Chapter 8:

The True Story of Jonas Barlow

The Sapphire Legacy


A grin touched Cirus’s lips. "When Jonas was about eighteen, he visited a great city in his world. What did he call it… Neyark?"

"New York?" Nikolai ventured.

"That’s the one," Cirus confirmed. "In that city, a street vendor badgered him into buying what looked like a worthless, broken ring for a pittance. Jonas first declined, but the man was so insistent that he bought it on a whim, thinking he might repair it later. That evening in his hotel room, he slipped the ring on, and to his astonishment, it mended itself within hours. I imagine you had a similar surprise, Wells."

Recalling his own shock, Wells nodded.

Cirus halted his pacing. "Indeed. That is a peculiar quality of certain powerful rings. They are crafted to appear tarnished and ruined until worn by a magical being. Only when they bond with someone of talent is their true form revealed."

The discovery astounded Jonas, who quickly learned he possessed a rudimentary grasp of magic. Shortly thereafter, he accidentally tore open the rift between worlds.

"Is that what I did?" Wells asked, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the log. "I opened a rift between worlds by mistake?"

Cirus nodded gravely. "Precisely. Jonas happened to walk directly into a training session between a wizard master and his apprentice. The moment the master spotted the Ring of Resolve on his finger, Jonas was whisked away to the Wizards’ Council in the land of the centaurs. After a lengthy interrogation, they deemed it too dangerous to return him to your world. Instead, he was to be trained in wizardry—a highly unusual fate for one so near to adulthood."

"How unusual?" Vance asked.

"In this world, a race known as the Sirunai are born with magical ability. A wizard’s training typically begins when they are eight."

"That’s all well and good," Nikolai cut in, "but one thing is still unclear. The Sirunai may be a race here, but they don't exist in our world. So how did Uncle Jonas and Wells manage to open a rift between them?"

"A few powerful wizards have been known to cross the boundary between worlds," Cirus remarked casually. "They mingled with people in your world, and sometimes, they had children. It’s likely the family of Jonas and Wells is descended from one such wizard."

"My father’s family isn’t magical," Wells stated flatly. "The Barlows have lived in Harrow Haven since it was founded, and I can promise you, there’s nothing magical about the place."

"You have Sirunai blood in your veins, Wells," Cirus said with finality. "Otherwise, that ring would have slipped from your finger long ago. Now, if you’ll permit me to continue."

"Jonas was trained by the master who found him, and the apprentice—myself—befriended him. I completed my own training within a year, while your Uncle Jonas spent the next several perfecting his craft. He was such a quick study that upon our master’s death, he was elevated to the rank of Sorcerer."

"After that, Jonas and I journeyed across Remira for many years. It would take a decade to tell you all the stories from that time, but that’s not important now," he added with a sheepish grin. "Once Jonas learned how to reopen the portal between worlds, he returned home. He came back to Remira now and then, even creating a stable passage for me. But the time had come for him to seal it for good."

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Cirus said, "So, I believe that explains matters sufficiently."

"No," Nikolai said abruptly. "It doesn't."

"It doesn't?"

"It doesn't," Nikolai repeated. "How are alternate realities possible? This obviously isn't our world. We’re in another reality entirely, and magic doesn’t exist in our own—'world' seems to be the operative term."

"You are correct, Mr. Volkov," Cirus said gently. "The term 'universe' is perhaps a bit grand, but we are indeed in a different world. You could not, for instance, simply walk from here to your Earth."

"For that, you'd need rockets and a supply of oxygen—" Nikolai began.

"A supply of what?" Cirus interrupted, looking perplexed.

"Oxygen," Nikolai repeated, dumbfounded. "Air! The gas you breathe to survive!"

Cirus raised an eyebrow. "As far as I know, the only elements essential for survival are myran and kalan."

"Myran and kalan?" Wells echoed. They had all become parrots, repeating the last words spoken.

"The very essence of magic," Cirus clarified. "You will find it is a profound and complex subject."

"That doesn’t explain anything," Nikolai stated firmly.

With a sigh, Cirus began a recitation that sounded well-rehearsed. "Magic is born from the combined energies of Myran and Kalan, which emanate solely from the Greatwood. Myran is the active, shaping force—the power of wizards—and can only be channeled by men. Kalan is the passive, knowing force, capable of learning from time itself, and can only be wielded by women. That is why men are wizards, and women are prophets."

Nikolai sat perfectly still, his face a mask of rapt concentration, though few of the others seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. "I see," he murmured, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose—a sure sign he was about to pose a difficult, probing question. "But that still doesn’t answer my original query. How can two separate realities coexist?"

A flash of anger entered Cirus’s tone. "Mr. Volkov, there are some things even I do not know! You might find books on cosmology and planar theory in the Royal Library at Tor Alian."

They sat in silence for several minutes, five of the six struggling to grasp the enormity of their situation. Wells was especially unsettled. The idea that he could be a wizard was absurd; part of his mind screamed that magic wasn’t real. Yet, Cirus stood before them as living proof to the contrary. If Uncle Jonas was a wizard, then perhaps he, Wells Barlow, was one too.

"So what are we going to do?" Wells finally asked.

Vance stared at him, incredulous. "Go home, of course," he said, as if the answer were obvious.

"No," Nikolai said softly, his voice tinged with a strange intensity. "I think we’d be squandering a monumental opportunity to explore this world."

