Chapter Six
The moment I heard Wylan’s familiar tread upon the floor in the hallway upstairs, I sprinted across the kitchen to wait at the foot of the stairs. “Will we begin my next lesson today?” I was so eager, the question tumbled out of my mouth the moment I saw his feet on the staircase above me.
Wylan paused on the stairs and sighed wearily before he continued his descent, leaning heavily on his stick as he often did in the mornings. It was still quite early and I had just gotten the kitchen fire lit. It was winter and the room was cold, but the fireplace was large and I had built a roaring blaze so I knew it would warm up quickly. A warm fire generally eased his morning aches and improved his mood.
“Good morrow, Safi. How was your sleep?”
There was no reproach in his face or voice, but a pang of guilt still tightened my gut. The night before, I had promised to assist him in the workshop. The king had been demanding triple the output of enchanted weapons for the past three months and, because I was not ready to take on the work of enchanting yet, we were falling behind in the workload. He did not ask me to help, but I knew his bad leg was paining him and I wanted to save him the burden of fetching and carrying. It was not light work but it was also not too difficult. I often assisted him in the lab while he worked and I had gotten quite good at knowing what materials he needed for which phase of the process without even being asked. In the daytime, I was a quick and attentive assistant. At night, however, I was much less useful. Enchanting requires short bursts of frenzied activity, followed by long periods of silence and stillness so as not to disrupt the concentration of the enchanter. During our normal working day, I had no problem quietly waiting for the next phase of activity to begin. But the warm, candlelit stillness of the workshop at night made my eyelids grow heavy very quickly. I must have nodded off because the next thing I remembered was him shaking me awake and sending me to my room. “I am sorry I fell asleep yesterday evening.”
He waved away the comment. “I was nearly finished by that time anyway, and because of your help, I think we may have finally caught up enough to take a brief respite from enchanting and begin the next phase of your training.” He sat down at the table. “Is there any tea ready yet? I could use a good, strong cup.”
“I just got the fire started, but if you will take a seat, I will do my best to hurry breakfast along.” I turned to get to work. I had learned in my training that all mages were conduits for the forces of elemental magic. We could somehow reach into the ether and draw power into ourselves, then release it to harness control of one of the four elements. There was not much written about fire mage magic in our vast library, so Wylan and I had been working together to discover just what I might be capable of doing. One of the first things we had discovered was that I could produce heat without flame. I placed my hand onto the surface of the water in the cast iron pot and called my power. The familiar tingle brushed the back of my neck and I smiled inwardly as I felt the sensation run down my back and across my shoulders, down my arms and into my hands. Even though I had quickly mastered the art of calling magic and allowing it to flow through me, it had taken me several weeks to work out how to call up just the right amount of magic for the task at hand, and longer still to master efficiently stopping the power flow once it had started. Once I had mastered the ability, I had found that using my magic gave me an almost wicked pleasure.
After the water came to a boil, I stopped the flow of magic and savored the pleasant shivers as the remaining power exited my fingertips. I dipped the tea kettle into the pot of boiling water to fill it, heedless of the water temperature. He had already retrieved two cups from the shelf and dropped in muslin bags filled with strong black tea leaves. I filled the cups with water and handed him a spice stick to stir.
I returned to the large pot and poured in the grain for our porridge. I had mastered many domestic duties since I had moved into the tower, but I was still not much of a cook. Wylan handled supper and dinner most days. I was quite good at breakfast though. I dipped the long wooden spoon into the bubbling porridge and stirred it until it was just the right consistency, then I spooned it into two waiting bowls. I placed a large lump of maple sugar on each bowl and sprinkled them with dried summer berries. I set the bowl in front of him and he gazed into it, watching the sugar melt over the surface of the cereal. “It is a masterpiece as usual, Safi.” We ate in companionable silence, as was our custom.
I waited patiently until he had had four cups of tea and three bowls of porridge before I broached the subject again. “Do you think you truly will have time to continue my training this morning? I am eager to advance. When can we begin?”
“Thank you for a delicious meal. And yes, you are right. Today we must begin the next phase of your magic training.” He had barely finished his sentence when there was a nearly silent knock on the door. Wylan raised his voice so it could be heard by the person outside. “A moment, please.” I could visualize whoever was on the other side of the door cursing silently. A knock that timid could only come from someone who really did not want to speak to the people within. Wylan rose to his feet to get the door and I cleared away the breakfast dishes. I covered the remaining cereal with the heavy lid and took it off the fire to save for later because Wylan often used it when he prepared our midday meal.
I listened to the thunderous hoofbeats of the horse of our retreating messenger. He clearly could not wait to get away from us. As Wylan had told me when I arrived, that sort of thing happened a lot and I did not take it personally. Power made some people nervous and we had power. Wylan frowned, “The name on the front is mine, but the message is for you.”
I was washing the breakfast bowls and cups in our wooden basin and my hands were wet. “What does it say?” I asked.
