"How's that?" she asked the Master, a tall, handsome man clad in heavy robes. He nodded his dark head with satisfaction. Kestra was a very gifted girl. She caught on quickly.

"Excellent," he praised her. "That's perfect. Now add some palmitite, about twice as much as the last."

She did so, measuring carefully. "Is it ready?" she asked in anticipation.

"All that remains is to set the spell. Go ahead, you can say it."

Kestra's face was twisted with the force of her concentration. Malcolm could not help but smile at her will, and was glad her eyes were screwed shut. It wouldn't do for her to see him laughing at her.

"Lasciare il malia essere gettare e il magia forte."

There was a burst of light as she finished, bright enough to hurt Kestra's eyes, even protected as they were by her eyelids.

"Drink it," the Master directed. Seeing her hesitation at the thought of the nasty concoction, he coaxed her, "Don't worry, it won't kill you. Just drink it all in one swallow."

She did as he said, and as she took the jar away from her lips, he smothered the candles warding off the darkness of the night. Kestra was mentally questioning that when she noticed it was not nearly as dark as the night was usually. Then she realized that the potion they had mixed was one to improve sight. She felt a sensation that she could not describe.

Malcolm took his time relighting the candles, letting her delight in her catlike vision. This was the first spell she had done without any help from him. Although she had been in his care for almost a full decade, she was not ready to begin truly studying magic until she reached her tenth summer. Since then, she had learned extraordinarily quickly, beginning to master the art of emotion, reading all the necessary volumes and learning all the fundamentals in only five years. Malcolm thought almost regretfully of how much further along she would be now, had she only started a year or two earlier. But he knew it could not be, that a child pushed too hard, too early, would rebel. He had made that mistake with another student, once, and what a price he had paid. His face clouded over at the thought until he took control of his emotions and forced himself back to normality. That was long ago, he now had other responsibilities. Like this girl, Kestra. He smiled proudly at the girl who had found her way into his heart, becoming like family to him, long after he had given up hope of ever caring for anyone again. Maybe it was because she reminded him of his wife. They had the same figure, tall and slender. They shared the same hazelnut color in their hair, although they wore it differently. His wife had worn hers long, down around her waist. Kestra's was cut a little bit shorter than shoulder length. Their eyes were different, though. His wife's had been a brilliant sapphire blue, while Kestra's were . . . well, right now, in the semi-darkness, they were brown, but in the light they were emerald green, and always they were wide and innocent looking. Malcolm decided, however, that he had wasted too much time already, and quickly finished lighting the candles.

"Well, did you notice any changes?" he asked, knowing the answer, but delighting in watching her face as she tried to describe it.

"It was incredible! Absolutely amazing! Wow!"

Malcom just laughed.

The Master lay in his big bed, much too big for just one person, he had thought many times in the past. He lay, thinking of the past as if it were happening once more. He felt sorrow as fresh as if it had all taken place the day before. He felt the same pain as again, he saw his wife and two boys laying motionless on the floor. And most of all, he felt an incredible rage against the men who had murdered his family. He would never, ever, forgive the two young men for that night. He could not even have the satisfaction of killing them as they had killed his wife and children. All his attempts at revenge had failed, dissolved by a curse set by the murderers. They had made sure there was no way he could ever cast a spell to hurt them or their families. There was one way, and only one, Malcolm knew, but it was not the time. The villains were dead now, caught in a boat, sunken by a vicious storm. He hated them even more because one had children, and that family had survived long after the murderers' deaths. Now the children were also dead, being common people with no magic. Only the original two brothers had possessed magic, and not even the smallest trace of it could be found in the grandchildren and great grandchildren, the generations of the family currently living. Malcolm despised them all with a passion. He had sworn that day, long ago, that he would avenge his family. Again he swore, by all that he held dear, that his loss would be paid for.

Six months later, Kestra had flourished far beyond the Master's expectations for that half year. She knew lots of spells, and knew in which books she could find more, if needed. Malcolm smiled as he watched his young prodigy explore a particularly solid volume, struggling to turn through the pages. Suddenly she lost her hold and the massive book slammed shut. Kestra found herself completely covered with dust, blown from the awesome book. Malcolm burst into laughter and then stopped suddenly, finding himself painfully gasping. His body could not take in air quickly enough, and he fell to the floor.

He opened his eyes to Kestra and a throbbing headache.

"Are you all right?" Kestra asked anxiously.

"I suppose I'm fine. What happened?"

"You fainted. Good grief, Malcolm, you really scared me. You started coughing and you fell over. I thought you were dead!"

"Not yet," he assured her, "I'm not that old, you know . . . "

"Of course not, did I say you were old?"

"No, just implied it," Only the playful twinkle gleaming in his eye convinced her that he was teasing.

Kestra saw little of Malcolm for the days that followed. He would give her his assignments in the morning and retreat into his study for the remainder of the day. He came out only for meals, and then he just sat there, absently chewing as his mind worked furiously. Kestra suspected he was searching for a reason behind his collapse, although she didn't know why. Surely the problem had been the dust. It had choked him and he could not get enough air, and fainted. That was the only logical answer she could find. So why was Malcolm still searching?

A week later, the Master became himself again. Kestra did not know if he had found whatever answer he was looking for, but at least he was back. She was more eager than ever to learn.

Not too long after, about a month, Malcolm collapsed again. He had been trying to cast a complex spell when a great fog of dizziness descended upon him. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground.