"What about school?" Juliana asked with a nervous laugh. "We do have lives to get back to, you know."

At that, Cirus cleared his throat with a loud, pointed sound that drew their attention. Juliana looked over at him. "What is it?" she asked.

"You should be aware," he said politely, "that time is not synchronized between your world and Remira. Jonas once calculated an equation, but—"

Nikolai cut him off. "How is that possible? I can accept that we’re in a different reality, but time is a constant. It must be."

"You think too literally, Mr. Volkov," Cirus remarked lightly.

Nikolai looked intensely frustrated, as if a great revelation was just beyond his grasp. The other five, baffled by his intellectual persistence, merely exchanged shrugs. "So, does time not flow at a consistent rate?" Nikolai pressed. "To me, the seconds are passing normally. But are we moving faster or slower in relation to our own world?"

Cirus chuckled. "The pace of time is constant, but the two worlds are moving at different rates relative to each other. What time is it now in your world?"

Vance consulted his watch. "Almost four o’clock," he murmured.

A wave of nausea hit Wells. School had ended over an hour ago; their parents must be frantic with worry. He voiced this concern aloud.

"Time in your world passes much more slowly than it does here in Remira," Cirus explained.

"Then how long can we stay here," Nikolai asked, his expression calculated and hungry, "before any significant time passes back home?"

Cirus considered this. "Years, I should think. Jonas once spent nearly five continuous years in Remira, and less than an hour had passed in your world."

Nikolai let out a low whistle. "Did he age during that time?"

"He did."

Nikolai receded into his own thoughts, his brow deeply furrowed as he chewed on his tongue and stared at the ground. The others, lost in their own anxieties, paid him no mind.

"So, what do we do?" Vance asked. "I want to go home. I have no interest in staying here."

"What’s the rush to get home?" Alexa countered. "If we stay for a long while, no one will even know we were gone. Besides," she added pointedly, "it’s not as if we know how to get back."

Cirus interjected. "Forgive the interruption, but I do know a wizard who has researched this very subject."

"Who?" Wells asked.

"The head of my order, the Order of Sorcerers," he said, offering a small grin at their blank stares. "My apologies. I forget you are unfamiliar with this place. The wizards of Remira belong to a formal order based in Elara, the land of the centaurs. The High Wizard’s name is Lord Silus."

"And this Lord Silus knows how to get us home?" Vance asked eagerly. "And we’d get back at the same time we left?"

"Lord Silus knows the way, but Wells would be the one to learn it from him. To do so would require months of training in wizardry."

"What? Why?" Wells demanded, jumping to his feet. "Can’t you do it? You’re the one with the training, I’m not—"

Cirus silenced him with a simple wave of his hand. "The Ring of Resolve is the only known object capable of creating a stable portal to your world. To take it from you, Lord Silus would have to kill you, which I assume no one desires—least of all you. However, with the proper training, you could open a rift to send your friends home. It would take time, as the magic required to tear the fabric between worlds is immensely complex."

The news left them stunned. Months in this strange, perilous land? "Isn't there any other way?" Wells asked, a note of desperation in his voice. "I don't know if we can survive here for months."

"That is the easiest and least painful way," Cirus replied cheerfully. "We could, if you prefer, attempt to transform your bodies into raw myran and force you through one of the small, natural fissures between the worlds. Of course, you’d be unable to reform your bodies on the other side, and there is a considerable risk your disembodied essence might be snared by a stray spell, which would consume and destroy you most painfully."

Wells gave a short, humorless laugh. "Good to know," he remarked dryly. "I suppose there isn't much of a choice, then. Not unless I can accidentally perform that little miracle again."

"Excellent!" Cirus exclaimed, clapping his grizzled hands together. "Then I shall take you as my apprentice."

A knot of fear and excitement tightened in Wells's stomach. He was going to be trained as a wizard. He was going to learn magic. He had no idea what that would entail or how it would test him. But I have to do this to get the others home, he told himself. For some reason, the thought did little to soothe the cold dread coiling within him.

"When does my training begin?" Wells asked.

Cirus’s expression sobered. "Not for a few weeks, I’m afraid. You see, a… situation… is developing in Remira." The word 'situation' sounded carefully chosen. "His Majesty has summoned me to an emergency council in Tor Alian. And there are preparations to be made before your training can commence."

"So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Aidan demanded rudely. "Just sit around in these woods while you go play politics?"

"I expect you'll accompany me to Tor Alian," Cirus said. "Naturally, we will need to get you all properly outfitted. You can hardly walk around one of the world's great cities in your current attire without looking conspicuous."

Just then, Nikolai rejoined the group, looking profoundly self-satisfied. "What is it?" Wells asked him.

"Oh, nothing," Nikolai said. "I am merely pleased with a conclusion I’ve just reached."

"About what?"

"Time," Nikolai said. "I believe I’ve worked out its function between our two worlds."

"Spare us the lecture," Aidan grumbled. "We have bigger problems."

They quickly brought Nikolai up to speed on the plan. "That seems reasonable," he admitted. "So, our first move is to head for Tor Alian?"

"Correct," Cirus replied. "It is not far—only a day’s journey."

Juliana groaned. "A whole day?" she lamented. "I really wish I hadn't worn flip-flops."

Everyone got to their feet and turned to look at Wells. He had no idea why they were looking to him for leadership; he was the last person he would have chosen. Instead, he turned to the wizard.

"Then lead the way, Cirus."

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