Page 60 of The Ninth Element

“The Faith has its merits,” Faelas interrupts me with a surprisingly gentle voice. “Peace, order, family, community—those are values I can get behind. Some higher power… I believe that, too. But the creation story?” He shakes his head. “Pure mythology. You can believe in the Faith without swallowing every unbelievable tale the priests have cooked up over the centuries.”

I nod, pondering his words as my gaze sweeps over the vast expanse of bookshelves that line the library walls.

“And Firelands? What is their take on it all?” Faelas asks, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms.

“They don’t preach the Faith, but Firelands also believes that fire, earth, air, water, nature, life, light, and sound are the foundation of this world. It’s the ninth element where things get complicated. Ahiras claim it’s sorcery rather than soul. An element that binds with the life element. Only some lucky mortals have it, and others, well, they are just regular folks.”

“And that makes sorcerers superior?” Faelas asks, his eyes narrowing.

“Firelands wouldn’t put it that bluntly. But yes, sorcerers think themselves more complete than regular men because of it.”

“Bernold also thought the ninth element was sorcery,” he murmurs softly.

My head tilts as I take in the thoughtful expression that settles on his face. “You knew him well?”

He nods, a distant look in his eyes. “I grew up practically glued to his side in that book-filled crypt he called a study. Some called him a lunatic, but the man was a genius. He believed sorcery was a hidden element lurking in everyone, just waiting for its big break. Strong in some, a bit shy in others. But there, nonetheless, in every bone.”

My eyebrows raise to the tops of my forehead. Color me surprised. A Firelands sorcerer with a view like that? That is as likely as finding a pink Nohvan. “I wager that belief didn’t exactly make him the life of the social scenes in Firelands.”

Faelas chuckles dryly. “You could say that. The other Ahiras in Izadrock, the Dartheons’s seat, thought he was insane. But he was too busy being brilliant to care. Different breed, he was. Kind of reminds me of you, actually.”

I can’t help but grin. “So, I am an acceptable Ahira now?”

He grins back. “You are getting close.”

I suddenly realize this is the longest conversation Faelas and I have ever had and the first time we have talked about anything beyond the trials and that elusive Star. Maybe it’s the shared hours we’ve spent the last seven days in the library or the desperation of the unknown, but something has definitely shifted between us. He has been so suspicious of me, but the lines have blurred since the third trial.

I take a deep breath before I brave the next sentence. “I am sorry. About Bernold. And your father.”

Only crickets dare to break the silence that comes after.

When Faelas finally speaks, his gaze remains on the table. “We weren’t exactly close. My father and I. Books and dreams were mine. The army and the temple were his. In our family, it was either swords or sermons, for generations. But I wanted to go to Madrisa and become a Master. He thought I was insane. But Bernold understood it. He saw the hunger for knowledge in me, the same hunger he had. He understood me like a father should.” He pauses, looking uncertain of his next words. “I used to stay upat night, praying that sorcery manifests in me.”

He pauses again, and I sense he just shared something he has never spoken of before. That gives me the courage to do the same, “I’ve known about my powers for as long as I can remember. I used to hide them and secretly pray for the opposite—for them to disappear.”

Our eyes meet, and a silent understanding passes between us. Different desires stem from the same pain. We both know the pain of loss, the ache of longing for something different from what life had offered. He doesn’t pry, sensing that I would have shared more if I wanted to, especially since I lied about this during our first breakfast together.

“My father was deeply religious, so when I told him I wanted to be a Master, he blamed Bernold, claiming he’d corrupted me. That’s why it was odd for him to meet Bernold alone outside of Izadmond. He despised him. Or any sorcerer. He thought of them as the cause of all of our miseries. And then… " His voice trails off, leaving the grief unspoken.

A cold weight settles in my stomach. Losing a father and a father figure in a single day… the pain is unimaginable.

“Not knowing why must be difficult,” I whisper, offering what little solace I can. I understand that part; not knowing why my parents abandoned me has always haunted me.

He nods with a distant gaze. “Yes. That’s the worst part. Making it a never-ending torment.”

Words are a thin comfort in the face of such pain. Outside, the world turns, indifferent to our sorrows. But in this quiet room, surrounded by the ghosts of forgotten knowledge, we stay silent, alone with our grief.

##################

Later that evening, when we are all gathered in the communal area, Faelas drops a fireball into our cozy fireside chat: “We must infiltrate the Martyshyar wing.”

When I gaze at him in disbelief, he says, “We are not going to find information about the Star by sniffing around the library. If it’s written down anywhere, it’s in that keep they call the Martyshyar wing.”

“You mean the forbidden section when we almost got caught last timewe tried to sneak in?” I squeak, my voice reaching a pitch only dogs could appreciate. “We will be expelled.”

Faelas shrugs. “Who said it’s against the rules? They told us all the rules on the first night, anddon’t-enter-the-Martyshyar-wingwas not among them.”

“But it’s guarded tighter than a Nohvan’s hoard, even for Martyshgards. Even without ado-not-entersign slapped on it, it is clearly not meant for us,” I squeak, my eyes wide in disbelief.

---