CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  Bernel grinned shyly. “Neither did I. Royden’s been bothering me to try it for some time now.” He shrugged. “This seemed as good a time as any. The sheath is from Jorrin,” he continued, looking at Jaryd. “He sends his thanks for the work you did on his tools, and he wishes you well in your travels.”

  Drina, too, had a gift for him: a new overshirt, woolen and heavy enough for the cold he and Baden would encounter crossing the mountains. Remarkably, it was almost exactly the color of Baden’s cloak. Her pale eyes were wide and damp when she gave it to Jaryd. “I bought the material long ago,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I wasn’t sure when I was going to give it to you, with spring coming, and all. I guess on some level I knew all along what path you’d choose.” She gave a small laugh, although the expression in her eyes remained sad. “Maybe I have a bit of the Sight myself.” After Jaryd opened the gifts, the five of them sat down for his birthday supper. Drina had made Jaryd’s favorite meal, roasted fowl seasoned with shan leaf, as well as honeybread pudding.

  Royden did not give Jaryd his gift until later that night, after their parents and Baden had gone to sleep. Jaryd had climbed into bed and was ready to extinguish his candle when Royden pulled a small bundle from the chest at the foot of his bed.

  “Wait, Jaryd. I have something for you, too.”

  Jaryd sat up as Royden walked over to sit beside him.

  “I couldn’t think of anything to get you, at least nothing that seemed to suit the occasion. And then I remembered that you’ve always admired this.” Royden handed him the bundle, which felt surprisingly light in Jaryd’s hands. Jaryd unwrapped the gift, pulling away layer after layer of paper, until he reached a small box. Within the box lay a carved gold ring Royden had discovered in the crawl space under the smithy when they were children. The ring was heavily worn and dull, but the image of Arick carved into the flattened crown still showed clearly.

  Jaryd looked from the ring to his brother. “Royden,” he said, overwhelmed, “I can’t take this. Thank you. This is an incredible gift. But I can’t take it.” He tried to hand it back to his brother, but Royden shook his head.

  “Jaryd, please. I can’t wear it while I’m working in the smithy anyway. And I’d really like you to take it.” Jaryd started to say something, but Royden cut him off. “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll call it an extended loan. But we’ve always referred to this as my good luck ring, and, right now, I think I’d like you to have it.”

  Jaryd relented and placed the ring on the little finger of his right hand. Then he embraced his brother fiercely. “By the gods, I’m going to miss you,” he said through tears. Royden silently returned the embrace and then went back to his bed and put out his candle. Jaryd blew out the candle by his own bed as well, but he lay awake for a long time, staring out the window into the night and absently playing with the ring.

  The brief farewells spoken the next morning, as the eastern sky was just beginning to brighten, belied the difficulty of the moment for Jaryd. His mother, holding him in a tight embrace by the door of the house, spoke to him, quietly and tearfully, of how proud he had made her and of how much she loved him. Royden, after the emotions of the night before, was jocular and playful as he offered advice on how Jaryd might use his new status as Mage-Attend to an Owl-Master as a ploy to attract young women. And his father, gruff and awkward as always, though not entirely able to mask his sorrow, grasped Jaryd’s shoulder and told him how much they would miss him at the smithy. Then he led Jaryd a few steps away from the others.

  “Don’t let that power you have go to your head!” Bernel warned him with quiet intensity. “It changes people, you know. Don’t let it change you.”

  “I won’t, Papa,” Jaryd assured him. “I promise.”

  Through the sadness and excitement, the fears and expectations, Jaryd tried to listen carefully to each thing they said to him, to remember every word. But only a few hours later, walking behind Baden through a fine, cool mist on a wooded path that curved and looped with the course of the surging Mountsea River, Jaryd could recall little of it. Indeed, of all the words spoken that morning, the ones Jaryd remembered most vividly had not even been directed at him. He had overheard his father speaking with quiet intensity to Baden, before those two had shared an awkward though seemingly heartfelt embrace of their own.

