Meisha met his eyes across the pit. Flames surged up between them, the fire reaching the ceiling. Varan never flinched, though the girl swore his beard was singed.
When the fire shrank away, the wizard sighed. "Very well, I concede the battle. Jonal will study water. Fire shall be your element. I cannot deny that flames match your nature. Fire's inherent power will help you survive, until you embrace it for the right reasons."
"What reason is there for hurling flame, except to kill things?" The little girl sneered.
"When you've completed your studies, you will have the answer to that question," said Varan.
"And when I've finished, you'll let me go?" Meisha asked, watching him closely.
"Of course. You are not a prisoner here. The apprentices walk around as they please. You may do the same, but there are rules," he cautioned her. "You're not a Wraith anymore. You will wash the mud from your body and let your hair grow in, though perhaps you'll wear it short"—he rubbed his bearded chin as he regarded her—"to keep it from being singed. Yes, I think that will do. The Delve is my home as well as my fortress, and the caverns are secure, within the confines I've mapped. For your own safety, I ask you not to venture past my wards into the outer caves."
"What's out there?"
"Things you're not ready to see, little firebird," he said.
Meisha bristled at the childish nickname. "I can take care of myself." She looked away and caught movement from the mouth of one of the tunnels.
A small figure stood watching them—a dwarf in dented plate armor holding a large battle-axe. The handle of the weapon was broken, rendering it useless, but the dwarf clutched the remaining piece as if his life depended upon it.
"Varan—" but as soon as Meisha spoke, the dwarf vanished.
Varan smiled. "Did you see something?"
Meisha kept her eyes on the tunnel, but the apparition did not reappear. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice hushed.
"You've seen him before?"
"He watches me," said Meisha. She suppressed a shudder. "I didn't know he was. . . that he wasn't..."
"Alive?" Varan supplied. "I believe he is one of the Howlings."
"Howlings?"
"This place was called the Howling Delve, long ago. The Howlings were dwarves—adventurers who made these caves a secret home. They rode on the backs of giant wolves and amassed quite a fortune beneath the earth, or so the dwarven olorns—magic stories—tell."
"What happened to them?" Meisha asked.
"Obviously, they died," said Varan, with a careless shrug, "as adventurers often do."
"Then why are they still here?" The sense of unease tucked around Meisha like an ill-fitting cloak. How could Varan live among ghosts?
"They are only echoes of the past, child," said Varan. "Lingering memories and nothing to fear. My magic can create similar effects."
"How?" Meisha asked curiously.
"Would you like to see? To learn?"
Meisha heard the challenge in the question. She nodded slowly.
Varan reached into a small sack tied around his neck. "You'll see these again when we begin your testing," he said, pulling forth a small, square crystal. "They help me to gauge your progress." He touched one clear surface, spoke a word, and suddenly there were two more figures in the room. The man and child were perfect doubles of Varan and Meisha.
Meisha stared as her mirror image raised a hand and brought it down in a chopping motion. A jet of water rose from the ground and slapped the image of Varan, soaking his robes. The real Varan chuckled and spoke another command. The images shrank and returned to the crystal.
Meisha looked at her teacher. "How long can you keep the memories?"
"As long as I wish," Varan said. "Though perhaps I might erase that one, if you'd care to begin anew?"
Meisha stayed silent, so Varan continued, "I don't expect you to trust me yet, but you can trust this: I am a selfish old man, too curious about magic for my own good. I like to experiment, and I know the value in rearing a fire elementalist, a true savant. You may have a home here as long as you wish, no matter how many hurts you attempt to inflict upon me. I will not send you away. When your training is done, you may go back into the sunlight, if that is what you want." He removed another object from his sack, a small ring, which he handed to her. "When you leave, should you ever wish to return, all you need do is speak the command word on the band. The ring will bring you to the Delve." He leaned closer, so close to the pit she wondered how he stood the heat. "What say you, firebird?" He stretched his bare hand over the flames and met her gaze in another challenge.
Without hesitation, Meisha reached across and touched his wrinkled palm. Pain scalded her arm, but if he wouldn't back down, neither would she.
Varan's eyes shone with approval. "There will always be flame in you, child, for the whole of your life. But it will not always hurt so. Trust me."
Meisha nodded, bearing the pain. She looked over Varan's shoulder and saw the ghost again, watching her from the tunnel mouth. A large pendant hung around his neck with the figure of a mountain inscribed upon its surface. A hole sat in the center where once a charm or gem might have nestled.
What do you want from me? Meisha wondered. If the dwarf was beyond pain, why did he look so afraid?
As if in answer, the memories faded. The child Meisha had gone, and the sleeping Meisha found herself in a place she'd never been in her waking life. Only in her dreams had she been trapped in the stone chamber.
Meisha felt the surge of the campfire in time with her accelerating heartbeat. She knew what was coming, but she didn't want to face it.
This time, the fire was no friend. It held a living presence, awesome and terrifying and buried deep in a stone prison.
The presence, if it possessed a name, never spoke it to her. As far as Meisha was concerned, the creature was the Delve, and the Delve him. No further identity was needed.
She never saw a face, but she could feel the fire emanating from the creature's body—a beast of fire and claws, claws that tested the walls of his prison and the ring of guards on silent vigil.
The dwarves—his keepers. Meisha sensed the beast desired to hunt, but the dwarves kept him sealed inside the cavernous prison. So instead, he hunted them all down, one by one in the vastness. Their screams echoed off the stone as each one fell to the fire-clawed menace. They were still here, trapped alongside him for eternity.
He could slay them again, over and over, but Meisha sensed him growing weary of killing ghosts.
With renewed fear, Meisha thought, he wants to hear living screams.
But the fire beast was patient. His time would come. He could feel it. Until then . . .
"No!" the sleeping Meisha cried out. She watched helplessly through the eyes of the fire beast. He stalked forward and immediately met one of the dwarves. The small figure raised his broken axe in defiance. His pendant flashed briefly, brilliant silver, but the beast flexed his claws and ripped the broken weapon out of the dwarf's hands.
Screaming, Meisha sat up in her bedroll. The campfire flared in one giant stalk that reached almost to the tops of the trees.
Meisha swept an arm out, panting. The flames died, becoming so much smoking wood.
I'd been doing so well; I hadn't had the dream in months, Meisha thought bitterly.
Just when she thought she might be free of the Delve and her master, the memories came surging back like the fire—memories mixing with strange visions. How could she recognize truth from fever dreams?
There was one way, but Meisha would never take it. Her master might be able to explain the dream. She'd never had it before coming to the Delve. The Delve and her master were inextricably linked.