by TJ Muir
“After a while, the man holding the rope needed to relieve himself and let Kirrin down to the ground. I thought maybe I could disarm the man, but was afraid what might happen to Kirrin if he got out a warning.
“I was able to work my way close to Kirrin while the one man was away. I created a distraction, a child’s trick really, stirring up a raccoon and getting it to defend its babies from danger. They can be quite noisy and ferocious. It was enough of a ruckus, especially for city people. It was easy to shift around close to Kirrin and cut him loose.”
So Cham had freed Kirrin. But Jedda guessed there must be more because he hadn’t heard anything that accounted for Cham’s reaction. “So did you and Kirrin get away then?”
Cham shook his head, looking away, staring at the ground. "No. I thought that was what would happen. But Kirrin told me to get back to the bushes. ‘Not yet,’ he said, and he took my knife." His expression darkened.
“I moved back out of sight, but close enough in case he needed me.”
Jedda nodded, trying to show concern and compassion. This was not a world Cham would understand.
“Kirrin stayed there, pretending he was still tied up, until the first man came back. The man came up to Kirrin, smirking, ready for another round.
“Kirrin was ready for him, used that moment of surprise. The man leaned over Kirrin, to haul him to his feet. Kirrin stabbed him with the knife as easily as he might have gutted a fish, right in the belly, thrusting upward toward his heart--he didn’t even have time to make a sound. The man half fell on top of Kirrin and he just grabbed him so he didn’t make any noise when he hit the ground, but he second man saw Kirrin standing over the body. He screamed, ‘You’re a dead man now!’ and came at Kirrin in a wild frenzy.
“And then--” Cham paused, his skin gone pale as he recalled what happened. “Kirrin had the man down pretty quick-- tied him up. Then...it was Kirrin’s turn. He used the knife, making cuts on the man and burning him with the hot blade in turns. Cutting off fingers. He wasn’t moving very well, but once the man was tied, it didn’t matter, Kirrin seemed to prefer taking his time, watching the fear grow. But he was… cold, like he might have been fixing lunch. The man’s screams didn’t affect him at. Kirrin wanted to know how many people were looking for him--” Cham paused again, then added, “well, for you, actually.”
“For me? You mean for us, right?”
Cham shook his head. “No. This Hak’kar, he only wanted you brought back. He didn’t seem to care about Kirrin.”
Jedda blinked, trying to fill in the missing pieces. Hak’kar only wanted Jedda back. Didn’t want Kirrin? Or didn’t care about Kirrin? More likely Hak’kar expected Kirrin to be eliminated.
“What did Kirrin find out? Did he get an answer?”
Cham shuddered, nodded vaguely. “Oh, yes. Kirrin made sure he got his answers. Everyone with eyes and ears. Hak’kar put a bounty on your head. A hundred ducats.”
Jedda gasped. That was a lot of money.
“And then Kirrin said something I didn’t understand. The Da’har Pavan would have doubled it for anyone that helped-- or something like that. It didn’t mean anything to me but it upset the man. ‘You’re a lyin thievin whoreson,’ he yelled.” Then he looked up at Jedda. “I don’t know what it was about, but Kirrin made a point of repeating it.”
Jedda shrugged, thinking. Hak’kar didn’t have deep ties or allies with any of the Houses-- not the way most of the ruling Houses tended to have long term associations. Hak’kar didn’t have allies. He had pawns. Jedda couldn’t recall Hak’kar specifically working with Pavan or blackmailing the man. “I’m not sure. Hak’kar and Pavan may have been allies. I think maybe Kirrin was trying to put a seed of doubt into the man, something that might get back to Hak’kar,” he said.
Cham paled and looked away again. “Oh.”
“What happened then?”
“When he said that, I realized Kirrin had gotten what he wanted to know from the man. He was going to kill him. So I went back, hoping to intervene. But Kirrin was furious when he saw me. The man looked surprised. ‘That hain’t the kid,’ he said. ‘You’ve got help.’ and then the man looked terrified. Just a split second. Kirrin looked at me for a moment, then turned around-- leaned in and slit his throat. Just like that. Like it was nothing.” Confusion was written clearly across Cham’s face as he struggled to understand what had happened.
“He wiped the blade off on his pants. Just like that, all business, as if it were ordinary. He dug through their pockets, rolled them away from the road, down into a ravine. And then he looks up as though he were at the breakfast table, and hands me back the knife. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice blade.’ I didn’t know what to say. I told him to keep the knife. I never want to touch it again, not after that.”
Jedda held silent. Nothing he could say or do was going to make what Cham had witnessed okay. So the two sat quietly for a while, finding some comfort in each other’s presence.
“It may be time to decide what happens next,” Cham said, changing the subject.
Jedda nodded, feeling his own worry creeping back in.
“I’m going to go brush the horses, to clear the heaviness from my heart,” Cham said. “These things do not need deciding right away. And certainly, Kirrin needs time to recover.”
Jedda nodded, watching as Cham headed towards the horses. Kirrin’s version of events wasn’t even close to what Cham had just described, but he had no doubts as to who was telling the truth. Kirrin had at best, told only part of the story but at worst. . .
