I. A New Companion (Chapter Two)

You and Burt make it back to the Guild just before dusk.

“And now we’re back at this old place,” says Burt, looking up at the towering structure. “Got that note Soraya gave you? Okay, let’s find Allard.”

You nod in agreement. You realize that, through the chaos of the last week or so, you hadn’t had the time to fully appreciate the grand architecture of the Adventurer’s Guild. Burt waves a careless hand at the guards flanking the front entrance, and you both step through the intricately carved oak double doors. There is a short passageway, dimly lit with flickering lamps, and your footsteps echo as you pass portrait after portrait of past Grandmasters. You feel a sort of reverence, looking up at their stately faces in the lamplight.

“Creepy old fish,” Burt mutters. You give him a reprimanding shove, and he stumbles over his feet.

Emerging from the passageway, you are greeted with a magnificent oval hall full of bustling whiskers preparing to close business for the evening. It is impossible to count the many floors, staircases, and doors leading out of the room as you peer up at the distant ceiling. You see whiskers busy lighting torches along the marble walls, whiskers tottering along with piles of books, and yet more whiskers zipping in and out of stone corridors. In the center of the hall is a wide but shallow pond, and from it stands a colossal mangrove tree. Its dense canopy, almost the height of the chamber itself, stretches broadly across the entirety of the room, and instead of casting the chamber into shadow, it seems to give off an enchanted light of its own. Its leaves, broad and richly green, glitter as the branches sway as though to a gentle breeze.

Tiny, winged fish flitter amongst the gnarled boughs of the mangrove, here and there diving steeply into the pond, then dipping back up with renewed sparkle. Most impressive of all, there are innumerable magical placards floating all around the tree. You assume that written on each of them is a quest consigned to the Guild, as many adventurous-looking whiskers gaze upon them, turning to their companions and discussing the details of potential quests.

“The Sand Tortoises of the south are migrating from Sheoland and causing trouble in Mahkotta again…”

“Northfall has requested grape-picking helpers this year. Maybe we could bring back a few barrels of their Royal Wine along with the bounty…”

“Allow me and my friend to join you on your grand quest for wine!”

You turn to see Burt striding towards the scalemander-robed whisker who was chatting with her friend about the Northfall consignment. You hurry forth and grab the back of Burt’s cloak, then steer him to the right toward some concrete steps.

“Release me, Adventurer!” You’re surprised to see tears in Burt’s eyes. “Just once, I want to be with one of the better factions of this Guild and be doing fun wine quests and earning loads of gold, and…and…”

You let go of Burt as the two of you make your way down the stairs and through the peeling door into the quarters of the Embers of the Phoenix. Allard is nowhere to be seen.

“I mean, look at this dump!” Burt exclaims, pointing to the rickety tables and chairs. “I swear, if Allard hadn’t dragged me back to the Embers, I’d be with anyone else. Anyone!”

“Is that right, Burt?” A rough voice calls from behind as the door slams. “And just whose fault do you think that is? You’re staying until that gold you ran off with is paid back in full.”

Allard comes stumping into the room with an armful of books and scrolls. He is limping slightly, and the skeleton hand now unloading the books onto the nearest table sends shivers down your spine. You think you would have gotten used to it by now, but it still manages to creep you out. Burt shuffles his feet, turning bright red.

“I didn’t mean it, Allard,” he says in a quiet voice. “Just saying, why does our faction have to be so gross compared to everyone else?”

“I know, I know,” Allard says heavily. “The Embers of the Phoenix used to be the most prosperous of all the Adventurer’s Guild factions. I still remember the glory days. We had the highest-level quests, the biggest treasure horde, and the best weapons, but things change over time. Members started leaving, and resources dried up under our noses. It drove our accountant mad, and he just quit one day. I’m not sure how it happened, it was as if we were cursed.”

“Surely…it wasn’t my fault? For stealing a bit of gold?” says Burt hesitantly. Allard gives him a hard look, then sighs.

“No, Burt. What you did was petty pilfering. It wasn’t enough to bring down an entire guild faction.”

