Perhaps, he thought, he might find out what it felt like in person. Training would prevent him from hurting people by accident, if what the Mage Van Haasteren had said about wild talents were true. He would need to learn how to control himself. He didn’t want to go rushing off to meet his mother’s family, only to hurt them somehow. He could wait to meet them, if he had to.
And there was Shilly, too. She had fallen asleep fully dressed, with covers wrapped awkwardly around her. The look of unhappiness on her face made his own concerns seem much smaller. The injury still dominated her day-to-day life, with the loss of Lodo and her home a constant counterpoint. He wouldn’t shirk his responsibility to her. Even with the argument still fresh in his mind—the sense of guilt it woke in him—he could never have contemplated leaving her to look after herself just yet.
Besides, Sal didn’t know exactly where she stood in the Keep, without him. Even though the mage had said that he would teach both of them, Brokate’s doubt about the Stone Mages’ motives was still in his mind, niggling away at his relief in arriving safely. He didn’t know for sure that the mage wasn’t simply letting her in so the Stone Mages could get their hands on him. But there was nothing he could do about that without seeming ungrateful. He could only assume that everything would work out perfectly well. The Keep could turn out to be the home he had never had, and he could become its greatest student. He would use his wild talent to divine new ways of understanding and using the Change; he would justify all the risks Lodo took on his behalf; he would make the memory of his father proud…
A knock at the door interrupted his fantasies. It opened a second later, revealing Bethe, dressed in the dark-red robes that were the uniform of the Keep. Today’s looked cleaner, however, as though she was putting on her best for the visitors. His clothes, in a pile by the end of the bed, seemed dusty and worn in comparison.
“Hello, Sal,” she said, smiling brightly. “You’re up. I thought I’d have to wake you.” She put a small pile of towels on the empty bed and stooped to gently shake Shilly’s shoulder. “Good morning!”
Shilly groaned. “What? Who…?”
“Time to start your first day.” Bethe straightened and winked at Sal. “I’ll show you where to bathe. Breakfast is in the dining hall between first and second bells. I’ll come back shortly to take you there.” She indicated that Sal should follow her. He grabbed a towel and let her lead him down the hall and around the corner. There, a communal bathroom awaited him, empty. He had the choice of seven shower stalls and twice as many toilet cubicles, none as luxurious as Wyath Gyory’s, but much better than he had become used to on their long trek. Bethe left him and he showered quickly, scrubbing at his dirty skin and washing his hair with soap. The water was as hot as the air was cold. The icy stone beneath his feet made him wince as he hurried back to the room.
Shilly was up and waiting for him, her towel around her neck along with a change of bandages.
“Where do I go?” she asked. Obviously his assistance wasn’t required, beyond giving directions. Her anger hadn’t abated overnight, then.
He told her the way, then finished getting dressed. When he was done, he sat on the balcony and waited. Shilly’s mood would pass, he hoped. Once they got down to lessons, she would have plenty to distract her.
She returned at the same time as Bethe. “Ready?” the student overseer asked.
“Couldn’t be readier,” Shilly said, her jaw set as though responding to a challenge.
“I’m starving, to be honest,” added Sal, hoping to counter the frost in Shilly’s tone. “I feel like I could eat an emu.”
“Well, we don’t serve meat for breakfast,” Bethe said, “but you’ll find plenty else to fill your plate. It’s Raf and Mereki’s turn to cook this morning, and they never skimp on quantity.”
“You cook for yourselves?”
“Oh, yes. This isn’t a school for the soft. That’s why it’s regarded as one of the best. There are no servants here. We all have housekeeping duties to perform. It was my turn to clean the unused rooms last week, so I’m a bit embarrassed that yours was so dusty. I’m not often caught redhanded like that.” She laughed, and the sound of it echoed off the stone walls of the corridor around them. Shilly didn’t respond, but Sal liked the sound of it. It made him feel welcome, part of the joke.
He had imagined the dining hall to be enormous, filled with trestle tables for hundreds of students, but the reality was much more modest: a high-ceilinged chamber open to the morning air with a dozen tables arranged in a haphazard fashion. Food was dished out through a hole in the wall that led to the kitchens. The redhead who had poked fun at Skender the previous day served them large portions of porridge, stewed fruit and toasted bread piled high with mushrooms and beans. Sal wondered where the food came from, and Bethe explained that produce came from Ulum once every week, brought along the Way by a dedicated trader. Very little would grow among the barren mountains, as long years of trying had demonstrated. Students with an interest in horticulture had tried to cultivate small crops in unoccupied chambers, using rainwater and soil carried up from the valley below, but with only minor successes, certainly not enough to feed the entire Keep. In the end, Sal gathered, trade with Ulum was maintained in order to maintain links between the school and the greater community at the other end of the Way.
Skender was sitting by himself in the centre of the room, waving furiously to attract their attention. They joined him, Sal and Shilly mindful of the stares of the other people in the room.
“Everyone,” the boy announced, “this is Sal and Shilly, our new recruits.”
There were muttered good mornings and a few well-meaning grunts. Not everyone, obviously, enjoyed the early starts as much as Bethe or Skender.
