Vhalla thought back to her own parents. If her mother had not been able to teach her to read, Vhalla had honest doubts her parents would have been able to pay for a tutor.
“I did not want to be a burden to my family, so I began to help my father and the guard to earn small amounts of change here or there. I was only a boy, younger than you were when you joined us, but the other guards were kind enough to keep things off the books.” Mohned stroked his beard a moment. “Eventually, my father began telling me strange stories on the way home. They were stories of a land far to the east and people who could control the wind like our own sorcerers controlled the flames. For a while I thought my father was making up tales to entertain me.”
“But one day when I was delivering lunch I found him sitting outside of a prison cell deep in the dungeon.” Mohned sighed softly. “In the cell was an old man, he was hunched and frail. He wore a long beard, and his hair was uncut. He had never seen the sun. His parents were taken when they were young, and he had been born in captivity.”
“A Windwalker,” Vhalla whispered faintly.
Mohned nodded. “The last Windwalker,” Mohned corrected.
“From then on I began sneaking to the dungeons in my free time,” Mohned continued his story. “I’d steal lead and scraps of paper from my writing classes and take notes on what he said. Some days were better than others. Men were not made to live in cages, Vhalla; it does things to the mind that are unlike any other hardship. But I recorded his words faithfully—including his insanities. For my final project with my teacher, I compiled the stories and knowledge the Windwalker had given me into a book titled, The Windwalkers of the East.”
Vhalla stared at her lap, unsure of how to process everything. There were forces at work that she barely understood. Men and women enslaved in the depths of the West. Aldrik’s Western black eyes flashed before her mind.
“I tried to warn you.” The master’s shoulders hunched and his eyes seemed dull. “I saw your growing distractions. I knew the prince had confirmed what you are.”
“Master,” Vhalla whispered her borderline treasonous words. “Is he as dangerous as they say?”
He looked at her for a long time, just stroking his beard in thought. Vhalla swallowed and wondered if she really wanted the answer to her question. She balled her fingers into fists to keep them from shaking or fidgeting.
“I suppose it depends on who asks that question,” he finally said.
“I am asking.” Vhalla pressed. “I know what they say about him. I know they call him silver-tongued and a Fire Lord, that his eyes glow red with rage. I know he can be thoughtless when it comes to something he wants. But he’s not, he’s also...different.”
“I think,” the master gave her a tired smile, “you already know the answer to your question.”
“I want to join the Tower.” Vhalla finally found enough courage to say it aloud.
“I figured as much.” The master nodded, and then shook his head. Vhalla tried to make sense of the conflicting movements. “I should have told you all of this sooner. Forgive me for being a selfish old man, Vhalla, but I suppose I didn’t want to see you go.” She smiled softly, as if that would ever upset her. “I envisioned your opportunities in the library; I wanted you to replace me someday.”
Vhalla inhaled sharply. There was a time where that would have been her dream. But her dreams had changed.
“Thank you, master,” Vhalla said thoughtfully. “I wish, I could have been that for you.”
“No,” Mohned shook his head. “You are destined for far greater things.” The master began to struggle to his feet, and Vhalla stood as well, realizing their conversation had reached its natural end.
She wanted to think of something else to say, overcome with an overwhelming desire to continue their discourse in any way possible. There had to be more to talk about, things she needed to tell the master and he needed to tell her. Perhaps they could order a light breakfast and reminisce. Vhalla thought frantically for something to elongate their discussion—at the fringe of her thoughts was the frightening realization that she had just set change in motion.
“It is the last day of the Festival,” the master pointed out thoughtfully, ignorant of Vhalla’s internal turmoil. “I will contact the Minister of Sorcery tomorrow. No one intends to do any work today.”
“That’s fair,” Vhalla agreed with a nod.
A gnarled hand closed around her shoulder. “I wouldn’t look so scared if I were you.” The master was not as ignorant as she thought. “I think your shadow is looking out for you.”
“My shadow?” Vhalla whispered.
The master only smiled. “And Vhalla,” he continued without further explanation. “You have been like a daughter to me all these years. Don’t think you can walk out with any expectations of visiting me often.”