House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  “Like Orm.”

  “Just like Orm,” Pharawynn agreed with a snap of her fingers. “And Orm, just like so many halflings, was one of those who experienced a wee bit of trouble when he came of age.”

  “Really?” Orm? Nessa was so surprised she could’ve been knocked over with a feather. “But he’s used magic around me. I’ve seen him do things. He’s in perfect control over his powers.”

  “Oh, my sweet, little Dragon Rider,” Pharawynn turned to Nessa and patted her on the knee in what Nessa assumed was intended to be a comforting gesture. However, it came across as a little patronising in Nessa’s opinion.

  Pharawynn was older than Nessa, over twice her age, and she wore it with grace. But with age came knowledge, and knowledge was power. Right then, magic notwithstanding, Pharawynn had all the power when it came to the two of them. She was more than happy to wield that power like a sharpened blade.

  “Orm’s only in control of what little magic he has left because of his mental block.”

  Chapter 32

  Orm? Mental block?

  Shock. Nessa tried to conceal it.

  Judging by the cunning gleam that leaped in Pharawynn’s flinty eyes, she failed. Her not knowing about Orm’s mental block had revealed something to Pharawynn. It was confirmation. Of what, Nessa wasn't sure. She couldn’t read people as well as Pharawynn could. Before she deciphered what the gleam might have meant, it vanished.

  Nessa sipped her tea in way of a distraction, finding that it was nearing the undrinkable stage of being lukewarm. She swallowed a mouthful, nearly emptying the little glass, and grimaced. There were few things worse than being mid-sip and discovering that your hot beverage was cold, forcing you to either swallow the offending liquid or spit it out. The latter choice was poorly suited for when company was around.

  Pharawynn moved, reaching for the teapot, her intent of refilling Nessa’s glass clear.

  “If Orm has one of these blocks,” Nessa rushed to say, not wanting any more tea. Unease and nerves made her stomach clench uncomfortably, painfully. The thought of eating or drinking was a sickening one. “Then how can he use magic?”

  Pharawynn paused, her hand outreached. “What do you mean, my dear?”

  “Well, I thought the whole point of these blocks was to stop someone’s magic from being used.”

  “Oh!” Pharawynn looked surprised. “That’s what you thought?”

  Nessa shrugged.

  “My dear girl, there’s so much more to it than just that. Magic isn’t as blunt as bricks and mortar within the mind. It is fluid, flowing, as intangible as mist and as strong as a raging river.”

  “And regarding a mental block, that means?”

  Pharawynn sighed, her intention of refilling Nessa’s glass long forgotten. Her hand settled on her lap, fingers tapping against her thigh. “Sometimes walls aren’t always continuous, solid. Often there are windows and even doorways.”

  “And cracks,” Nessa murmured, more to herself than to Pharawynn.

  Pharawynn, though, heard her. “Just as in the real world, the things in our minds are subject to change based on outside forces.”

  Nessa slowly put the pieces together. “So, what you’re saying is, Orm can still use magic because there’s a doorway in his mental block, his wall?”

  “Orm came into his powers a handful of years ago,” Pharawynn told her. “They came on him suddenly and with great ferocity. He was helpless in controlling them. Almost immediately they were strong enough to be detected from afar. Which, as you can imagine, was incredibly dangerous for him, and to those close to him. Orm was luckier than most. He caught the attention of an Old Blood, one who was benevolent enough to take Orm under his wing.”

  Chaos, Nessa realised. It’s quite possible that Orm was literally taken under his wing… Nessa barely stifled a snicker at the image that came to mind. There was a very long list of words to describe Chaos, and benevolent wasn’t anywhere near the top of it.

  “Before King Kaenar or any of his loyal followers could track Orm, and therefore him, down, the Old Blood tried to teach him how to get a hold of his powers, how to tame them just enough so that they wouldn’t be found. I imagine the Old Blood had hoped to mentor Orm. After all, having someone with the power Orm had, loyal and in your debt, would be a great asset. Besides, the knowledge that elders hold needs to be passed down at some point. Lest it fades away to nothing, lost to the world.”

  “But the taming was unsuccessful?” Nessa asked, hungry to hear more about her friend, eager to know more about him and his magic.

  “Your assumption is correct. Orm’s magic was as wild and untameable as the fire he can so easily conjure, for fire is his innate gift.”

  “Innate gift?” Nessa interrupted.

  “That’s a discussion for another time,” Pharawynn said easily, like there would be another time, like Nessa would be returning soon. “But right now, I want you to understand what a mental block is and what it can do.”

  “Oh,” Nessa mumbled. “Alright.”

  “As it happened, control was beyond Orm’s reach. The only option for him, other than a date with the butcher’s block, was to have a mental block put into place. However, due to his strength, a solid wall couldn’t be built. It would be too dangerous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it could lead to a flare out,” Pharawynn tutored, her gaze filled with knowledge and sly smugness. “The power would build up behind the block, not unlike a dam. At some point, the power’s going to build up to a point where the mental block fractures, cracks under the pressure. Magic, even stronger than it was to begin with, will be released uncontrollably, flaring out into the world like a supernova.”

