to work directly with the city's oppressors, as he's always called those in and of power.'
'He's aware of your talents, is he not?'
'He must be, as I'd inadvertently cast spells on him before 1 understood what I could do. Most days, I think he chooses to ignore what he knows and operate as if I'm just a tool for him to manipulate for his political games. I don't know if I deserve to-'
'Poor child.' Ashemmon's shade became more and more translucent as he spoke, fading almost to invisibility. 'Like me, you were so often told your limits-what you could not be-that you fail to see what you can be. I see a future unimaginable for you right now-power and privilege with a price, but honor throughout. You and your friends share a noble goal. Do not despair. Do not abandon that dream. We shall not judge. But we shall be watching.'
By the time Ashemmon's form became transparent, so too did the Ralnarth manse. Laraelra felt an icy cold draft whipping around her, and she shivered, thinking of her low-necked gown. She hugged herself, and found she was again clad in her heavy wool cloak and her usual beltarma and robes. Her hazy surroundings whipped around with another blast of wind, and where she found herself was as unexpected as her first location inside Blackstaff Tower.
CHAPTER 22
The Art that is true magic cares not a whit for the hands that wield it. It sings in the heart that embraces Art for her own sake, not the sake of power.
11 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Unlike her companions, Vajra had been to Blackstaff Tower many times before. She knew to expect the odd architecture, the guardians, and the dissociation when teleporting from one stair to another. She knew she srood in the entry hall of Blackstaff Tower, regardless of how it looked. Free-floating architectural details filled the room, from arches and statues to doors and torches set into walls that were mere patches floating in space. The rest of the air was filled with elements from the royal court at Faerntarn in Tethyr, the lonely hills where Samark died, and her childhood home at Shelshyr House. The most dominant feature here was a set of stone steps spiraling up through the center of it all, and at the foot of them stood Samark.
Vajra's heart leaped, and she tried to dash forward to where he stood, but he shook his head. 'You are not whole, darling Vajra, and you are not Blackstaff. Not yet. We must test you, heal you, and then you can move around the tower.'
Another ghost wisped into existence before Vajra's eyes- Kyriani Agrivar, a mischievous half-elf spirit of a former Blackstaff. 'You and I share two things-we assumed the Blackstaff s power without proper preparation, and we fight wars in our hearts. Until we settle the latter, the former can never be attained.' With that, Kyriani simply shuffled sideways, lay down catlike on a divan that floated by perpendicular to Vajra's floor, and drifted off, leaving the young woman alone again.
'We'll allow you one brief moment to address those with whom you arrived,' Samark said, 'and then all will be called to testing, for Blackstaff tower is no place for the unwaty, the unwilling, or the unwise.'
Samark and Kyriani both cast spells, and Vajra saw Osco upside down on a gray stone platform, Meloon standing to her right on a patch of grass, Renaer on her left on a floor near a wooden shelf, and Laraelra alone stood eye to eye with her, though a gap loomed between them. Vajra looked down and saw Vharem's cocoon far below in a dark tomb alongside a number of other sarcophagi.
Vajra looked up again and locked eyes with Laraelra, a lone tear running down her cheek. She spoke to them ail, knowing they could hear her if not clearly see her. 'I'm sorry, friends, for what we now must endure. I thought it safe, but the tower seeks to prove us worthy to walk its halls.' She sobbed. 'I'm sorry-and may Tymora bless you with good luck.'
Once she finished, her friends faded from view, though the chaotic environment did not. Indeed, it became even mote confusing when she saw two more images of herself floating on the platforms with Kyriani and Samark and one closer to her, alone. The closest image was Vajra as a young girl, weaving illusionary fairies in the ait. With Kyriani stood a ram-rod stiff figure of Vajra, standing at a bookstand and reading a wizard's tome. Her other image lay with Samark on a hastily conjured bed of cloud, and the sounds of theit shared passions drifted to her ears.
'What do I do?' Vajra asked.
But no one answered her. Kyriani simply stared straight at her, while Samark ignored her in favor of the ardorous image of her. This pained her, as she ached for one more moment with Samark.
But this situation held its own message. Vajra fought to remember what she could about Kyriani.
Despite the greenish shades of both Samark and Kyriani, Vajra knew Kyri had purple eyes when she was alive. The half-elf was once one of the tel'teukiira-the Moonstars, as humans called them. Kyriani saw the second Blackstaff-Tsarra Chaadren-and her heir die in battle against a coven of vampire-wizards in the Stump Bog. Kyriani honored her friends by taking up the Blackstaff and risking her own sanity to carry its power back to Waterdeep.
What else? As if Kyri could hear her thoughts, the half-elf's eyebrows rose and the ghost idly scratched one of her pointed ears. Vajra furrowed her brow in concentration. Kyri was a half-elf, and there lay a clue.
Kyriani Agrivar had been the daughter of a human wizard and a drow. Vajra remembered weeping the first time she read of Kyri's constant battles to reconcile and merge her warring natures of darkness and light, and how she'd twice been split into separate bodies.
'That's it!' Vajra exclaimed.
'What is it, dear?' Kyriani asked.
The other Vajra on the platform behind her muttered, 'Shush. I must study this.'
'I've got to reconcile myself-change my self-image,' Vajra said. 'For so long, I've seen myself as different things, and they're all here.' She pointed at the various platforms and images of herself around the room. 'I'm a child and a sorcerer, Tamik al Safahr's youngest girl, and the only one born with magic. I'm the Black-staffs heir, and I must study and learn more and more to be worthy of this honor. I'm a woman desperately in love despite the differences between us.'
Kyriani asked, 'So why are all those separated?'
'Fot the same reason you warred within yourself-we get so used to compartmentalizing ourselves and our images of self that we splinter what should be whole.' Vajra wept as she saw the image of her long-dead father pick up her child-self and toss her high in the air. 'I was fourteen when my father died defending Darromar from assassins. My sorcerer's spells weren't enough to save him, and he and my aunt died for my failures. I had just begun my wizard training with her, and I turned my back on sorcery that day, since it was the wizardry she taught me that helped us save Tethyr's Queen Cyriana and King Errilam.'
'Ignoring an essential part of you creates holes in you,' Kyriani said.
Vajra nodded, then turned her gaze on Kyriani and the image behind the gteen shade. 'I see myself there as the wizard, the Black-staff's heir, the capable student. But never a master. I'll never learn enough magic and wizardry to deserve the honor of being the Blackstaffs heir.'
'That's a problem, then.' Kytiani laughed. 'Since you've got to accept being worthy enough to be the heir and to be the Blackstaff. Who filled your head with this nonsense?'
'I did,' Varja said, casting an embarrassed eye toward the atdor-fueled meeting of Samark and herself. 'I came to Waterdeep to learn foreign magic, as is required of any student of Tethyr's Court Vizera. If we challenge the Tethyr Curse and survive for a winter, we may return and enter her apprenticeship, in hopes of serving the Crown directly. I joined the Watchful Order and expected to return to Tethyr three summers ago, but…'
'Yes?' Kyri pushed her.
