by Allen Snell
“I was ordered by King Micah. How’s that for compelling?”
Karna laughed. It was a dry, uncomfortable sound. “And you bow to kings, do you? That wasn’t the impression you first gave me. Why listen? Why play along with their might and main, taking orders on a fool’s whim?”
Garen took a deep breath. “We help people,” Garen said solemnly, determined to stay on the high road.
“Ha! Enjoy that delusion while it lasts. I’ve worn those shoes. You hurt people. And you think if you hurt enough of the right people, you’ll be helping someone else. Then you live long enough to realize those people you thought you were helping, they don’t really exist.”
Garen shook his head with conviction. “You weren’t looking hard enough, then. There’s an entire city of refugees fleeing the ruins of Vikar-Tola. We’re sitting a day’s travel from a tower where slaves empty their souls just to eat. I think you’ve lived out here in isolation so long you’ve forgotten what my dad taught me. The greatest life is lived in true community—”
“Oh stop, you reek of Seth. It suits you. You probably made him proud, but I’m not him. You want to go bandage wounds or rescue captives, be my guest. You’ve got the skill set for either. But you’re doing neither right now. Instead, you accepted an order to come study dangerous magic to return things back to the way you want them. And none of those refugees or children you’re trying to leverage will be better off for it. So, why do you want my help?”
Garen wanted to scream in frustration, but settled for a huff and an agitated tone. “You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be. You saw what happened the last time two spirits shared a host. They said it changed Nereus into someone awful. I don’t want to watch that happen. I can’t let it be my…” Garen clenched his fists and tried to calm himself with a deep breath.
Karna remained indifferent but leaned into her question. “You can’t what?”
Garen let loose all of the anguish and fury in his voice. “I can’t let it be my fault again! My dad, Argus, and pretty soon Drake. They’ll all be dead because I’m too weak to save them.” Garen knew those were the words that should have dominated Argus’ funeral, not empty promises.
Karna stared, eyes slightly squinted. Garen lowered his voice. The intensity remained. “They’re all looking at me to help with these impossible situations when they should be asking someone like you. I don’t know what I’m doing, and my friends are dying because of it. So, if you’re not going to help me, you might as well take this spirit out of me. I can’t handle one more death I could have stopped on my hands.” Garen had to pause and breathe until his throat stopped quivering. “I just don’t want to let them down again.”
Karna finished her tea with a gentle sip. Garen stared back at her, his own face flushed with anger and shame.
“That’s a pretty strong want.” She lowered the cup, and Garen saw her concealed grin. “I’m glad you found it. Finish your tea and we’ll get started.”
Chapter 17
Karna had a strange definition of “getting started.” She instructed him to gather as much straw as he needed to sleep on. Since the sun was getting low, Garen admitted they might need a day or two to figure things out. The grass was thin this close to the mountains, but he’d seen plenty of unkempt fields along the way there. He bundled enough for a makeshift cot. He found Karna already asleep when he returned and tried to assemble it in the darkness. She didn’t stir. Garen tried to find a comfortable position, but the straw poked through his tunic no matter how he laid on it.
Karna was up before him the next morning. Garen strung together a few half-awake words, asking if they could learn how to split spirits yet. Karna greeted him with a dry laugh. She handed him an outrageously long shopping list and a sack jingling with Jundux coin at the bottom. She sat down to whittle at a large block of wood and shooed him away.
The travel by foot to Russyx took Garen most of the morning. He could levitate into the air on a disc of wind, but letting it push him any faster than he could walk was a difficult game. Garen tried using small light-shifts to hurry the trip. His accuracy on where to end up was pitiful. It landed him on his face more than once.
Upon reaching Russyx, Garen had to ask for directions to every shop on the list. He realized they hadn’t been organized in any fashion. The only upside was seeing the city four different times over as he passed from one end to the other picking up fresh vegetables, generous cuts of meat, and jars of grain.
