The council room wasn’t as big as I expected.


    It was about the same size as the room I had just left. That puzzled me because, from the outside, this room should have been a lot bigger. By about four or five times as big.


    I didn’t have long to worry about the size difference. When I walked in every eye turned to me. I felt like I had just walked into a trap.


    To my right and to my left were five boxes. The top of each desk was at eye level, so I had to look up to see each council member. Not that I wanted to look at them. The frowns on their faces begged me to be anywhere else.


    I dropped my eye and looked in front of me. Master Junk was standing in the middle of the room with his arm around a black-haired boy about my age. I felt a pang of jealousy run down my throat. Master Bran had never put his arm around me like that. I would have been so happy if only once he would have been so protective, firm, and warm. The light embrace dared anyone to approach them and at the same time promised that they would meet the Master first.


    Such things only fostered weakness. Or so Master Bran had told me once. I knew that all of Master Junk’s apprentices had died, rather horribly at that, but part of me thought it would be worth it, just to know the feeling of that type of bond between myself and a Master.


    I studied the pair as I walked towards them. Master Junk looked like he had seen a rough seventy years. His skin was covered in small scars and his hair had turned gray. His green eye spoke of experience and sights that few others had seen. The wear on his body and time on his soul hadn’t worn him down. He stood tall and strong, and his breath came evenly. If not for the cosmetic signs of his age, he could have passed as a young man.


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    His marks were thin lines. It was a skill that older masters learned. They could condense the width of their marks. This provided them with an element of surprise if they were attacked. It was widely known that the size of the marks on a Bokor was in direct proportion to their magic strength, and the brighter the purple, the deeper their reserves. An older Master who had condensed their marks almost always had bright purple lines. This made it impossible to tell just how strong they really were.


    The apprentice wasn’t as imposing. His skin was a light brown, which led me to believe that he was from one of the islands to the west. His black hair and brown only further confirmed that suspicion. Not that I had been to the island kingdom, but I had heard stories from the other masters. The islands were the only place where the plague hadn’t spread. It was said to be a much different place, but I doubted I’d ever see it. Bokor and Touched weren’t allowed. The water weakened magic and left them vulnerable, since the islands were viciously defended against the plague, it was unlikely that it was a place I’d ever see. I wondered how Master Junk had found his islander apprentice. I made a mental note to ask him later.


    The council member on the far wall broke me out of my thoughts.


    “Apprentice Byler,” Her voice silenced all whispers in the room, “are you going to join us or stand in the door?”


    I looked at the far wall. There were three desks, similar to the ones to my right and left, but these were just a little higher. The middle one was the highest of the thirteen council members, and it was where the woman who had just chided me sat. Women were a rarity among the Bokor. Most became Touched instead, so to see one in a seat of power in the council surprised me.


    The look on her face told me that I didn’t need to respond. I hurried over to stand by Master Junk. It was time for the mission to start.