by DAVID B. COE
At length he opened his eyes again and stared at his uncle. “I can’t do it,” he admitted with a shake of his head.
Baden grinned. “You will eventually. It just takes time, and you’ve had a big day. You should get some sleep; we’ll have plenty of time to work on this.”
Again Jaryd nodded, and while Baden lay down next to the fire, Jaryd pulled out his sleeping roll and arranged it on the soft ground.
“Sleep well, Jaryd,” Baden offered.
“Thank you, Baden. You, too.”
But Jaryd lay awake for a long time as the questions and musings continued to flow through his head, as persistent as the river that rolled by their camp.
The next several days resembled the first. Baden’s lessons marked their progress along the trail during the day, and Jaryd spent at least some time each evening learning to discipline his mind as Baden had taught him. Often, as they rested along the trail, or at night, as they ate supper, they exchanged stories about their family. Baden told Jaryd about growing up with Bernel or about Jaryd’s grandparents, and Jaryd told Baden about his life with Bernel, Drina, and Royden. And occasionally, as the fire burned down before they retired for the night, Baden would start to sing some of the old ballads in his deep, mellifluous voice, urging Jaryd to join in. Mostly, because they were the songs Baden seemed to like best, they sang of the gods, their voices twining to tell the story of how Arick, the most powerful of the ancient gods, gave to his sons, Lon and Tobyn, a great expanse of land to which the two young gods were to give shape and life as they saw fit. They sang of Leora, the Goddess of Light, whose forest they were in, and whose beauty and capriciousness fueled the bitter rivalry that soon divided the two brothers. And they sang of how this feud between Tobyn and Lon drove Arick, in his fury and frustration, to cleave the world he had given them, and how this act so pained Duclea, their mother, that her crying filled the oceans and swelled the rivers that her sons had carved out of their now separate lands.
On the eighth day after their departure from Accalia, as the trail began to climb steeply away from Leora’s Forest into the Seaside Mountains, the weather broke. The last of the spring rains drifting in from Arick’s Sea passed over the mountains and on toward the Northern Plain. In their wake, the rains left a brilliant indigo sky and a warm spring sun that drew steam from the still-damp forests. But even as spring came to the Goddess’s wood below, coaxing flowers and leaves from the branches of her trees, the path they followed led Baden and Jaryd farther into the cold mountains and the fresh snow left there by the retreating clouds. As the air thinned, their journey grew more difficult and their footing became increasingly treacherous, slowing their progress considerably. Despite the sunshine, the chilling mountain wind scythed through Jaryd’s clothing. His new overshirt offered some relief, but only some, and he found himself eschewing rests along the trail in order to stay in motion and thus stay warm. At night, he huddled by the fire, pulling his clothes tight around him, and even going so far as to wrap himself in a canvas tarp. At the same time he silently cursed Baden, who wore his cloak hooded and closely bundled, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the cold.
Yet, even with the harsh conditions, Jaryd was continually awed by the raw power and spectacular beauty of the mountains. On days when their journey carried them up above the treeline, Jaryd gazed with childlike wonder at the seemingly infinite rows of jagged crests, shrouded in ice and snow, that ran toward the horizon in all directions. When they descended into the lush green valleys that wound among the peaks, he marveled at the vast groves of giant evergreens and the rolling mountain meadows newly covered with a dazzling palette of lupine, aster, paintbrush, and thistle. And, after nearly a fortnight in the Seaside Range, as he and Baden came within sight of the Northern Plain, Jaryd realized that he would miss the mountains after all.
They set up camp that last night in the mountains on a small outcropping that offered a clear westward view. Below them, the plain stretched out like a great sea of grass, dotted with islands of dark, low-growing trees, and carved into three huge sections by a forked, meandering river. The Dhaalismin, Jaryd thought to himself, looking down on the scene.
“We lost some time up here,” Baden commented, moving to stand beside him. “I guess the snow slowed us down. But whatever the reason, we’re going to have to make up some of the distance as we cross the plain and Tobyn’s Wood.”
