The Arkanist

Janos and the Moon

Beneath the whispering curtain of green, in the dead of night, two souls lay awake. Inside their modest tent, they kissed the night away until the morning shown grey and clear through the forest. Jakn lay atop Vena, his hands carefully resting on the budding curves of her breasts. He caressed her curving figure, skin soft as the petals of a lily and smooth as glass, holding her with such a gentle grace, as if only balancing her body on the tip of his finger. She lay asleep, her eyes closed to the world, their blankets sprawled across them like the waves of the sea.

         Jakn waited for her to wake, resting his head on her stomach. It rose and fell with the sweet rhythm of her breath, and in the corner of his mind, could feel the flutter of her gentle heart. He was kissing her soft lips when she woke, her hand swimming through the waves of his hair. They both smiled at each other and began to laugh, knowing deep down in their hearts, their love was unconditional.

         Martem had them walking ten minutes after they’d broken their fast to the misty morning cold. The Aden awaited them.

         The dirt track sloped down from their lofty hillock and across a small stream, the water frozen and the rocks grey. The soil was solid as stone and felt cold beneath their feet as they trod across. It was uncomfortable and the gusty wind did not help their grim attitude. It ripped at their faces, beating their skin hard until they flushed red and then to a fair purple as the day lingered, and at that point, Martem thought it wise if they stepped off the road.

         Their camp was a modest one, a small gathering of stones and branches cooked to a burnt black, the fire licking from it with gusto. The winds screamed, and the day was harsh as they gathered around the fire, holding their hands out to melt the frost off. After a small bit of time warming up, Jakn and Martem took to some arkency lessons. With the fire up and roaring, Jakn thought it would be well off teaching Martem about fire arks, having the basic knowledge of the magic from nights past.

         The other day, Martem had successfully called wind’s name, and halted the gusts. Yet afterward, the huntsman was chill as ice and his skin was grey and frozen. Jakn knew the condition to be the chills, as what could happen to an arkanist who has extended too much of their energy or thoughts at one time. Especially for a novice in the art, it happened often, and any little over-emphasis on something could cause it. Jakn had gotten the chills five times before, and just last week when he’d blacked out. Although, those chills were violent and turned into a serious shut down of the body. Aredis had said many arkanists back in the old days died from such, of which he called, Ender’s Chills.

         Today, Jakn would be teaching Martem how to dim and brighten the fire, but not shut it off completely or make it roar wildly. It was a simple, introductory lesson before Martem progressed in his inner energy or his knowledge. Jakn turned to Martem, demonstrating.

         “Remember what I said last session,” said Jakn. “You inner Alar is your key. You must listen to it, and care for it. You must be one with it. Without it, you are hopeless.” He looked over at the fire. “Now, remember, arks cannot be created or destroyed. They are always there. So when I call fire’s name, they shall be there, flickering within the flames.” Jakn coughed and uttered fire’s name and saw the arks, bright and clear as day. “You will repeat me, Martem. Say fire’s name, Aeresvairier.” Martem listened and said it, and his eyes saw the arks leaping around.

         “Now that I see the arks,” Jakn continued. “I must focus all me Alar onto them, but for this, I need not split my mind, for I am not using anything else. I will start by hardening my Alar and thoughts solely on the arks, until it is tight as can be. Next, I will compress my thoughts and so too will the arks compress.” Martem watched the arks closely as they began to jumble together, and the flames lessened. The arks sped together until they were in a tight, compact box, where Jakn’s energy was fused as tightly, his head aching. “Now to make the fire grow, you spread your mind, and thoughts wide, and release the pent up tension.” As he spoke, the arks shifted away from one another, and sped away, darting to and fro.