The strange white bird floated down to land on Firesong’s shoulder; he reached up absently to scratch its crest, and it climbed down from its perch to nestle in his arms, head tucked blissfully under his chin, crooning. A firebird - Darian now recalled. Firesong’s bondbird is a firebird. The horrid painting that had been on Justyn’s wall flashed into his mind, and the blob on the painted Firesong’s shoulder that everyone in Errold’s Grove had thought was a chicken or a goose.
A good many things now made perfect sense - the special arrangement of heated pools, for instance. Everyone knew that the reason Firesong wore masks was because he had been terribly scarred at the end of the mage-storms. Presumably, he was shy about exposing those scars to anyone but the closest of companions - and you couldn’t wear a mask to soak in the pools, you’d ruin it. Silverfox might well feel more comfortable in a ground dwelling, especially in a storm when the tree would sway and toss - hence the extra rooms below.
And both of them were giving up a considerable level of luxury to come here, only for the purpose of teaching Darian. Under other circumstances, it would have been perfectly reasonable for Firesong to insist that Darian be sent to him. No wonder so much effort had been spent on building his ekele!
And of course, who wouldn’t want to impress the fabled Adept Firesong with the finest ekele it was possible to build? No matter how poor it was, compared to what he had left, at least it would be clear that they had tried.
But when Firesong came to the new ekele, he stopped, and turned to his father. “Surely this is not ours - ” he began.
His voice reflected surprise, not disdain.
“It is,” Starfall replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “We may not have a fully-charged Heartstone, or a Veil to hold back the weather, but we have power enough and skill enough to give you comfort. You will find your own pools here below, a bathing room, a steam room, and a room for Silverfox to receive clients.”
“I am mostly retired, but I still do take massage clients,” Silverfox said smoothly, as Firesong choked. There had been something implied that Darian didn’t understand, but he had a good idea that Kel could tell him - and would.
“I have well-insulated the ekele, Adept Firesong,” Ayshen said diffidently. “I do not think you will find any chills or drafts this winter.”
The Adept seemed charmed, pleased, and just a little surprised. “I am not sure what to say,” Firesong replied at length. “Except to thank you, thank you all. You have more than made us welcome.”
“Oh, I am certain that you will find plenty to complain of,” Starfall laughed. “But until you do, I hope you find your new ekele satisfactory! And on that note, we will leave you to settle in.”
As Darian was about to leave, Firesong turned to him and summoned him with a crooked finger. “Come up with us,” the Adept said. “I would like to talk with you a little.”
Darian swallowed, felt his mouth go dry as old snake-skin, and obediently followed the two into the ground-level of the structure. They paused long enough for a glance around the pool room; Firesong nodded as Silverfox exclaimed in pleasure.
“When the plantings get their full growth, this will be enchanting,” Firesong observed warmly.
“I cannot believe that they have gone to such trouble for us,” Silverfox replied, shaking his head, then he laughed. “Well, perhaps they have heard tales of your famous plaints when you lived in Valdemar, and had none of the niceties of a Vale at your disposal!”
“That could well be,” Firesong agreed, with as much humor as Silverfox. He found the staircase and began climbing it, with his partner and Darian close behind.
Darian had not seen the ekele since the furniture was moved in; as he entered behind the other two, he saw that not only had furnishings been put in place, but there were beautifully woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls.
Silverfox went briefly to the window, then looked back at Firesong. “I think I will see the chambers on the ground first. If there is a storm, I still do not care for being in the boughs of a tree.”
“Only one who was raised in a tree could, ashke, so if there is a storm, I can understand,” Firesong chuckled. “For that matter, if there is a storm, you may find me joining you below!”
Silverfox saluted them both and then descended the stairs noiselessly, and Firesong gestured to Darian to take a seat. Gingerly, Darian sat down on a chair woven of willow withes, and Firesong took another just like it, placed opposite him. The Adept leaned back in the chair, relaxing as the withes creaked, settling beneath his slight weight, but Darian remained sitting straight upright, back and shoulders staff-stiff. He had no idea what to expect, and wondered desperately what Firesong expected of him. He couldn’t look away from those silver eyes.
