by TJ Muir
It didn’t bring him to his familiar room. Instead, he ended up in a giant chamber so vast he couldn’t see the far walls.
‘Whoooo...whooooo.’ His owl. He needed to find it. He spun in a circle, heart pounding wildly. The sound was coming from everywhere at once.
“Whooo..” Who are you?
“I don’t know,” he screamed back.
“Whooo…?. Whooooo..?” The question taunted him.
He ran blindly, following the glowing light as they twisted away. He needed to catch his owl.
His mad dash brought him to Trey’s library. Trey was pulling all of the books down from the shelves and tossing them into a raging fire in the middle of the room . He yelled, trying to stop him. But Trey couldn’t hear his word and he kept feeding the fire until it consumed the entire room.
He ran, feet spurred on by terror.
“Bring me that halfbreed traitor!” Hak’kar shouted.
He peeked around the corner. Hak’kar was standing on top of a giant pile of scrolls, digging through them, shouting. “It must be here! It belongs to me!”
He jumped back, pressed against the wall, frozen in terror. The hall began to stretch and twist. He could hear Hak’kar screaming threats as his voice faded away.
He ran back the way he came, down another passage. A woman’s voice rose ghostly in the distance. His mother? Again, the words weren’t clear. What was she trying to tell him? Or maybe she was looking for him?
“Mama?” he cried, as he ran down more passages, glowing sigils lining the dark stone walls. But the voice grew fainter. “Mama!” he shouted. But now it was gone, and he was left alone, in the dark, stumbling around trying to find his way.
He heard the owl again, further away. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get closer to it and could find no way out. The blackness closed in on him. The air became thick. He couldn’t breathe. Hak’kar was coming for him. The blackness was alive-- trying to eat his soul. He knew he had to keep Hak’kar away, but it was so dark. A hand grab his shoulder and all thought was washed away in a flash of panic.
Jedda woke screaming, clutching his pendant, bedclothes soaked in sweat. He sat up on the edge of his bed, hugged his knees to his chest, and sobbed until his racing started to calm. Only then did he realize the room was brighter than it should have been. He moved to his window, where he should have been able to see trees, but everything was a solid wall of white.
Confused, he stepped outside onto the deck. Kirrin, Cham, and Tattia were there already. They turned to look at him, fear written clearly across their faces. Jedda stopped, eyes widening as his gaze fell on a twelve-foot wall of ice circling the entire cabin.
Several people stared back at him from the other side. Even little Zria, and Kai, who had become his friend. They stared. He just stared back at them, no idea what to say or do. He had no idea what was going on.
Hrulla and Ynith came forward, nudging others aside. They stood, examining the ground all around them. They exchanged glances, communicating something only they could understand. Zria moved to approach his parents, but one of the elders restrained him, a hand on his shoulder. The two of them stood there quietly, just in front of the icy barrier. Jedda saw their lips moving, but couldn’t hear anything through the ice. The ice began to shimmer, becoming a misty vapor. Then Ynith waved her hand, and the mist dispersed, like a wraith rising up from the ground.
Then approached Jedda. He could feel them studying him, examining him, as if they were probing after something. He felt invaded, but he prayed they would find something. He was tired of being afraid.
Hrulla and Ynith spoke back and forth between themselves, rapidly and with the kind of ease and familiarity that came from years of partnership. He tried to study their faces, and even looked into their colors. As usual, there wasn’t the flaring of colors like the Chanmyrans had. They were muted or muffled. That was what Cham had said, that it was considered impolite, like speaking loudly. He wondered if he was screaming in color right now. But the two looked concerned, intent. He didn’t sense anger or rejection in them.
Should he tell them everything and beg for help? Would they see that as a weakness, a flaw? Not knowing what to do, he just stood there and waited.
Finally, they turned to speak to him directly. “This,” Ynith said, waving her hand to indicate the evaporated wall, “is not the first time?”
