The door to her room opened, and in walked Joen Kzell. The master of the Earth Guild was an old man with long white hair, but he still maintained an energy that belied the years that hung on him. 'Seasoned with seasons' was one way he had described himself, and it certainly showed. He always appeared at exactly the same time every day, to talk about her studies, and to assign new tasks to his tutee. “Good morning, and how are we today?” He asked pleasantly. He had never been anything other than kind and loving to her, much like her father in many ways although Joen could never replace him. The thought reminded her of the fact that she had not seen any of them in a long time, almost the turning of a moon. The festival of growth was almost upon them and unless she was lucky, it would pass by with her isolated. Zya put that out of her mind as she arranged herself on the chair opposite her teacher. Even loneliness could not dampen the discovery she had just realised. “I am well, Joen. I have solved the task that you set before me.”
Joen did not move so much as a muscle. “And pray tell, what answer would you give me?”
“That we do not control the stones when we focus.”
“That is known,” Joen countered. He would not take such a straightforward answer, and he knew that she had more up her sleeve to offer.
“Is it also known then, that further than us not controlling the stones, that we are actually surrendering part of ourselves to them? Is it common knowledge that when we focus, we give of ourselves to animate the stones that we hold so dearly? That to accomplish so much as lifting a feather, we need to put ourselves partly into another place, from where we can draw power, and by doing so, allow the stones to become conduits for something so much more? What I am saying is that I believe we are entreating the stones to let us into another place, a place from where we can draw power. It is neither us nor the stones that have the power, but the combination of the two that give rise to the window from which we can draw it.”
Joen did not move, but instead sat there looking at her, observing her. “How came you by this theory, and what has it to do with your stone?”
“It was a hunch,” Zya admitted uncomfortably, “a feeling that sometimes I get, one that is usually right even if I do say so myself.” She had no other way of expressing what she knew to be right, and she knew Joen would not accept 'a hunch' as a reasonable explanation. It was more of an excuse.
“Zya, you disappoint me.” Joen expelled breath in a wheezy sigh. “I expected so much of you, and all that you can give me is that you have a hunch.”
“What if I proved it? What if here and now, I proved this very hunch of mine to you?”
“How would you go about that?”
Zya stood, not caring where her teacher stared. She knew he was going to follow her every movement, despite his apparent disappointment with her. “You know when anybody in this guild is focussing.”
“Do I?” Joen asked innocently.
“Well I do, so you must do too.” She answered, and his face softened, though he said nothing more. “If I focus and you follow me with your mind, you will see what I am attempting to do. The top will not open any way now other than by the use of a focus, pulling the energy back through the stone.” To prove her point, Zya intentionally dropped her focus stone. It hit the floor with a crack, but there was no damage. “It was meant to be found by me you say. I say that it was only meant to be broken once, and never again.” The ominous tones she used as she said this finally convinced Joen that she was serious. It was the recollection of a village many leagues away that struck through her mind, when several young men were trying to assault the boy that had become as close to her as any brother. It was the same voice that was to put it succinctly 'not her' that spoke for her now. If it was a voice of prophecy she did not know, but when it left her she was grasping the small but sturdy hilt of the dagger her father had given her. She was suddenly reminded that there was something unusual about the dagger. Cursed, it had once been called, but she was suddenly ever so certain that it was so much more. Aware that she was becoming distracted, she pressed on, also aware that Joen had sensed the difference in her at that moment. “I will focus, and you will watch.” Zya closed her eyes and breathed slowly as she had been taught. She visualised the stone as she wanted to see it, a matrix of crystalline beauty. Into it she poured her awareness, her very soul. If there was any resistance she shied away from it, empathic in the knowledge that power could never be forced. She aimed to do something little, for she was never one to impress or be impressed by gaudy displays of grandeur. She elected to use the power of the focus to lift Joen from his seat. A simple display, but easily enough to show her intent. Pushing herself through the matrix of the stone, she felt the power pulsing just out of reach. Her mind in tune with it, she knew that she could harness that power whenever she needed to now. It begged to flow back through the conduit and be melded into the focus, to be used by her mind. Embracing it tenderly, Zya sent forth tendrils of power to wrap themselves gently around the old man's body. Though she kept her eyes closed she could see him for the pure form that he was, a glowing entity surrounded by the vastness of Earth. She willed more of the tendrils under him, and eventually gravity gave way. With a startled yelp of surprise Joen floated off of his seat, rising to the height of the chair-back. Zya opened her eyes, finding the mortal image of Joen mixing with the crystalline overtures of the focus. He looked strangely angular where the facets of her hollow stone accentuated his features.
Joen saw a different sight. As Zya opened her eyes he looked down at her and saw a person filled to the brim with power. Her eyes reflected it, possessing a calm quality that spoke of a firm command and a will that was unmasterable. She literally bled power from every pore and her mind was unreadable, despite his trying to reach her as he had done countless other students. Zya raised her hand, and he felt as much as saw the surge of energy though it was miniscule. The top of the stone flipped up and amethyst light flooded the room, much as it had when Zya had revealed her talent for focussing.
