Flight Mage Seraph

Victim

Seraph paused on the stairs.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," Combustion replied. "I will finally go home to marry a young lady and have children."

"That's…wonderful."

But Seraph was far from enthusiastic, and from his bleak expression, Combustion did not relish the prospect either. Even so, the fire mage wouldn't leave his job without a good reason.

"Well, you must look forward to seeing your family," Seraph said, resuming his descent. "How many siblings did you say there were?"

"Seven," he said curtly.

"That's right. An older brother, two younger ones, four sisters and maybe nephews and nieces—"

Seraph was babbling now, and they both knew it. What he wanted to say was he wanted Combustion to stay, but he couldn't be selfish. The fire mage belonged to Jinse.

"You will write?"

"Every month," Combustion replied. "More often if I can."

"I'll write to you too—and visit you when I can."

He shook his head. "You should use any leave to visit your relatives. I'll try to visit, but since I'll be busy, I probably won't journey for several years."

Seraph had no reply. They walked, as if weighed down by lead, outside the building and to the Academy's gate. The flight mage cast a disapproving glance at the cheery sun.

"I must return to work now," Combustion said reluctantly. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes." He wished he didn't.

"Okay." The fire mage began to swing the gate shut behind Seraph and paused. "I will still be here when you return, so don't think we mightn't see each other again."

"Really? Then when—"

Combustion shrugged. Again, he began to close the gate, but then it swung wide open.

"Seraph, stand aside!"

"What?"

"Behind you."

Seraph spun and saw a fine, golden carriage surrounded by cavalrymen. A woman peered out, smiling.

"Don't worry, mages," she said. "I am not visiting the Academy. I merely hoped to accompany Seraph."

The flight mage bowed. "You are just in time, Mage Truth, but I am traveling some distance."

"So I've been told. The Master Mage informed me of your trip, and I just so happen to be on the same journey. Why don't we ride together?"

Seraph hesitated. He didn't know what she planned, and at that moment he preferred some space to think.

"I'll ensure that you return on time," Truth continued sweetly, "and it will a much less lonely journey for us both."

The gate clicked shut.

"All right."

---

The carriage was spacious and comfortable, without being overly opulent. Despite his misery and bewilderment, Seraph appreciated the cushions, the patterned blanket that he used as an armrest and, in particular, colourful curtains that his mother could have woven. The interior was homely, and it tugged at his heart.

Truth apparently noticed.

"I made them years ago," she said, "before our lives became so hectic."

"Our lives?"

"Daylight's and mine." She sighed. "Even at a very young age, it was obvious that he's the Chosen One, the one who would reunite Sentralia. He was so different, such a wonderful mage and a confident, charming leader. I knew that I would follow him. I also realized that I would need to give all my time and effort, so I prepared these comforts as a teenager."

Seraph examined the curtains more closely. They had been well cared for, but now he could see their age.

"They're just over twenty years old," she said in an amused tone.

"And you have never considered becoming a Great Mage yourself?" he asked. "Combustion said that Daylight's successes were due as much to you as to him."

The aura mage blushed. "I'm flattered, but good leadership is more than making correct decisions. It requires vision, optimism, charm, determination and courage. If I were the Westerners' leader, we would still be at a war with no end in sight."

Seraph said nothing. He remembered how Daylight's optimism almost caused a riot.

"I see you are sceptical," she chuckled. "Yes, he has faults, but I would do anything for him."

He gazed at her wistful face. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of his mother, but he had the strangest hunch.

"Including marrying him?"

She blushed.

"Marry?" Then she laughed. "I guess it's a badly held secret. We can't until he abdicates though. He fears that someone would threaten him through me, so he hasn't even admitted that he loves me."

"I don't see the point if everyone—wait! Did you say abdicate?"

"Yes, when Sentralia has settled and the succession is secure." Her gaze became thoughtful. "I think you're not a person who would want to harm me. You will keep the abdication a secret, won't you?"

"Certainly."

Seraph knew how difficult successions could be. How dangerous might it become if everyone knew Daylight planned to step down voluntarily?

Truth turned to the window again. "I just wish we could see the end of this conflict. Whenever we've come close, it recedes."

"I feel the same way," he agreed. "Shortly after the war, I dreamt of my deceased sister, Perdita, saying that everything will be fine. And Caleb promised that we'll have lasting happiness because no one will regard the other as the enemy."

Truth laughed bitterly.

"Perhaps the dream came from my hopes and fears, but Caleb? You're an aura mage. Do you think he deceived us?"

He regretted the question immediately. Her eyes widened with shock, and she briefly raised a hand as if to slap him.

"Don't ever suggest that again!" she cried, shaking her head vigorously. "Caleb wouldn't lie. He is an angel, an angel with a dazzling, white soul!"

"Sorry," he murmured, and he looked away.