Jedda closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not like this, but similar.”
Ynith placed a hand on his shoulder, and turned him towards the healers’ huts, extending her arm, indicating he should walk with her. As he turned, he saw Cham, and Tattia, watching him. Cham nodded slightly, offering him a bit of hope. Jedda half-smiled at him, but he knew Cham was worried and not hiding it well.
They led him up to the cabin, set apart slightly from the rest of the village. As they approached, Ynith called out a few words as she guided Jedda over to a small stone circle. He didn’t know what kind of stone it wa. It reminded him of Breshan’s soft blue glow through the mist. She led him along the outer edge. The stones were rough cut, but very neat, edges soft, as though they had been worn down over time. The insides of each stone were polished, and it felt like he could look into the stone through those shiny clear surfaces. Between some of the stones were wooden posts. The wood was a dark violet with strong grains running through it, which reminded him of rich plum wine.
Ynith paused before entering the circle. Jedda felt a light pressure on his shoulder, restraining him. “The circle is protection,” she said, “from the living and the dead.”
Jedda wasn’t sure if she meant the circle was protection from the dead, or that the living and the dead gave their protection. He nodded. Either way, he was willing to follow. He knew nothing about spirits or the dead, but he was pretty sure his lack of knowledge about his own magic might just get him killed, or hurt someone around him. Hroa came up behind him, making him jump. He almost swore, but clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself. Ynith smiled gently. He liked this woman, felt safe with her, as though she could fix whatever was wrong. She led him into the circle and Hroa followed. They were soon joined by four others.
Jedda looked around, trying to place the Faenyr in his memory. He saw Azal and Nispin, and a few faces he recognized from Ynith’s family lodge, but he didn’t have names for many of them. He tried to follow the discussion, but most of it was in Faenyr so he only caught a few words here and there.
Ynith spoke the most. Jedda suspected it was because her grasp of Chanem was the most proficient. Someone handed him a hot cup of tea, which he took, nodding his thanks. He held it, feeling the warmth creep into his hands. He hadn’t realized they were cold. He raised a hand to touch his hair, it felt stiff, chilled, like frost. He clutched the cup between his hands, and sipped it, sniffing at the steam rising up. It smelled sweet, like vanilla.
Everyone settled down, seated within the circle. No one was in a hurry to speak. Were they waiting for him to say something? He sat, and sipped at his tea. When it was empty, he set the cup down in front of him.
Niskin set his cup down also. “Most children learn magic and control when they are young. The Faenyr grow with awareness, from coming into the world. Sometimes it is, that magic wakens later. But rarely so late as now.” He dipped his chin towards Jedda. Everyone else nodded in agreement.
Ynith spoke next. “Magic has come, unbidden, or because of need. Rare it is that there is magic, without first the awareness.”
Heads nodded all around the circle.
“It is essential to be a child, before touching magic.”
They reverted to speaking Faenyr amongst themselves, which bothered Jedda even more. He knew they were talking about him, but had no way to know what they were saying. He was pretty sure they weren’t throwing him out, though, and knew he should be grateful for that.
“It has been decided,” Ynith said, turning back to Jedda.
“What?” he asked, a little too sharply. “What has been decid
ed?”
“You will learn, how to say, to be a child?”
Jedda felt himself scowling, and realized to them, with their longer life-spans, he was a child. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and exhaled. “What does that mean? I don’t understand.”
His words seemed to make them uncomfortable. Their expressions reminded him of the look Kai had, out on the plains. “To learn what child knows,” Ynith said. “Like Zria."
Jedda looked at her, confused. They weren’t calling him a child, or childish. It seemed they thought he needed to learn something that their children grew up learning. Something had been decided. He knew more was going on, more was being said, than they were telling him. He could tell by the way they looked at him, especially when they didn’t think he was watching. But he had no one to ask and no way to find out.
