No Stone Unturned

by Frank Morin

  When he finally stopped, he lay face down on the blessedly cool floor for a moment. Every muscle ached, and he'd banged his head so many times, despite the cushioning of the flames, that his vision was blurry.

  "Why aren't you healing yourself?" Camonica asked, dropping to one knee beside him. He hadn't even noticed her approaching.

  "No sandstone."

  "Are you daft, boy?" She placed hands on his torso and healing warmth flooded into him. He closed his eyes and blessed the day she established her secondary affinity.

  It took only a moment to feel well enough to sit up. She handed him another piece of sandstone. "You finish."

  "Thanks."

  She grabbed his chin and pulled him close, whispering fiercely, "Don't ever let me find you without sandstone again. It's as much as your life to leave the safety of these quarters without it."

  "I won't," he promised, rattled by the depth of her anger.

  He'd long bemoaned the loss of his precious sculpted sandstone pendant, gifted to him from Aunt Ailsa and lost to Jok, then to Professor Hector, and finally to Ivor. He should have paid more attention to always carrying something as a replacement.

  "Come on!" Aonghus called from the far end of the hall. "You're as slow as a frozen Boulder in a bash-induced doze. Catch me!"

  Connor bit back another groan as he started to run, but as soon as he tapped basalt, his pains faded under the glorious freedom of speed. Aonghus waited for him, standing several feet out from the next corner.

  "Fire consumes itself in riotous living," he called. "You must embrace it, cast away hesitation, and celebrate the purification of destruction."

  Connor slowed, frowning. "That makes less sense than any Sentry-speak."

  "Because you're not listening," Aonghus said, extending a long, crimson finger of fire and poking Connor in the forehead. "Watch again, and this time see."

  Aonghus raced for the corner, again coating it with living flames and leaping upon them. Connor watched, tapping marble and reaching for the fires that whisked Aonghus around the corner at incredible speed.

  That time he felt it. Aonghus hadn't simply attached the flames to the wall, but had created three concentric spheres of fire, then flattened them against the wall. The smallest, inner layer rotated in a blur that the outer layers built upon, doubling the speed of the spin with each layer. The resulting spin, visible only as a dense flickering of the flames to anyone not tapping marble, pulsed along the wall faster than a fracked Strider.

  "That's amazing," Connor breathed, leaning close to the wall and trailing his fingers through the fast-spinning fire. He had never considered combining his affinities to magnify results. What else could he do by applying that same principle?

  "I want you to have this mastered by tomorrow," Aonghus said. Then he motioned Camonica to join them. "Let's see what you can do with both together."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "Walking with both elements at the same time will be your greatest challenge," said Camonica. "We will help you develop the foundational skills to increase your chances of success."

  "And switch from one to the other," Aonghus added. "Hopefully we can narrow the gap between the two until you can bridge it better."

  Connor wasn't sure that would work, but he was willing to give it a try. He was looking forward to testing himself against Camonica, and he was starting to think Aonghus could teach him a lot.

  "Get on that pool of water," Camonica ordered.

  "And we'll have some fun," Aonghus added.

  When Connor rose onto another column of water, Camonica said, "You will circle this hall, from water to flame, as fast as you can."

  "That's it?"

  "Of course not," Aonghus said, cracking his knuckles. "We get to steal the elements out from under you, and you must relinquish control. This isn't a battle of wills, it's a test of switching speed."

  "Begin!" Camonica ordered, and her will snatched at the waters upon which he stood.

  Connor barely managed to shatter the column of water, using it to heave himself toward the nearest vat of fuel. He reached for marble even as he released his connection with soapstone. With barely a spicy burn beginning, he flicked a spark into the fuel and seized the rushing flames that ignited.

  They lifted him in gentle arms that smelled of burned toast, but almost immediately Aonghus tore at his control. Connor leaped from the flames, which winked out half a heartbeat later. He wouldn't make it to the next pool, but tapped soapstone and seized the waters, forming grasping, liquid hands to catch him and throw him on toward the next vat of fuel.