---

The prisoner didn't look like this when she saw him a few hours ago. He had entered the prison a little bruised, to be sure, but he was otherwise healthy. Now his eyes were blackened, one arm hung limply, his lips were badly cut and his body was covered with bruises.

She knew that complaining to her brother wouldn't help. If he weren’t directly responsible, he would have at least approved it tacitly. She could not ignore it though.

The prisoner—a mage judging by his rich garments—stirred.

"Is it time for my execution yet?" he rasped.

"No. You will escape."

---

Next morning, Truth began speaking to Seraph again. She talked of family, hobbies, friends, colleagues, childhood experiences, anything it seemed except Caleb.

Then, while leaving the inn, she asked him to play his recorder. He happily obliged. As Truth sang along to his playful melody, Seraph glanced outside. His smile widened; the cavalrymen enjoyed it too. It seemed that music was something every Sentralian liked.

Not everyone enjoyed it as much as him though. Truth, for example, was most attentive when he discussed Daylight or politics in general. In fact, she had moved their conversation in that direction several times, carefully couching her interest in terms of work or friendships rather than politics. Doubt began to gnaw at him.

"You are worried," Truth said, interrupting his tune. "Would you tell me what concerns you?"

"I'm sorry?"

She chuckled. "Feigning ignorance won't help. Why don't you just say why I see suspicion in your soul?"

She'd caught him; he decided to be direct.

"Did you undertake this trip to question me or my sister?"

"A bit of both actually," she admitted. "I want to know what—apart from the book—Maeryn hid from Daylight, and we need to know where you stand with him. You will, after all, influence Sentralia's future."

In reply, he closed every curtain before removing his scarf and the charm.

"…Oh."

He donned both charm and scarf again.

"The situation is rather unstable at the moment. Mage Combustion has warned me not to reveal my hand too early, so I think you shouldn't tell too many others of this."

"Of c-course," she replied. "Only Daylight, Angel Caleb and—"

"Just Daylight," he said firmly. "I'm sure he's the one who sent you."

Truth looked irritated. "Mage Seraph—"

"As a student, I was taught that a person's soul changes colour depending on their emotions. Aura mages can detect these changes, right?"

"Eventually, yes," she replied, now perplexed.

He drew aside a curtain and pointed to a tree. "So how do those birds feel?"

"They're animals, Seraph," Truth said, not even glancing out. "Every creature's soul remains one colour, whether red or grey or gold, no matter what. What has this to do with the angel…" She paused in horror. "You're not saying his soul is similar!"

Seraph sighed with relief; his hunch was correct.

"All I'm saying is be careful."

---

The wind stung her exposed face and shrieked in her ears. Her feet stumbled on the uneven ground and her legs ached, but she could not rest.

The mage was in an awful shape. He was barely able to walk now and leaned heavily on her. She had to reach his side before he succumbed to his wounds or the biting cold.

But time and distance were against them. They weren't even halfway there, and she could see the first rays of the sun.

"Leave, girl. Return before they realize you're gone."

"It's too late now, sir."

She couldn't return in time no matter how fast she ran. They would find the pair missing, hunt them down and execute both.

"Well," he said, as if reading her thoughts, "there are worse ways to die than in the arms of a kind maiden. Draw your blade, girl. Kill me."

A tear rolled down as she moved to obey.

Light flashed. Trembling, she looked around and gasped.

"Do not fear," the angel said. "I will bring this man to his people and cause the Easterners to overlook your absence."

She nodded, too stunned to thank him.

The angel lifted the man up as easily as he might an infant. They faded away, but as they did, Caleb said, "I will return to you tonight, for I have a special mission for you."

---

Maeryn wiped her tears away. That dream again. She stood, trying not to look at her wet pillow.

Five years ago, she was angry, anxious for herself and her little brother, but also hopeful. She'd found purpose in helping that angel end the senseless war. Maeryn had dreamed of unity, whole families, children who didn't worry about conscription and maybe even Caleb's love. For a while, it seemed she could have it all.

Dreams don't always come true.

Sentralia remained divided; the soldiers who brought her supplies told her that. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her family was also riven, with other relatives severing ties with her. What truly shocked Maeryn, however, was the way she was treated by those she had tried to help. Maybe they couldn't trust a woman who'd willingly betray her own. Perhaps Caleb had used her, with no intention of helping her when she could no longer advance his goals, or maybe he gave in to cowardice when he saw the antipathy towards her. Either way, she was a fool.

She picked up a plate, intending to throw it across the room—and stopped. Outside the window, amidst the dark landscape, shone a torch.

---

"Why are you so restless?"

Seraph looked at Truth.

"I don't know," he said. "It's just—"

Seraph truly didn't know why he had been on edge for the past hour. He had a feeling something terrible was about to occur, but he could hardly explain it when he didn't even know what that something was.