“So,” Firesong said, after he’d watched Darian carefully for a time. “Being a mage, becoming an Adept - was this your idea, or someone else’s?”
“If I’d had a choice, you mean?” Darian hazarded. “In the very beginning?”
Firesong nodded.
“If I’d had a choice originally, I’d just be a trapper, like my parents,” Darian said softly. “After my parents died, I was apprenticed without anyone asking me what I wanted. I’d rather have been apprenticed to the village woodcutter. I didn’t want to be a mage, I didn’t want anything to do with magic. I couldn’t see any use for it.”
To his great surprise, Firesong burst out laughing so hard that he started to cough and had to get control of himself before he could talk again. “You couldn’t see any use for it!” he rasped out at last, shaking his head, and dabbing at his eyes with a silken handkerchief. “Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of dreams of easy glory! But I forget. You never saw any really powerful magic, did you?”
“Not with my original master,” Darian replied truthfully. “Once the mage-storms began, I don’t think he could do much of anything; he certainly couldn’t change, steer, or even predict the weather, and that might have impressed me that magic had some uses. That was Wizard Justyn - ”
“Justyn, Justyn . . .” Firesong muttered, eyes intent as he concentrated. “I think I may have met him once. Name sticks in my mind.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I think I have it. It would be right after the end of the Ancar-Falconsbane debacle, I think. Mercenary-mage, got a head wound doing something ridiculously heroic, lost most of his powers and got talked into using what he had as a Healer out where they didn’t have one. Someplace in the middle of nowhere - very nice nowhere you have here, by the way. I love what you’ve done with the place. He was part of a group of similarly retrained folk, not a big group, though. Darkwind, Elspeth, and I met with them before they got sent out to new posts. Your Justyn wound up out here, obviously. Am I right?”
Darian’s mouth fell open; he couldn’t help it. Firesong had just told him more about his own master than he himself had known! He could only nod in astonished confirmation, and felt embarrassed that he had known so little about Justyn.
So he really did meet the people he claimed he had! And we never believed him.
“How did you know?” he asked. “How could you remember after all this time?”
Firesong shrugged. “I can’t help it; I almost never forget a face or a name, but I can’t remember where I left my boots. Well, at least I won’t have to disabuse you of any grandiose schemes for becoming a Wizard-King; that’s a relief anyway. Tales notwithstanding, I’m afraid there aren’t many kingdoms going without claimants. What have you done and learned while you were with Adept Starfall and Mage Firefrost? How have they been educating you?”
Darian told him as succinctly as he could; it really wasn’t difficult since he and Firesong shared the same kind of magical education. Firesong listened, nodding from time to time, and said at the end, “You’ve had a good, solid education, but that’s to be expected with my father teaching you. You said that originally if you’d had the choice, you wouldn’t have chosen magic. What about now? If I could r
emove it from you, is that what you’d want?” Then he said something else that shocked Darian. “I can, you know. That’s one of the things a Healing Adept can still do, and I suspect that’s one of the reasons why Father wanted me here. If having this power really bothers you, still, I can take it away.”
Once again, Darian was caught off-guard by the unexpected question, and answered without thinking. “Ah - no, not now. It seems as if it’s something I should do.” He shook his head, unable to come up with anything that sounded right. “I guess I haven’t thought about it, about having a choice, I mean. There didn’t seem to be one.”
“There is a choice,” Firesong said somberly. “And I want to give you one. An informed choice. There’s something more I want to show you, before you make that choice.”
Before Darian had any idea of what the Adept was up to, Firesong had reached up - and removed his mask.
Darian blinked, but did not turn away or lower his eyes. In many ways, the scar-seamed face behind the mask was not as horrific as it could have been. It certainly wasn’t pretty, or rather, the fact that it was the ruin of something that had once been handsome was actually painful to think about. The silver eyes looked out of a randomly patterned set of shiny, tight patches divided by thick, red scars, something that was nearly another mask. It wouldn’t give nightmares to children -
Not screaming nightmares, anyway. Maybe bad dreams, though.