  Already he was panting from the effort, and the contest had barely begun. He tried to settle into a routine, casting himself from pool to vat, and back to another pool, but his trainers increased the intensity of their interference, forcing him to constantly accelerate.

  The greatest challenge was switching between the elements. The first few times he had tried connecting with marble, he'd needed to wait for the initial spicy flavor to intensify into searing heat before establishing a strong connection. Aonghus denied him that much time. Water was faster when used alone, but if he didn't completely relinquish marble first, it resisted the connection.

  After four jumps, he fell to the ground in front of the next liquid fuel vat, losing contact with the fire before he even managed to ignite the spark.

  "Faster," Aonghus chortled.

  So Connor returned to the last pool and threw himself thirty feet into the air, arcing across to the oil. If he stayed higher, he'd get precious extra seconds of falling time to switch. He seized the fires of the next vat of oil and crafted five long spidery legs of fire to catch himself and propel himself onward.

  "Good improvisation," Camonica called. "Now accelerate the pace."

  "I thought I was accelerating!"

  He made eight jumps before plunging into a vat of fuel just as it exploded into fire, controlled by Aonghus. For a second he panicked. He wasn't allowed to seize those flames, but how was he going to survive and escape that vat?

  He was surprised to see the fire did not extend below the surface. The fuel burned his eyes and he sank fast toward the bottom, but he realized the fuel was still liquid. It didn't become fire until ignited.

  So he tapped soapstone.

  The liquid fuel was not water, and it slid across his soapstone senses like grease in his mind, slippery and hard to hold. Even when he focused the entire force of his soapstone senses on it, he only barely managed to grasp enough of the liquid to cast himself out of the vat.

  He landed on the floor, frustrated that he'd failed to do more, and was completely unprepared when Aonghus rounded the vat, so angry, white-hot flames wreathed his entire head and dripped down his torso.

  "How dare you!" he bellowed. Then he doubled over in a fit of violent coughing. His flames disappeared and he groaned in pain.

  "You fool," Camonica said, approaching Aonghus. "You've swallowed your marble again, haven't you?"

  Aonghus dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach, moaning.

  "Marble makes you sick?" Connor asked. Hamish had sucked on every kind of rock, but he'd never gotten that type of reaction.

  "Power-grade marble is if swallowed while being tapped." Camonica grabbed Aonghus by his rocking head and yanked him to his feet.

  "Can you help him?" Connor cried. Aonghus had turned a sickly shade of orange, and his eyes were rolling back in his head.

  "I wouldn't miss it." She punched Aonghus in the stomach so hard, she knocked his feet out from under him.

  He crashed to the floor, vomiting all over Camonica's boots.

  "Oh, that hurt," Aonghus moaned, rising to his knees.

  "You're welcome," she said as the vomit collected and sprayed back into Aonghus' face.

  As soon as Aonghus recovered his composure, he popped another piece of marble in his mouth and burned off the vomit sticking to his face. Connor wasn't sure he would have been so quick to embrace marble again after that episo
de, but Aonghus didn't seem to harbor any fear.

  He turned to Connor, his face still burning. "How could you do that?"

  "What?"

  "Fuel is fire unborn," Aonghus exclaimed. "It's insulting to its very nature to command it is a slave to water."

  "It is liquid, cinder-brain," Camonica said. She seemed to be enjoying the moment. "Manipulating such impure liquid demonstrates advanced levels of control."

  "No!" Aonghus shouted. "He cannot master the finer points of his powers if he can't grasp such a simple concept."

  "I think we've done enough for today," Camonica said.

  Connor agreed. Aonghus needed some time to calm down.

  "Very well," Aonghus said, but smoke still curled out his ears. "But don't do that again."

  "Drop it," Camonica urged.

  "It would help if we could bring in a Pathfinder and a Sentry to help recreate challenges he's likely to face from the other champions," Aonghus said, seemingly calm again.

  "I'll ask Lady Shona about the Pathfinder," Camonica said. "We might be able to find one with the proper discretion, but I believe we're out of luck with the Sentries."

