The Spirit Binds

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Did she do it or did someone else do it for her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could it be you did this?”

  His father frowned. “I wish I could say I wasn’t involved, but…”

  “You don’t know.”

  His father shook his head. “I don’t know. I might have been. It’s possible she used me, the same way she used me before. If she did, it could be she wiped away any memory of that, keeping me from being aware of what she had done.”

  Tolan got up and went to one of the shelves, lifting a bondar. This one was a furios, and he was drawn to it the way he always seemed to be drawn to the furios. It was a little bit different than the furios he’d used in Amitan. Its shape was a spiral, not quite as straight as the Academy’s, but the runes along the surface of it reminded him of those. Since he’d studied it so much at the Academy, he had a better understanding of what the symbols represented, and which elementals were drawn by which symbol.

  Pushing a shaping out through the bondar, Tolan focused on it, this time focusing on how it connected him to the element bond. It was a test of the bondar, searching for whether there was some way to understand whether his father was telling him the truth. A spirit shaping might help, but for some reason, he was hesitating to use it.

  The sense of the fire bond flowed into him, powerful and surging with a great energy. As it did, Tolan continued to pull on fire, letting it swirl around him. As he pushed deeper and deeper into the fire bond, he realized something. This furios connected him far more strongly than the one he’d used in Amitan.

  “This wasn’t a copy, was it?”

  His father joined him, looking down at the row of shelves. “None of these are copies. I’ve destroyed all of the copies, as they don’t seem to be nearly as effective, and they mask the connection to the element bond—and the role of the elementals within it.”

  “What role of the elementals?”

  “What do you feel when you shape fire into the bondar?”

  “I feel a connection to the element bond.”

  “You need to reach deeper. It’s there, though my experience is that it’s difficult to reach. Considering the strength you’ve shown, and that you’ve reached for a warrior shaping, I have to believe you would be able to do so.”

  Tolan continued to shape through the bondar, sending power through the furios, and as he did, he didn’t shape anything. He simply sensed power through it, reaching toward the element bond, letting fire and awareness of fire come to him.

  Deep within it, he felt a strange connection.

  The elementals were there.

  Not just the elementals, but the ones whose symbols were represented on the surface of the bondar. He could focus on them, could feel their presence within the bond, and with each one, he recognized their touch.

  Tolan opened his eyes. “I feel them. I never have before.”

  “I don’t know most people who use the bondars realize what they do. Most see them as a way to reach for the element bond power, but few realize they can also connect you to the elementals within the bonds.”

  “You’ve been using these to help free the elementals.”

  “We have. It’s slow work, mostly because it takes considerable strength, and partly because there is danger in freeing the elementals.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever wondered why the elementals were placed into the bond?”

  “To help shapers reach for power.”

  “That’s what the Academy believes, but I wonder if it might be something else.”

  “What else?”

  “To protect them.” His father took a deep breath, lifting one of the other bondars—a withering—off the shelf. He held it carefully between his hands, looking down at it. “As I hold onto this, I have a sense of wind, but I also have a sense of the elementals buried within the wind bond. They don’t care for where they are, but at the same time, when you push deeply enough, some recognize they need to remain.”

  “Why would they need to remain?”

  His father glanced over at him. “The same power your mother seeks.”

  Chaos.

  Could it be the elements had been placed into the element bond in order to protect them from this chaos?

  If that were the case, then why? How long would they have needed to stay trapped within the bond?

  “We need to help those she’s influenced.”

  “If I could, I would offer you any sort of help.”

  “But you can.”

  His father shook his head, turning away. “Perhaps if I still had that knowledge, I might have been able to help you. If only. Your mother took that. I think she claimed it for her own, stealing it with a shaping of spirit so I couldn’t counter her.” His father reached his workbench, leaning forward on it. “I don’t know that I would even try to counter her, if I could. I still miss her.”

  “What if she’s been influenced in some way?”

  “I don’t know that anything could spirit shape her like that. What you’re talking about is an incredibly powerful shaping of spirit, and as far as I know, there aren’t any shapers who have that kind of power.”

  Tolan glanced down at the ring his father had set on the desk. What if something had happened to his mother? What if she’d been influenced by this strange chaos? He’d seen how it influenced others, so it was at least possible the same thing had happened to his mother, and if so, he knew how to remove it.

  First, he had to remove the shaping done to the others.

  His father didn’t think he knew enough, but what if there was a way to remind him?

  Tolan reached into his pocket. There, hidden where he’d left it, was his father’s journal.

  He handed it to his father. “Would this help?”

  His father blinked, wiping away a tear streaming down his cheek. “Where did you find this?”

  “Your workshop.”

  “There wasn’t anything there. Tools. Nothing more.”

  “There was this. I found it buried. It was in a hidden drawer at the back of the workbench.”

  His father took the journal, flipping through the pages. As he did, his breath caught. He continued to flip through them with increasing speed, and he glanced over at Tolan. “These are my notes.”

