Flight Mage Seraph

Seekers

An envelope landed on the desk. Combustion looked up to see Seraph grinning.

"I've fetched the mail for you!"

Combustion looked down, hoping against hope that this was not one of Maeryn's letters. If only he'd checked his pigeonhole earlier…

It wasn't, but he didn't know whether to feel relieved when he saw the seal.

"A wyvern seal," Seraph said. "I bet someone from Furao sent this. Maybe your father or mother, or a brother or—"

"My father."

With a heavy heart, Combustion broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

"What does it say?" Seraph asked. He hesitated when fire mage glanced up sharply. "Um, if it's private, perhaps I should leave."

Combustion sighed in resignation. "You may stay. My father is simply congratulating me on becoming the Academy's librarian. He encourages me to perform well in my new occupation."

Seraph appeared confused. "That's…very formal."

"It's the only type of letter he ever writes," Combustion said curtly.

As in previous letters, it contained no hint of affection, or an invitation to return to Jinse. Not that Combustion expected either. His family was not like Chinze's and definitely not like Seraph's.

He looked at the flight mage, who was examining the letter, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the silk scarf. Combustion almost smiled. Seraph had worn it for the fifth consecutive day! Combustion was glad he'd bought it for him. The scarf's colour highlighted his eyes—

"Oh, by the way," Seraph said, "I was sent something as well."

The flight mage held up a compact book. Perhaps it was because Combustion suddenly felt embarrassed by his wandering thoughts, but he failed to recognize it.

"Is that one of the missing library books?"

"I think not," Seraph said, looking even more confused. "It's the one Ocean gave me, 'The Western Barbarians'."

Combustion immediately moved to Seraph's own.

"Well let's have a look."

---

Over an hour had passed when Combustion closed the book.

"Propaganda," he concluded. "It's about as accurate as one of Fray's history lessons."

At that, Seraph sighed. "I had hoped for better. Ocean was never interested in peace, was he?"

"Hmph! The only thing that interested him was the annihilation of Westerners. This book must be passed onto Truth. It won't affect Ocean's sentence now, but it might just whittle away his remaining supporters.

"Now, who sent this?"

"I don't know. A letter was attached…"

Seraph unfolded a piece of paper. He read, and his eyes widened.

"Well, Hugh?"

The reply was whispered. "Maeryn."

Combustion froze. "What?"

"My sister," Seraph said, misunderstanding. "She'd hidden the book to protect me from all those lies, and she is only returning it now because I had witnessed Ocean's trial. She challenges me to separate truths and falsehoods."

Combustion nodded. "It's abrasive, but I suppose that's what we could expect from her."

"I must visit Maeryn!"

The fire mage blinked.

"There are so many questions I needed to ask her," Seraph said, "but I've pushed them to the back of my mind because I'd been too angry and afraid. I can't put it off any longer. I have to know when and why she decided to collaborate with the enemy. Did she do it just for the sake of the abused prisoners? How much did she know about Ocean? Was she intent on deposing him by any means or did she actually support Great Mage Daylight?"

And yet, Combustion thought, Seraph still avoided the questions he really should ask. Did Maeryn actually act out of love, especially that for her younger brother? Were both of them ready to reconcile? The fire mage may be able to answer them, but he'd have to tell Seraph about the letters.

"Hugh."

Seraph was too worked up to listen. "And after all that, how could she just disappear? She wouldn't want to contact her family of course, but her allies?"

"Hugh!" Combustion grabbed the flight mage's shoulders and shook. "You're upset. For this, there is only one remedy. You must go to the Master Mage and tell him you need to visit your sister—urgently. If he asks why, be truthful; he will understand. Inform him that Chinze can take over your beginner and intermediate classes for a while and that you will give her extra classes when you return."

"But I don't know where she lives!"

"I do." He released Seraph and strode towards a drawer. "I'm sorry, but I thought Maeryn might have been interested in your welfare, so I wrote to her."

"What? How could you—"

Combustion cut him off. "These are the letters she sent back."

He turned and watched the play of emotions on Seraph's face: shock, anger, resignation and finally curiosity as he began to read the letters. It was only when Combustion heard his own sigh that he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"She…she cares about me," Seraph said.

"And all the other relatives," Combustion said. "Her last letter said she hopes to see you one day. I'm sure she will tell you everything then."

