My spirit, my soul, had chosen, somehow, to protect me.
Probably because I could not do it reliably myself.
Wait. I was doing it.
I had done it myself!
I was still doing it for myself.
But flowers and then butterflies?
Why not something else?
Like a halo of radiant light?
Or an aura of fire?
Or a flaming sword and shield?
Anything but butterflies!
I supposed there was a certain truth and an underlying sense of cosmic irony in my djen’gar, no matter how I might feel about it.
I supposed it was only fair that I accept my butterflies, since they had accepted me.
“You will have to thank Raoul for his aid.”
“It is already done.
“The joy you gave him in the thrashing of the duer’dun was thanks enough.
“Your efforts in the days ahead will be even more.”
Adventure
Master Nomba and I stood together on the threshold of his small stone cottage.
Although describing his home as a cottage was not strictly or even loosely correct.
If anything, Master Nomba’s cottage most closely resembled a large, disordered pile of rocks.
They were, however, nice rocks.
For as long as his house had been in the Greensward Valley, Master Nomba’s pile of stones had looked to be a natural feature of the landscape, settling into the land with a gentle ease over time, one small part connected to many.
Over the long years, bits of dirt and debris had accumulated between the rocks. Now, small trees, grasses, and bushes grew from its naturally contoured roof. Solid, sloped walls, held firmly together by magic, were mottled with the irregularity of growing things, curved and twisted as of their own accord, each stone shaped by time, elements, and some distant origination. No two rocks were alike in shape or size, each seeming to have been picked at random and brought together for no discernable purpose. No doors, windows, or chimney were in evidence.
If not for the two of us, a casual passerby might think the place was just a semi-ordered mound of old rocks going to ground.
Which it was.
Even with us standing outside singing its virtues, an outsider would still probably think Master Nomba’s home was just a heap of refuse, or an old barrows.
To anyone who had actually visited and was invited inside, the place was entirely different.
Whereas the outside was a study in disorder, of things as they had been and would be, the interior was sleek, finished, and polished. There was but a single open space within. Walls, floor, and ceiling could be made to become transparent, project imagery, and provide substrates for work, study, or practice.
No furnishings were visible. Instead, the cottage sculpted itself to the users’ needs.
Unlike the other houses in the valley, where magic was readily apparent in various tools, implements, and objects of the place, each intended to make life easier or more enjoyable for the occupant, there was no magic displayed overtly in Master Nomba’s home.
The house itself was magic.
It could be changed to suit his every need.
Just like Master Nomba himself.
“Are you up for an adventure, Maeraeth?”
Adventure?
Why would I want to do that?
I had spells to learn, rituals to master, and theory to understand.
The effort of thinking of adventure was adventure enough.
“No...?”
My voice was weak and questioning.
The surety of my reply, or, rather, the lack thereof, brought a smile to Master Nomba’s venerable features.
“No?” Master Nomba’s white eyebrows rose as the smile on his face lit his eyes.
And my frown deepened.
“No...?” This time my answer was even more hesitant and questioning.
Was there something wrong with my original answer?
Did he need further confirmation?
His clever verbal barbs were disconcerting.
Or my response to his intent, even without verbal barbs, was discomfiting.
At least to me.
“Surely you want to help save the world?
“Or, at a minimum, help make it better?”
I wanted to save my dessert for later after dinner.
Saving the world was something else entirely.
More like a burden.
Whether welcome or not.
And “making it better” was just a simple way of saying one could not hope to actually save the world, that one would accept something less. It was but another way of saying making a difference would suffice, even if it was only a small one.
Which would, at best, be the case if I tried to save the world.
Or helped make it better.
Poor Master Nomba.
He was so brave and honorable, a talent without equal—at least within my limited experience, confined as I was in the Greensward Valley—but he was stuck with me as his apprentice.
I was someone who considered drinking hot tea to be an adventure.
After all, the risk of a burnt tongue or scalded lips was quite high if not properly handled.
My definition of bravery was getting up in the morning in a world where humankind was nearing extinction, not seeking more danger. Was not living in such a place brave enough?
My idea of an epic quest was going outside, sitting on Master Nomba’s threshold and looking out into the distance past the shield protecting our valley and into the wastelands beyond. I could see the dangers there and imagine more. I did not need to go after them.
I was the opposite of what Master Nomba needed in an apprentice, but, for whatever reason, he had chosen me.
Probably because there was no one else.
Instead of expressing chastisement or disappointment, Master Nomba finally replied, “That’s a good lad, always thinking of contingencies, of the odds against us.
“When you work out how to go, we’ll be in good hands, safe and secure.”