“There is often a price to wielding great magic, Darian,” the scar-twisted lips said. “This was mine. Envoy Karal paid with his sight. Two more of our party paid with their lives. I was very, very lucky, when it came down to cases. I could easily have died as well, had I not been protected by one of those who did. I had - thanks to the gods, who sent Silverfox - learned that there were far more important things than having a pretty face, and losing it didn’t destroy me. I was beautiful.” The scarred lips smiled. “I still am. I don’t wear masks for my own sake, but the sake of others, so that they need not feel pain that I myself no longer experience. But, Darian, had I not learned things about what is important by then, this minor price could have been a very major one. Have you thought about that, the possibility that you, too, might be asked to pay a great price for power?”
While Darian sat in silence, Firesong put his mask back on again.
“What about not using it?” he asked finally. “There’s a price for inaction, too. The trouble is, usually other people get caught in paying it as much as you do. At least, if I keep this Gift and use whatever power I have, I’ll be making the choice to act instead of just standing by and wringing my hands.”
Behind the mask, the eyes closed for a moment. “That is a good answer - and, I might add, one I’ve not heard before. It should have been obvious you aren’t the kind of young man to choose inaction.”
The silver eyes opened again, and there was a smile in the voice. “Young Dar’ian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar, you have passed my test. I will be quite pleased to have you as my student and to teach you all I can, until you have achieved everything possible within the limits of your Gift, or you drop from exhaustion. Have I passed your test as well?”
Slowly, Darian nodded. “I think . . . you won’t be an easy teacher, but you’ll be a good one. I think. . . we can get along.”
Firesong chuckled. “You’d be surprised at how few people realize that is important for teacher and pupil! One more thing, before I let you go for the day. If ever there is something that you are afraid to tell me, do not hesitate to confide it in Silverfox. That - in part - is his profession, to be a trustworthy confidant,”
“I will, sir,” Darian replied, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, and as he was about to leave the room, Firesong motioned to him to stay.
“Dar’ian, I have one request.” He sighed, and Darian wondered if he’d done something wrong already. “Do me the very great favor of never calling me’sir’ again. Don’t call me ‘Master’ either. Call me Firesong.” His eyes grew mournful. “Being called’sir’ makes me feel so old!”
“Yes, s - Firesong,” Darian replied quickly. “But I’ve come to respect those who are wiser than I am, and I only meant it as a compliment.”
“Hmm. Well, in that case, I’ll let it pass, once in a while.” Firesong replied.
Darian went out the door and down the covered stair, unable to tell if Firesong was serious or had been teasing him.
He decided to walk at the edge of the small lake that lay just beneath the cliff housing Kel’s aerie and Snowfire and Nightwind’s home. Darian was so preoccupied with sorting out his thoughts that he practically walked into Snowfire and Nightwind.
“Dar’ian, wake up!” Nightwind called, startling him into looking up. She smiled at him, and he smiled back sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he said, coming over to join them; they were dangling their feet in the water like a couple of youngsters. “I was thinking. I was just - well - I was talking to Firesong, or he was talking to me, I mean, and I have a lot to think about.”
“Hmm. I should imagine!” Nightwind replied. “I know Silverfox, of course - a very fine kestra‘chern, by the way - but I’d never met Firesong. I must admit to you that when I heard who your teacher was going to be, I was not anticipating being as impressed as I was.”
“You, too?” Snowfire said with astonishment. “I knew his reputation, and I rather thought he’d be something of a pain. I figured he’d have a tantrum when he saw his ekele, and as for training Dar’ian, no matter what Starfall said, I thought he’d be very haughty about it.”
“He’s not like that at all,” Darian began.
“I agree, I agree!” Snowfire replied hastily. “I agree completely! I don’t know what’s happened to him since he made that particular reputation, but he certainly doesn’t deserve it anymore.”
“I know what’s happened,” Nightwind replied, with a cynical half-smile. “Silverfox is what happened. He could humanize a monster.”
