by Ethan Spears
Mergau ran the soap over her body, watching the suds drift away with the current. She dug it hard into her arms and legs knowing they would be especially filthy from their constant exposure to the elements. Her feet she saved for last, washing them so thoroughly that large batches of dead skin were scrubbed right off.
When she felt clean, she scraped her nails across her flesh and gave them a look, finding them clean. She couldn’t remember the last time she could do that without coming away with nails full of thick, pinkish residue.
She took a moment to admire her arms. Ezma’s regimen burned away most of the fat and replaced it with compact muscle. She had also developed a deeper tan, turning her olive skin an even darker shade of green. While she had always been active outside, it was never for such extended periods and rarely, when possible, without shade.
After several minutes of simply enjoying the cool waters and the warm sun, Ezma sank into the water beside her. Mergau had not seen her nude before.
“Why are you so thin, mistress?” Mergau asked, her Krik substantially improved over the months. “Shouldn’t you be strong like me?”
“I’m a seer first, a mage second,” Ezma said. She leaned back in the water, sighing deeply, looking more genial and relaxed than Mergau had yet seen her. “A seer’s power is of the mind, not the body. So long as a seer keeps a sharp mind, they can have a thin body like mine and still be unmatched in mental combat.”
“’Mental combat’? What does that mean?”
“More lessons? Even in the bath? Not that I mind,” Ezma chuckled. “It’s difficult to put into words. It’s pure power, contained only within the heads of the two seers battling. No one else can see the conflict, but it can be devastating if an unprotected mind is exposed to the battle. There is a tale of two great human seers driving a whole town to insanity during a duel.”
Mergau shifted forward with a splash. “Why always humans? Exercise, clothes, Krik; why always humans, mistress?”
“I suppose I’m used to it.” Ezma met her eyes. “Many mages are of the helpful, disciplined sort, spending their lives bettering the world around them, forming guilds and societies devoted to sharing and expanding their knowledge. I’ve seen many of these, even joined a few, and without fail the majority of the membership are human.”
“Orcs and humans together? That is crazy.”
“It may not be possible for you to understand yet. Not many seek only revenge, like you. Some work for the greater good, affecting things far beyond their home. For many, they understand that the best way to improve the world for themselves is improving the world for everyone. When humans do better, elves do better, and when you improve the lot of the orcs, the effect fans out to all peoples on the planet. Giving cooperation precedence over your own selfish goals will do you more good than accomplishing those selfish goals would.”
When Ezma spoke for that long, Mergau still got lost in the tidal wave of words. That is when she concentrated the most on what her teacher was saying. Despite grasping only half of Ezma’s meaning, Mergau latched onto one idea, one that made her shake her head. “The elves doing better will make the orcs do worse. This is a fact.”
Ezma shook her head right back at Mergau. “If you teach them both to cooperate, then both groups will do better, won’t they? You see, if all the elves died tomorrow, the orcs wouldn’t have elves hunting them, but what of the other races? The dwarves and the humans and the halflings? They would still hunt orcs. Would you kill them all so there are only orcs and lose all their knowledge, skills, and art? What if instead you can teach the elves and orcs to cooperate? If the elves work with the orcs, won’t the other races as well? Could they then not share all their secrets with the orcs?”
Mergau laughed bitterly. “You think too much of elves. They are animals who kill orcs for fun. What would they share with us but…?” Failing to remember the words, she mimed a bow and arrow.
Ezma leaned back again and closed her eyes. “I told you it might not be possible for you to understand. You’re still a selfish and impudent girl. You’ll learn someday. You will learn to serve the bigger picture.”
They sat some time in silence, the bubbling of the stream the only conversation to be heard. Mergau found herself nodding off when Ezma stood.
“Let us head back,” she said, putting her robe over her body without bothering to dry off first. “I think we’re ready to begin with some basic magic tomorrow. Are you ready for that?”
Mergau nearly leaped from the stream. “Of course I am, mistress!”