So they began to teach him. The next morning, Ynith came to him after breakfast, and, with just a flick of her hand, indicated he was to follow her. She led him just outside of the village, beyond sight and sounds, but close enough that he felt comfortable, and not like the forest would swallow him up.
“Sit,” she said, pointing at the trunk of a towering tree.
Jedda wuffled slightly, but shrugged and went over to sit under the tree. Ynith flicked both her hands, indicating Jedda should sit back. She kept doing that until he was leaning against the tree trunk. Then she nodded, satisfied.
“Meet the tree,” she said. And with that, she turned and walked several feet away.
Jedda wondered what in the nine hells that was all about. How was he supposed to meet a tree? An overwhelming feeling washed over him. How was he supposed to learn from her when he didn’t even understand her instructions?
Ynith smiled at him, patiently waiting. Jedda had a sudden memory from Tatak Rhe when his magic first woke up. Cham had shown him how to sense the grass. Simple things. Jedda nodded to himself.
He looked back at the tree again. He wondered if it was going to do anything. But it was just a tree, branches swaying gently in the breeze, that was all.
He studied the bark, deep gray with a dark purple tint, almost like a sheen. Looked at the leaves, deep green with dark veins. Finally, he gave up and sat back down. Ran his fingers through the grass and dirt. Nothing special here. Glanced around at the trees and stones. He tilted his head back to gaze up at the patches of blue sky between the branches.
A sensation of warm energy or awareness spread across his back. The tree felt like a tiny creature that had crept up, curious, and was sniffing at him. When he turned his attention to it, he felt it shrink away. It became a kind of a game. It took a while before Jedda figured out how to pay attention without paying attention. Then he felt its presence come close to him. It didn't do anything, it was just… there.
After a while, Jedda began to relax. It was as if he were resting on a soft bed, and he found himself sinking into the feeling. The steady beat of his heart moved into a slower rhythm, the rise and fall of his breath deepening to match.. Damp earth below. Cool stone. And then he was rising, growing taller and stronger, reaching for the sunlight, feeling the cool breeze, hearing the song of the birds. He drank in all of the sensations, letting them wash over him.
Then something jolted, and Jedda was once more sitting on the ground with his back against the tree. The light was dim. He looked up through the branches and saw the sun getting low on the horizon. Most of the day had gone by.
He reached out with the corner of his awareness and felt the curious spot where the tree was watching him. He smiled at it, felt it respond. He had to go, felt it shift when he thought that. He realized this was what his lesson had been. He had met the tree. He smiled to himself, feeling proud, as he returned to the village. That was pretty easy, he thought, his confidence returning. When he got back, he found a plate of covered food left for him by his door. By the time he'd finished with it he was almost falling over with exhaustion.
The next day, Ynith led him back out, this time to a different tree. Jedda realized the first tree had been simple, like a teacher. This one was nowhere near as easy to find. It took four days, but eventually he found the little flicker that was the tree. He focused his attention on it and it immediately vanished.
Jedda took a breath and relaxed, felt it return. Instead of focusing on it, this time Jedda thought about sunshine and rain. The tree was paying attention to him, but he felt it withdraw as soon as he shifted his focus. The tree reminded him of the first time he met Diya face-to-face; how nervous he had been, and how he wanted nothing more than to stare at her--unless she glanced his way. Distracted, he drifted in his memories for a moment, remembering the pond back in Tatak Rhe with the swans and the brightly colored fish, that first conversation with Diya. She had asked him if he liked the swans, told him how they mate for life. He ached, remembering. Would he ever see Diya again? Jedda felt the tree move closer, curious now that it was being ignored. It was almost being nosey now. Jedda smiled at the tree, even though he felt sad.
This process went on for many days, Each time with a new tree. The others became easier as he developed a feel. But each one, each time, it was different. Trees were like people, he realized.
Then, when he thought he had finally mastered this game of meeting the trees, Ynith changed the rules. She led him back to the first tree.
“Learn what is around here.”
“Easy,” he said, getting up.
