The Master of Names

Chapter 23- Letting go (Part 2)

A few days later

  "Wake up,"

  Keldon grumbled as the sun peaked through the window. But, this time, he pulled himself out of the bedroll, having gotten used to the abrupt wakeups in the mornings. It had been a few days since both he and Salem had started their training regimen. And well... it could be better. Collecting various barks, fungi and roots had gone well enough as he'd had some experience doing so before (albeit not during his most pleasant experiences), but still, he remembered some of the tricks of the trade.

  It was the name magic where he was struggling. It was failure after failure. He kept getting launched at awkward angles and crashing his momentum. Although, after trying to resonate with the name of fire again, it seemed that the cosmic embodiment of fire approved of such tests in the name of progress, so he didn't have to worry too much about rebounding magic in his efforts.

  But it was frustrating. Something was missing, something that he didn't understand about the properties of the name of fire. And after Salem was all healed up, he'd be leaving Keldon to head to the DarkSpine mountains, and then he'd have to face this on his own. Progress needed to be made, and fast.

  Yet, a few hours later, Keldon was on his back, staring up at the sky in defeat. Again.

  This time, he'd underestimated his strength and pumped too much power into his left leg. It sent him into an awkward spiral in the air as he flopped face-first into the dirt, rolling over with a groan.

The wind rustled the tall oaks as a gentle breeze picked up fallen leaves and swirled them in the air, perfect for somber contemplation.

  "So, what'd I do wrong now?" asked Keldon, watching the birds soar overhead.

  Salem closed Keldon's book of notes as he stroked his chin. It seems that the training was taking a toll on him as well. His cheeks had slimmed and his skin had lost a lot of his original youthful glow. No doubt because he'd been up until the wee hours of the night. Most likely cooking up his own antidote as well as thinking of training methods for Keldon.

  "Frankly, I'm unsure. There's only so much that I can know from reading your notes and from what you tell me," said Salem. "Traditional arcane studies states to go back to basics and retry image training among other things, but that doesn't apply to our situation. And from the few stray outliers of illegal magic that I did know, they were either born with their abilities or had their abilities awaken through trauma yada yada. The point is, your guess is as good as mine."

  "My guess is I'm boned then,"

  Salem raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? When did we learn to give up so easily?"

  Keldon furrowed his brow, simmering in his emotions. If only Salem knew that he'd always been like this. Salem was right though, underneath all his righteous posturing about wanting to be a hero, Keldon was exhausted.

  Without the name of fire to push him forward, he didn't know if he'd even have been able to make it this far. Using the name of fire had massaged away some of the fatigue, soothing it with sweet lies of passion and spirit. But when the tide rises, so too do the crashing waves. Each time the name of fire left him, the fatigue that remained came back with a vengeance.

  So yet again, shame spurned him onwards. This was his chance to live up to the life that Luther had always wanted. A life that Luther could never have because of him. If only he had wanted it for himself.

  Without a word, Keldon pulled himself off the ground.

  "Atta'pup," said Salem, walking over to hand him a flask of water. Keldon took a swig, quenching his thirst as he gulped down the leathery-tasting water.