Ezma grinned savagely. “No doubt you would say that. We’ll know whether it’s true or not tomorrow.”
***
It was not true.
The magical and physical training were different in many ways but fundamentally the same: a strict, grueling regimen, but made worse once combined. Mergau thought she was getting used to the push-ups, sit-ups, and long runs, but adding in the mental exhaustion of spellwork left her incoherent by the end of the day.
Mergau was convinced before they started that Ezma would be an excellent teacher, but apparently magic wasn’t something you drew in the dirt and instructed someone to follow.
“Control your body,” Ezma said, placing a hand here and there on Mergau to push her body into a position she called ‘relaxed,’ but which made Mergau far more uncomfortable. “This position will focus your energy in your arms,” she continued. “It is the beginner’s stance, meant to reduce the magical flow in your body, making your magic weaker but easier to control.”
Mergau nodded. She stood with her legs far apart, her knees bent slightly, her butt thrust backward, feeling more like an animal trying to relieve itself than a mage. She held her arms out in front of her at a crooked angle, fingers splayed, the thumb and index finger of each hand almost touching, forming a triangle between them.
“The circle,” Ezma explained, “is the basis for all magic. It allows power to flow and double upon itself, concentrating it. The body isn’t round, however, nor is it an ideal container for magic.” She made her index finger and thumb into a ring. “This is the best it can do. Thus, magical runes are round, spells are ‘round,’ but your focus will be triangular. Understand?”
Mergau shook her head no.
“That’s fine. Honesty is as necessary for progress as understanding.”
“Would not fat be better? A round body?”
“Excellent question. Yes and no. The roundness of the body would empower a spell a bit, but fat does not conduct magic nearly as well as muscle, nor muscle as well as wood or stone. A fat mage and a fit mage locked in combat with otherwise equal power and skill will see the fit mage win every time, bar some bizarre happenstance. The same can be said of a mage with a better focus, such as a staff.
“The triangle,” she continued, tracing Mergau’s fingers, “will naturally draw your power to it. This stance is ugly, angular; your magic wishes to flow, but the angles make it difficult, so it moves to the triangle where it can flow more readily, though still poorly. It wishes to flow, but also to escape. Forming a circuit with your fingers will lock it in a pattern. If you can feel that pattern, learn that pattern, then you can control that magic.”
“I do not understand. Can you show me, mistress?”
“Alright. Observe.” Ezma walked a short distance away and faced Mergau. She balled her hand into a fist. “The fist isn’t a perfect circle, but it will do for this demonstration. The magic swirls around inside it. Here, let me show you.” She held her fist up and it began to glow with a soft light, purple and blue. “By focusing on the magic, I can release a portion of its power as it spins, making it appear to you. Do you see it?”
“Yes, mistress,” she said, marveling at the colors.
“I send more magic to my fist.” The light grew brighter, swirling in waves around her hand. “The magic builds upon itself, growing restless. If too much magic builds, it might break free from your control, and that wouldn’t be good for you or those around you.
You must learn the limits of the power you can gather, but that comes later.
“We must make a point for the magic to escape,” she continued, extending her index finger. “Normally, I’d focus on where I want my magic to release, whether my hands or my back teeth or halfway up my calf, but I’m using my finger as a clear and obvious exit: the magic would erupt from my finger as it sought to escape, but I control it, I keep it in my fist. I only need to relax what I will call the ‘magic muscle,’ for lack of a better term, and it will flow out.”
A great crack and bright light erupted from her finger, blinding Mergau. The sound and brightness died just as quickly, and Mergau blinked away the silhouette burned into her eyes. When she could use them again, she saw the results of the spell; a furrow, half Mergau’s height deep and four times as long, was gouged out of the ground, a mist of dirt and sand dancing in the wind above it.
Mergau gaped, astounded that so much could be done with just one finger. Ezma went on.
“As you learn to control your magic, you can make circuits in your body, in your chest and your stomach, not needing to rely on your hands, fingers, and fists. Even bound from head to foot, a master mage can control and direct magic as they see fit. But you will not be at that level for some time.”
