by Beth Alvarez
The fields of Lore gave way to forests and she plunged into the trees, racing through the underbrush until she no longer had the strength to draw energy to restore her aching muscles. At last, she stumbled, slowed, and finally sank to the ground with the boy on her lap.
“I must rest,” she gasped against his hair. “I must. I'm sorry.”
The child said nothing, his arms still wrapped around her neck, his face still buried in her shoulder. He trembled, though with tears or fright, she couldn't tell which. Gulping air, she stroked his head and wrapped her arms around his frail body. No strength remained within her, but she swayed anyway, rocking until they both grew calm.
After a time, Alira sat back, cradled the boy's face in her hands, and looked him in the eye. He was pale beneath the smudges of tears and dirt, but his expression was solemn. “Are you all right?”
He nodded.
“Are you hurt?” She couldn't imagine the transformation had been comfortable, but she didn't want him to suffer lingering pain.
He shook his head.
Frowning, she smoothed back his hair. Grit and dust coated her fingers. “Can you speak?”
He lowered his eyes and nodded again. “Yes, ma'am.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. The regional dialect was crude, but she'd grown used to it since her arrival in Lore. The Grand College was home to many foreigners and she had been forced to adapt. Her thoughts turned to the college and her place there, where she'd scraped together a simple life and a handful of belongings. All forfeit now. She couldn't return. Strangely, she felt no regret.
Alira offered the boy a smile. “Well. Let me have a look at you, hmm? Make sure you're all right.” She doubted he felt comfortable with her after what he'd just witnessed, but he didn't fuss when she straightened his mussed clothing.
He was a street urchin, she decided. His clothes were little better than rags. But now that she took a better look at him, he was a cute boy. His eyes were a bright blue, made more vivid by the eerie light his now-unbound magic gave them. His tangled hair was a light chestnut, though darkened by dirt and dust. All of him was smudged with dust, in fact, though his hands and bare feet showed no dirt against his new scales. Those were a dull olive green, their color as unremarkable as the child had been that morning.
He stared at his hands as she examined them, his expression growing pained. “Am I gonna die?” he asked in a hushed voice, fear shining in his eyes. Alira was surprised he didn't cry, but they were tired. She figured he'd cried himself out while they ran.
She waved a hand in dismissal, trying to put him to ease. “Pish, no. Why, you're the strongest and healthiest you've probably ever been.”
He didn't look convinced.
Alira restrained a sigh. “What's your name, boy?”
“Rhyllyn.”
She opened her mouth to ask for a surname, but closed it just as fast. Whether he'd forgotten to share it or whether he had one at all didn't matter. If he had a family, it wasn't likely they'd welcome him back as a monster. “My name is Alira. Can you walk? We can't linger here. We must keep moving in case the others decide to follow us.”
Rhyllyn nodded and slid off her lap. He wobbled on his feet and spread his arms to keep from falling. He watched his legs as he adjusted his footing and regained his balance. Alira stood and took his small, clawed hand in hers. His luminescent eyes trained on their fingers and the stark difference between them. “What's happened to me?” he asked in a whisper.
“I don't know, exactly,” Alira said. Teaching had never been her specialty. Even had it been, she hardly knew how to explain the concept of affinities and unbinding to a mere child. “Come. Once we're someplace we can rest, I'll see what I can learn about what's been done.”
They walked side by side. Leaves crunched underfoot and birdsong filled the air overhead. The birds were a good omen. If more people entered the woods, they likely would go quiet. With the happy trills and warbles overhead, they could pace themselves for now. Alira's legs still ached, but their unhurried walk brought comfortable warmth back into them.
“Where are we going?” Rhyllyn asked. His voice was small, but steady.
Alira blinked. She hadn't considered where they might flee to. Her only concern had been escaping with the boy in tow. She couldn't go back to the college and returning to the coastal city at all would be foolish, especially with him by her side. She didn't know where she could take him. She didn't know where he would be safe. “North,” she said eventually, smiling as if she had it all planned out.
He stumbled and used her hand to right himself. “What's north?”
“Well, there are mountains, and...” And what? North was where the college had sent mages for war. North was the center of conflict, a place bound to be full of soldiers and battle. An idea sprang into her head and she smiled down at him again. “And soldiers, of course. The soldiers fighting the mages. There's no one better to keep us safe from them.”
He eyed her doubtfully. “You're a mage.”
“Yes,” Alira agreed, and her smile faded. “A strong one. Though not as strong as I thought, I suppose.” Had she been stronger, she might have understood what Envesi had done to the flows, might have had an idea how to undo the magic-inflicted twist in the boy's body. Then again, her weakness wasn't just in her Gift. If she were stronger in other ways, she might have had the will to stand against Envesi sooner.
Not for the first time, she hated herself for the choices she'd made. When the temple divided, she thought she'd been wise in siding with the Archmage—that she'd acted in effort to keep the mages together. She'd thought the dissent of the other Masters was a sign of treachery. It wasn't until she'd learned of Envesi's experiments that she realized she'd taken the wrong side. By then, it was too late.