  “It has never been easy between us, Baden,” Bernel had said. “That’s no secret. I still find it hard to forgive Mother and you for being away when Father died.” Baden started to say something, but Bernel stopped him with a raised finger and a shake of his head. “It’s not important anymore. We have our own lives now and it’s time I stopped dwelling on what’s past. Jaryd’s path lies with you. I see that now.” He hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Take care of him, Baden. Please,” Bernel had finally said, his brown eyes fixed earnestly on the tall mage’s face. “For all that he is, and all that you say he will be, he is still our youngest. Keep him well, and may Arick guard you both.”

  Jaryd heard his father’s words over and over within the rhythmic beat of his footsteps as he strode along the path.For all that you say he will be . . . In many ways, he still found it difficult to accept the future that Baden had predicted for him. He did not doubt that the mage would be right about these things. He remembered his own dreamed visions with frightening clarity, and he had perceived the truth in Baden’s words when the Owl-Master had declared that he would be a powerful mage. But despite all that had happened over the past year, he still thought of himself as just Jaryd, son of Bernel and Drina, who would one day become a blacksmith or, perhaps, a teacher. On the day after his eighteenth birthday, walking with an Owl-Master to the Gathering of the Order of Mages and Masters, he felt younger than he had in many years.

  He adjusted his carry sack slightly and, for the fifth or sixth time that day, inwardly thanked Rhys, Nelek, and Gissa for their gift. The sack, made from tough cloth and just enough leather to reinforce the bottom and the shoulder straps, was exceptionally lightweight and comfortable. It had ample room for all that Jaryd might have wished to bring. But, in the end, warned by Baden that their journey would be long and strenuous, and that the mage would offer neither help nor sympathy if he tried to carry too much, Jaryd packed far less than he had expected. He had a sleeping roll and a canvas tarp for shelter, a change of clothes, some dried meat and fruit, a skin for carrying water, a small cooking pot, a length of rope, a flint, and his dagger, which he wore on his belt.

  While packing, Jaryd had realized that Baden carried no satchel at all. When he asked the mage about this, Baden explained that, between his powers, Anla’s hunting prowess, and the hospitality of the towns and villages he visited during his travels, he needed to carry little. His cloak, like the cloaks of all members of the Order, offered protection from harsh or cold weather, but was light enough to be worn year-round. “And,” the mage had added with gentle humor, “when you get a bit older, and a bit tougher, you’ll find that you won’t need a sleeping roll anymore.” Baden did reveal that within the spacious folds of his cloak, he bore a few supplies: rope, a water skin, and a dagger of his own, with a worn hilt of polished aqua stone. And, of course, the Owl-Master carried Anla on one shoulder and, in the opposite hand, the long, carved wooden staff with its glowing crystal.

  Jaryd and Baden walked in silence for much of the morning, stopping occasionally to drink from the cold waters of the Mountsea River or to snack on dried apples and pears. Water from the heavy mist gathered on the swollen buds and emerging flowers of the maples, ashes, and willows that grew beside the river, and fell to the path in large drops. Beside the trail, young, curled green heads of ferns and small, tender blue-velvet leaves of shan peeked out from beneath the leaf litter. Occasionally, squirrels dashed across the path in front of the travelers, and juncos, nuthatches, and titmice descended from higher branches to investigate or scold. And always, the gurgle and splash of the churning river drifted among the trees, a backdrop for the other forest soun
ds.

  After what seemed like several hours, Baden turned off the path and onto a short, narrow spur that led down to the stony bank of the river. There, the mage sat down on a large rock that jutted out into the stream, removed his shoes, and dipped his feet into the torrent. Jaryd watched the Owl-Master’s long frame tense with the initial shock of the cold, and then gradually relax as he wiggled his toes in the water. Baden sat with his eyes closed for several moments before taking a deep breath and looking up at Jaryd, a tired smile on his face.

  “It’s a bit of a jolt, but after a few seconds it feels very nice. I recommend it.”

  Jaryd gave him a skeptical look and then glanced down at the mage’s hands, which still gripped the stone with white, rigid fingers. Baden followed his look and then gave a small laugh. “All right,” he conceded, “maybe it takes more than a few seconds, but we’ve a long way to go today, and your feet will feel better if you soak them awhile.”