There were instructions for buying strings from two different musicians. The first was a prominent shop near the center. The second took Garen asking twenty different locals before they knew the tiny cart in question that sold a specific kind of gut. Garen didn’t have any more questions after that. Part of it felt good to accomplish something on his own, knowing he was trusted. And part of it was infuriating to be handling chores while everyone else was resolving matters of life and death.
The bag grew quite heavy as he neared his last stop. He hoped that a place named “Bragus” and the instructions “Fall pickup for K” was something small or light, like a handful of feathers. That would make a better pillow than his folded-up leather jerkin. Garen stepped inside the large stone warehouse and saw stockpiles of lumber all around. He cursed.
Sure enough, the shopkeeper took his payment and loaded him with a bundle twice what he could carry. Garen put a disc of wind to use, earning a wink of respect from another customer. Having to keep that disc intact for the entire trip home would empty his depth. And the heavy sack was exhausting both his shoulders. Garen muttered a few more unpleasant words and asked where to buy feathers. It turned out that Russyx, of all places in the world, had a feather guy. Garen spent the rest of Karna’s coinage on all the feathers he could stuff in the sack.
Garen made it back by sundown, but barely. He dropped all of it in a heap on the floor, unconcerned with any fragile items. Karna didn’t seem to have moved, but the piece of wood she carved had changed considerably. The thick branch had taken shape into a katana made of wood, a bokken. His parents used them for training when he was younger, and it brought back a rush of memories.
“I passed your first test,” Garen said, once more demonstrating with the disc of wind under the lumber in case she missed it before.
She looked up from her work, unimpressed. “You didn’t take the handcart?”
Garen walked over to his cot and fell into the straw. He was too frustrated and sore to deal with wrapping a pillow. Karna had nothing else to say, and the quiet rhythm of whittling lulled him to sleep.
* * * * *
The crick in Garen’s neck eventually forced him awake. It was still dark outside, but he couldn’t quiet his mind or the ache of his back. He sat up and stared out the cabin window into the night sky. Somewhere out there, Naia and Belen were helping the injured of Vikar-Tola. The Apatten were waiting somewhere, too. Maybe Drake had found them already. Maybe the fight was happening right this moment. He hated not knowing.
Dawn arrived and Garen decided to take matters into his own hands. He brewed a pot of tea and waited. The sunlight and aroma woke Karna. Garen offered her a cup. She eyed him suspiciously. Garen spoke with all the boldness he’d been saving. “Today, you’re going to teach me how you split the two spirits.”
She grinned. “You’re almost correct. Today, I’m going to start teaching you.” She took a sip of the tea and grimaced at the taste.
“Start?” Garen protested. This wasn’t the simple agreement he hoped for. “Why can’t you just tell me how you did it?”
“For the same reason I’m never letting you make tea again. You don’t know what you don’t know.”
“And you don’t know what I’m capable of. Try me!”
Karna sat on the edge of her bed and looked him over. “I suppose that’s fair. First, I want you to put out the fire in my hand without using the elements.” While she said it, a gentle flame lit from her palm and danced playfully. Garen stared for a moment. He could do
use, choke, or smother it, but all of those required elemental magic. He tried to think of any deep magic that might accomplish it. He’d seen Aethis undo spells, but he didn’t know how.
He stared for long enough that Karna put out the fire and continued. “That’s fine, how about another gate. Pick up that scrap of wood.” Karna pointed and Garen retrieved it. “If you understand the Gate of Persistence, this should be no problem. I want you to keep it intact while I try to break it. Ready?”
Garen furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not possible.”
She grew increasingly awake and sarcastic. “Of course it isn’t. I’m just a crazy old lady making these things up. Instead, go ahead and do what I was about to. Use the Gate of Change to split it clean in half. Again, no elements.”
Garen looked down and back at her. “I can’t.”
