Free The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) by Karen Azinger Page A

emerged. The flickering torchlight revealed the stern face of the Master Archivist.

8
Katherine
     
    All doors were forbidden to her, both the golden-yellow and the mysterious midnight-blue. Kath’s doeskin boots whispered down the hallway, the maze of the monastery growing familiar. The warmth of the floor increased, a telltale sign that she neared her destination. Descending the steps, she found the golden door with the glass pane shaped like a diamond...but the door was closed. She stared hard at the challenge. So easy to turn the knob and enter, but somehow they’d know. The monks had their own way of training. Magic could be even more exhausting than sword practice, yet she dared not miss a lesson. She’d need every weapon for the fight ahead.
    Resigned to the task, she placed her left hand on the stone wall next to the door. Wood was impenetrable to her magic but not stone. Shivering with apprehension, she gripped her small mage-stone gargoyle. Kath leaned against the wall, a solid barrier, yet the monks had taught her another way. She stared at the wall, summoning the courage to try. In her worst nightmares she became trapped in stone, her mouth forever frozen in an endless scream. Banishing her doubts, she closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching for the magic within.
    A deep vein of power throbbed at the heart of her gargoyle. Kath felt the pull of magic, the seductive call of stone to stone. Leaning forward, she pressed against the wall, pushing into it, pushing through it, needing to get to the other side. Mage-stone surrounded her with a hard embrace. Solid, sedentary, stubborn…streaks of granite and veins of quartz, the stone called to her, trying to hold her in place, offering her permanence, a whispered dream of eternity. The stone sang its siren’s song, enduring, constant, forever. So hard to be herself, hard to remember…hard to move yet she needed to push through, needed to breath. Refusing to be a prisoner, she pressed forward. Crack!
    Like a flash of lightning, the world returned in a rush. Kath staggered into air. She gasped, remembering to breath, hungry to fill her lungs. She checked herself, two arms, two legs, flesh not stone, her heart thundering in living proof. Damp with sweat, she sighed, her muscles quivering with strain, but she was whole and on the other side. Kath sagged against the wall, breathing hard, wondering if it would ever get easier.
    The moist warmth of the garden embraced her, the rich fragrance of living green. She breathed deep, welcoming the scent of life, relishing the lushness of the garden. Even for the monastery, the Garden of Contemplation was a marvel. Heated by piped water from underground thermal springs and flooded with sunshine through a vaulted ceiling of glass panes, the garden was both a refuge of green and a sanctuary of art. Statues peered out from among the fronds, a story or a lesson behind every one. Kath followed the stone path along the reflecting pool. Her fingertips brushed the verdant green as she gazed at the secluded art.
    Reaching the far end of the narrow pool, she took a seat on the stone bench. The statue of the three monk-keys peered out from the fronds. She studied the carving, remembering her first meeting with the master, only a moon turn ago. So much had changed, the weight of destiny felt heavy on her shoulders.
    “Power begets power.”
    Kath jumped, her hand reaching for her sword…but it was only Master Rizel. Her mentor had a knack for suddenly appearing. She meant to catch him but never did. She wondered if it was magic but knew better than to ask.
    Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes, as if he knew her question and dared her to ask. But Kath knew from experience her questions would only lead to a maze of riddles, so she kept quiet, waiting for the lesson to began.
    He took a seat on the bench, sharing her view of the monk-keys. He gave her a sideways glance, his sun-kissed face lined with deep laugh line, his jewel-blue