  Jaryd nodded. “Actually, my feet do hurt a bit,” he said, removing his pack. “But you should have seen the look on your face when you first put them in.”

  Jaryd dropped his pack to the ground, experiencing a fleeting sensation of weightlessness as he shed the burden and felt the cool air reach his perspiration-soaked back. He pulled off his shoes and, sitting down on the rock next to Baden’s, stuck his sore feet in the river. And immediately jerked them out of the frigid water, gasping.

  “By the gods!”

  Baden looked at him mildly. “And you laughed at the expression onmy face?”

  Jaryd said nothing, concentrating instead on easing his toes back into the stream. Baden pulled some dried meat from a pouch that he carried in his cloak and offered it to Jaryd. For a moment, they sat chewing on the tough, smoky meat and enjoying their rest. After a while, Jaryd glanced around him, noticing that the mage’s owl was gone. “Did Anla go off to hunt?”

  Baden nodded. “Yes. I hope she finds something.” In response to Jaryd’s puzzled look, the mage elaborated. “She’s a bit out of her element here; her species by nature is better suited to open country.”

  “Where did you find her?”

  “On the Northern Plain, near where the Dhaalismin enters Tobyn’s Wood.”

  Jaryd stared into the river, shaking his head slightly, a smile on his lips. “I’ve never even seen the far side of the Seaside Range.”

  “Well, that’s about to change, isn’t it?”

  Jaryd turned back to his uncle and grinned broadly. “I guess so. How long will it take us to reach Amarid?”

  Baden took a few seconds to calculate before responding. “If we make good time, we should be there in about seven weeks, well in time for the start of the Gathering on Midsummer’s Day.”

  “Seven weeks!”

  “It’s a long way from Accalia to Amarid’s home—clear across Tobyn-Ser. I believe it’s close to two hundred leagues. And that includes two mountain ranges.”

  Jaryd stared at the water again. The idea of walking such a distance daunted him. He liked Baden, and was anxious to see more of Tobyn-Ser, but this morning’s walk had been silent and, at times, tedious. He didn’t know how he would endure close to two months of this.

  Baden seemed to read his thoughts. “It’s not too late for you to go back to Accalia,” the mage told him matter-of-factly. “But I was hoping to use this time to begin your training as a Mage-Attend: to teach you of the Mage-Craft, and of the history and traditions of the Order.”

  Jaryd sat for a long time, gazing at the river and absorbing what the Owl-Master had told him. At length, he shook his head. “I don’t want to go back,” he said quietly. “And I want to learn all that you can teach me about the Mage-Craft. I just . . .” He stopped, unsure of where the thought was going.

  “You just didn’t know that becoming a mage would involve so much work.”

  Jaryd looked sharply at Baden, stung by his words.

  “I intended no injury, Jaryd,” the mage reassured him in the same even tone. “Indeed, I harbored similar doubts when I began my apprenticeship. We all want to be Amarid, but we sometimes lose sight of the work he did so long ago on our behalf. I was raised by a mage, and yet, before my apprenticeship, I knew little about the hawks and owls with which I would one day bind. I did know a bit about the traditions and practices of the Order, probably more than you do right now. But that was merely a product of my upbringing, and, even with that advantage, my training was long and challenging. It was also, I assure you, quite rewarding. In many ways, the time spent as Mage-Attend is a reenactment of Amarid’s labors and those of the other early mages. By serving as an apprentice, you honor them and the Order.”

  Jaryd felt his initial anger sluicing away, leaving him somewhat abashed by his awareness that Baden was right: he had expected this to be easy. He knew nothing of birds and was ignorant in the ways of the Order. He had, he realized, just expected to bind with a hawk and immediately know how to be a mage. He chided himself for his foolishness. He also sensed within himself a renewal of the excitement he had felt when he first understood that he might be one of Amarid’s Children, tempered, to be sure, by a clearer appreciation of what this meant, but perhaps stronger for having returned despite this knowledge.

  A few moments later, Anla returned clutching a brown and white mouse in her talons and, alighting on a nearby branch, she began to tear at it with her beak. And for a long time, the three of them—mage, bird, and apprentice—sat and listened to the river, enjoying their rest and a small bit of food.