She raised her hand, stopping him.
“You want me to learn what is around this tree, but you won’t let me get up?”
She nodded and turned and left.
He sat back against the tree, the way Cham had shown him when they were in the private gardens in Tatak Rhe. Jedda reached out with his senses, starting with the rough bark against his back. He thought for a moment. How best to discover what was around him? He tentatively reached down, letting his magic slide along the roots of the tree. He tried to feel beyond the roots, but fumbled, and felt his awareness shift back into his own body. He grunted, and tried again, with the same result.
Ynith came up to him, sat cross-legged on the ground.
“It is not possible to learn about magic. No more than learning about breathing,” she added. “No one teaches to breathe. This is difficult to know how to teach. Faenyr grow up knowing. Also, being told is not the same as finding. It is better to find through one’s own magic, not by doing what is said. You understand this?”
Jedda nodded.
“Magic. Everywhere,” she said, waving her hand around her. “Like air, water, fire. Beneath everything is the weaving of magic. Connects everything.”
Jedda nodded again because he didn’t know what else to do or say.
“Trees. Teachers. Teach the energy inside you how to be grounded and centered. Needing that to be safe. Safe for others also.”
Jedda wasn’t sure what she meant.
“Teach patience,” she explained as though she had read his mind. “Also,” she added, “changing the colors flowing around you. Not so…” She made chopping motions with her hands. “More…” Her hands flowed smooth and gentle. "Trees? Change your chenwa. Patience and practice.”
That word again. She wanted him to change his colors? But having said what she intended, she rose and left him to continue his practice.
Eventually, he got something, a sense of the tree next to him. He and the tree were kind of merged, as he was learning how to share the tree's senses and awareness. Several days later, he felt a kind of map, could sense where a vein of water ran underground, and a stream not too far away.
And again, Ynith led him to a new place the next day. Jedda wondered how she knew when he had accomplished something, since she never asked how he did or what he learned. These lessons were disconcerting. He was used to learning by asking questions, by looking things up, or even by trying things. But he always got feedback on what he learned or thought. How was he going to know when he was done?
As Jedda began to find his w
ay around the trees and the forest, he spent less time sitting in the woods. He took advantage of the time to wander around the city, carve, and spend time with the horses.
One morning, he went to meet Ynith, prepared to move deeper into the woods. Instead, Zria was with her, looking excited.
“Trees?” Jedda asked.
Ynith shook her head. “Not today. Today learn polarity.”
Jedda looked around, but it was just the three of them. “There aren’t enough people.”
Ynith looked at him, confused.
Zria spoke up, tugging gently at Ynith’s sleeve. “Ama-- is meaning the chanem game.
Ama.”
Was Ynith Zria’s mother? Jedda wasn’t sure. He had heard Ama and Adda when used to address parents, but it might have just meant relatives. Translation was a tricky thing.
Cham came up on his other side.
“They just said something about teaching me polarity, which makes no sense. The Faenyr play polarity? I haven’t seen anyone playing since we got here,” Jedda said. "Oh,” he added, dropping his voice to a whisper, “also, is Ynith Zria’s mother?’”
Cham shook his head and blinked at Jedda’s questions. He looked at Zria, then back to Jedda. “Yes, to Zria and Ynith.” Cham paused, switching to Faenyr. Jedda heard Ama, and guessed the conversation. So, that explained why Zria was always around, even though he thought Ynith might be old for a child as young as Zria. He imagined Zria also reported back anything to Ynith.
“I’ve never played polarity. I watched Trey play, but that’s it.” Jedda noticed a tiny grimace out of the corner of his eye. “And what is it with the strange looks I keep getting? It’s really starting to bug me.”
“This might be a good opportunity to explain something. It should have been brought up prior to coming, even. In that regard the fault is not yours,” Cham said. “Among the Faenyr, the individual is not the center of attention. This shows in their speech. It is considered impolite to speak from that point.”