“Point proven?” Zya asked calmly, as if nothing in existence could possibly gainsay her at this point in time.
“You have mastered much in the relatively brief time that you have been with us, Zya. In my lifetime I have never heard of anybody excelling so convincingly in every aspect of the focussing arts. The initial cantrips should take any normal student years to master, and the fact that you have learned them in what could not be more than a few days has not gone unnoticed. How you have come to the point of being able to levitate objects is nothing less than remarkable. That should take a good decade of studying and calming of the mind. Yes, I will concede the point, and add that maybe I should be the student and you the teacher from now on.” Joen felt himself back in his chair; He had not even noticed her settling him back down. “You are subtle as well as powerful. I think your hunches need listening to. I have to say, my dear that I am tempted to introduce you to the Guild as an adept, but there is one thing that cautions my mind against it.”
Zya sat back down opposite her teacher, closing the top of her stone carefully. The click was still audible, and there was no line as she put it away. She looked sincerely into his face. “Is the one thing important?”
“Well yes, I would say so. Zya, you only wanted to show me something simple.” He arched one eyebrow as he spoke. “That much was obvious for you wielded enough power then to level the city. That focus however was one never before employed by the Order of Earth. You lifted me off of my seat using power. That clearly shows that you must be an adept of Yogingi at the very least.”
Zya studied his face, searching for some sign he could not fathom. “Is that so very bad?”
“That I cannot tell you. It is true that you have mastered several of the skills that are key to the practices of an Earth Adept, but you also show aptitude in many other skills. I saw the day when you tried juggling fire, using earth to cover your failed efforts.”
Zya blushed, not aware that anybody had been watching her midnight
studies of the land opposite her window.
Joen waved any excuses away. “I am not concerned about things like that. I am more concerned about you personally. I need to know if you feel right here.”
This was the most forthcoming Joen had ever been with her, and Zya was not sure what to make of it. Something inside her told her that if she voiced her feelings about being in the wrong guild now, that she would miss out on something very important. “I am unsure as to whether or not I am in the right guild, but at this time, I feel that I would be unsuited elsewhere. This is where I should be.”
“Indicating that it might not always be so?”
Zya looked into herself, trying to search her mind for some premonition that would answer her teacher's question. There was nothing. “I cannot answer that, for I honestly do not know. It may be that one day I travel the Duchies as a representative of Ilia, or it may come to pass that I find a different path to follow. Whatever it is, my destiny seems to be in my own hands.” This worried her greatly, for Zya had rarely been in a position to admit that, even to herself.
For his part, Joen accepted her comments with good grace, smiling, as he knew that he would have her for company for the foreseeable future. “All is well then. I pronounce you to be an adept in this order. I think that we should let the rest of the order know.” With a new energy that belied his even usually energetic stance, Joen hopped up and led her from the room. They passed the chambers of other members, some doors open in welcome and others shut, their occupants engaged in study or sleep. Hurrying down the corridors they bypassed the kitchen section where Zya was certain that people she had known would be preparing food even as she walked by. She was not certain that they would recognise her now. Her change in station would make any recollection impossible. As they were about to enter the central chamber of the order, Joen stopped. Backing out of his own study was a small form, hunched and bent and covered by one of the brown robes of the order. In its arms were many tomes, all belonging to Joen by the look on his face. The figure looked up and only the most acute hearing could pick up the tiny hiss of breath taken in by the person. “Who is there?” It called in a dry voice, accented with the homeland twang of the Northern peoples.
Joen stepped into the light, and Zya decided to follow him rather than remain concealed. The face that belonged to Ralnor Scott paled slightly, and then he smiled. “Master, Zya.” She felt sure that he said her name with a bit less of the forced pleasure with which he greeted Joen, but she smiled and nodded silently, giving respect to her former teacher. That her greeting was underlain by a feeling of confusion as to what all of this meant did not pass either of the men by. “Care to tell me what you were doing sneaking out of my chamber?” Joen asked lightly.
“I…uh…master?” Ralnor indicated that he would rather not speak in front of Zya, but Joen waved his uneasiness aside as if it did not matter all of a sudden.
“Anything you say to me you can also say to my former student, Ralnor.”
The small man looked at her for a second, eyes wide and pupils unusually straight for once. He glimpsed back at his master who was now frowning, and something passed between the men. All of a sudden, a feeling hit Zya. This man was now a danger to her. She dismissed the idea out of hand. Ralnor had never been anything but patient and kind to her, but the feeling persisted. If anything changed in his countenance, it did not show. “Very well,” he said, “I was removing certain texts that I wished to show a particularly promising young student, one with much potential.” There was an avaricious look in his eyes as he said this, and Zya felt herself becoming very uncomfortable. She remained in her place. Not knowing why, she felt the need to speak out. “Who is this student?” Was all that she could manage to say.
Ralnor stared at her, and she didn't know why, but felt that she was soon to understand this sudden change in her former tutor. His attitude seemed to be one of a rival rather than a superior. “The student is called Bethen Duie. I believe that she is an acquaintance of yours. She shows great promise.”