Seraph nodded. "Then I'll go, and…"

His arms suddenly enveloped the startled fire mage.

"…thanks for the letters. It must have been difficult to do something like that when you risk alienating me. You're great."

"You're welcome," Combustion croaked, hoping that Seraph did not notice him blushing.

The flight mage was becoming too much.

---

Late that night, Combustion found himself gazing longingly at the door from which Seraph had left. He couldn't deny it any more; he was in love. Combustion would never have reacted to a friend that way, and he wouldn't have been so concerned over the possibility of rejection if it had been from anyone else.

Anyone else, that is, apart from his relatives.

Combustion glanced at the pile of books and scrolls on his desk and firmly pushed them aside. He had spent too much time searching for an answer where none existed. To find the answer, he had to seek the only knowledgeable—if unreliable—resource, Caleb.

Fortunately, the angel was Fade's guest this evening.

Combustion stepped outside, locked the entrance and descended the dark stairway. Fade and Caleb may have finished their meal by now, and if Combustion met the angel and received his answer tonight, he could return to Jinse within a month. Maybe then he wouldn't miss Seraph too much.

He had descended to ground level before he realized that he'd missed his turn off. Stifling a frustrated sigh, he turned back—and froze. Next to the staircase was an abandoned storage room, and out of that room shone a strange, pulsating light.

---

He hadn't lied when he said that he was tired. A headache, and much besides, plagued Caleb, so after excusing himself from Fade's presence, he had furtively searched the Academy for a quiet place. The old, storage room, with its abundant cobwebs, damaged beams and thick layers of dust, looked promising.

Caleb made his way to the furthest corner of the room and, after one last look around, intoned, "Angels, come to my aid."

The reply came in the form of a pulsating sphere of light and a voice.

"Why have you called?" Nahum asked.

"Why indeed!" Caleb huffed. "Have you not been watching my struggles? Did you not listen to what Ocean and his henchmen have been saying? The Easterners are growing suspicious, and even some Westerners are beginning to whisper behind my back."

"I believe the sporadic rebellion in East Sentralia may have something to do with you troubles."

Amusement tinged Nahum's voice, to Caleb's annoyance.

"Well, despite all my attempts to assist Daylight, the situation is now almost unmanageable. If this continues, almost every Sentralian will turn against me. Tell your superiors to take control of these people before they their country and me apart!"

Nahum sighed. "You're forgetting the reason you are here in the first place. Like me, you were cast from the heavens for your rebellious acts, but I quickly atoned by performing my duty. You are neither ready to admit error nor do your penance."

"I brought peace! I saved lives! And you can hardly blame me when I was weary of watching these Sentralians fight."

"You were simply weary of watching them," Nahum answered bluntly, "let alone living among them. If only you had told the truth during the Angels Festival, we would have already brought you home."

"But—"

"You know what you must say."

With that, the voice and light disappeared.

"That was interesting," a new voice said. "I learned more about angels in a minute than I have in twenty years."

Caleb jumped and turned to see Combustion leaning against the doorframe. Of all his cursed luck—

"It will do you no good to publicize what you've discovered," Caleb warned. "It would be your word against mine."

Combustion shrugged. "You will make more errors, and next time, or the time after that, there will be other witnesses. I'll make sure of it. Why don't you just tell them the truth?"

"This has nothing to do with you, Furan!"

The fire mage frowned. "I live in Sentralia, remember? I can't return to Furao until I fulfill my mission."

"Then what is your mission?"

Caleb knew Combustion was right. If he were to keep his secret, he had to remove the Furan, and that was most easily done by sending him home.

"What is your mission?" Caleb repeated, "Tell me and I will help you complete it."

Combustion stared and, after only a slight hesitation, beamed.

"I have been trying to find an answer to this question: why were Sentralians the first recipients of magic? You angels must have known how humiliating it was for Furao, Sudenland and Aidi to see their neighbour so favoured, so why the unequal treatment?"

Caleb returned the grin. Combustion was making it too easy.

"We granted humans some of our powers," he said, "in the hope that they would use their gifts to solve their own problems."

"Meaning without your intervention."

"Exactly. We were, however, aware of humanity's propensity to misuse their abilities. We certainly didn't want them to kill needlessly with their powers, but a thousand years ago, Furao and Sudenland were in the middle of civil wars, and Aidi had tribal skirmishes throughout the land. Only Sentralia was peaceful. In fact, it had suffered no conflict for 200 years! The Sentralians seemed the perfect role models, or so we thought."