Karna closed her eyes for a mere second. The wood scrap fell into two equal halves. “I know,” she said, standing up from the bed. “Which is why we’ll be starting the journey, today, not finishing it. Put on your shoes. I’ll need a prettier view if I’m going to summon enough patience to put up with you.”
Chapter 18
Karna’s cabin was nestled among the foothills. The plains rolled north until reaching a steep incline. Sparse greens blended into a rock face that slanted almost straight up. Karna led him along the side of it toward a sloped pass into the Te’ens.
“If we’re about to train at the top of the mountain, it would probably be faster to fly there,” Garen offered.
“Oh really? And the shorter path is better?”
“Well, yeah. Isn’t it always?”
Karna marched onward. “No. And let’s break the habit now of you suggesting shortcuts to my teaching.”
Garen decided not to argue, but any wisdom she thought she was sharing was lost on him. They embarked through the pass, which quickly narrowed between cliffs. Garen had to turn sideways more than once to slide through. The tiny-framed Karna continued in front of him without adjusting her stride. Her tunic was heavily frayed and hung longer down one of her sides. He imagined the fashion was from a time before him, or she might not care about sloppy appearances. At this point, he felt safe to assume both.
Garen tried guessing her age based on the generations. She had to be at least sixty years old. Judging by the wrinkles in her skin and the thin braid of gray hair, possibly seventy, but that would require her to give birth to his mother in her thirties. The confusing part was watching her navigate the trail. She kept ahead of him like no one he’d seen at her age.
The trail sloped upward into a steep path of loose stones. The pass itself might have been cleft apart with magic, but it wasn’t traveled enough to be smoothed out into steps. The stones grew larger and Karna had to hop from one to the next.
Garen stopped on top of a boulder twice his size and looked straight up. “Is there something else down here? Because I could take us to the top in a matter of seconds.”
“You’re awful slow, aren’t you?” she said, bouncing forward.
“I’m sorry, can you do it faster? Even without a spirit?”
She stopped and faced him. “That’s not the kind of slow I meant. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.”
The path stretched on until they were both breathing heavily. It eventually leveled out into a basin between peaks. “Just a bit further up,” Karna said, forming a familiar disc of wind under her feet.
“I thought you said no shortcuts?” Garen felt his spite growing. She needed to live by her own words.
Karna was impervious to his judging glare. “Sometimes there isn’t a natural path. There’s no shame in making something new when it’s needed.”
Garen rolled his eyes. “Fine. Lead the way.”
Discs of wind carried them up the peak. They found a ledge overlooking everything. He took in the brown cliffs below and the grassy hills to the south. They could see her cabin, but it was the size of his thumb from up here. The winds had a chill, but didn’t whip at his face nearly as hard as he expected. They had a beautiful view, and a quick spell to warm the air between them let Garen feel his nose again.
An upwelling of nostalgia took him by surprise. Part of him would always call the Te’ens home. These cliffs were the first and only home he’d made for himself during his years of hiding. Life in the Central Kingdom might have been kinder and softer, but it had simply been given to him. He didn’t have to carve it with his own depth. Losing Vikar-Tola broke his heart—for the people and the capital and all the pain it caused. But he’d never actually felt the loss of his own home. It felt silly to grow attached to it now.
Perhaps for you, Kallista said. It’s been my home since that wing of the palace was built.
Garen hadn’t considered the spirit listening in on his thoughts for days. He tucked his chin down and mumbled a response. “I didn’t think you’d grow attached to a place that way.”
You know what we are. Much like you, we try to stay free from attachment. And we fail.
Karna watched him closely. “So, you can speak with that cursed creature?”
Garen was surprised at both her intuition and the hatred. “Kallista’s not that bad. A little withholding, but I’m not sure what your grudge is.”
Karna sighed. “Let’s just say she made my life difficult when she could. But, if you’ve hit it off, I’ll try not to sour your relationship.”
If you’re curious, I never cared for her, either. Old hag.