  “Which is why it’s called a flare out,” Nessa murmured thoughtfully, absently picking at the detailing of her sleeve’s hem, a touch disturbed to learn that there was a darker side to being an Old Blood than she had imagined. It was bad enough that the king and his leagues of loyal followers would have her head just for being born, not to mention that she was also a rogue Dragon Rider. To suddenly learn that her magic, should it ever decide to show itself, could have such dangers also attached to it was a little frightening. Nessa felt as if she was facing not just one battle, but many. It was like she was being attacked from all fronts. Nessa didn’t know where to start, or what to do.

  “Flare outs are very rare,” Pharawynn continued, oblivious to Nessa’s train of thought. “I guess they only happen, oh, once or twice every century. There’s a very limited number of magic users these days. But flare outs are deadly.”

  Nessa stared. “Deadly?”

  “Of course they’re deadly. Flesh and bone aren’t built to withstand such power. When a flare out happens, there’s naught but a charred hole in the ground where the unfortunate sod used to be.”

  Nessa’s mouth fell open, and she was unable to form any other response but a small, shocked squeak. Pharawynn paid her no mind, seemingly engrossed in her own narrative.

  “When I was little,” Pharawynn said softly, lost in a memory, “I would listen to the great tales my mother and grandmother told me about the Old Bloods, about their legendary magic and their extraordinary feats. Then I learned about all this nasty business with the flare outs and the king’s intent on wiping out certain fractions of Old Bloods, and I decided that I was perfectly happy being just as I was.”

  “Lucky you,” Nessa muttered, feeling rather disenchanted.

  Pharawynn shook herself, freeing herself from her reminiscing. “Due to his circumstances, your poor Orm had a mental block built within the confines of his mind, locking away his magics. For the most part.” Pharawynn gave Nessa a knowing wink, like they were sharing secrets. Nessa supposed that they were, kind of. “Because of the risk of his powerful magic building up, leading to one of those dreadful flare outs, his mentor allowed a small—how should I phrase it?—vent? A little window?”

  Nessa grimaced, not all that interested in the correct terminology.
“An escape-hatch type of thing?”

  Pharawynn pursed her lips, mulling it over. “Well, however we describe it, it prevents a flare out. Orm can access a small amount of his magics. Not enough to be detected, but just enough to prevent the magic from building up to dangerous levels.”

  “Which is why Orm can still do the odd bits and bobs every now and again,” Nessa concluded.

  “Indeed,” Pharawynn sighed. “It must be hard knowing that you could be so much more, that you could do so much more.”

  Nessa was quiet, wondering why Orm had kept so much from her. Not only did he have personal experience with mental blocks, but he knew so much more about Old Bloods. Why had he never mentioned any of this? Why did he never explain? Nessa couldn’t help but feel let down, perhaps even a touch betrayed. She had a right to know about the dangers that came with magic, with blocks and flare outs. Yet there hadn’t been even the slightest hint of Orm revealing any of it to her. Embarrassment must have played a part in why he hadn’t disclosed his secret, his state, but that was no excuse as to why he hadn’t shared anything else with her. There was no excuse for that. None whatsoever. Was that why he wasn’t teaching her? Why he was always stalling when it came to learning about magic? He wouldn’t be able to stall forever, making one excuse or the other. Sooner or later he’d run out of them. Then what? Would he tell the truth?

  Would it matter?

  Would it be too late by then?

  “Be all as it may,” Pharawynn patted Nessa’s hand, pulling her away from her inner turmoil, “I can’t help Orm. His magic is too wild to control. But I may be able to help you.”

  “Can you take away the block?” Nessa asked, her voice plaintive even to her own ears. “Can you give me back my memories?”

  “I am but a sorceress,” Pharawynn said. “The power I wield is vastly different from yours and the one who put that block in your mind.” Pharawynn rose from the settee, moving to stand over Nessa. “But I swear upon the Atheals that I will do all that I can to aid you in this matter. I will help you if you so wish it.”

  Pharawynn extended a hand, and Nessa gazed at it. She felt as if destiny was looming over her just as this strange, powerful woman was. If she took the offered hand, if she shook it, then something would happen, something she would never be able to turn her back on…

  Nessa hesitated for a heartbeat, but the promise of help, of aid, was too good a lure.

  “Just one thing,” Nessa murmured as she slipped her hand into Pharawynn’s, setting in motion the wheel of destiny. “What’s an Atheal?”

  Pharawynn’s bright, flinty eyes filled with despair as she gazed down at Nessa, at the small girl nestled into the corner of the old settee, a girl clothed in a pretty dress with big eyes and an innocent heart, a girl promised to the world long ago.

  “Bloody hell,” Pharawynn muttered, eyes sliding closed as she steeled herself for what was to come. “What have I just got myself into?”

  ∞∞∞

  “The Atheals,” Pharawynn began, crossing over to the wall of overflowing bookshelves, “are the ninety-nine divine spirits who govern the arcane arts. They are the powers sorcerers like me call upon for our magics.” She prowled the shelves, her fingers tapping the spines of books as she perused them, her eyes running over gilded titles.

