When she woke, she noticed first that the sun had progressed though the sky indicting she had missed the best portion of it to accomplish what she had wanted to accomplish. Her son and daughter would still be out hunting for a few more hours until they had to return home. However, they may very well stay out later this evening if they were still unable to collect the pelts and food required for their potentially long journey. After being thankful that neither of them had witnessed her emotional breakdown and subsequent prayer to God, she took a mental and emotional survey of herself and found that she was clear of mind and very lucid emotionally.
Whereas the emotions of the morning had played out to a crescendo bringing her to her knees, surpassing her breaking point, she felt none of that brokenness now. Rather, in its place stood a type of solidification that was more permanent than the maternal instinct of doing whatever was necessary to protect the lives of her children. During the moments directly following the angel's words, she used her mind to put behind everything that would prevent the completion of her task, and through that endeavor, she was able to function. Yet now, having been broken, she understood. And in her understanding, she gained peace. She gathered herself upon the foundation of her legs, stood up, and continued the short walk to her garden.
Stringing a bow, as instructed by her older brother, was supposed to be a very personal process. One was supposed to take time to get to know the wood comprising it, how it bent to the forces acting upon it, and how the string combined with the wood to create tension. She remembered the first time her brother showed her this intensely personal process. He had taken more time describing the wood of his bow than she thought necessary. What type of tree it had come from, what area of Avendia the tree called home, how it was acquired by the merchant his father had purchased it from, to why it was the perfect type of wood for someone his age, were all part of his methodical lecture. He insisted that all these things were necessary to truly become one with the bow. She knew the meticulous nature of her brother and how his dependency upon the rituals of training and knowledge combined to produce a great hunter and tracker. She could not deny it no matter how much her path to performance deviated from his. She knew her brother held nothing but her best intentions and development of her skills on the top of his mind, yet his steadfast adherence to one and only one way to improve those skills, while not assigning her differing methods with an equal amount of validity, created a rift between them; a rift that was continuing to grow as their time in life progressed.
In truth, she did not care what wood was used in the creation of her bow. She did not care what merchant it was purchased from, nor did she care about the means and methods the merchant employed to acquire it. She knew that mechanically the wood needed to be inspected as did the strings to ascertain their integrity, but she did not need to be told how they combined at their ends to produce tension. She had always been able to feel it as she held the bow in her hands and slowly drew the string. She could hear the strings whisper their tension with every inch she drew them back. The harmony produced within her as the wood bent allowed her to feel her target's extension through the wood and directly into the arrow. The only way she could explain it, which was probably very inadequate to what was actually happening, was to say that when the vibrations indicated a connection between her aim and her target, she knew she would strike true.
From the time she first held a bow in her hand, it was this way. While her brother spent hours upon hours shooting arrow after arrow at different targets to further understand his sight, wind resistance, aiming techniques, and all other aspects of marksmanship taught to him by their father, her practice centered around the more docile and deliberate meditative techniques of focusing her mind upon sensing differences in vibrations between things. She began to understand that when these vibrations were in sync with that of her bow's, her aim would be true regardless of how much she did not understand about the other aspects of marksmanship. So while her brother would require much more time than she to string a bow, and was probably the reason for his impatience, she did so much more quickly. Having completed her task, feeling it had been done with enough integrity to produce a true shot, she changed her clothes into those more appropriate for hunting and tracking. She gathered her small, leather bound satchel, picked up her quiver of arrows, threw it over her back, and made her way to meet her brother who was, by now, impatiently waiting near the forest trail leading to the west of their home.
True to her instincts and knowledge of Ronialdin, he was standing just at the onset of the forest path. She could tell his impatience with her was rising because he would always cross his arms when he was finally able to see her. As she approached, she could see that he had two, not one, leather satchels filled with supplies. He had obviously planned for an extended hunting trip because he only ever brought one set. "Well, are you ready?"
Fearing that his mood was going to make this a silent and sour experience, she could not help herself from fueling his already growing ire, "I am always ready, Rony. Today will not be any different than the last several we have gone on. I do not know why you have brought those extra supplies."