  Finally, as Anla cleaned her beak on the branch, Jaryd stood and looked at his uncle. “I’m ready to go on when you are.”

  Baden nodded. “Good.”

  Jaryd and the mage put on their shoes and, as Anla flew to Baden’s arm and the mage picked up his staff, Jaryd shouldered his sack.

  “When does my training begin?” Jaryd asked, as they walked back up to the path.

  Baden stopped and turned, a mischievous smirk on his face. “I believe it already has.”

  Jaryd smiled ruefully. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

  “I know.” Baden laughed. “The answer to your question is ‘anytime you want.’ I wasn’t sure this morning if you were ready, having just left your family. But we can start right now if you’d like.”

  Jaryd nodded. “I think I would.”

  Baden smiled again. “Very well,” he said, turning and starting down the trail.

  For the rest of that day, Baden began to teach Jaryd about life as a mage. He pointed out various shrubs and trees, telling Jaryd which could be eaten and which could heal, which wood was best for crafting, and which plants contained valuable oils and dangerous poisons. He taught Jaryd to recognize the reddish stem of hawksbalm, the roots of which mages used to heal the wounds or illnesses of their familiars, and the waxy, white berries of Parnesroot, which could be mashed for use in a healing poultice. And he told Jaryd about the hawks and owls that inhabited the northern portion of Tobyn-Ser, describing their appearances and habits. Jaryd absorbed as much as he could of what Baden told him, tasting, so as to imprint on his memory, those plants that Baden said were edible, and examining closely the others he pointed out. He found it much easier, however, to remember what Baden told him about the hawks and owls. He had always been moved by their grace and power, and he was enthralled with the notion that he would someday bind to one of them. Occasionally, Jaryd steered his lesson one way or another by asking questions, but for the most part Baden allowed the landscape and what they discovered along the way to guide their discussion.

  That first night, after setting up camp and eating supper, Baden had Jaryd work on a mind exercise that, according to the Owl-Master, would help Jaryd communicate with his familiar when the time finally came for his first binding.

  “There’s nothing in your previous life that can prepare you for the connection you’ll feel with your first hawk,” the mage explained. “And there’s nothing I can tell you that can do it justice.” He paused, gently strok
ing Anla’s chin. “Who is your closest friend, Jaryd?”

  “Royden,” Jaryd replied without hesitation.

  Baden nodded. “Yes. I sensed the strength of your bond during our time in Accalia. I would never belittle what the two of you share, but believe me when I tell you that you’ll be far closer to your familiar than you are to your brother. Your bird will become a presence in your mind. Your communication will be thought itself.” Baden shook his head. “It’s impossible to describe adequately. It’s wondrous. And yet it also carries risks. In effect, you’ll be allowing a wild creature to share your thoughts. You must learn to open your mind to the bird, while at the same time maintaining the clarity of your own consciousness. It’s quite difficult at first, even a bit frightening. And, as I said, there’s really no way to prepare you for it. Even these exercises are a poor substitute for the actual experience. But they can be helpful in giving you the mental discipline you’ll need.”

  The mage paused again, placing another branch on the fire before fixing his gaze on Jaryd once more. “We’ll begin simply: I want you to close your eyes and try to empty your mind of all thought.”

  Jaryd laughed. “That’s easy. My students do it all the time.”

  “No, they don’t,” Baden corrected, his expression and tone serious. “Perhaps they daydream, perhaps their minds wander. But I’m talking about something quite different. I want you to empty your mind completely, to have no thoughts at all. It may sound simple, but I doubt very much that you’ll be able to do it, at least at first.”

  Chagrined by the Owl-Master’s tone, Jaryd nodded and then did as he had been told. Or at least tried. As Baden had warned, the exercise turned out to be far more difficult than he had expected. Trying for the first time in his life to think of nothing at all, Jaryd found himself confronted by an endless stream of stray thoughts. What were Royden and his parents doing right now? With what kind of hawk would he eventually bind? What would the Gathering be like? What would it be like to walk clear across Tobyn-Ser? Every noise—every snap of the fire, each call of a distant owl—seemed to reach him, to tug at his mind.