Cham had not mentioned anything about the prophecy. Had Kirrin just invented that? Or was it something he had known a long time, but just chosen to share now? Jedda had no answers, only endless questions, and the stark reminder, once again, that Kirrin was a natural and convincing liar.
The next several days went by with little change. Kirrin insisted on tending his wounds and injuries himself, cleaning, checking, and rubbing the salve onto the bruises with an ease that came from experience. Jedda had never paid close attention to Kirrin before, but he had begun to notice various marks and scars on his body when Kirrin was changing dressings.
“Those are scars,” he said, half question, watching Kirrin wash his cuts and scars.
“Yes,” Kirrin said.
“From fighting?”
“Mostly,” Kirrin said, his tone casual and yet guarded. “Many are from when I was young. Bullies. That was how I crossed paths with Hak’kar. The man taught me how to fight. Well, actually it was his men that taught me, but on his orders.”
“He taught you more than that,” Jedda prodded.
“Yes.”
“Explains how you knew so much about fighting. So much for it being about mental discipline.”
Kirrin glanced at him, considering his former protege. “Yes,” he said again, giving nothing away.
Jedda shifted awareness, looking into Kirrin’s colors, struggling to see them clearly. He didn’t know if his difficulty was coming from Kirrin or from his own jumbled emotions. He wanted to see his composed tutor and mentor, but when he looked at the fading bruises and bandages, he had visions of Kirrin beaten, bloodied, and dying.
Kirrin’s expression changed. “So. You can see colors now.”
Jedda caught himself, a sharp intake of breath. How in the nine hells had Kirrin guessed that? If he hadn’t known before, he definitely knew now. Jedda realized he had underestimated the other man. Again.
“We all have our secrets. Things we prefer others not to know.” Kirrin said, and, finished with his wounds, walked out of the room.
That night was hard for Jedda. He went out on the porch and watched the sky. It was glowing, reds and blues and greens flowing across the night in an eerie dance. Cham had told him to stay close to the cabin, that magic was running strong when the night came alive like that. The moons moved through a whole range of colors as the sky ran with light. The Nibbin skitted across the night, bright silver showing as it wove
its own path across the horizon. The night sounds chirred all around him. It was soothing, but it also felt very big. Bigger than he was capable of managing, and he didn’t know who to turn to for help.
He dozed off, sitting on the steps, and dreams took over. He dreamed about Diya and Trey. They were flying through the night, searching for something. His collection of carvings came to life and scattered in the wind. A shadow filled his dreams, and Hak’kar was there, chasing him, Dark shapes surged forward. Hak’kar was holding a scroll. The scroll of prophecy that was his House’s emblem. Jedda saw his face there. He was wrapped up tightly inside that scroll, trapped, being squeezed. He heard his owl calling, heard the beating of wings, but he was blind. He was both trapped and falling at the same time. Blind fear gripped him. He reached out for the owl. Couldn’t find it. Couldn’t find anything. All he knew was that he needed to get free. And then everything exploded in a wave of fire, burning the scroll, releasing him from his prison.
Someone grabbed his shoulder. He lashed out before he recognized Tattia’s voice. He opened his eyes. It was light. Was it morning already? She looked afraid. She had a hand on his shoulder, shook him gently. “Wake up,” she pleaded.
Cham came up behind her, out of breath.
“What?” He shrugged off her hand “I’m fine. Just a dream. A bad dream.”
“It was more than that,” Cham said. He stepped back, giving Jedda full view of the source of the light.
A giant bonfire raged within the fire pit. Jedda's eyes went wide. He looked to the other two, expecting them to explain it.
Cham shook his head, and Tattia stared at the fire, eyes wide. “The whole cabin shook, like an explosion. And then…” Cham nodded towards the fire.
“I did that?” Jedda asked.
“Yes.”
Kirrin stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support. “At least something protected us all from of it,” he said. “It could have been worse.”
“Just lucky, I suppose,” Jedda said, watching the fire.
Cham nodded agreement. “Your magic is waking. You need to learn how to control and use it.”
“How?” Jedda asked.
“That? I don’t know the answer.”
“But you’re Faenyr also. You understand magic too. The fire you made. That was magic.”
“First, my blood is mixed, as yours is. And no. My magic is not like yours. Yours is out of control. I don’t know how to fix that."
Chapter Seven
Jedda didn’t get much sleep after that. He was afraid to fall asleep-- afraid of his dreams and what might happen. The birds were beginning to sing, and the night was shifting into a dim grayness before exhaustion finally won out and he drifted off. (does he stay/sleep with cham again… to comfort cham, but because he is also afraid?)
He slept until late morning, waking up to the light plucking sound of harp music. He dragged himself upright and put on clothes, then went down to get breakfast. He was glad no one was around because he didn’t want to talk about what had happened. He tried to eat, but had less appetite than he thought. He picked up a piece of bread and carried it out onto the porch.
He stood there, chewing on the thick bread, and tried not to keep looking at the fire pit. He could see the scorch marks from where he was standing- a grim reminder. He felt restless, and didn’t like being alone with just his thoughts. He needed to move around. Maybe he would check on the horses and give Jespen some exercise. He headed around the side of the cabin, but heard Kirrin tending the horses. He stopped, rolled his neck and shoulders, realized how stiff he was. He didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone, but he especially wanted to avoid Kirrin.