Allard grows silent, as if brooding over something he didn’t wish to share. You cast an inquisitive glance towards him.

“You must be wondering what we’re on about, Adventurer!” Allard says, brightening suddenly. “Well, you and Burt are my only underlings now; the hope of the Embers rests upon you two youngsters!”

Burt looks despairingly at you. You urge Allard to continue.

“Yes, Adventurer. So, you thought I was the Grandmaster of the entire Adventurer’s Guild? Oh no, that position is graced by another, luckily for me. Far too much paperwork. But I remain Guildmaster of the Embers of the Phoenix.”

“There’s different factions in the Adventurer’s Guild,” chips in Burt. “There’s also the Tempest of the Falcon, Crest of the Lyrebird, and the Frostwing of the Crane.”

“Indeed,” says Allard. “We each have our magic and our secrets. Specialities, of sorts. Speaking of which, I’ve brought something for you, Burt.”

Allard rummages through the stack of scrolls he had brought in and hands a particularly old one to Burt.

“’Phoenix Heart’?” Burt reads with wonder in his eyes. “What’s this?”

“It’s a spell, you knucklehead,” Allard says. “It can only be learnt by those with the Mark.”

“Well, I never!” Burt holds it up to the light. “I’m feeling rather special. Let’s try.”

Burt flattens the scroll on the floor of the quarters and places a palm on it. He says a string of words, and nothing happens. He looks up at you, then tries again and again. Allard begins to laugh heartily.

“What? Why isn’t it working?” Burt demands.

“Phoenix Heart cannot be learnt like traditional spells, Burt,” says Allard, still chuckling. “I just wanted to see you try.”

“You old clackety-hand!” Burt says. “Stop messing around and show me properly.”

“And now you know how you make me feel most of the time,” Allard says. "Right. Well, listen well, minnow. Phoenix Heart is a healing spell. Perhaps one of the most powerful in the pond. It can bring its target back from the brink of death if the caster is strong enough. Anyway, the first step in learning the spell is to completely exhaust your well of magic.”

“Come again?”

“It’s simple, really. Use every ounce of magic within you and you’ll be ready to take on the Phoenix Heart. Now, enough questions. Go down to the training grounds. Continually cast any spell, Fireball, perhaps, until you are completely exhausted.”

“This sounds like a terrible idea,” Burt says, sitting on a chair. “Are you sure you’re not pulling my leg again?”

Allard makes a move as if to kick Burt off his chair, but Burt springs up and races to the door.

“Ok, ok,” he says. “Keep it together, old man. But I’m warning you, if I find out it’s a joke after all this…”

“Then you’ll have no magic to do anything about it, will you?” Allard says heartily. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Burt glares at Allard before exiting, slamming the door behind him. Allard rounds on you, and you take a big step back.

“Relax, Adventurer. Now that the rabble has cleared off,” Allard begins. You cast a worried look after Burt, and Allard chuckles. “The training I have assigned Burt is not a joke; do not fret. Now, as for you.”

Allard shuffles his stack of scrolls again and pulls out a pale blue scroll. You hold out your hands eagerly.

“Now before I give you this, allow me to explain. I happened to witness your Frozen Spear up in the Northern Mountains. It was quite impressive, I must say. If your foe had not been that black armored beetle of a whisker, then I have full confidence that your Spear would have ended the fight. I see you have an affinity for water spells, and I find myself conflicted.”

You gaze down at the scroll. It reads ‘Call from the Deep’.

“Aye, it is a grand old spell. It was one of the Old Wizard’s favorites, I believe. It allows the caster to call upon the help of many a creature from the deep waters of the Great Pond. The stronger the caster, the stronger the beast. Now, here is my problem. The Embers of the Phoenix naturally favor fire spells. It is the whiskers from the Frostwing of the Crane that are the water spell naturalists. But I don’t intend to lose a fine guildling such as yourself to another faction!”

You nod. It seems you have no say in this matter.

“Good whisker,” he says. “For now, you should learn as many different spells as possible of varying elements. That way, you'll be well-rounded and able to keep Burt in check if he gets too excited."