  “I know. I remembered seeing them in the vision. Dream or memory or whatever it was.”

  “I don’t remember making them.”

  “You don’t?”

  His father shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about this, Tolan.”

  “Can you read it?”

  His father chuckled. “I can, and that’s how I know these are mine. It’s an ancient language, but it’s one my parents used to use, taking notes when they worked.” His father continued to flip through the pages, stopping at one near the back of the journal. He ran his finger along it as he read. “This one depicts the ring I was making for you. It is one of the last entries I must’ve made.”

  Why would his mother have stopped right then?

  But, of course, she would have. If she realized what his father was doing, she would have realized he was making some way of protecting Tolan, so why wouldn’t she have intervened?

  If only he had more of his memories.

  Then again, why couldn’t he reach for them? If the ring was meant to open him up to spirit, then it seemed it was with the ring he would find those memories, that he could call them back, and perhaps he might even be able to regain some sense of himself.

  “Can you see if there’s anything in there to help you understand what Mother used?”

  “I don’t know whether there would be, but there might be something in here to help me find a way of countering it.”

  Tolan watched his father continue to flip through the pages of his journal. It would take a while, he suspected, and while he worked on that, was there anything Tolan could do?

  His mother was the one responsible for what had happened to him. If she was the on
e—and the reason—his memories had been taken, then was there some way to search through his memories, to uncover what had been stolen from him?

  If there was, what might he learn about himself?

  Maybe nothing. It might be the only thing he learned was that his mother had stolen from him, something he already knew. Even if he knew that, would it change anything? He’d begun to uncover the secrets to his shaping ability. He didn’t need to dig any deeper, did he?

  The key to his shaping ability was buried within him, though. Might he be even stronger if he uncovered what she’d stolen?

  Tolan took a seat on the chair, squeezing the stone ring. As he did, he focused, pulling upon spirit. What had he done when he’d uncovered those visions before? What had been the key?

  Whatever it was had been tied to the ring each time. The last time, Tolan had fallen asleep, and the dream had come to him, but this time he wanted to do so intentionally, to see if there was any way to draw out those memories, to force himself into an awareness of what had taken place.

  Was it even possible to do so?

  Tolan watched his father. He was caught up in flipping through the pages of his journal, and if there was anything he could uncover, Tolan wasn’t going to be able to help. Not only did he not understand what was involved in creating bondars, but he also couldn’t read the writing on the page within the journal.

  Unless he could.

  What if that memory was trapped within his mind, too?

  It seemed to Tolan that if his father had known what his mother was doing, he’d have tried to protect him, and he also would’ve tried to prepare him. Regardless of what his father remembered, he suspected there was something within his mind, but he just had to find it, to dig it out, and if he could, he would be able to understand the nature of how his father had created bondars, and whether or not he’d be able to do the same thing.

  Holding on to the shaping, Tolan focused, summoning spirit, letting his awareness of it fill him. It rolled through him, and he pushed, drawing it up from some place deep within him, sending it out through the stone ring.

  And then he pulled the shaping into himself.

  Tolan didn’t know if that was the key or not, but it seemed if he could shift the nature of the shaping, if he could pull it toward himself, then he might be able to use it. In doing so, he hoped to free his mind, to find what his mother had taken from him.

  The shaping washed through him.

  Much as he had when he’d been shaping the Inquisitors, Ferrah, and even the other shapers at the Academy in Ephra, Tolan focused on what he could detect as the shaping washed through him. It came to him slowly, building steadily. Then, as it washed over him, he felt the power flowing through him.

  Surprisingly, or perhaps, unsurprisingly, there was a resistance.

  He should have expected there would be, and with it, he hesitated. Was there a danger in trying to remove the resistance from his own mind? He’d seen how others had fared when they had parts of their mind trapped, and he worried about what would happen to him if he were to suddenly remove that trap. What if he damaged himself? His father wasn’t a spirit shaper, and though he had the bondars, and though he might be able to reach for the various element bonds, his father would be unlikely to be able to heal him in any meaningful way.

  If that happened, it would leave Tolan injured, perhaps permanently, and then who would be available to stop his mother? No one would even know she needed to be stopped.

  If he did nothing, if he refused to overpower this resistance, he worried what might happen as well. He would be lost.

  All these years, he’d thought he had known who he was. There had been memories, but they had been faint, and through it all, Tolan had believed the faintness of those memories had come from the fact he was traumatized by losing his parents. And perhaps that was what it was, but there was more.

  How had the Inquisitors never noticed the shaping on his mind?

  Probably because they didn’t have access to the bondar. Without it, Tolan wouldn’t have noticed, he didn’t think. It took the bondar, and the power from it, for him to know what was buried within his mind.

  Continuing to shape, Tolan pulled.

  At first, he pushed gently, trying to remove that strange shaping from his mind, and as he met resistance, he pulled with even more force, drawing more and more away, until he found he began to hurt.