“I will reach that level, mistress,” Mergau insisted, her voice laced with excitement.
“You won’t reach it talking and watching demonstrations. Back into the stance.”
Ezma ended the exercises hours later, well before Mergau was able to feel the magic, much less blast a hole in the ground. Mergau wanted to continue, but her inability to stand argued otherwise. “We have time, so have patience. Overexerting yourself can be fatal. For now, eat and sleep.”
Mergau was so weary that she barely tasted her food. It was like her tongue had gone numb. When she lay down, when Ezma wasn’t watching, she put her hands up to form the triangle, and what seemed a moment later it was morning.
She had forgotten what it was like to wake up feeling clean. No longer did her thin blanket stick to her body, visible streaks of filth left behind as she slid out from under it. When she walked, her feet didn’t stick to the rug by the door and pull it with her. When she sat, her thighs no longer made a squelching sound on the little wooden stools. The stench was gone from her body and (by some magic, certainly) the house no longer reeked of her fetid odor. Not having that smell in her nose made her breakfast taste all the better.
Even her exercise was more pleasant. The few remaining folds in her stomach no longer stuck to each other as she did her sit-ups, and somehow her body felt lighter during her push-ups, even when Ezma told her to switch from fists to four fingers. She thought this lightness was all in her head, but when she finished her run, Ezma happily reported that she had shaved a full thirty seconds off her best time. Better yet, her feet were scratched a bit, but no blood had been drawn from her newly hardened soles. She felt more powerful than ever in her life. She exulted over her body as she slid into the river water.
“You look happy with yourself,” Ezma said.
“I feel alive and strong. I feel like I could break a man in two with my hands. It is a good feeling.”
“And do you know why that is?”
“Because of the exercise?” Mergau knew better than to assume this was the right answer.
“No. It’s because your body and mind are coming into resonance. Building strength in either one is good, but now we are building both. When they’re in harmony, they will become both tools and weapons, working together without needing direction from you.”
Mergau thought on that. She struggled to put her thoughts into Krik words. “But I have not made magic. How can my mind be becoming resonanced?”
“Focused.”
“Yes, becoming focused. Should it not be a long way off?”
“Mastery is a long way off, yes, but you have begun down that path. You may not have felt the magic, but it was there in you last night, flowing through you weakly, but there. Your mind knew. Your body knew. You will know it soon as well. When they resonate strongly, you will exude magic as you move, without even trying, and using it will strain you less. Do you understand?”
“What, I think, but not why,” she answered.
“We’ll get to the why. I want you to be able to control your magic, however little, before we begin working on theory. This way, you can practice what you learn.”
“I would like to learn the theory very much.”
“A day ago, you wanted to learn to control your magic, and now that we’re doing that, you want to do something else. Have patience. We’ll learn one step at a time. For now, there’s hard work to be done.”
And Mergau did work hard, but it wasn’t the kind of work she would prefer doing. Running and jumping were obvious work; she knew she was doing something because she felt the burning in her limbs and the air pumping through her lungs. This magical training was not like that. She could squat in the sun or in the hut for hours, feeling nothing at all until Ezma called an end to the day, yet she somehow still felt drained.
Ezma was not making it any easier. The first day, Ezma had instructed her and prodded her into the proper position, helping her remain balanced and focused. Now she was doing the opposite. Sometimes she sat and watched in silence, but not often. Sometimes she would walk around and read aloud from books, and often what she read wasn’t even Krik or Orcish. Sometimes, Mergau thought she was jabbering nonsense. When Mergau tried to ask her what she was reading and why, she was told to keep quiet and focus on her magic.