If Master Nomba believed in me enough to think that I could help make his desires possible, then perhaps I ought to believe as well.
And so I did.
Or at least I tried.
Djen’lum
Luecaeus surveyed the valley.
The mua’di was a turbulent froth, churned and agitated by the fell duer’dun, one of the vilest of the juel’dara, for they represented a perversion of what once had been holy.
Long years would go by before the corruption of their manifestation would fully pass. The presence of the el’amin would aid in this cleansing.
Although many of his brethren were lost and his viewing had been disturbed, Raoul would now have a new scene to survey.
Raoul’s stewardship would ensure that any future disturbance would not last long.
The guraem at his side was resourceful. He underestimated himself. Though the guraem believed his mind was fragile, his spirit, his longruen, was strong, and the patterns of his dyunda were clear. His soul shards, his flitting djen’gar, had acquitted themselves admirably in the battle against the juel’dara.
Could the guraem be a djen’lum, a soul dancer? The djen’lum were almost as rare as the djen’toth.
Regardless, the guraem had much to be proud of and to believe in.
Such faith would come in time.
Luecaeus would do his best to grant it.
El’amin
I was in shock.
Even my memories of home did little to comfort me.
A mountain had just blown up right above us, while the souls of the damned tried to kill us.
If not for good fortune, and the protection of demon-hating elementals, I would be dead.
My life was hanging by a thread, one that was tattered and worn, a lifeline that was being actively cut in two by droves of saw-wielding demons while I hung from this failing strand by my fingertips with m
ore infernals pulling me down.
But still I held on.
Despite my own weaknesses, and the near miss I had just experienced, I was not yet ready to give in.
What I needed was a change of scenery, a distraction.
So I said the first thing that popped into my mind, though I knew much about the subject already.
“What can you tell me of your kind, Lucius?”
Lucius, ever graceful, even after fighting the souls of the damned and losing friends in the battle, was kind enough to answer. “Where there is life, where there is mua’di, there are elemental spirits.
“We arise from life, from the living land, to protect it, to keep it, and ensure its future.
“We are the land’s heart, its soul, and its conscience.”
The Little Book of Knowledge could not have said it any better.
Lucius was a tiny miracle.
That I was still alive was another.
And, once again, it was thanks to him.
A Look Inward
“Will the rest of the trip be like this?”
We had not yet left the valley of the el’amin, and I was not exactly feeling inclined to, either.
“If we are lucky.”
What?
If we are lucky?
What was lucky about being attacked by the souls of the damned and losing friends to marauding demons?
“What, exactly, is fortunate about our trip thus far?”
I could feel Lucius’s attention on me build. His focus was like the weight of crushing rocks, the precursor of an avalanche.
“We are still alive.”
He did have a good point there.
He usually did.
In contrast, I usually did not.
I needed to reverse this trend, at least for myself.
I still wanted Lucius to keep his good points.
We needed all the points we could get.
Before I could open my mouth and push my foot in farther, he added, “And we have discovered that you are most likely a djen’lum.”
We had?
A djen’lum?
A soul dancer?
Me?
I could not dance.
And my soul certainly did not frolic.
It usually cowered.
Or pined after other things.
Generally things it could not have.
Like security.
And comfort.
And lost friends.
And a world with absolutely no demons.
Anywhere.
“Why would you think that, Lucius?”
Once again, the intensity of his attention fell upon me like a rockslide. “Your dyunda is clear. There is much strength and vitality to your longruen, and your command of mua’di, if problematic, is powerful.
“However, your use of mua’di generally expresses not your intent, but facets of your soul.
“Which is often in conflict with your intent.”
Was I ever not conflicted?
Once again, he had a point.
So, he was saying that the failure of my incantations was not a failing of my magic or my magical ability, but was, in fact, actually an expression of my magic.
Or at least a misexpression of it.
This made a kind of sense.
“Your use of mua’di is not restricted, but you must find other ways to effectively harness it.”
I could still cast magic, but would have to figure out how.
This I knew.
And struggled with.
Every day.
“Energy moves through you differently than most mortals. Watch its flows and you will see.”
That was a powerful suggestion.
One I had never considered.
If I used the eyes of an elemental to examine myself, what would I really see?
Would this allow me to see myself differently and accomplish more?
Would I be able to alter how I used magic in response to what I had seen?
Would it allow me to cast the spells I had been struggling with, exhibiting some measure of control, and having a good chance for the desired outcome to manifest?
There was but one way to find out.
Lucius recognized my struggle and was comfortable with letting me try to resolve it. “This is a task you can set for yourself on the journey ahead.
