Flight Mage Seraph

Interlude

Seraph awoke on a bed in a spacious, yet unfamiliar, room. This time, he didn't allow his strange environment to worry him. Instead, he took a moment to enjoy the soft mattress and the warmth of sunlight streaming through a window. There would be time enough for questions.

"Hugh?" The voice came from the far end of the room. "Are you all right?"

"Shuxue," he smiled. He knew Combustion was nearby and as long as he was, Seraph should be able to cope with whatever situation he was in now.

The fire mage moved beside the bed. "I said, 'Are you all right?'"

Seraph touched his neck and felt the metallic iciness of the band. Only then did he remember what had happened. He suddenly didn't feel so good.

"I'm fine, except this charm is a bit tight and I feel a little nauseous."

Combustion nodded. "That is actually better than I'd expected, considering the type of charm you're wearing. We had expected you to remain unconscious for longer. I'm sure you will want some explanations, but before I provide them—"

His fist shot out, landing on the pillow just beside Seraph's head.

"Hugh, you idiot!" he screamed. "Don't you know how terrified Westerners are of flying men?!"

Seraph lay motionless, too stunned to speak. He watched as the Furan fought to regain control over his emotions.

"I…had to burn…a lot…of arrows and bows…just to stop them from…from shooting you down. And what if the arrows had plunged into the crowd, or if you'd fallen on top of the people? How many might have been killed by your foolishness?"

Seraph looked away and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Combustion grunted. "No one can afford to lose you. Not Sara, not Caleb, not your family—"

Seraph's eyes locked onto the fire mage's.

"How are they? Are they well?"

He nodded. "We retrieved Sara and the granddaughter returned to her grandmother safe and sound. Your family remains here in the palace, but as guests rather than hostages. The Great Mage has given you permission to escort them home, as long as you return in time for the new academic year."

"The academic year?" Seraph pulled himself up to a sitting position. "What has that to do with me? And why would Daylight allow me out of a prison, let alone Angalas?"

"The Great Mage is not being generous," Combustion said grimly. "The Mage War and the Academy Massacre has killed every Sentralian flight mage older than you, that is every flight teacher. Since hiring a foreign teacher would be political suicide, you, as the most talented flight mage in Sentralia, are his best hope for rebuilding the flight school. If you agree to teach, he will allow you certain…freedoms.

"Besides, while you wear this charm, you can't act against his rule. You can move and fly as you normally would, but if you even begin to plan a rebellion, the band will tighten and make you ill."

"It's already doing both," Seraph replied.

He tried to loosen it, but it only constricted, making him choke. Combustion pulled his hand away.

"Don't do that. Trying to tamper with it will make it worse; it could even knock you out again. What you are feeling now is just the discomfort that people normally experience when they first wear this type of charm. You'll feel better once you're used to the charm."

With a soft whimper, Seraph dropped his hands onto his lap. Combustion patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and continued.

"The Great Mage has one more reason for allowing you to leave. He believes he can afford to be more merciful to his enemies now that he has been 'vindicated'." Combustion grinned. "Apparently, you forgot to tell everyone about Caleb."

"What?!"

Seraph almost collided with Combustion as he jumped out of the bed.

"I'd promised to escort him! He'll kill me for leaving me behind!"

"And where do you think you're going?"

Seraph's hand froze on the doorknob.

"Caleb. Where is he?" he asked breathlessly.

Combustion scowled. "I have no idea. It seems that every person of note has invited him to a total of ten years' worth of lunch, dinner, tea and even breakfast.

"He's not angry anyway. In fact, he thinks that your lack of warning has helped him. Everyone is talking about how he suddenly appeared—as if by magic—on Angel Hill, exactly 1000 years after Nahum did the same. A miracle!" he sneered. "And now they're spreading his 'holy' message to all corners of Sentralia."

"And the message?" Seraph asked, ignoring Combustion's sarcasm.

"That the angels rejoice in Daylight II's victory!" he answered in an overdramatic fashion. "That they support his rule and that they want all Sentralians to cooperate in rebuilding Sentralia! A message to demoralise the remaining Eastern rebels, even if it's all nonsense."

"Combustion—" Seraph began.

The fire mage shook his head stubbornly. "Hugh, that man felt wrong from the moment I saw him and my instincts has never betrayed me. I'll concede that he could be an angel, but if he is, then it's his message or his motivations that are false."

Seraph stared in dismay. The fire mage's antagonism was rising to dangerous levels again. If Seraph didn't do anything, he could attack Caleb again, especially since—

The flight mage blinked. Now he understood! Combustion had been bottling not only his anger with Seraph, but also his frustration over Caleb. By now, everybody revered the angel, leaving nobody to voice his doubts to. But why did Combustion explode in front of Seraph?

The answer was obvious: because no other Sentralian could have witnessed Combustion attacking an angel and still regard him as rational or decent or trustworthy, let alone as a friend. Seraph remembered Combustion's shy smile, the one he made during the festival. It had surprised and no doubt delighted the Furan to realise that at least one Sentralian agreed on the insignificance of mages. Perhaps he hoped to receive a sympathetic ear from Seraph again.

"…Seraph? Seraph!"

"Huh?"

Combustion looked worried. "Are you upset over what Caleb said or over what I said—or both?"

"I'll agonize over Caleb's message later," Seraph joked. He paused. "Shuxue?"

"What is it?" Combustion's voice was wary.