Jaryd shrugged and allowed himself a grin. “I feel up to it. And, I must say, I’m looking forward to walking on level ground for a while.”
Baden returned the smile. “How would you feel about a home-cooked meal and a night’s sleep in a real bed?” he asked.
“Are you serious?”
“Quite. There’s a small town at the base of this mountain—it’s called Taima—and I know some people there who would gladly lodge us for the night.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It shortens our walk tomorrow more than I’d like,” Baden continued, as much to himself as to Jaryd, “but perhaps it will rejuvenate us for the rest of our trip.”
Jaryd nodded. “I’d welcome a night in a real bed.”
They stood for a while longer, watching the shadows of the mountains fall gradually across the plain as the sun set behind them. At length, Baden suggested that they start dinner, and they set about preparing their meal.
Later that evening, as Baden toyed with the fire, Jaryd attempted once more to focus on his binding exercises, as Baden called them. Over the past few days he had grown increasingly adept at schooling his mind, until he could cease all thought for several minutes at a time. It was a strange sensation when it worked—a sort of waking sleep that he actually found quite relaxing. But on this night, perhaps because of their impending visit to Taima, Jaryd found himself preoccupied with the stories he had heard about renegade mages and trouble within the Order. It was not the first time on their journey that he had thought about these things, although, on the other occasions, he had been reluctant to broach the subject with Baden. On this night, though, it occurred to him that he had a right to ask; that in a sense this, too, was part of his training. He sat without speaking for some time, gathering his courage, until Baden finally noticed that Jaryd was watching him.
“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” the mage inquired mildly, stirring the fire with a long stick.
The Mage-Attend shrugged. “I can’t concentrate.”
“Oh? What’s on your mind?”
“Are the stories true, Baden?” Jaryd asked impulsively by way of reply.
For some time, the Owl-Master said nothing, as he continued to stir the embers. Then he sat back and regarded Jaryd soberly, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight. “I had wondered when this would come up,” he said at length. He took a breath. “If you are asking if there have been unexplained attacks on villages, I’m afraid the answer is yes. If you are asking whether or not mages are responsible . . .” He hesitated, shrugging slightly. “That I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jaryd challenged.
The mage narrowed his eyes, and his lean features appeared to harden. His reply caught the Mage-Attend completely off guard. “Tell me, Jaryd,” he demanded, “what do you know of Amarid?”
Jaryd considered the question for some time before answering. “Well,” he began tentatively, “he was the first and greatest of the mages. He discovered the Mage-Craft. He founded the Order and created the set of laws that governs its members. He started many of the traditions of the Order, like wearing the green cloak and leaving a feather as a token to indicate gifts or service. And,” Jaryd added with a smirk, hoping to ease the tension somewhat, “he lived an impossibly long distance from Accalia.”
Baden nodded and offered a small laugh. “That’s a good place to start.” But then the mage’s eyes narrowed again, and he pressed on in a more serious tone. “And what do you know of Theron?”
Jaryd shivered involuntarily. “Theron was a renegade mage who lived in Amarid’s time,” he
replied in a guarded tone.
“What else?” Baden demanded, the firelight illuminating his face.
Jaryd took a deep breath. “He brought a curse down on the Order. Theron’s Curse.”
“And what is Theron’s Curse?”
Baden’s eyes were locked on Jaryd’s, and Jaryd’s mouth had gone dry. “I’m . . . I’m not totally sure,” he stammered. “It has something to do with what happens to a mage who dies unbound.”
Baden nodded. “Good.”
“Why are you asking me these things?”
“Why did you ask me about the attacks?”
Jaryd hesitated. “Because if I’m going to be a mage, I should understand what’s going on within the Order.”
Baden smiled. “And that’s why I’m asking you about Amarid and Theron. Every mage should know their story, and before I told it to you, I wanted to see how much you already knew.” He looked into the fire. “Did you know that when they first met, they became close friends?”
“Amarid and Theron were friends?” Jaryd asked doubtfully.