  "There must be one," Aonghus insisted. "He needs to learn to deal with the obstacles of earth."

  Connor's thoughts turned to Ilse. Did he dare approach her?

  "Most of the Sentries support Redmund," he explained. "They all hate Padraigin, but I'd bet wax to wood chips they'd report everything to Redmund as soon as they left."

  "We cannot afford that," Camonica said.

  "Unless we purposefully work in some misdirection," Aonghus suggested.

  They argued about the merits of that for a while. Finally Connor interrupted. "I might be able to find a Sentry."

  "Who?" They both asked together.

  "I can't tell you," Connor said, bracing himself for the expected angry replies. Camonica's expression hardened and Connor tensed to run if she came at him with one of those little daggers of hers.

  Aonghus just laughed. "You're learning to keep secrets. Good! In your position, sometimes you must." He winked at Camonica. "Don't look so glum. We're here to train him, but he's the champion. You're not in command here, my girl."

  "We're finished for today," Camonica snapped, turning away with such fluid grace that she had to be tapping obsidian. "Until tomorrow, then."

  She left, her willowy form gliding across the floor. With her obsidian grace and tawny-haired beauty, Connor could see why a lot of men might be foolish enough to fall for her.

  He pitied Cameron.

  "What's her story?"

  Captain Aonghus hopped up onto the edge of the nearby vat of liquid fuel and flames appeared to hold him as he reclined back. He considered Connor for a moment, with points of fire dancing in his eyes.

  "Have a care with that one, lad. She's burning with vengeance hotter than any fire I can generate."

  "What's she so angry at?"

  "You haven't figure it out yet?" Aonghus spat a gob of white-hot flame at Connor, but he tapped marble and flung it back to get absorbed into Aonghus's fiery chair.

  "She hates Kilian," Connor said.

  Aonghus thumbed his nose in a move similar to the one used to accept a geall. "Aye, lad. He killed her husband, just as he killed High Lady Sileas, Dougal's first wife."

  Connor hopped up beside Aonghus and cupped some fire in his hands, considering that. "What battle did they fight in?"

  "Weren't no battle," Aonghus said. "In both cases, Kilian crossed the border special to kill them."

  "Why?" Kilian was terrifying, but that didn't sound like him.

  "From what I heard, they were exploring the deeper magics, accessible only after one ascends. . ." He trailed off and gave Connor an apologetic look. "Sorry, lad. We're getting into that stuff that can't be discussed, even when it's still just theoretical magic for the likes of you and me."

  "Can you tell me anything else?" Connor asked, trying to hide his frustration.

  Aonghus shrugged. "I'll tell you one thing, lad. This war has as much to do about settling old scores as it does with any political maneuvering."

  Connor wondered about that exchange after Aonghus left, but couldn't focus on it too long. He needed to prepare to meet Ilse, but couldn't decide if he'd be walking into an almost-cordial planning meeting, or a pitched battle to the death.

  Chapter 15

  Once evening extinguished the glittering towers of the Carraig and concealing shadow settled over the land, Connor returned to the Sculpture House via the undercity. The underground ways were even more deserted than usual, and it was easy to imagine he was the only person alive in the world.

  Did Evander live down there? What was the man's function at the Carraig? He wasn't involved in the classes, and was seen only on rare occasions. There was a permanence about the man that made Connor doubt he just popped in for a visit, but what else did he do with his time?

  As he jogged down the dim, deserted halls, he imagined the giant, leather-clad Sentry stalking the undercity eternally. Did he like to surprise people like he had Connor earlier? No wonder people moved fast with furtive steps. That guy could give someone a heart-stomp.

  Connor didn't stop at Ailsa's office in the Sculpture House, but slipped outside and tapped basalt, speeding onto the shadowed eastern plain. He would have loved just running with basalt for a while. That boundless energy, with the wind rushing past and no one else around was a rare taste of freedom.