"I see," the fire mage said, and he smirked. "I knew the angels seemed too infallible.

"Well, I'm satisfied. I will leave as soon as I've set my affairs in order, so you need never set eyes on me again. That was the deal, right?"

Caleb hesitated. "I would also appreciate it if you do not repeat what I've told you, at least to Sentralians."

"Your appreciation means nothing to me," Combustion sniffed.

"Furan!"

"But I have only ever intended to pass this onto Furao anyway. You can rest easy, unless…" Combustion paused, and his eyes flashed. "…unless your mischief harms to Seraph, or to Sara. If something happens to either one—"

Caleb flinched and raised a placating hand. "I will not allow anything to happen to Maeryn's little brother, nor to his young student."

Combustion looked at the angel thoughtfully, but any further demands or questions were left unsaid.

---

As the sun began its daily journey, two stout farmers loaded their wagons. They had a long journey from the inn to their farms, and they wanted to leave before Angalas' roads became clogged.

"Who would've foreseen it?" Dean muttered to himself. "Free one year and subjugated the next."

"With the true Great Mage murdered too," Kelby said.

Neither of them could forget the previous day. A humiliating execution attended mostly by jeering Westerners and the bungled hanging, during which Ocean died slowly and painfully. They had gone too far.

"If only we could do something," Dean said.

"You can," came an unfamiliar voice. "You could become rebels."

Their hearts skipped a beat and, as one, they whirled to face the tall stranger, who stood with his upper body shadowed by a nearby awning.

"Are you a troublemaker?" Kelby asked. "'Cause if you're out to make false accusations against us, I'll take that Western accent of yours and shove it down your throat. Come out where I can see you!"

The stranger remained where he was. "Peace, gentlemen. I was merely saying that patriotic ex-soldiers like you could save Sentralia."

"Meaning?"

"I have always wanted the best for Sentralia, not just the Western half, but perhaps because I am a Westerner, I had pinned my hopes on Daylight II. Unfortunately, his rule has been marked by instability, and it is now apparent that he is not the man to reunify this nation. Ocean, of course, was not the Chosen One either—"

"Don't tell us it's Seraph," Kelby scoffed. "He's failed, he's reputedly close to certain Westerners, and he didn't even attend the Great Mage's execution. I bet he's forgotten his fellow Easterners."

"He hasn't. Seraph is merely unable to act on his desires, not while controlled by the charm around his neck and by that false angel. He must be freed soon or he will never be able to fulfill his destiny."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked. "We can't rescue a mage from other mages, and no rebellion has come close to succeeding anyway. Why start another?"

"Because I know why they failed," the stranger replied. "Maeryn Thatcher."

It suddenly made perfect sense to the farmers. She had supplied secrets to the enemy and lured Seraph into captivity before disappearing. Most likely, she still worked for the Westerners.

"Maeryn has moved to Midlands in order to continue her espionage," the stranger continued. "There she has proved effective at uncovering plots and removing anyone who tries to interfere with her mission."

"Removing?" Kelby asked, frowning.

"Murdering. An unfortunate fate that befell her brother after he learned of her betrayal. She had arranged Brian Thatcher's death to ensure that he would never expose her."

With that, the stranger tossed a stone into Kelby's hands. The farmers marveled at its dull glow.

"I'm sure you feel the same outrage I do," the stranger said. "I would like to deliver retribution myself, but my absence would raise suspicion and prevent me from helping Seraph further. I must therefore entrust this finder charm to you. Will you use it to locate and kill Maeryn for me?"

Kelby closed his hand tightly over the stone. "With pleasure."

---

Din watched the farmers ride away, his mind replaying the conversation he overheard the previous night. Seraph asking—almost begging—for permission to visit Maeryn Thatcher. Permission, of course, being granted by that feeble Master Mage.

The sound mage smiled grimly. He had despaired when he'd discovered his true mage name. Chaos. That name suggested a troubled future and was certainly not a one befitting a Master Mage or Great Mage. Now, however, it seemed blessed. He would wrench away Seraph's hope of reconciling, with his sister—and he'd use Easterners to do it! Seraph would be distraught. Perhaps he'll grow suspicious of even his supporters, or become too depressed to work, or maybe panic over his remaining relatives. Oh yes, Din would render chaos in Seraph's heart.