Baden nodded. “It might also surprise you to find out that Theron was the first Owl-Master, and that many of their contemporaries believed that he, and not Amarid, was the first Hawk-Mage.”
Jaryd sat silently, trying to digest what Baden had told him. In all the tales he had heard about Amarid and the establishment of the Order, beginning with those his mother had told him when he was a child, he had never heard these things. Amarid was a figure of almost mythic proportions in the history of Tobyn-Ser. He discovered the Mage-Craft; he committed the Order to serving the land. At least this is what Jaryd had learned; certainly, this was what he had taught his students just a few weeks ago. And Theron. Theron haunted the sleep of children throughout the land. He had tried to destroy the Order, and, failing that, he had cast a terrifying curse on all the mages who came after him. The idea that Amarid and Theron could be friends seemed as impossible to fathom as the notion that mages could be responsible for the recent attacks. Which, perhaps, was Baden’s point.
“I tell you these things,” the mage went on after a moment, “so that you might hear Amarid and Theron’s tale with the knowledge that some of your preconceptions are wrong.”
Jaryd started to say something, but Baden held up a hand to silence him. “I realize that you’ve been taught these things since childhood. I don’t mean to find fault with you; I merely wish to remedy a previous distortion of the truth.”
Baden paused briefly to place another piece of wood on the fire. Jaryd shifted his position slightly, and leaned back comfortably against a contoured stone.
“In many ways,” Baden began, his voice taking on the deep, resonant tones Jaryd remembered from that evening in his parents’ kitchen several weeks before, “the legend of Amarid and Theron is, except for the story of Lon and Tobyn, the most important tale in the history of Tobyn-Ser. Their friendship, and its lamentable deterioration, shaped the creation of the Order, and nearly caused its destruction. Indeed, it is a story as dramatic and tragic as any script that Cearbhall himself ever crafted for the stage.
“They met as little more than boys, in what’s now called the Meeting Grove, two hundred leagues south and east of here. Early on, the grove was the site of the annual Gatherings, but after what came later, it was abandoned and forgotten by most. When Amarid and Theron met, both had already bound to their first hawks and had begun to master the use of their powers. For this, they had been exiled from their homes by people who feared sorcery as a wicked art. I should add here,” Baden remarked to Jaryd, breaking the cadence of his story, “that Amarid eventually reconciled with his family and friends; Theron did not. In effect, he remained an exile for the rest of his life.”
The Owl-Master paused, stirring the fire again. “Amarid and Theron sealed their friendship that first day, drawn together by loneliness and shared power, and by their curiosity as to whether there were others in Tobyn-Ser with similar abilities. From the start, both took it for granted that, from that time forward, they would travel together. Amarid, whose Sight was always the stronger of the two, described for Theron an island he had envisioned, where, Amarid believed, lay something of value and importance. From Amarid’s description, Theron guessed that the island was Ceryllon and they agreed that this should be their first destination. They also agreed, given their similar experiences, that, for the time being, they would be unwise to reveal their powers to others.
“They reached Ceryllon during the following summer, after a long and adventure-filled journey. There, they found a cave, and within that cave they found the cerylls, which, they soon discovered, focused and heightened their powers, much the way a lens can be used to concentrate the heat of the sun. They also carried back with them the Summoning Stone, the largest and most powerful of all cerylls. Amarid later altered the stone, pouring his power into it much as a mage today might alter a piece of wood, thus infusing it with a magic that linked the stone to all cerylls throughout Tobyn-Ser.” Baden paused again, shaking his head as if unable to comprehend what the First Mage had done. “I cannot begin to imagine the power such a feat would require. To alter a stone as large as my ceryll would be difficult enough, but something as vast as the Summoning Stone . . .” He left the thought unfinished, shaking his head once more and kneeling to place another log on the fire. Jaryd gazed at the orange, multifaceted crystal that glowed atop the Owl-Master’s staff.
“How is the color of a mage’s ceryll determined?” Jaryd asked.