A step behind Darian, and Nightwind’s sudden blush, made Darian look around. Silverfox had just stolen up upon them in time to hear that last remark, and his grin at Nightwind’s embarrassment was full of mischievous charm.
“So, do you have any monsters you need tamed?” His grin widened. “Less of that is my doing than you might think, my dear,” he said genially. “Behind all those exquisite masks is a very real and generous man whose humanity has never been in doubt. He simply had to reconcile himself to the fact that he didn’t have to wear the masks on his heart, only his face.”
“Come here, you wicked creature,” Nightwing replied, leaping to her feet and holding out her arms. “Give me a proper greeting!”
“So little Nightwind still wants a hug from Uncle Silverfox?” the kestra‘chern teased. He did go to her and give her the greeting hug she wanted, though, and then clasped hands with Snowfire.
“I am very pleased to meet you, may I add,” he went on. “We stopped long enough at k’Vala that I managed to hear of your joining with my old friend, and I was quite anxious to meet the fellow capable of swerving her from her childhood vow never to wed anyone at all!”
“Silverfox! I was only twelve!” she objected, laughing.
“You seemed quite serious at the time, my dear,” Silverfox replied, and turned back toward Darian, who was edging away, thinking that he was intruding. “Please, Dar’ian, come join us. I had come specifically to talk to you a little more.”
“You’re sure I won’t be in the way?” he asked.
Snowfire and Nightwind both beckoned, and Silverfox smiled. “Not at all. A great deal of what I wanted to discuss with you concerns these two, as well, since I am told they are your oldest friends here. And it is about Firesong. I should like you three to know more about him, as he will be a part of k’Valdemar for some time to come. Perhaps longer than even he anticipates.”
Snowfire raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You think he might stay?”
Silverfox only shrugged. “I cannot predict. I can only
say that until a reason for him to leave should manifest, he will remain, and if none does - ”
“Interesting.” Nightwind found another soft spot on the bank to sit, and invited Silverfox to take her earlier perch. “So what is it that has turned your Firesong into a paragon?”
“Time, trials, and being forced to work with a fraction of the power that he was used to having,” Silverfox said casually. “No more Great Magics for him or for anyone; every bit of magic has to be carefully planned to gain the maximum benefit from the minimum of power. That has forced him to be patient, careful, restrained. He can no longer afford to act on impulse - almost a shame, since he had turned impulsiveness into an art form.”
“In short, he grew up,” Snowfire snorted, then blushed. “I’m sorry. That was entirely uncharitable.”
“Not entirely wrong, but very uncharitable,” Silverfox agreed. “I ask you to try to recall that his reputation was made in the days when he could afford to send up a Gate just because he preferred not to ride a single day’s journey. And no small part of that reputation was caused by his own insatiable urge to tweak the noses of others - so to speak.” Silverfox trailed his fingers in the water meditatively, then added, “He still has that sense of humor, but he has learned to express it in ways that are more - humorous.”
“I detect your delicate hand there,” Nightwind chuckled. Silverfox’s only response to that was an odd look.
“I told him that I thought we’d get along all right, sir,” Darian offered. “I still do, and I think I like him, too.”
“Good! That was what I was hoping to hear you say,” Silverfox applauded. “Have you any questions?”
“Ah - one.” Darian decided to just come out and ask it. “What exactly is a kestra‘chern, and why did Firesong choke when Starfall mentioned your clients?”
Nightwind suddenly developed a fit of coughing; Silverfox quelled her with a look.
“A kestra’chern is predominantly one who comforts, Dar’ian,” Silverfox said, taking care with his words. “That is the profession. The least that a kestra’chern does is to supply ease, a distraction, and an absolutely trustworthy confidant. The best of us are in part Healers - Healers of the mind and spirit, rather than of the body, although we have some skills there, and are often asked to help Healers when they are shorthanded. Sometimes that leads to some very intimate contact, for sometimes it is easiest to lead someone to open his heart when he has been intimate in body. That is not always, or even often, the case; it truly depends on the kestra’chern.”
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