The leery quality in his voice suddenly awoke Zya to a now non-existent future of her own. She was shocked to see the man act that way, but at the same time it felt right to see the different side of him. “Well you had better not keep her waiting.” She said dismissively, and Ralnor actually bowed to her before leaving. She was sure that there was a stare formed purely from the coastal glacier to the North concealed under that bow, but she was still unsure as to why he would ever show her subservience.
“Strange, that,” commented Joen as he watched the rapidly retreating form of Ralnor, “he has never needed anything from my study for his own personal lessons.” Joen noticed the look that was plain as day on Zya's face: it spoke of a sudden distaste for the man. “Do not worry over it, Zya. I am sure that he will return the books. Bethen must indeed be promising if he needs such diverse subjects to cover with her as a novice. Let us go from here.” Joen led the way, with Zya not believing what she had just heard. Joen had dismissed what sounded like a poorly veiled excuse at best, and even more worrying was what Ralnor might do to poor Bethen if he had not done so already. Zya felt that her time at the Guild might suddenly be coming to an abrupt end.
They entered the central complex of the guild with no more incident than a couple of curious guildsmen wondering what was happening. Joen bade them wait until the answer was clear for all, so they lingered in the hope of a march on the others. At the central chamber, Joen paused. “Wait here for now. Please do not enter the chamber.” The look on his face was one of excitement and relief. It seemed that he was glad he had made it this far. Joen disappeared out of sight, and Zya was left standing alone outside the chamber. A couple of the guildsmen stood nearby wondering what they were about to witness, but they had no more idea than Zya. The air stirred, and Zya looked down to her feet. A green mist was forming about her. It appeared to emanate from her, though she could not find the source. Whenever she turned, it just seemed to waft out from her robe, an iridescent green mist that clung to the ground and seeped off down the passageway. Pretty soon the mist had started to reach chambers, permeating even the most airtight of rooms. That much was evident by the excited noise that rose from the hallways. Something momentous was occurring, but she did not know what. Gradually, members of the guild gathered in the central hall, packing closely to the walls as they observed Zya with respect that seemed to be aimed at her. There was nothing that she could do about the mist that was now spilling from her robes, and she stood there helplessly. Faces she knew peeked out at her from the increasing crowd: Families whose acquaintance she had made, children at once shy and giggling. Young men whose juvenile attempts at flattery had provoked no response from a young lady who was not in the guild for romance, older members of the guild who had wise but mysterious smiles on their faces. Zya reached back self-consciously to tidy her hair, and the green mist spilled even from her raven locks. The object of so much scrutiny, she was steadily becoming unnerved. She looked about her. Few of the guild were not there, most worryingly of all the faces of Bethen and Ralnor were absent. That would not have worried her, but for the recent exchange. The crowd quietened, and Zya looked down once more. The green mist had almost disappeared from her robes, its purpose obviously fulfilled. She stood apart from them, the chamber containing Joen at her back. And then she was not alone. The most elder member of the guild stood beside her, smiling proudly. “You all know why we are here,” Joen looked at Zya for a moment before he continued, “well most of you do at any rate. We are here because a discovery has been made, and we will join in celebration. For the next guild master, or should I say mistress has been revealed to us by Divine Ilia.”
As he pronounced this, everybody cheered. They had been waiting for this moment for quite a while, and that was no secret. The noise was deafening, and it showed the profound relief of every guild member. At last there was a future where there had previously only been Joen, and though they all loved him as children do their fathers, there h
ad come a time when the guild would eventually outgrow him. Zya suspected that time was now, but she suspected more. She knew that even if she was this future leader of the guild, she could not stay. She had something to witness elsewhere.
“Now is a time of consolidation, the time for teaching and study,” Joen announced solemnly. “Later will come the time for celebration, for the Festival of growth is almost at hand. Let word go out that our newest shall go to the Feast as has always been. We shall celebrate here privately at that time, as always we have done.”
Zya did not appreciate the enormity of the burden being placed upon her shoulders, but then she did not expect to. She knew that she was going to the Feast of Growth, and that was what mattered. Maybe she could steal a moment alone with Bethen while they were there, for surely she would be attending as well. Such thoughts were washed away as members of the guild closed in to offer their congratulations. The kindness and warmth shown by all was sincere, but they were not really received for Zya's mind was elsewhere. She glanced around the room, and at last saw Bethen. The girl's hair was bedraggled, and she had a look on her face that should have belonged to a trapped animal. Zya knew that she should help the girl, for behind her she caught a glimpse of Ralnor, his face a picture of triumph. Something needed to be done about what was occurring under everybody's noses. It seemed that fate had a hand in all things, much as she had seen so many times in the past. Just as she mustered the courage to raise her voice above the animated chatter of the crowd, they began to disperse back to their own individual pursuits and the chance was lost. Ralnor and Bethen disappeared amongst the hubbub, and Zya sensed that there was little she could do about that episode of guild life, but nonetheless she would try.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 50