Baden shrugged. “We don’t really know. The crystals themselves are colorless before they are removed from the cave. Each mage brings to the stone a different color. In a sense, our link to the stone is as unique as our binding to our familiars. A mage can only be bound to one ceryll at a time, and no mage can channel his or her power through another’s stone.”
“Mine will be blue,” Jaryd stated, remembering his vision from a year before as he gazed absently into the fire.
Baden looked at his nephew for a long time, and then nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen this as well. Amarid’s was also blue.”
They sat without speaking for a while before the mage continued with his tale. “Upon their return from Ceryllon, Amarid and Theron resumed their wanderings, but they agreed that the time had come to reveal their powers. When they reached towns and villages they sought out the sick and injured and healed them, they demonstrated their ability to ignite fires and shape wood, and, when they met with hostility and threats, they made it clear that they could also use their powers to defend themselves. At first, many feared them, but their healing talents, and their gentle persistence, allayed most of these apprehensions. In these endeavors, Amarid was somewhat more enthusiastic than Theron. Amarid believed, as do most of us today, that the Mage-Craft is a gift from Leora, one for which we give thanks through our service. For this reason, mages have never received material payment for their services. Theron, however, saw the craft not as a gift, but as a sign of his own superiority, something that set him above the land’s people. As you might expect, he had quite a different vision of the craft’s position in Tobyn-Ser. He came to believe that mages should lead the land and enjoy the privileges and riches that their powers might bring them. But Theron’s views on this matter evolved slowly. In the early years, he cooperated with Amarid, and both of the young mages enjoyed the attention and gratitude they received for their deeds.
“Within a few years,” Baden continued, “Amarid and Theron also began to encounter other hawk-bound mages. At first, while their numbers remained small, these other mages joined Amarid and Theron or journeyed in small groups to Ceryllon to find their crystals. But as their numbers grew, this became less practical, and Amarid and Theron told all the mages they encountered that they would gather each year at Midsummer in the Meeting Grove. This, in effect, marked the beginning of the Order.
“But around this time, Amarid and Theron’s friendship began to sour. Amarid fell in love with another mage, a woman named Dacia, an
d awkwardly, and not without bitterness, he and Theron parted. Amarid and Dacia returned to the region near Riverhaven, Amarid’s home, which was later renamed in his honor, and they served that part of Tobyn-Ser. Other mages settled into more confined areas as well, healing those in nearby towns and becoming parts of the local communities. Theron took longer to settle. And, embittered by what he saw as Amarid’s casual dismissal of their friendship, he became twisted by anger and resentment. He attended the annual Gatherings, but as Amarid began to assume the role of leader of the Order, and to codify his vision of the mages as servers and protectors of the people and the land, Theron’s contempt for this vision festered and grew. He declared that he had as much claim to the leadership of the Order as Amarid, and a sizable group of mages, particularly the younger ones, who were most taken with Theron’s charm, agreed. He also found that he could manipulate the actions of the villagers and townsfolk he encountered, and he used this power to compel them into his service and to acquire wealth.
“Around this time, Theron’s first familiar died, and Theron spent several months unbound. It was a terribly difficult time for him, as it is for all mages. His powers were diminished, and, as the first of his kind to lose a familiar, Theron had no idea whether he would ever bind again, or whether his powers would ever return. And for the first time in his life, he found himself truly alone. He had been exiled by his family long ago; his friendship with Amarid was in shambles; and now, he had lost his hawk, who had been a constant presence in his mind for years. Lonely and bitter, he disappeared into the Emerald Hills, and, for nearly a year, Amarid and the others heard nothing from him.
“No one saw him again until he arrived at the next Gathering carrying an owl on his shoulder. All in the Order, even Amarid, praised Theron for this achievement and named him the first Owl-Master in the Order. The following year, Amarid lost his hawk, and he too bound to an owl. For a short time, Amarid and Theron grew closer once more. But their continuing struggle for control of the Order, and their profoundly different visions of the Order’s role in Tobyn-Ser, soon poisoned their friendship again.