  Nessa left the comfort of the settee, intrigued, following after Pharawynn as she moved further across the wide room. She reached the older woman just as Pharawynn made a sound of discovery, long, beringed fingers plucking a large tattered book from its hiding place on the crowded shelf. The spine was mostly gone; nothing more remained of it but a few loose threads and thin strips of fabric that looked like they wouldn’t last much longer. With the spine lacking structural integrity, someone had punctured crude holes into the front and back covers, threading a length of dark ribbon through them, lacing the book together.

  Holding the tome to her chest with one arm, Pharawynn reached out with the other, forearm swiping across a nearby desk, pushing aside a vast collection of glass bottles and jars. They clinked together as a space was cleared on the desk, threatening to break, to topple over the edge and shatter on the hard floor. Nessa hastened over, catching those that tottered perilously on the lip of the desk, carefully shoving them back before she found herself picking up a bucket load of broken glass. Pharawynn didn’t strike her as someone who would clean up after themselves, and it seemed unfair for Sissy to have to do so.

  The tattered book thumped down onto the desk, making a few of the remaining bottles bounce and rattle, and Pharawynn flicked it open with a snap of her wrist. Pages rustled as they were swiftly turned, sounding like fallen leaves caught in a breeze, tumbling along a cobbled street, crisp and whispery.

  Nessa peered at the book from over Pharawynn’s hunched shoulders, catching brief glimpses of strange illustrations and symbols as the pages were turned at high speed.

  Further through the book she went, reaching the middle before finding what she sought.

  Sprawled across the twin pages was a complex pentagram illustrated in ink that was once black but had long since faded to a pale grey due to age and generations of caressing fingers. The star had nine points, and interlacing lines made not only the pentagram’s form, but also filled its body in an intricate, multifaceted web. Miniscule inscriptions in two different styles of hand writing filled every available space between the lines, hectic and strange. Each point of the star ended in a small circle with something that was between a signature and an intricate glyph in the centre.

  A seal, Nessa realised with a shock. She’d come across similar things in her grimoire, perhaps even this exact image, although she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t paid all that much attention to them. The minute text was like a foreign language to her, pretty much impossible to make sense of even when surrounded by the knowledge of generations of powerful spellcasters. Nessa was beginning to wish that she’d spent longer trying to decipher it, trying to understand it. At least then, she wouldn't be coming to this completely blind, like she was now.

  As Nessa gazed down at the book, at the seals and the tiny writing, she couldn’t help but feel like she had jumped into a river, one with unknown depths and a very fast current that was more than willing to sweep her away.

  “The Atheals are split into two groups,” Pharawynn murmured, taking a step to the side, allowing Nessa to sidle closer, one of her fingers slowly tracing the pentagram, pausing to tap at each seal when she came upon one. “Here we have the nine high lords: the Weaver of Speech, the Commander of Hearts, the Summoner of the Nameless.” Pharawynn’s finger did a circuit around the pentagram, and she listed the rest of the seals’ titles. Once finished with that task, her finger slid inside the pentagram, tracing over the multitude of crisscrossing lines and the dainty writings. “Here we have the lesser dæmons who serve under the high lords. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because they’re referred to as lesser and serve under the high lords that they are inferior. See how the lines intersect?”

  Nessa nodded, watching as Pharawynn’s finger caressed the lines slowly, the rough gemstones in her rings twinkling in a hypnotising manner.

  “Everything is connected,” Pharawynn murmured, her voice deep and syrupy. “One spirit is connected with the other. That one is connected with the next…and so on…and so on. The spirits are united. They are separate.”

  “That sounds a bit riddley,” Nessa said.

  “Less of a riddle,” Pharawynn said with a small smile, “and more like a web.”

  “Oh?”

  “Think of it like this,” her finger traced one specific line from a seal to where it intersected with others. “A spirit may look like it is completely independent, but at some point, its path will meet with another’s. A lone thread of a spider web may be enough to capture its prey, but in order for the spider to know its prey is there, all the threads must work together to carry the vibrations to it. It’s a similar principle when it comes to summoning and spe
llcasting. You may think that you only need to call upon one spirit when, in fact, you may need to call upon several. You see, their powers are all intertwined, they overlap.”

  Nessa frowned. Her head was starting to hurt. “If that’s the case, then why would you call upon a specific spirit in the first place?”

  “Their powers are intertwined, not exactly the same.” Pharawynn tapped a couple of seals. “Each spirit has, shall we say, an area of expertise, a particular niche in which they work best. A handful deal with matters of the heart, others with matters of the mind.”

  “And so on,” Nessa murmured, starting to understand some of what Pharawynn was teaching, bits and pieces coming together. It was a relief to finally be learning something. For so long, Nessa had felt like she was in the dark, stranded and alone. Now a weight was beginning to lift from her shoulders, and she could start the battle against the gathering darkness that seemed to surround her, slowly but steadily gaining strength. Nessa knew that she had so much more to learn, a great deal, but everyone had to start somewhere. At least she was making a start. The distrust she felt towards Pharawynn was fading with each revelation, with each discovery.