“We’ll introduce you properly as the day goes on,” the student overseer said through a mouthful of beans. “For now, eat. You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”
“First up,” said Skender, “is to tell us how you got here. Where are you from? How far have you come? Did you have any adventures on the way?”
Bethe shot him a warning look, but he just pulled a face back. Sal resigned himself to the fact that he would have to tell their story yet again, and composed an abbreviated version for discussion over breakfast. They were orphans exiled from the Strand looking for training and hoping to find it among the Stone Mages. This only whetted Skender’s appetite, however, and he demanded detail upon detail until Sal despaired of finishing his breakfast before the second bell, and Bethe had to rescue him.
“Enough, Skender!” she snapped, mock-stern. “If your father won’t tell you, then it’s none of your business.”
Skender pouted and threatened to catapult a spoonful of porridge in her direction. She raised a warning finger, and he rolled his eyes in amused indignation. Sal got the feeling that this was a familiar rivalry, one they both enjoyed.
Throughout it all, Shilly sat in silence, taking everything in but not responding. Only once, when addressed directly in a way she couldn’t avoid, did she volunteer anything.
“We haven’t known each other long,” she said. “My teacher took in Sal to protect him from the Sky Wardens, and because he had more potential than me. I can’t blame Lodo for that, I guess.”
“He thought the two of us were destined,” Sal added with a smile.
Shilly cast Sal a look he couldn’t interpret, then turned her attention back to her plate. “Destined for what is anyone’s guess.”
Sal avoided Bethe’s searching gaze, and was relieved when the bell rang not long after, announcing the end of breakfast. It was true: he and Shilly hadn’t known each other very long. Their knowledge might not run very deep, but in all his years of travelling, he had known her longer than anyone apart from his father, and he remembered clearly the day she had offered to be his friend. She was possibly the only real friend he had ever had.
He wondered if the same could be said for her. She hadn’t been popular in Fundelry, that was for sure. Had
she known anyone well, apart from Lodo?
The Mage Van Haasteren—the only adult they had seen in the Keep thus far—appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning,” he said, striding forward to loom over the table. “I have a new schedule for today, Bethe. You’ll find it in my office. I’m going to be busy with Sal and Shilly until lunchtime. The Mage Erentaite arrived an hour ago and is ready to examine them now.”
“Can I—?”
“No, Skender, you cannot. Go with Bethe and attend to your work.”
“But I’m already a year ahead, father—”
“Then now is not the time to fall behind. Go!”
The boy scowled as deeply as his father and moved off, muttering.
“Good luck,” Bethe said to the both of them. The mage led them out of the room, mindful of Shilly’s crutches through the chaos of students in the room.
“This way.” The Mage Van Haasteren took them along a wide, low corridor with a rustle of robes. He had to stoop slightly to enter a doorway on their right, beyond which they found a large room lit by yellow glow stones. The room contained a table carved from grey marble, behind which, in the room’s only chair, sat an extremely old woman dressed in black robes. Her head was slumped forward over hands folded carefully in front of her. Her hair was as grey as steel and cropped short, exposing thinning patches and a spotted scalp.
“Jarmila,” said Mage Van Haasteren in a hushed tone.
The elderly mage, whom Sal had assumed was sleeping, looked up. Her eyes were gold in the light of the stones and seemed startlingly alert.
“I see you.” Her voice was thin but very clear. “These are the two?”
“Yes, Jarmila.”
“I sensed them coming up the hall. They have already been Tested, you know.”
“I did wonder.”
“The boy most recently. Come forward, both of you.” The Mage Van Haasteren nudged them closer. “Ah, yes. The Scourge of Aneshti has cracked over them, if I’m not mistaken. What was its diagnosis, Sal?”
The Mage Van Haasteren stiffened beside him, but Sal ignored him, trying to remember. The Scourge had taken him on an imaginary series of deaths by drowning, freezing, burning and suffocation. Somehow, Lodo had determined from this what his inclination was regarding the Change.
“My heart chose air,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t have to go through the experience again, “and my head chose fire; I have a natural predilection for stone over water. Shilly was the opposite.”
“Ah.” The elderly mage nodded. “An unusual pairing, but an effective one.”
“Why do we have to be a pairing?” Shilly asked. “We came here together, but that doesn’t mean we do everything together.”
“But you are paired,” the Mage Erentaite said, “more than you realise. Your hands, please.” She reached for them across the table.
They obeyed, letting the woman clasp their hands in hers. Her skin was dry and soft, and she smelt of old age. Her eyes closed, and she breathed in deeply. Sal felt a strange tingling move up his arm and into his neck, like goosebumps. Only when her eyes opened did he realise that the reflection of the glowing stones hid a disturbing truth: the woman’s irises were white with cataracts. She was completely blind.
“Yes,” she breathed. “They must be trained—to defend themselves, if nothing else.”
“Against what?” asked Van Haasteren.
The elderly mage didn’t answer the question. “Do you think you’re up to it, Skender?”
The use of the mage’s first name took Sal by surprise. “Of course, Jarmila. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t let pride lead you, my boy. These are no ordinary strays. Payat knew that, and do you see what it cost him?”
“Payat was a fool.”