Despite having been stripped of her title and rank, she didn't regret her time in the Grand College. She'd gained a new appreciation for her Gift after having been deprived of it for so long, and she'd learned new methods of utilizing her fire affinity.
But the greatest changes had been in her demeanor. On Elenhiise, she acknowledged she'd often behaved in an arrogant and haughty manner. Gaining a high title at a young age hadn't done her any favors, but most of her attitude came from the idea she had something to prove to the other Masters. When the college put the three of them on equal footing, they all balked at punishment. Frustration had been enough to make her cry, but seeing the way Envesi and Melora faltered at the same challenges, Alira had realized she didn't have to prove anything. Her newfound humility had gotten her farther with the college instructors than anything else.
“How far is it?” Rhyllyn asked, snapping her from her thoughts.
Alira hesitated to answer. Geography had been one of their fields of study as magelings in the college, but there was a difference between looking at distances on an unfamiliar map and trying to traverse them by foot. Worse still, they were traveling without supplies. Her pockets were empty and she knew the boy had nothing. Not a single coin between them to pay for food or lodging. She regretted the circumstances, but looking at the boy who walked with his tiny hand in hers, she couldn't regret the decision.
She gave his fingers a gentle, comforting squeeze. “It's quite a way to travel, but we'll be all right. Mages travel the whole world, you know. Traveling from here to the mountains isn't half as far as I've traveled before.”
The boy's eyes widened. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” Relieved he didn't question how they'd manage the trip, she spun grand tales of Elenhiise, the ruins, and the temple as they walked. If nothing else, she could recite old history lessons or folk tales from memory while her mind spun cartwheels. The soldiers in the north would likely kill them on sight, but the Aldaanan—other mages—might be open to negotiation. Keeping the child calm and happy was important, but not so important as buying time to think of a plan.
19
New Lessons
Every time Rune met his teachers in the field just sout
h of Aldaeon, the gryphon was there. He didn't know how she knew; most of his lessons occurred in the tower. Perhaps one of the Aldaanan told her, though he couldn't fathom why. She never approached the room in the tower where they held his lessons, and never set foot on the field itself when practice was in session, but she was there.
Her golden eyes glittered and her ear-tufts stood straight, like the ears of a cat at attention. Rune caught her gaze and held it as he took his position at the meeting place in the center of the field. The snow was still trampled, a dirty gray-brown ring in the middle of the empty space. He was early, and his teacher was not yet present.
The gryphon noticed. Her feathered mane ruffled and she stood straighter. She tried to hide the way she glanced about, but the way her hindquarters lowered and wriggled gave away her eagerness. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she looked about to burst. Rune cocked his head at her. She took it as an invitation and padded forward across the snow.
“You always watch,” he called as she approached. “Yet you never join us.”
Ria trilled in her peculiar gryphon's laugh. She laughed as a human might sometimes, too, but it was a raspy, foreign sound. Her trills were pure delight. “Ah, if only I could. But how would I? We are not all so Gifted as you.”
He considered that for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Aren't you?” Strange as the gryphons were, he'd never stopped long enough to think about them. They were stories come to life, but Ria was so personable that it dashed all sense of wonder. Or, almost all of it. A small tingling of wonder still rolled through him as she stopped two paces away and sat on her haunches, studying him the way one might admire a piece of art.
“Certainly not. Gryphons bear no magic.” Her ear-tufts drooped a shade. Rune fought the urge to touch them, to see if they were merely feathers or if delicate flesh hid beneath. He shook the notion free of his head. No matter how comfortable he was around the gryphon, he had to maintain some sense of propriety.
“Are you certain?” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Ria perked, then let out a little trill once more. “Oh, I forgot, you aren't familiar with us. You feel it, don't you? A little spark of something special?” Her beak parted in some semblance of a grin. “You aren't wrong. And yet, you are. Gryphons cannot wield magic. We are magic, you see.”
He did not. A thousand questions leaped to mind and he opened his mouth to let them spill forth, but the gryphon stiffened and looked past him before he could.
“Your teacher's here,” she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Her head drooped and her feathers flattened. “I'd best get out of the way. Good luck. I'll be watching.”
Rune turned back toward the city. An Aldaanan woman trudged toward him through the snow. Her short stature and gray-brown dress, coupled with her darker hair, gave him the impression of one of the dark-headed snowbirds he'd seen outside the army's camp.
“Pardon me for being late,” the woman panted, her breath forming small clouds of white. “I was at the top of the tower when someone informed me I was supposed to be here.”
“I haven't waited long.” Rune offered a half smile. He tried not to seem too eager. He needed their help—and the precise training only they could give—but eagerness implied vulnerability.
The woman smiled politely in return. “Shall we begin?” Her magic flickered at the edge of his senses, small and fleeting.
There were a number of mysteries that still surrounded their congruous power. The difference in strength between the two of them was one. The small Aldaanan woman before him was not the first Rune had sensed was weaker than him, yet the idea that anyone could be weaker when the world's power still answered in full force made no sense. He would have to remember to ask Filadiel about it another time. The leader of the Aldaanan had established himself as the key informant when it came to such things. Rune assumed it was because some things were meant to remain secret, and as acting leader, only Filadiel had the authority to decide what could and could not be revealed.