Other times, Ezma would ask questions that she expected Mergau to answer. She would then tell Mergau whether her answer was right or wrong, but she seemed to choose randomly, regardless of whether she was actually right or wrong. Suspicious, Mergau started answering with purposefully wrong answers, but still occasionally heard a ‘correct.’ Next, she tried answering with complete gibberish, to which Ezma responded by asking utterly gibberish questions, then telling her that her answer was banana. Still other times, Ezma would walk around Mergau, striking her thighs and back at irregular intervals with a long piece of wood, not saying anything. If Mergau reacted to the strikes, she would get a swift smack to the head. She resolved to ignore these interruptions as long as she could.
She made it about halfway through the second day before she finally snapped.
“Would you stop that!” she shouted, falling onto her backside as she tried to turn towards Ezma. She received a smack on the head. “Stop doing that! I cannot concentrate! Why are you doing this?”
“Get back into the stance,” she said, “and tell me what many wheels does a blanket shave?”
“No, stop! Explain to me what is happening! You are making me crazy!”
“So much yelling. Do you need me to hold your hand through this whole thing?”
“No,” Mergau said hotly, then, “I mean, of course I do! This is magic, not… not… I cannot even think of anything! Cooking! It is not cooking! I need you to seriously train me! I cannot do this on my own!”
“Get into your stance.”
“Just tell me why!”
“Why do goblins’ teeth—”
“You…!” Mergau squatted down and pressed her fingers together. “I’m in your damned pose, alright?!” she spat in Orcish, dropping the Krik in her disgust at her inability to express herself. “You want me to make magic? I’ll burn this whole damn hut down along with you, you useless hag!” She focused on her hands so hard that she began to shake with the effort. “Something, come on! Light, fire, a feeling, anything! Let’s go! MAGIC!”
“That will be all for today,” Ezma said lightly, pulling Mergau by the shoulder so she tottered off balance and fell. She handed Mergau a towel. “You’ll want to clean yourself up and get some sleep.”
Mergau was still shaking with anger as she grabbed the towel. She wiped her face and tossed the towel aside, only noticing the redness as it sailed through the air. She felt it trickling down her f
ace and drip off her lip, splashing on her thumb as she raised her hand to staunch the flow. She went to retrieve the towel and pressed it to her face as the blood came rushing out of her nose. She felt light-headed.
“Look what you have done to me!” she cried.
“I did nothing,” said Ezma calmly as she returned to her desk, though she dashed off a note with unusual brusqueness. “You’re the one who lost your head. When working with magic, even if you can’t feel it, losing control can be dangerous. Your loss of control here is making you bleed, but it could’ve been worse. Far, far worse. Sleep, now. We continue tomorrow. And if you threaten my home or call me a hag again, you’d best pray you can find another teacher in this deserted, scholarly wasteland.” She dipped her pen, dashed off a signature, snatched up the parchment, and strode out of the hut, snapping the door shut behind her.
Mergau was too angry to feel ashamed but not enough to feel fear. She couldn’t lose Ezma as her teacher. She had gone through so much to be here. She had nearly starved herself, left her village, given up her clan and family…
I’ve given up my clan and family.
She hadn’t given it any thought before, but it now struck her hard in the chest. She thought of the old elders and little children, the men and women, the priests and craftsman. They weren’t the clan she grew up with, but they took her in when her own was destroyed, and she just tossed them aside like they meant nothing to her. She remembered how she left, how angry Elder Arix had been, and she felt like a child as she realized that it wasn’t just because she was throwing her life away, but because she was throwing away the life they had offered her, too.
And her sister, Jierta? Jierta just wanted her to be safe, to live, to be happy, and Mergau dismissed her, left without even saying goodbye, spat on the hand she was offered. Jierta had been too tired to fight, but she was hurt. Mergau could almost feel Jierta’s pain in her own heart.
And then she was no longer too angry to feel ashamed. The shame rushed on stronger than it had any right to, and with it came sadness, overwhelming and absolute. She felt more alone than when she staggered through those woods with Tana wrapped in her arms, her brother’s blood still fresh on her clothes, and it was too much for her. She cried for her brother, for her nephew, for her sister, and both of her clans. She cried for her foolishness and her anger and her hatred. But mostly she cried for herself and what a pitiful thing she was right now.