"I'll listen and be your friend no matter what you say, but you must promise not to try to hurt Caleb again. He will be fine, but you—"

Combustion laughed. "Will suffer the consequences. Don't worry. I won't make that mistake again. No, I will simply wait until he makes a misstep and then I will prove to everyone that he is fake.

"Well, I must leave now," he continued in a kinder tone. "I was appointed librarian of the Academic Library as a reward for bringing you back and I must see which books have survived the invasion."

"Oh," he said in a flat voice. "Congratulations."

Seraph felt…hurt, but he should have known. Of course Combustion had not dragged him back to reunite him with his family, and the fire mage should expect a reward after all he'd been through! Well, Seraph had promised to be a friend no matter what Combustion said and he would keep his promise! After all, he knew the Furan would continue to help Seraph whenever he could and that was all they could expect.

"Thank you," Combustion said, blissfully unaware of the flight mage's thoughts. He stepped outside.

"Wait!"

The fire mage paused. "What is it?"

"If the Sentralians can't accept a foreign teacher, won't they object to you too?"

"A few have," Combustion said, shrugging, "but the Great Mage had allowed me to choose my reward. He would look weak—as well as untrustworthy—if he bowed to their demands and removed me from my position. Besides, I won't be tampering with young, Sentralian minds; I'll simply be looking after and lending books.

"Oh. You may leave any time you wish, Hugh. Your family has already packed, so if you speak with Truth, she will provide you all with horses and an armed escort. I'd advise you to accept them; banditry around here is still a serious concern."

Seraph leaned against the doorframe as soon as Combustion left. He'd almost forgotten about his family. He had spent many days trying to rescue them, and now he found himself reluctant to meet them, for the encounter with his sisters had yielded unpleasant surprises. Maeryn would be disowned by the family, and what about Seraph? He had failed not only his family, but also every Easterner who'd placed such high hopes on him. Would they see his admissions as betrayal?

He sighed. Seraph would offer to bring his family, or what remained of it, home. If they didn't want to see him again, he would respect their wishes and head after Combustion, but if they accepted, he'd help them any way he could.

---

Combustion ran his hand over the pages. Ah, to feel paper and parchment again, to be surrounded by so much information at last! He could almost imagine spending his whole life among scrolls and books, despite the work involved with caring for them. It was a pity that he'd requested this job so he could return to Jinse.

He looked again at the mess around him. Books were clumsily stacked on tables or shoved onto shelves where they did not belong. He still found scrolls in odd corners of the library. A few books, he was certain, was stolen during the invasion, but until he sorted the items he had, he would not know which were missing. Fortunately, most of the raiders were illiterates. They did not stay in the library for long and most of the material was therefore undamaged.

In his reflective state, he almost missed the hooded woman. She stood at the entrance, looking cautiously around the library. Was she another bookworm, he wondered.

He walked towards her, watching clinically as she eyed him with a mixture of wariness and determination. Something about her reminded him of somebody.

"Are you searching for a book, miss?"

"A person," she replied. "Is…is the angel Caleb here?"

Combustion was taken aback.

"I have not seen him for four days and I do not anticipate a visit soon." He looked more closely at her. "Do you have an important message for him…Maeryn Thatcher?"

She started and began to pull her hood down before letting her hand fall. "No," she said softly, but firmly. "Thank you for the information. I will leave you to your work."

She began to turn away.

"Miss Thatcher!"

The words flew from his mouth before he could stop himself and he silently cursed. Why was he trying to stop her? She was obviously not with Seraph and the rest of her family—and the reason was just as apparent. Even the flight mage could not forgive her.

Maeryn rotated back with excruciating slowness. He saw no regret in her eyes, but her posture betrayed weariness, grief, maybe even loneliness.

"Uh, have you a place to stay?"

He had not meant to say that either. It was too cruel a question. And yet a smile flickered on her thin lips, as though she interpreted his question as a kind invitation rather than a jibe.

"Yes, but not with my family and not in Angalas; there are too many hostile Easterners here. The Great Mage has provided me with a cottage near the edge of Midlands Woods, half a day's walk from the nearest village. I will go today."

But she would have no one to talk to. Nobody who would take an interest in her or make her smile. They've betrayed her, he thought bitterly. Even the Westerners could not tolerate a woman who'd so willingly turn against her own side and family, so they were making her live far from any population. After all she had done for them—

Unconsciously, he dug a hand into a coat pocket. It emerged holding a gingerbread angel. Daylight had given it to him during the festival and Combustion had tucked it away, intending to pass it onto Sara later. He now studied its intricate decorations, trying to fool himself into believing that it was more than an inadequate compensation for what she had lost. It wasn't. Even a biscuit so beautifully patterned was just food to be fleetingly enjoyed and then forgotten.

He held it out anyway, with a mumbled, "For your journey." Then, angry with himself, he stormed back to his task. He heard he quieter footsteps descending the stairs as he pretended to examine a book.

When he saw her grey form again though, he went to the window to watch her. She seemed so forlorn, clutching his little gift as she stepped into the carriage that would take her to exile. He wondered whether he looked like her when he left Jinse.

Combustion watched until the carriage disappeared before turning his gaze into the distance. Somewhere among those green hills were Seraph and his family. Unlike Maeryn, he would return to Angalas. He would chat, argue, annoy the fire mage with that wretched recorder…and listen. But none of these would happen soon enough. For now, Combustion would have to swallow his bitterness and wait.

"Hugh," he whispered, "when will you return?"