Rune relaxed his shoulders and opened himself to power, answering her question.
Her smile faltered, though she was quick to catch and restore it. “I am told you struggle in healing. We shall practice today.”
A surge of uncomfortable emotions filled his chest. Rune closed his eyes and turned away to hide their shift of color. Too late, it seemed, because the Aldaanan woman tilted her head, the chains suspended between her tall ears jingling.
“You are not ready.” It was not a question.
“No,” he agreed. Firal still haunted his thoughts both day and night, drove every decision he made. How could he venture into her domain without her there?
“Very well,” the woman said, smoothing her skirt with both hands. “Another time. Filadiel has other concerns. He says you are still too forceful in everything you do. Perhaps we should meditate together? I know a number of techniques that may be useful in convincing you to relinquish that hold you try to keep on everything.”
This time, instead of discomfort, Rune bit back frustration. It proved easier to bridle. “Fine.” He took a half step back and lowered himself to the ground. The ice and snow was far from pleasant to sit on, and he sucked in a sharp breath when the frigid wet immediately seeped through the fabric of his pants.
A sparkle lit the Aldaanan woman's eyes. “The ice builds character.”
“So does war,” he replied through clenched teeth.
Her eyes glittered, a shadow in their depths. “We'll see.”
The sensation of power answering her call flooded his senses. It had been disorienting, the first time he'd felt someone else open themselves to magic. It ached, pulled, like they tugged at the fabric of his being. Like their magic siphoned his own power. In some ways, he supposed it did. They were both tied to the same energy sources, and there was only so much to go around. Bound mages called so little, he'd barely felt their pull. He'd never realized that others might have to compete.
“Open,” his teacher prompted.
Rune closed his eyes and exhaled. He understood what he was meant to do, but it did not come easily. Magic flowed everywhere around him, permeated everything, yet he found himself reaching for it instead of acknowledging it was already there.
“Open,” the Aldaanan woman repeated.
He rested his clawed hands on his knees and tried to ignore the cold that seeped through his wet uniform to attack the backs of his thighs. It clawed at his flesh and burned like embers. He gritted his teeth and seized power to dry the ground beneath him.
“Stop.”
He froze, still latched onto the heady flows of magic.
The woman raised a brow. “You cannot gain control over yourself or your power if you seek to remove every impediment to concentration. You think you will always be able to chase away the cold? Still the rain? Ignore it.”
“I can't.”
“Then you can't meditate.” She shrugged as if it didn't matter. “If you truly joined with the magic you seek to wield, instead of forcing it to bend to your will, then it would solve those discomforts for you.” Her eyes fell closed once more.
Frustrated, he sat back and stared at the mage. Unlike with his previous teachers, there was a lot he could learn from the Aldaanan by watching alone. Their power moved like his, flowed against his, fed off the same source. The woman before him appeared tranquil, comfortable, but when he opened the strange floodgates that held magic at bay to let himself sense what she was doing, her peace became harder to understand.
Threads and rivers of magic coursed both around and through her, as if she wasn't there at all—or as if she were part of the scenery, instead of a living being. The endless tide rolled straight through her, no point of entry or merging. And the ice—the wet and snow and ugly slush beneath her—did not touch her skin at all.
Rune's frustration grew.
“Mind your feelings,” the woman prompted gently. “The way you feel calls power to you. Mind what forces you
are open to.”
His hands tried to curl into fists. The claws on his fingertips jabbed his knees before he caught himself. “I thought I was supposed to be open to everything?”
“Yes, but your agitation will limit you. What the spirit calls is what will answer. To be answered by everything, you must be calm.”
The ice still bit his skin. Rune set his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't will the discomfort away, but he tried to ignore the way it chewed its way to his bones. His teeth tried to chatter. At first, he resisted. Then, gradually, he tried to surrender. His teeth rattled so hard his whole body shook. The magic simmered just beyond himself. He could touch it. Taste it. Dip in a claw. Perhaps then the nameless mage in front of him would be satisfied enough to move on to the next lesson. He braced and opened himself to power.
Magic fell over him like a wave, rushed in as if to drown him. It crashed against him and scattered like mist.
“You are not a rock among the waves,” his teacher said. “Every stone becomes sand in the end. Do not force it to break you!”
Exasperated, he threw up his hands. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“Let go. Completely. You can't control free magic any more than you can keep thunderheads on a leash.”
“I've done it before,” he argued.
“You've fought errant strands into submission. It's not the same thing.”
His eyes flickered red. “What else can I do but fight?”
“You fight, but the world is not your enemy,” the woman said without so much as stirring. “You are part of it, born of it, birthed by its essence. You fight magic, but not because you want control.”
“I fight it because I must,” he growled.
She shrugged. “You fight it because it is you.”
For a moment, even his shivering stilled.
“This is the natural order of things,” the woman added, softer. She met his eyes, her gaze gentle and sympathetic. “No matter what you feel about what has happened to you, this is the way things should be. The way you should have been. One with us. One with the power that made you.”