In Her Element

Now…

The wall slid back into place behind the Master with a dull thud, leaving him in total darkness. He felt around to his side until his fingers grazed the wall that was moist and more than a little moldy. Patting around, he found the torch in the hook and wiggled it until he felt it slide a bit. He pulled out two flint stones from a small pouch and struck one with the other. He did this repeatedly until a spark flew and hit the torch. It caught and grew when he fanned it. With a whoosh, it burst into a flame. It flickered as a slight breeze passed, and the Master’s robes rustled.

He pulled out the torch and strode forward, making a few sharp turns along the way, until he came to another wall blocking his path. This one was unnaturally immaculate; no moisture had ever touched this wall. After hooking the torch in a brass handle that stood there vacant, waiting to be filled, he ran his hands along the wall. He stopped when he found the right brick, and pulled it out—with some difficulty that comes with the loss of control over one’s hands due to old age. He reached deep inside the hole and pulled the latch that was in there. A low click resounded around him and a small panel of the wall slid to the side, revealing a cavity with a piece of pure, uncut amethyst dangling in it. He grasped the stone, clenching his muscles tight as the energy coursed through him. He exhaled with relief when it ran back into the crystal, and the panel closed as the entire wall slid away.

He stepped down into the cavern, shedding his cloak as he advanced to the center. It was caught by a lad of ten and seven years, who held it close to himself, careful not to let it drag. He hung it on its special hook, caressing it as though he cherished it.

The Master stood there in the heart of the room, right in front of an ancient platform, and was quickly surrounded by a group of boys, ages fourteen to twenty. Anyone younger could not be trusted to hold in all they knew and anyone older would be too conspicuous. They looked at him in revered awe and fear—their leader and mentor who will make them powerful.

“Has anyone spoken to the man?” His thundering voice echoed, hitting the boys from all angles. One stepped forward, boldly, yet with humility.

“Samuel has gone, Master.”

“And? Have you heard from him?”

“Yes, sir. Just last night, sir, a message was received. Samuel has arranged to meet with the man again, within the week. It seems everything has its price. In spite of that, he will not hurt the girl. He has been guarding her for years and has formed a connection.” The boy smirked, perhaps at the notion of this bond, or of any, for that matter.

“I am well aware of that, Edward, thank you,” the Master replied, coolly. Edward’s smile faded a bit. The Master resumed. “Something tells me Miss Almyra Carlton will be terribly hurt by the betrayal of Rupert Dunne. I hope she will not be too broken, though, or she will be useless to us.”

The boys parted as he moved forward and stepped up to the dais. He lifted the top of the stand. And then moved back, reaching to unclasp the pendant that hung around his neck as he did so. He held the ornament in his hands, gazing at the amethyst set in its center. He rubbed it gently, like a mother doting over a sleeping infant, until it shone brilliantly, and then placed it in the matching indentation and it clicked.

The walls themselves seemed to hum vibrantly with the power that flowed through the purple stone. The boys linked hands, sweaty from exhilaration and apprehension, forming a circle around the Master.

The Master lifted his hands and intoned, his resonant voice magnified with the power.

“The soul of man,

Soul of our Lady,

A powerful essence,

Shall rule once again.

Joined with the seeking Wind,

The resolute Earth,

The passionate Flame,

And soothing Waves.

Become one with Spirit…”

The energy cackled as the Master chanted, his rich voice rising and falling, washing over the young men and boys that encircled him. They knelt as he reached the crescendo, and the energy and the song slowly diminished, leaving them all breathless.

“So mote it be.”