You are about to ask how to learn the spell, but through all the excitement, you realize you have forgotten about the note Soraya had given you back in the bar. You pull it out and hand it to Allard.

“What’s this? Ah, so you found this mysterious SM. Soraya, was it? Hmm, well, it seems this note is a contract. Seems fishy.” Allard paces the room, looking down at Soraya’s note. “It says here she wants myself, you, and Burt to help her find her mother’s lost artifact in exchange for an amount equal to…”

Allard suddenly leaps in the air and yells.

“Why...why...we could completely rebuild the Embers of the Phoenix with this amount!”

His eyes bug out of their sockets as he reads and rereads the contract. You stand there with your magic scroll, unsure of what to do.

“We’re wasting time here! Where is that confounded Burt?”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the door swings open, and the smell of singed fish wafts through the air. Burt slumps in, his robes tinged from fire, and collapses face down.

“I’ve done what you asked, Allard,” Burt gurgles from the floor. “Probably went beyond. I got into a fight with a mage who thought I was aiming at him on purpose. I used up all my magic trying to defend myself from his huge spells! He might’ve killed me if I hadn’t gotten out of there in time after I was done.”

“Uh, right, good,” Allard says absently, his eyes back on Soraya’s contract.

“So, er, is there a next part to the spell?” Burt says, wobbling as he gets to his feet.

“Huh, what? Oh, yes, well, now think about someone or something that you love the most in the entire world, and press your hand against the scroll again. It tends to work better if you choose a someone rather than a something.”

“Woah, wait. What does that have to do with learning the spell?”

“Like I said, the Phoenix Heart is a healing spell, one of the most effective. The reason it is so powerful is that the caster renders themselves magically immobile to completely heal another. It is the ultimate act of giving. It can also theoretically be cast upon oneself, of course, but you’ll still empty your mana pool.”

“Magically immobile? Forever?”

“No, of course not. Just for about a day. Anyway, to learn the spell you must do the complete opposite. Exhaust yourself of magic, and from that state, think about who you would give the entirety of your magic to, and submit yourself to the scroll.”

“Sounds like a bad date,” Burt says. But Allard does not hear, as he is back to reading the contract.

“Now, listen, you two. This contract says to meet this Soraya at Spirit Lake near the Eastern Forests in three days’ time. Go find out the details and carry out her mission, then come straight back with the bounty. Take the Atlas; it’ll show the way. I cannot join you in my current condition, but I have faith in the two of you. Burt, your magical exhaustion lasts one day from now, so use that time to learn that spell. Adventurer, cover for Burt in case you run into trouble. And still have your scroll? Good, because the timing cannot be better. There is a certain water guardian who can be found at Spirit Lake who could teach you precisely how to master the Call from the Deep. Better than any at this guild, in fact. She is the master of all things watery.” Allard sets the contract on the table and faces you and Burt. “By this time next week, the two of you will have mastered your respective spells, and my Embers of the Phoenix will be reborn and refunded! Now, go to bed. Lights out immediately; you set out at dawn!”

He lets out a booming laugh as he extinguishes the lamps in the room and strides towards his bedchamber. You can hear him laughing all the way to his bed, and moments later, you hear his rumbling snores.

“Crazy old whisker,” Burt mutters as the two of you fumble in the dark toward your beds. “He sends us packing on an unknown quest with scrolls we can barely read, and I’m literally out of magic for a whole day! I'm not even sure how to learn this Phoenix Heart or whatever. At least I get to see Soraya once more. Oh, blast it, she’ll probably be mean to me again.”

Burt grumbles all the way to bed. You lie awake, imagining the amazing aquatic beasts you might summon with your new spell. You turn over and ask Burt if he has thought of whom he might think of while learning the Phoenix Heart.

“I dunno,” Burt says bluntly. You get a vague image of a faceless whisker holding a mug of ale in one hand and fried pickles in the other, sitting at a table laid out with playing cards. You smile and turn over, falling asleep almost at once after the busy day.