She patted his arm. "Never mind. Eat the soup, Seraph; it's much better than the usual fare at these inns."

He nodded absently. But while plunging his spoon into the steaming bowl, his eyes were drawn to the next table, where a steak knife lay. Somehow, it commanded his attention. He saw another knife plunging into a body, drawing blood.

"Seraph?"

This wasn't a flashback. He didn't remember this.

"What's wrong, Seraph?"

A scream. Was it…Maeryn's!

He stood, knocking a chair over in his haste. Eyes swiveled towards him, but he was too agitated to care.

"I'm sorry, Truth, but I must leave. I'll pay for my lodging and meal, and you needn't come, but—"

"Calm yourself." She gripped his arm, gently but firmly. "Tell me what's bothering you. If you really must go, the soldiers and I will travel with you, however I won't let you fly alone into the night. It's too dangerous in this region right now."

Seraph took a deep breath. "I don't know how to explain. It's…like a premonition. What I saw and heard, it makes no sense, and yet it feels real. There's a knife, blood, Maeryn's cry, urgency! I must reach her before her blood flows!"

Truth stared. "Impossible," she muttered. "Not prophecy magic too."

"Truth!"

"Wait, Seraph. We'll all leave in half an hour."

---

Kelby emerged from Maeryn's house scowling. He slammed a fist against the broken door.

"You're right, Dean. That traitor escaped through the back door."

"Good thing we didn't waste time watching her home burn," Dean said calmly, "and we still have the finder charm."

Kelby pulled the brightly glowing stone from his pocket.

"She's nearby."

---

Seraph was ready before everyone else, so he waited by the door. One by one, the cavalrymen rushed past, flicking him looks of confusion or annoyance. Finally, Truth emerged, after hurriedly apologizing to the innkeeper.

She looked at him. "What are you doing here? Get in the carriage!"

"I'll fly ahead."

"Oh no you don't." She dragged him into the carriage.

---

Maeryn fought for air. She longed to stop, but she knew her pursuers were nearby. She could hear them and, occasionally, she glimpsed either their torch or a strange, bright object, maybe a lantern.

She could not outrun them, for her dress kept catching on branches. Hiding had also proved futile. Her only means of escape now was the stream. It was large and had a strong current, but she swam well. If her pursuers couldn't, or were too frightened to try—

Maeryn pushed forward, ignoring her burning lungs. She could hear it now.

"Gotcha!"

A man planted himself between her and the stream as a boot squelched in the mud behind her. Her heart leapt to her throat as she spun to face the second pursuer. He stood only a few metres away, a torch in one hand and a fearsome knife in the other. She pulled her own blade out.

"Put it down."

The voice came from the first man. He was closer now. She could see his club and the strange object.

"A charm," she said, "but you can't be mages!"

Both men laughed.

"If we were, you would've died long ago," the club-wielder said. "Isn't it a shame that after all you did for the enemy, it's Western magic and a Western man who's brought you down?"

"Was it worth it?" the other man sneered.

Her life flashed before her: anger and distress from her family; the wary faces of Western soldiers; Caleb's winged back; Combustion's letters.

Yes, how ironic. The Furan was the only one who had cared enough to give her even a biscuit and to write letters to her. How well she recalled his final message:

Hugh is coming to terms with the war and his new life. I'm sure he'll be ready to meet you soon.

Maeryn looked up to see the second man reaching for her. She returned his glare defiantly.

"Absolutely."

---

"Here!"

Seraph sprinted towards the soldier's voice, with Truth falling behind. She had little hope. It was over two hours since they found Maeryn's ransacked home, and the flight mage's premonition had indicated his sister's fate.

"Maeryn!" Seraph cried.

She stumbled out of the bushes and saw them. Seraph was kneeling beside the stream, cradling Maeryn's bloody, naked corpse and weeping. Truth's heart wrenched. It was her fault. By sending Maeryn to Midlands, she had put her in peril, and by protecting Seraph, she'd doomed her.

Dimly, she heard a soldier speak to his superior.

"She'd been dead for no more than a few hours, sir. She has a few scratches from her flight or from being dragged through the bushes, but most injuries were due to torture."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I've seen the results of torture by Easterners. Her body has it all."

Seraph abruptly stopped sobbing and looked up, his eyes flashing. Truth stepped back before realizing that he wasn't staring through her, not at her.

"I'm going to try something," he said. "Don't panic."

"What will you do?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he began murmuring in a prayerful manner and, almost immediately, a vague specter appeared. It coalesced into Maeryn's form, mercifully clothed and unmarked.

Seraph held out his arms. "Maeryn."

"Darling brother," she said, and the siblings tearfully embraced.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about that," she whispered. "Just be glad we're reunited at last."

He looked into her eyes. "Who killed you?"