“There is no better time to start than now.”
So I did.
Eyes of the El’Amin
There are numerous ways to describe how energy moves through the body, just as there are many systems that seek to modify and manipulate this movement. I had read about several examples in The Big Book of Spells and The Little Book of Knowledge.
From ascetics who sought to remove all energetic obstacles to create a body unified with the Divine, to seekers focused on sublimating internal or external energies for supranatural effect, along with so many more, the ways of energy were as varied as their practitioners.
Most wizards, however, seldom actively sought to modify how energy moved in or around the body. Instead, they generally used these forces in their spells and rituals, taking them as a given. Our primary focus was on understanding magical energies, formulae, and practices in and of themselves, not necessarily how those forces related to the body or spirit, or how to modify the body in response.
This was either a great failing or a strength, depending on one’s perspective. Despite this strength, or shortcoming, wizards were able to create magical expressions almost nonpareil in the mortal realm.
However, in my case, I now understood this as something of a shortcoming.
Mostly because my very nature interfered with proper energetic expression.
Most especially spells.
And indubitably my own.
I saw this as the moment I truly began to examine how energy in its myriad forms moved through me relative both to the objects around me and to Lucius in particular. Though I did not have any humans with whom to make a suitable comparison, I could see potentially troubling differences between myself and Lucius from the start.
Granted, I was no expert, but I did have a certain quick knack for understanding things, especially when they were not right.
Correcting them, on the other hand, was not exactly one of my strengths, but that did not stop me from noticing.
Lucius was bathed in a complex mandala of living energies, his physical form one permutation of whole constellations of energetic flows within and without. Subtle transformations and shifts occurred in these myriad currents, changes I did not understand, but energy moved naturally and easily through complex patterns and tapestries of higher-level geometries.
Even the rocks around me, which were what I might normally consider lifeless, had elusive energetic patterns, each unique and equally open to the flows of magical energy.
In contrast, I looked about as stopped-up as an outhouse after a visit by a dragon.
I imagined my energy channels, what some called etheric orbits in The Big Book of Knowledge, as sodden earthen cartpaths after a monsoon, clogged with abandoned wagons pulling heaping loads of back-breaking rocks and now sunk irretrievably in the mire up past the floors of the cartbeds.
How I might get out of this quagmire, or clear it up, was another question entirely.
But I could certainly see the problem in all its gory details.
I was the very definition of stopped-up.
Energetically speaking.
“What can I do to let energy move more naturally through me, Lucius?”
Lucius seemed to shrug. “There are more ways than there are grains of sand on a beach.
“You have to find the grain that is most appealing, most proper, to you.”
Ah, riddles and obfuscation, the joys of my youth revisited.
“Any you would care to share?”
“The one that works.”
More elemental humor.
Simple and snarky.
A good rock, Lucius.
>
Always looking out for his people.
He added with some hesitation, “If this is something you truly desire, I can briefly merge my longruen with yours to alter your dyunda.”
“I sense a ‘but’ here.
“What’s the ‘but’?”
“But you may burn out like a flame, or be quenched.
“Guraem are very fragile vessels.
“They often pop, dry out, or burn.”
“Duly noted.
“I will try my best not to die.
“Honest.”
That was, apparently, good enough for Lucius.
No Choice but to Leave
As much as I wanted to stay in the Greensward, I had to leave.
This was a basic truth and the reason Master Nomba took me with him.
The valley was simply safer without me in it, especially in Master Nomba’s absence. Or, rather, without Master Nomba’s constant attention.
On me.
Although I was not quite as dangerous as a demon, at least one worthy of note, leaving me free and unsupervised could wreak untold havoc on the fragile people and environs of the valley.
From the time I accidentally helped the year’s crops grow out of their need for soil, or the valley itself, as all the plants marched out of the valley to an uncertain future when I tried to improve their yield, to the day I accidentally filled Taere’s cottages with dirt and debris when I helped clean the village commons, my spells often did more harm than good.
I knew my place in the valley.
It was by Master Nomba’s side so he could counter any mischief I might inadvertently create.
No matter what Master Nomba might tell me or offer in reassurance, I knew it was better to take me out with him on his quest to extend the protection of the magical shields to others and let everyone else in the valley prosper in my absence.
Master Nomba’s quest was my only option.
Or the only choice that was allowed to me with any semblance of safety.
And I knew where I was going, there was none.
There was a reason Master Nomba shielded our valley, a whole world full of them. There was even a yawning, demon-gushing portal to the Abyss filling the world with more reasons.
I did not doubt Master Nomba’s ability to protect other places.
Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 25