The fainting spells increased, becoming more and more frequent, and lasting longer when they came. Kestra became deeply worried, because it was apparent that her Master was weakening. She would not embarrass or insult him by questioning the matter, and he was too proud to admit there was anything wrong. As he spent more time in solitude, looking for his answers, his mind became flooded with thoughts of his past and the tragedies. His wife had been a healer, she would have known what was the matter. Lately, he felt too weak to spend his limited energy demonstrating spells for Kestra. Instead, he had to instruct her verbally and let her do the spells without magical help from him. He hated feeling so helpless, he had always felt superior to others because of his power. Now his power was rapidly diminishing. Even the fundamental differences between him and his inferiors were disappearing. He could no longer expect to be unaffected by mortality, and this handicapped him, putting him on equal ground with those he felt he had risen above. The thought completely unnerved him.

It was not long before Malcolm could not practice any of his magic. His worst fears were confirmed early one morning when, still in bed, he tried to light a candle on a small table, merely ten feet away. To his dismay, he could not even produce a spark. He decided it was time to be fully honest.

Before she even reached the bedroom, Kestra knew why the Master had rung for her. She had watched, heartbroken, as the Master's power decreased. She knew very little of his life, but had observed that he had experienced great pain, and his magic was all he had left. Now, it appeared even that was gone.

"Kestra," the magician looked over at her with his steel grey eyes. "Kestra, as you must know, I have become weakened. I do not know how this has occurred, but that is not the important thing. . . "

Kestra gazed down at her leather boots, knowing how hard this must be for Malcolm.

"The important thing is," he continued hoarsely, "I believe I am dying. Rapidly. In fact, I doubt I shall live through this morning."

When Kestra heard this, she quickly looked up, shock revealing itself in her wide eyes. "Master, I knew your magic was going, but. . .you're dying?"

"Yes, child. Only my magic has kept me alive this long. Now that my magic is completely gone, I am dying much faster. Magic is stronger than flesh, and now flesh is all of me that's left to take. But, I did not call you here to tell you that. I need to ask an immense favor of you."

Kestra looked at him expectantly. He seemed so old, lately. He usually appeared to be about 30 years old, although he was almost 150. Now he looked nearly as old as he really was. "Come here. You will learn all you need to know."

Malcolm said as he motioned for her to sit on the bed. He took hold of her hands and squeezed them tightly. Kestra felt him accessing her magic, and at that moment her admiration for him grew. She knew that it was nearly impossible to access another's magic without using your own, but Malcolm had managed it using only his sheer mental determination.

She had very little time to think about this, because immediately her mind was assaulted with images. She became dizzy from the intensity, and the pictures swirled around, meaningless. Then everything became clear again and she watched with horror as the pictures told the terrible story. She saw the two men running from the house in the darkness. She heard the crying as the mother and her sons lie motionless on the floor, knife wounds glistening scarlet with blood. She heard the woman utter her parting words before she died, "I love you. I'm . . .sorry."

Kestra realized that this was not just an awful tale she was watching, it was Malcolm's life. She was seeing it through his eyes, and feeling his emotions. She first felt his grief and sorrow over his family, and then she felt nothing but hatred, overwhelmingly strong. The contempt that she felt through Malcolm for those men were almost more than she could take. She was about to pull her hands from his, when the scene changed.

She recognized herself, a mere six year old child. This was when she had first met the Master. She watched as she saw their whole life together fly by. She was amazed at the emotions she felt. She now knew, without a doubt, that Malcolm loved her as much as any father loved his child. He not only loved her as a daughter but thought of her as his own. Kestra was touched deeply by this discovery. She observed with a new devotion as the rest of his visions of life passed by. Finally, they reached the point where they must end, as Kestra saw herself sitting down on the bed. But they didn't stop. They continued forward, bewildering Kestra until she realized, this must be Malcolm's vision of the future. She watched herself open a volume of spells, and listened as she read the spell, creating from it an action. "Morte venire subito di mio nemicos," Kestra heard herself deliver the incantation. She was horrified, because she had just heard the most powerful death spell, uttered from her own lips. She was confused until she saw a group of people, standing close together. She had seen one or two of them before, in the market. She understood suddenly what it meant. These people were the grandchildren and great grandchildren of one of the murderers she had seen. She knew this was the Master's knowledge, not hers, but now that she had understanding, she saw that Malcolm wanted her to kill them with her magic. Once again, she felt the pure hate, and for a moment, wanted their lives to cover those taken decades ago.

Then she was sitting on the bed, looking at Malcolm's pale face.

"Will you help me?" he asked, desperation showing clearly in his eyes.

"You want me to kill them?" Kestra asked, still not accepting the fact. This was a side of Malcolm she had never seen, and the intensity frightened her.

"I would not give you this responsibility if there was any other way. But I am too weak. I swore that they would be avenged, and it must be done. Now that I am dying, you are my only hope."

"But, Master. . ." suddenly she identified something that was bothering her. "Malcolm, don't you remember? Emotion is the most fundamental and the most powerful magic there is. That's what is hurting you. It's the hate that you have. It has been eating away at you, and now it's going to kill you."

Malcolm's eyes opened wide, and then half closed. "What is already done can't be helped," he said feebly. "But Kestra, will you help me? For them?"

"It would not be for them. As you said, I would be helping you. They don't care anymore."

"Please. . .help me," he pleaded, getting worse by the second.

Kestra looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "I can't. They haven't done anything. We have no right to kill them."

"For me?" he implored.

As she did it, she knew it was the hardest thing she would ever have to do. "No, Master, I can't."

A look of resigned acceptance crossed his weary face. "It's alright, I. . . understand," he told her, her heart breaking as she watched him exhale for the last time.

She kissed his forehead and lay down on the bed, crying the tears of one in terrible pain, but knowing that the sun would rise again, making day from darkness.