  Ilse wouldn't wait forever. She might already be planning to assassinate him, but he hoped she'd let him talk before trying to kill him. They might not exactly be friends, but he didn't think of her as a true enemy, and she owed him a chance to make things right before killing him. At least he hoped she did.

  He slowed as he approached the sally port in the northern section of the great outer wall. Slipping a piece of slate into his boot, he embraced that gateway to the vast elemental earth. The connection came only after he slowed his breathing and released his nervous impatience. With deliberate care, he extended feelers of thought toward the wall, questing for any nearby Sentries.

  Despite the danger of getting discovered, he enjoyed the rare opportunity to practice with slate. The strength of the earth radiated up through his slate connection, and he stood taller, feeling more confident. Shadows clung ever-deeper to the land, but he didn't need his eyes to know exactly what was around him. The grasslands of the plain tasted like a hint of fresh salad, while the rich earth underneath was more like a dense loaf of fresh-baked bread. The scents were faint, but helped color the ground and link him to it.

  He felt no Sentries anywhere nearby. They patrolled the wall, but there were few on duty at any given time and miles of wall to cover. They might be shielding, but he didn't dare press his earth senses harder into the land for fear they'd discover him. They'd be monitoring the wall, and certainly they would notice if he opened the sally port. Hopefully they weren't watching the surrounding lands as closely.

  He'd have to risk it.

  Connor released slate and popped a piece of quartzite into his mouth, wedging it into his cheek. Instead of applying the liquid warmth that began pooling in the center of his head toward his senses, Connor directed it outward and grasped for surrounding air.

  Padraigin was far better at working with air than any of the other Pathfinders at the school, but even she struggled for consistency. Connor wasn't sure what to expect when he pulled on the air currents slipping past his quartzite senses, like a breeze ruffling a raised flag.

  A dust devil rise around him, twirling and tugging at his clothes. It smelled of mountain passes, and he took it as a good sign. Tapping basalt, he rushed the wall. Thirty feet away from it, he yanked hard on the air, hoping to lift himself over the wall.

  A howling wind rushed down along the wall and he leaped into it, throwing his hands wide, as if grasping for the reins of a wild horse. The air condensed underneath him and drew him higher. Connor laughed with the thrill of it as wind whistled in his
ears and pulled on his skin with icy fingers, drawing him ever higher.

  Then it disappeared.

  With a final flicker against his face, as if wishing him luck, it slipped away from his quartzite senses and left him soaring unaided through the air.

  The wall loomed ahead of him. He'd almost reached it, but he wasn't quite high enough to sail over it without crashing into the crenelated top. So Connor tapped basalt and twisted in the air, striking the stone with already-fracked feet and leaping off the far side in a heart-blink.

  He cleared the far side of the wall and accelerated into the landing, transferring his fall into a race away from the wall. A Sentry might have felt that tiny brush against the wall, but he would be long gone before they approached and searched the surrounding countryside.

  Feeling a rush of excitement from the near-crash and exulting in the fact that the air had responded to his call, if only for a second, Connor sped away from the Carraig and up one of the shoulders of Mount Murdo.

  He slowed after a mile and found a clearing with a jumble of rocks in the middle. Hopping up onto one and settling down to wait, he again tapped quartzite. No doubt, Ilse had noted his approach and knew exactly where he was waiting. She would most likely shield herself from his fledgling earth senses, so he applied quartzite to his ears and listened, hoping to detect something to warn him they were coming.

  He didn't think Ilse planned to kill him, but he was alone on the mountain, with no help anywhere nearby. Ilse would be insulted if he didn't feel a bit nervous about the meeting. She was devilishly clever, but would she dare kidnapping him? She was already playing pat-a-pedra with Captain Rory and his forces and couldn't risk escalating the contest. Connor needed to convince her that it made more sense not to kidnap him than risk him turning unclaimed.

  As he waited, he second-guessed his decision to stick with basalt instead of switching to granite. If the encounter turned hostile, basalt speed might be his only escape, but if any of the Petralists landed a solid hit, the little piece of sandstone he carried would never save him.