond with the dragons.”
“How can she still be alive?”
His father waved a hand. “All of your questions will be answered soon enough. But before that happens, remember, I would never allow anything to harm you. I would not have brought you here unless I thought you were ready. And when you return, I will be waiting.”
Martok cocked his head. “You’re not coming with me?”
“No. This is
your
time. You must meet her on your own. As I said before, there is nothing to fear. I promise you that.”
Martok did not want to admit it, but the thought of going on alone was starting to frighten him. Nonetheless, he did his best not to show this.
Ralmar glanced over to the window. The light was fading and night would soon fall. “We should go now,” he said.
He led his son from the cabin and over to a spot where the path continued on down the side of the canyon. Fear gripped Martok as he regarded the scarily narrow trail. More than ever he wanted his father to be with him. Knowing that wasn't going to happen, he stiffened his back and balled his tiny fists.
“I’m ready, father.”
Ralmar nodded and gave his son a loving smile. “I know you are.”
His eyes followed the line of the path. “I had almost forgotten how far down it is.” Having said that, he placed a firm hand on Martok’s shoulder. “Just stay close to the wall. There's plenty of room if you do that.”
Martok gave his father a final look before beginning his descent. He did not enjoy heights very much, and the lack of any sort of railing made the path seem far narrower than it really was. His mother would have been a nervous wreck had she been there to see him. And the look in his father’s eyes just before he set off told him that he was in a similar state of anxiety.
When he finally dared to look down at the canyon floor he saw a circle of pedestals surrounding a raised marble platform. Each pedestal had a faintly glowing rajni stone set at its crown. The rest of the floor was bare, and even in the waning sunlight he could easily see well into the distance. No one was visible. Where was this ancestor hiding?
Upon reaching the bottom he cautiously approached the platform and began walking its circumference. Still he saw no one. Knowing the smooth sides were too high for him to climb up, he looked around for something to stand on. It was a forlorn gesture. He already knew there was nothing at all other than a few small pebbles scattered about.
“Hello?” he called out, his small voice echoing unnaturally loudly from the intimidatingly high canyon walls. “Is anyone here?”
No reply came.
There was only one thing left to try. Looking back to the platform, he took a deep breath and then ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward it, jumping up just before he slammed into the side. It was a determined effort, but he was not quite tall enough. Though his arms had managed to reach the top, he felt himself quickly sliding off again. But just before he fell, what must have been a hand gripped the back of his shirt collar and hefted him all the way up.
Martok got to his feet, eyes darting about in every direction and utter confusion on his face. There was still no one to be seen. How could that be? “This isn’t funny,” he said, trying to sound brave. “Come out.”
“You are an interesting child.”
It was a female voice that seemed to come from inside his own head. It was calm and comforting in a way he had never experienced before. Instantly, all anxiety and fear left him.
“Your father used a spell to help himself up here,” the voice continued. “I’m sure you know enough magic by now. Why didn’t you do the same?”
Martok felt embarrassed. “I…I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think of it. Are you Heather?”
“I am. Please answer my question.”
Martok shrugged. “I don’t use magic very much. Not when I'm away from home at least.”
“And why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because father doesn’t like it when people recognize us as a mage family.”
“Is that right? And why would he not want that?”
“He says that ordinary people act differently when mages are around. He says that because we’ve got special gifts, it’s our duty to look after them. But if we don’t know what they’re really like, we can’t do that properly.”
“Your father is wise…and kind. But I recognized these qualities in him even as a child.”
Martok narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t I see you?”
Heather laughed. “Would you like to?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Then you shall.”
In a flash of blinding white light, a young woman appeared just a few feet in front of him. Straight, shoulder length auburn hair framed her delicate features perfectly. And, in spite of her youthful beauty, her simple attire gave her a reassuring, motherly quality.
The moment he saw her, Martok felt the tears rising. In no time at all he was weeping uncontrollably. But these were not tears of sorrow. He ran headlong toward the woman, wrapping his small arms around her waist.
Heather held him with tender care. “It’s all right. I’m here,” she whispered.
He wasn't sure how long he remained in her arms. At least several minutes must have passed before he finally stepped away. “It’s…it’s just like when I was with my mother,” he sniffed. “It’s exactly the way I felt before she died.”