“I appreciate that,” Garen said to Karna, giving Kallista no response. “Instead, you can tell me what I’m supposed to know about all those gates. And why it matters to help Drake.”
“It matters because you won’t be able to copy what I did,” Karna said. Garen could tell she disliked sharing every word. “It’s different this time. I separated Water from Wind. You said it’s Earth and Wind sharing a host now.”
“Which is a problem how?”
“It’s a problem because I needed the Water Spirit’s help to do it. Either you’re going to have to teach your Water Spellsword what to do, or you’ll have to understand the gates so well that you can come up with another way.”
“Okay,” Garen pondered what little he knew about the gates. “Neither option seems…great.”
“And here we sit,” Karna said, staring at the horizon. “This is the part where I continue pondering a solution for you and you keep impatiently asking me for it.” She looked at Garen. He didn’t respond. She smiled. “Onto the teaching, then. Tell me what you know. I assume that list is shorter than what you don’t.”
Garen swallowed every insult she could fling at him and kept his mind focused. He hadn’t expected his training on emotional restraint to be put to the test here, but he was grateful to Micah for it. “I know the Light Spirit is actually connected to the Gate of Truth. And when we were talking about the Earth Spirit, I remember Kallista called it ‘Persistence.’”
“Nothing wrong yet. Have you seen or attempted any deep magics using them?”
Garen had to wrack his mind, trying to think of what he’d learned that didn’t use the elements. “Definitely for light. The spirit taught me how to heal people. Oh, and I’ve done that thing you used on me where I can see people’s memories.” Garen thought for another minute. “I don’t know if this counts, but I’ve accidentally reappeared in a different part of the kingdom. I can’t do that on command like the others.”
“I’ll be honest, that is more than I expected from Truth. But nothing from the other four gates, huh?”
Garen reluctantly shook his head.
“I’m surprised your fellow Spellswords haven’t taught you anything,” Karna said.
“They’ve trained me a lot with the other elements, but I don’t think they could do any of the things you asked me about this morning. This is all kind of new to me.”
Karna groaned and shook her head. “Of course not. They’re probably using the spirits as elemental beat-sticks. I shouldn’t be surprised, afte
r all. You don’t even know the other gates’ true names.”
“Can we start there?” Garen clenched his jaw in a smile, his politeness wearing thin.
“We’d have a hard time starting anywhere else. It’s good you recognize Earth as Persistence. You may need to call on his help while separating him from that wretched Wind Spirit.”
Garen noticed her feelings matched Kallista’s for once. It intrigued him. “Yeah, the other spirits aren’t fond of him, either. They won’t even tell me his name.”
Karna spoke with a cold, long-forgotten hostility. “Therov. Wind Spirit. Vessel for the Gate of Rupture. Whatever you call him, he’s not like the others.”
Garen shrugged. “I still don’t see what the fuss is all about. Drake had that spirit all his life, and he’s a better man than me. Definitely not some monster.”
Karna didn’t argue the point. “Perhaps it has nothing to do with Therov. Perhaps having two spirits is just more than the soul can handle. Opposites like Persistence and Rupture can’t be easy to hold in tension.”
Garen nodded along, mostly understanding. “Does spell cancelling come from one of those gates?”
Karna squinted her eyes, a sign Garen was learning could mean anything from anger to confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You told me to put out that fire this morning. I’ve seen someone do that with all of my spells. They didn’t use an opposing element. This person just undoes anything I create.”
“Ah, that,” Karna said. “It’s a deep magic from the Gate of Choice. That gate is the source of water manipulation. I assume your Spellsword is the culprit?”
“I wish,” Garen said. “No, her name’s Aethis. It makes fighting her, goff, even chasing her impossible.”
“That’s a shame. If your Water Spellsword was that skilled, she might be able to handle the split. Remember, it was the Water Spirit and its Gate of Choice I used to force Therov out. When I feel you’re ready, I’ll show you the memory and,” Karna smirked, “perhaps the two of you can accomplish what I did on my own.”