“It seems you are summoned to the training grounds to give a demonstration of your swordsmanship skill for King Naser himself. All the young trainees have been invited.” The king offered sword training to the sons of all the families who lived and worked in the castle. It was strictly voluntary, but most of the boys attended eagerly. For me it had been mandatory. The king had required that I hone my sword skills as a condition of my apprenticeship.
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Why ever would he want to watch that?”
Wylan raised an eyebrow at me, “I am sure what he really wants to do is get a good look at you and assess your progress towards combat readiness.”
I shrugged. “If he wants to watch Jabari and me pretend to hit each other with sticks, he is the monarch and that is his right, but I hope that he is prepared for disappointment.” I was terrible at swordplay. I had memorized all the moves, but I was slow and graceless. Jabari was my sparring partner and he had become my best friend. He was only slightly better than I was. He was a tall, stocky youth, but he had gained most of his height in the space of a summer and he was awkward, still getting used to his longer limbs. Like me, Jabari was virtually friendless. Other boys teased him because of his stutter. Many people thought he was simple because he took so long to express himself, but I knew better. He had a brilliant mind and a love of books almost as great as my own. If the world had been different, if I had not been born a mage, I might have wished to be courted by Jabari. As it was though I was just pleased to have made a friend.
I stalked to the corner to get my sword and shield. “There is no need to prepare for mock battle just yet. You have some time before your appointment with the king. We will be able to begin this next phase of magical training.” I was relieved. The only reason I enjoyed combat training was that it allowed me to spend time with my friend. I knew I would never be a proficient swordswoman, but I loved learning the limits of my power as a mage and I was getting really good at wielding magic.
Wylan picked up a bag of sand that had been sitting on the bench against a wall in our kitchen for a week or more. He carried it out the door and beckoned for me to follow. We walked to a bare earth clearing that we used as our training ground. He bent and us
ed his power to open up a hole in the earth that was about the size of one of Uma’s flower pots. He filled it to the top with sand. “I got this sand and ash mixture from the glassblower's workshop and I would like you to melt it into glass. It will take a considerable amount of power to do this as I am sure you are aware.”
I threw open that part of my mind which allowed the power to flow into me and drew in as much magic as I could hold. I drew it in until my very being was full and then opened up the flow to release it into the sand filled hole. Flame tickled my hands as if a feather was being drawn across my palms and down my fingers. I could not feel the temperature of the flame, but I knew it was intense by the blazing white color. The sand began to glow red the red granules soon formed themselves into smooth yellow liquid about the consistency of our breakfast porridge. Before I had begun my training, power had come in violent outbursts, from shameful accidents. This was different. I was in control of the heat and the intensity and the mastery was freeing. I pushed even harder, intensifying the heat from white to nearly invisible and nearly threw my head back to cry out with joy. Wylan’s voice interrupted my display. “I think that is enough, Safi.” I stopped the flames and waited for the familiar tingle of pleasure. It did not come. Instead I suddenly felt tired and I had a mild headache.
He looked at my face and nodded. “It has been some time since you have felt that much power, has it not?”
I massaged my temples, “I do not think I have ever used that much magic before. I do not like the way it feels.”
“Before you learned control, you regularly carried that much power around inside you with no way to control it. This is why you had such frequent accidents. Now that you have control, you can use it to do extraordinary things.” The molten glass was still glowing dull orange. It was much too hot to handle. Wylan waved his hand and pushed away the surrounding dirt to reveal a hardening glass globe. The surface of the globe was covered in sandy soil, but the red orange glow of the cooling glass was visible just beneath the surface. “Wielding large amounts of magic will always come at a price. What you are feeling right now is the sickness of excess.” He handed me a flask of water. “Here, drink this, you will feel better in a moment.”
He walked into our wood shed and returned with a pile of twigs. “Now it is time for us to revisit the idea of harnessing much smaller amounts of magic. It is a skill which is difficult to master and essential to your mastery of your craft.” The first time I had met Wylan, I had melted half a candle in an attempt to light the wick. I had tried again several times since and had never been able to master the seemingly simple task. He picked up a long, thin stick from the pile and held it out at arm’s length. “I want you to try to call the smallest amount of magic you can muster and light the end of this stick.”
I was still feeling the effects of the glass making, so I was not sure I even wanted to try. Still, I knew the value of Wylan’s teaching and I was honored that he put so much trust in my ability to control my flame. I thought about opening up just a pinhole stream of magic and just allowing in the barest amount to light the end of the thin twig, the smallest pathway I could manage was still much too large. There was too much power inside me.
I hung my head in defeat. “I am sorry, Wylan. I cannot do this. I am afraid I will scorch your hand if I try.”
Amusement lit his eyes, “My hand and I are glad to see you still have your common sense.” He beckoned to me. “You are standing much too far away. Small magic must be done up close.” I walked up to him as he bent and waved a hand to loosen a small patch of packed earth, then he pushed the stick into the ground and stood back a bit, but not as much as I would have liked. I moved forward and lifted the hem of my red robe so I could squat next to the stick. I could still feel the tingle of the power I had called. He continued speaking. “Now, I do not know if it is the same for fire mages, but for earth mages there is a certain sensation involved with calling power.” His tan cheeks had turned pink. I had learned they did that when he discussed a subject that made him uncomfortable or angry. It was a useful indicator since he rarely showed emotion in other ways.
