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Hours passed, and still Kotiri Swaine did not appear. Samiya was nearly hysterical. The neighbors had not seen him, nor had anybody else. Kotiri Swaine had vanished.

Alar, now at home, and in his room, lay on his bed staring at the dark ceiling. Night had fallen, but the rain continued to pour.

Some storm, Alar thought. Was he knocked senseless, to have vanished in this tempest?

He couldn't sleep. He was not fond of Kotiri Swaine, but the man had tried to teach him, and though he rebuked Alar, he had not given up on him. Alar knew he never would, for Kotiri was a man of persistence. Anybody else would have abandoned all thoughts of teaching Alar.

The next thing Alar knew, it was morning. There was no sign of the storm, and through his window, Alar saw his village bathed in the glow of gold that only sunlight can bring.

He dressed quickly, and stepped out of his two roomed house. He was not rich, granted. But he was content with what he had.

There was a commotion in the village. Apparently Kotiri Swaine had not returned. An appeal to organize a search had been given to the Council, and it had been approved.

Ten days later, Kotiri Swaine was still missing. Then a month went by with no news, and then six months. All of Itika had been searched, except for the chain of mountains called the Crags. Nobody crossed the Crags. Nobody could. The mountains were treacherous, and there were whispered rumors that evil spirits resided within the Crags to prevent any Itikan from crossing them. There was talk of an Ice Temple within the Crags, but that was all the Itikans knew.

Alar Kint rapped on Kotiri Swaine's door, with some hesitation, and it was opened by a tearful Samiya.

‘What do you want?' she asked. Two other sorcerers, women, joined her at the door, and their expressions changed into ones of deep contempt at the sight of the ‘dunce'.

‘I was wondering if I could be of any assistance, Madam Samiya.'

‘You!' Samiya laughed over her tears. ‘You can't cast the simplest of spells, and you expect to help?'

Alar was taken aback at this uncharacteristically vehement and malicious outburst. ‘I...'

‘Don't say anything.' One of the other women pushed her way forward. ‘Listen, Samiya,' she said to her, ‘I would advise you not to open your door to riffraff, especially to those who have no power of magic.'

Alar stumbled backwards as the door was slammed on his face.

****
He sat in the village inn, eating his breakfast slowly. The villagers avoided the ‘non magical dunce', and Alar had few friends.

‘Are you done?' the innkeeper demanded furiously, and Alar looked up. ‘There are people waiting for this table.'

Alar glanced around the eight other empty tables in the inn. ‘No, I am not done. I shall not be done for a long time yet.'

The innkeeper swore, and walked away. Alar felt a pang. He had been taunted all his life for not being a sorcerer, but the words of abuse still pierced his heart. He had no parents to turn to, and had been working ever since he was eight years old. After he had been chosen to be Kotiri Swaine's apprentice by the Council, he received a small steady income every year that barely paid his food bills.

‘Good morning,' a soft voice said, and Alar smiled thankfully.