  He cried out, suppressing it when his father glanced in his direction. Tolan didn’t want his father to know what he was trying, uncertain if he’d do anything to stop him, though equally uncertain as to whether there would be anything he could do to stop him.

  The spirit shaping began to give. As it did, Tolan knew he could separate it. He felt the way it started to peel apart, the freedom it gave him, and he knew he could drag it off his mind, but though he knew that, he also knew it would be painful—possibly incredibly so.

  Drawing with a little bit more force, he decided he would shape one more time.

  He prepared for the pain, preparing for what was going to come, the nature of the agony to strike him as he peeled this shaping free of his mind. He braced for it, and surprisingly, it seemed what he’d experienced in the Inquisition gave him the necessary strength. Because of that, he knew he could withstand it. He had tolerated something much worse and come out of it alive.

  Heaving the shaping away, he tore it free. It came with a burst, and as it did, the pain overwhelmed him and he collapsed.

  Tolan convulsed. He began to shake, and surprisingly, he was aware of the shaking, and was reminded of what he’d seen from the shapers encountered in Ephra during the Selection. They had convulsed in a similar way, and he vaguely knew if he did nothing, if he left the shaping alone, something would happen. He was certain whatever happened would not be for the best.

  He needed to help himself.

  The thought came distantly, in the back of his mind, as the convulsion continued to work through him. He felt himself growing more distant, his mind beginning to fade, and worried if he did nothing, he would ultimately fall.

  Spirit. That was what the Grand Inquisitor had used, wasn’t it? She’d used the touch of spirit on those shapers, sweeping across their mind, calling them.

  Tolan could do the same thing. He suspected he only had a few moments left before whatever was taking place would overpower him. The pain in his mind made shaping difficult, and he squeezed the stone ring, holding a shaping, and with it, he held onto a memory. It was one of Ferrah, and it came to him easily, a memory of another quiet time they had spent sitting above Amitan on a Shapers Path, feeling the energy of the city. Tolan focused on that, and as he did, he was able to connect to the energy of this place. It was there in the heat all around him. The feeling of the stone beneath him. The wind, that coming from the air in his lungs, the slight breeze from his convulsions. There was water, that from the blood pumping his veins. And spirit. Always spirit.

  Tolan sent a surge and pushed it inward, the same way he had when he was trying to blast the sense of chaos free from the Inquisitors’ minds.

  The shaping washed over him, a steady sort of sense continuing to build. Tolan held onto it, letting that sense fill him. It came to him steadily, slowly, and as it washed through him the pain began to ease.

  With the pain easing, images flashed in his mind.

  They happened in rapid succession. They were places he’d traveled. He recognized places throughout Terndahl, cities he had visited since heading to the Academy. There was Ephra and Par and Velminth and a dozen or more others. There were places outside of Terndahl. Places like this city, where his father and the others who served the elementals—the real Draasin Lord—had come. There were other places. Places of shadow, darkness. Cold places, snow swirling around him. Hot places, sand and barren rocks stretching around.

  Had he really visited all of these places?

  It seemed impossible to believe he had, but what other explanation was there? If this was what his mother
had done, looking for sources of power, then it made sense she’d have visited some of these locations, as if searching. Within each vision, each snippet of memory, there came a sense of shaping. It washed through him.

  It was these times when his mother had shaped him. She’d tried to keep him from knowing where they were going. How many times had they traveled and she had shaped him again?

  Far more than he realized.

  Was it her way of keeping him from recalling not only the visit, but why she had brought him?

  That answer wasn’t within those snippets of vision. It might be if he had a way of sorting through them and trying to come up with what had motivated his mother, but he didn’t have a way to sort through them. It was possible she’d said nothing, bringing him with her as she traveled, keeping his memories from him. Even now, with those memories returning, Tolan still didn’t know what they signified. Perhaps that was the key. She had wanted to keep that from him, and had wanted to keep knowledge, a sense of himself, from him.

  Was there anything else he could uncover? It wasn’t just places that came to mind. It was other things as well. There was knowledge. Maybe not as much as he had hoped for, since he didn’t seem to have any real recollection of the technique of shaping, but there had to be something within it.

  Tolan focused on his father. Lying as he did on the ground, he thought he could find something about his father, some way of knowing how involved his father might have been in all of this. Surprisingly, his mother had trapped those memories, too. Even as she did, aspects of them came back, parts of his past he was able to recall, painful parts telling him his father had been used. Every so often, there came a shaping from her, a soothing sort of shaping of spirit. She used it on his father, and then used it on Tolan, making it so neither of them truly knew what was taking place.

  How could she have done something like that?

  That troubled him most of all. For whatever reason, his mother had used him. She had changed him, and that angered him. Why would she have done that to him?

  What if Father had the answer?

  Tolan was tempted to shape him with spirit, to see if there was anything he could uncover about his father, and perhaps about his mother, but would that really make him feel better?