“He was not, and you would do well to remember that. Your father trusted him.”
“My father was betrayed by him.”
The elderly mage sighed. “Skender, you need to be careful. The Weavers will be interested in this one, if they aren’t already.” She indicated Sal with a nod of her head, but spoke as if neither he nor Shilly were there. “Where their eye is drawn few can predict, and none can stand in their way. Don’t be caught in the middle, that’s my advice. Do only what you can, then surrender the limelight.”
“Who are the Weavers?” Sal asked, remembering what Brokate had said about them on the way to Ulum: that they were legendary figures who stole children.
“They are the ones your parents angered, unintentionally.” The Mage Erentaite looked at him with her blind, white eyes, and he felt that she was seeing the depths of his being. “They are everywhere, yet nowhere. Their work is of vital importance to both our lands, yet is conducted in absolute secrecy. They destroy as often as they create, and they are not to be crossed.”
“They are a myth,” snorted Mage Van Haasteren, coming up behind them and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Jarmila, the children will learn more from lessons than they will from such common tales. I don’t want you making things more difficult than they already are.”
The elderly mage looked up at Van Haasteren with a crooked smile. “It is not I making things difficult, Skender.”
“Nor is it ghosts. Tell me what you advise for their training. That’s why I asked you here. Should they be separated?”
“No. They must be taught together. They are less opposites than complements. That I see very clearly.” The elderly mage let go of their hands and stood. She barely came up to Sal’s shoulder, and he wasn’t remotely tall. “Will you do as I say in this respect, Skender, if no other?”
“Of course, Jarmila.” Mage Van Haasteren bowed his head so low behind them that his black hair brushed Sal’s cheek. “I respect your judgment in these matters.”
“Indeed.” She smiled more widely still at that, then uttered a single, barking laugh. “Ha!” With a brisk wave, she commanded that Shilly come around the table and sit in the chair she had vacated. “Let’s take a look at that leg of yours, my girl.”
Van Haasteren guided Sal away as the elderly mage unbound Shilly’s dressing and examined the scars. Although they were some distance across the room, Sal could feel the buzzing of the Change as she did so, and saw a startled expression cross Shilly’s face. The old woman’s knobbled fingers traced strange patterns across the leg, lingering in some places for almost a minute, then darting elsewhere without warning, like a bird looking for seeds in the grass.
“Does this hurt?” she asked Shilly.
“No.”
“This?”
“Ouch, yes!”
“Good. Tell me if you feel anything here.”
The probing intensified around the knee, then continued down her shin.
“What’s she doing?” Sal whispered to Van Haasteren.
“Laying the groundwork for true healing,” said the mage in a soft voice. “You don’t repair a major wound by sticking the pieces together and forcing them to bind. That’s like building a house by stacking chunks of wood one on top of the other. You have to shape the pieces, guide them as they bond, make them one. You paint a map for the tissue to follow, then leave it to grow into the shape you desire. If Jarmila is successful, this will be the last time Shilly or you will use the Change upon her leg. It must be allowed to mend at its own pace, or else it will not mend true.”
Sal thought about this for a second, then asked, “Does this mean she might not be lame?”
“If Jarmila is successful, she might not be, yes.”
A measure of relief trickled through him. Not having the leg between them would make things easier. Shilly might have absolved him of blame, but he wouldn’t be surprised if her present resentment of him was grounded in part in that injury. He was the cause of it all, ultimately.
The Mage Erentaite finished her examination by gripping Shilly’s foot with both her hands and breathing deeply over it. She didn’t seem to be doing anything at all, as far as Sal could tell, but he knew better than to discount t
he old woman’s skill. The hairs on the back of his neck were still tingling, and he knew too little about the Change to make any judgment.
The elderly mage stirred, but still she wasn’t finished. She reached out with one hand, cupped it around Shilly’s head, and drew her close. They whispered softly to each other for a moment, then drew apart. Shilly was released with one last pat. She gathered up her crutches and stood, looking puzzled.
“Teach them, Skender.” The Mage Erentaite folded herself gently into the chair and closed her eyes. “I will return in one week to see how things are going. If you approve, I will take them to Ulum to give them their robes.”
“Yes, Jarmila.” Van Haasteren bowed once, and led them out of the room. As they passed through the door, Sal caught a flicker of movement high up in one shadowy corner. He pulled back just long enough to see what caused it.
It was another lizard. Not the same sort as the one in his bedroom, but around the same size. Its eyes reflected the light as he let himself be guided from the room, and he wondered if the Keep was full of such creatures. Maybe they kept insects down, and were encouraged to stay. There might be hundreds of them sharing the spaces with the humans who lived there. He hoped not. Their unblinking intensity unnerved him.
The Mage Van Haasteren, silent, as though the elderly mage had given him much to think about, led them along a series of corridors until they reached the main tutoring room. There he introduced them to the rest of the students and outlined what they could expect to do in the coming days. Their acceptance into the Keep wasn’t final until it was ceremonially formalised by the Mage Erentaite in Ulum granting them the rust-red robes of the school, but Sal saw the light in Shilly’s eyes and could tell what she was thinking.
The Sky Warden and the Sun Page 20