I knew the pleasure I felt when I used my power, but it was impossible for me to imagine that my quiet, stoic mentor might be feeling a similar rush. I decided it was best for my peace of mind and his not to inquire any further. “I am able to feel it when I call the power to me.”
He nodded, and looked a little relieved that he would not have to describe the feeling any further. “Some mages, like my old master Napu, are masters of small magic. I am not and I suspect neither are you.” He picked up another stick and loosened another tiny spot in the earth. “I cannot summon the right amount of power to loosen this patch of earth. I am like you. I always call too much power into me for small tasks. The trick is to learn to control the release. You can channel the leftover magic in other, more subtle ways. I will talk about that later. Right now I can sense the power reserve in you. What I want you to do is release that power in small bursts. Light the ends of each of these twigs one at a time.” He quickly loosened ten more tiny patches of earth and stuck small sticks in them.
I concentrated on the stick in front of me. A few months ago, the task of stopping the flow of magic while power still existed in me would have been like trying to stop the flow of a river with my bare hands. It would have been an impossible task. Now I had practiced and I had learned a great deal more about control. Stopping was still not a simple task. It was more like plugging a leak in a hole at the bottom of a barrel. It was not easy, but it was definitely possible. I took aim at the stick, pointing at it with just my index finger. Slowly and carefully, I opened up a channel, concentrating on sending the flow just where I wanted it. A blast of flame as long as a child’s forearm shot out of the end of my finger. It engulfed the end of the stick and lit it handily. I focused on closing off the channel, breathing deeply and allowing my mind to stop it, just as I had learned to do. The flow of energy responded nearly immediately, but I was left feeling hot and frustrated because there was too much unspent magic still within me. Wylan pointed at the remaining sticks he had driven into the ground. “Keep lighting, work on your control. I want to see just the barest of flames from the tip of your finger. Work until you have emptied the magic within you. Learn to feel just how little it takes to light the stick.”
He walked away and left me, trusting me to do as I was told while he continued the true work of the royal mage up in the workshop. I worked, lighting each stick and as the wind blew them out, I went around to the beginning and lit them again. The exercise quickly became tedious, but I knew that was part of the learning process. As sticks dwindled in size, I replaced them. I worked until my back ached with stooping to light them, but finally, I reduced the size of my flame to the length and width of my finger. Finally Wylan returned. He picked up a stick and held it out at arm’s length. “Now, light the end of this twig.”
This time I knew that I would not hurt him. I quickly and confidently lit the flame. He nodded his approval. He was not given to gushing praise and I did not expect it. I still felt pleased that he noticed my progress. There was still unspent power left in me that I knew I would need to release, but I ignored it for the moment. Standing so close to him, I suddenly became keenly aware of the heat coming off of his body. It was a strange sensation, being able to sense him in this way. The temperature was slightly off. I suddenly became aware of the weather. It was early winter and Wylan never wore a cloak over his robes. “You are cold.” The words were out of my mouth almost before I realized I had uttered them.
“It is winter. Everyone is cold.” He flexed the fingers on the hand that was not holding his staff.
I was not cold. I was never cold, but I thought it might be impolite to mention it. “I mean I can sense the temperature of your body and I know that it is cooler than it should be. I have never done that before.”
He thought for a moment. “But I think you have. Do you recall our journey from your home when we wer
e attacked by highwaymen? You knew there was a fire and you knew there were men. You sensed it even before I did. I sense people through their contact with the earth. It seems you do it through their body heat. Ultimately I think your skill will prove to be much more useful.”
He shivered slightly. “That being said, it is quite cold up in the workshop and I would be glad of some warmth. If you have magic left, and even if you do not, please light a fire upstairs, then I need you back in the library to continue your research on humors of the body until it is time to leave for the castle.” I did not need to be told twice. I quickly set about my tasks so that I could get to my favorite room in the tower and get lost in the words until the afternoon.
Chapter Seven
Wylan was in the garden chopping wood as I walked over the rise on the road back to the tower. He looked up and frowned as we approached. “Why are you back so early?” I wordlessly handed him the note from swordmaster Manu. He kept his eyes on mine as he took the folded paper. He blinked slowly, then looked down at the note. When he had finished reading, Wylan folded the note and bent to throw the split logs he had just chopped onto the pile, then he sat down on the large tree stump he used as a chopping block. “It seems the Lord Mayor of Fadaria is quite upset that his son was badly burned in a fight with you this afternoon.”
I snorted, “Master Manu says he has seen babes get worse burns from their morning porridge and not cry as loud as Chicha. He was just angry that his horrible prank did not go as planned.”
Wylan took a deep breath, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience he had. “Alright, can you please explain to me exactly what happened. Make sure you are very clear around the points where you deliberately defied the rule against using your powers in combat class.” His cheeks had not gone fully pink yet, but they were close.
Through The Fire: The Alawansi Book One Page 7