Jedda sighed and changed direction, walking down along the edge of the meadow, careful to keep the cabin in sight. He skirted the nettle patch in the bottom corner and stopped to tie the laces on his boot. It was a beautiful day, light clouds drifting across the sky. But something wasn’t right. He shook his head and continued along the edge. As he headed around the far side, he spotted a bird’s nest on the ground. He looked up, scanning the area, knowing now that he had been missing the sounds of birds, or any animals. There weren’t any. That was what felt wrong.
On his way around the behind the camp, he noticed Cham sitting out under the tree again. He realized it must have been Tattia playing the harp. At least Cham looked calmer now. Jedda changed direction slightly so that he wouldn’t disturb Cham. And he went wide, avoiding the paddock, bringing him back around to the fire pit.
He kept staring at the giant charred circle, then sat down on one of the outer stones. He could still feel the heat in it, a reminder that it had actually happened.
He stared as though he expected the fireball to be there, but the image was strong enough in his mind that it didn’t matter.
He wished it weren’t true, but he remembered enough of his dream to know that he was the one who had done this. He had been trapped and terrified, and his magic had exploded.
He remembered the look on Cham’s face, telling him that his magic was out of control. Jedda knew Cham was more of a healer than a fighter. What had happened to Kirrin had shaken Cham deeply. And now, here was Jedda, another problem Cham didn’t know how to fix.
Jedda was capable of magic, violent eruptions of it. Most of the things around his world had never been in his control- his mother abandoning him, living on the streets. But Jedda had always had control over himself. Watching, waiting, patience-- those were traits that helped him to survive on his own. Magi was something he couldn't control. And that terrified him.
Somewhere inside him, there was magic. He wanted it gone- far away from where it could cause harm. He kept seeing the fireball. It became his magic. He tried to make it smaller, force it to go away, or at least be a size that didn’t terrify him.
Jedda heard a noise and looked up. Cham stood a few feet away, watching, trying to respect his privacy. Jedda nodded to the stones circling the fire pit, and Cham accepted his invitation. Then he just sat there, patient as mountains, offering his presence.
After a while, Jedda looked up. “So who teaches magic?”
Cham ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “That question is less easy, or simple, than it appears. It is like asking, who teaches a fish to swim, or a bird to fly. Birds and fish learn from their parents, watching. But the ability is innate. They are born with it. You,” he nodded toward Jedda, “were born with the potential, but not the actual ability. Most Faenyr children just grow up with it. It is like learning to speak, or any basic skill all children master. Mixed children like ourselves, are usually within communities where there is support as it develops. But asking how to learn magic, is like asking how to be Faenyr. Those two things are interlinked.”
Jedda listened intently. Magic had been a curiosity and exciting before. Now it was scaring him. Figuring out why the fireball had happened was essential-- before it happened again.
“I may know someone, in my village, who can teach you what it means to be Faenyr, to learn what Faenyr children learn growing up.”
“Like what? What does that even mean?”
“Like listening to the birds, and the herds. How to make a bow. How to fish.”
Jedda frowned, trying to understand.
Cham ducked his head, dropping it into his hands, rubbing his face, almost scrubbing at it. He looked frustrated. “This doesn’t make any sense to you. It makes less sense than trying to explain flying to someone who has never seen a bird. There is no way for you to suddenly understand. It will not make sense until the process begins. It is about building an awareness that stretches beyond what you can readily see and know, and making a connection between those things.”
Jedda just stared at him.
“Like what you did in Tatak Rhe, the h’katta, and after. Sensing what was going on, with the grass, the trees.”
“You mean magic is like reading colors?”
Jedda thought for a moment, remembering having sex-- with both Cham and Diya-- where their senses began to blur and merge. When that had happened, he could feel what they felt, the hand touch, the caress, the shiver of delight.
“Did you know the Faenyr never get lost?”
The change in topics caught Jedda by surprise. “Sorry,” he said, bringing his attention back. "The Faenyr never get lost,” he repeated, reminding himself what he had only half heard. “Never?”
“Never. They have multiple ways of knowing where they are and finding their way. The land speaks to them.”
Jedda chewed on that for a moment. He would have mocked Cham outright only a few months ago, before a wooden owl had burst into life and flown away in a rainbow of glowing light. Before the land turned around and shifted under their feet. Before he made a fire pit burst into flame-- while he was asleep.
“So, they do that with magic?” he asked.
Cham tilted his head from side to side, considering the question. “Yes, and no.”
Jedda growled in frustration.
“Children connect with the land. They learn to feel it around them so they can tap into it when they need to. From that, they can learn to sense their location in relation to landmarks, like mountains or rivers or villages. Is that magic? It comes with being Faenyr, so maybe it is,” Cham said, shrugging.
Kirrin and Tattia came down from the cabin, carrying a steaming cup in each hand. They passed two to Cham and Jedda and then sat down --away from each other. And away from Jedda.
“Can you make a fire now?” Kirrin asked.