"Of course it is different. If we do not succeed today, we will have to go again tomorrow and delay finding our new home. You probably have not noticed how low our winter stores are at all considering you never check them. We need to successfully hunt for a very long trip because we do not know how long we will be gone this time. So it is time to become serious, sister of mine. Mother is depending on us, as is father. Now let us to task without further delay." He turned purposefully and strode into the forest. Expecting a lecture, she was prepared for a much longer speech. So when he turned briskly and strode away after only a few sentences, she was left standing for several paces expecting him to return and continue. But when he did not, she picked up her satchel and strode after him.
In contrast to both of their expectations, which were bleak because of the precedence set by the last five hunting trips, this one stood as an exception and produced all of the animals they would likely require for all of their needs for an exceedingly prolonged absence from their current home. Expecting to be gone into the night, they were both pleasantly surprised with the success they were fortunate enough to experience. They were excited for primarily two reasons: firstly, the number of animals they were able to hunt in the short amount of time was an indication they could hope again. And secondly, they would have another evening with their mother to speak with regarding their plans. So, when their spirits were lifted as a direct result of the prosperity they now experience, even if only minimally finite in its nature, they quickened their steps and managed to behave as a loving brother and sister might when faced without the harsh reality of the days to come.
Looking up from her gardening, still well behind where she wanted to be because of her emotional crescendo earlier, the dower mood she had assumed as a result was all but dissolved by the sight of her son and daughter walking toward her, both with broad smiles on their faces. Since the death of their father, this was a sight she had not witnessed in a very long time. Her last memory of them together and clearly enjoying each other was similar to today insomuch as it was a return from a hunting trip. But then, Rony had just turned twelve and was excited, once again, at the success he exhibited with his father. Upon seeing him, Zyn ran up to him, threw her arms around him and gave him a large hug. While seeing the genuine joy of her children produced an elevation to her spirits, it was not enough to dissolve all of her sadness. She knew their joy would be much too temporary; yet in spite of this knowledge, she did thank God for their temporary reprieve from the difficulties they would soon face.
Seeing the excitement in their eyes as they approached helped her ease the thoughts still running circles in her mind. Her daughter spoke first, with an exuberance she had not heard in her voice since childhood, "Mother! Look at all of the animals Rony and I were able to hunt today! Truly, Fate was with us this day, and will be with
us, all three of us, in the days to come!"
"Do not be too hasty, Zyn, we still have a long journey ahead of us and this is but one successful day. Let us hope that our fortune continues," interjected Rony before his sister could continue with her praise to Fate.
"Now Rony, do not be so quick to take your sister's good feelings. After all, if it is going to be a difficult journey, it will be so regardless of the joy one feels. Better to have a good mood in a bad situation, than a bad mood in a good situation," she said as she helped diffuse what was going to develop into an argument. "Let us all finish gathering the rest of vegetables from my garden and have a peaceful evening while we discuss your journey."
After Zyn told their mother the full extent of the success of their task, she too settled in with her brother to help their mother complete her duties for the day. They worked well into the evening, but not far enough to completely exhaust the setting sun. Rather, it seemed their work was completed at just the right moment to seize the sunset by restful hands and enjoy the entire splendor now presented. They sat on their chairs on the wooden porch, Rony by himself, while Zyndalia nuzzled up to her mother as a tender arm was placed around the her shoulder the way they had done so many times in more youthful years.
Brilliantly lit with several colors, but dominated by the deepest and most robust orange the three of them had ever seen, the slowly setting, blood orange disk was just moments above the horizon. All three of them paused their collective breaths as if it would allow the sun itself to hang still and grant them a few more precious minutes to be together on this evening. But not even hope can stop the setting sun. So, as the beautifully deep orange sun faded into the presence of indigo meeting violet signaling the relentless passage of time below the unforgiving horizon, they silently sat resting in each other's presence, each in their own way, being thankful for the other.
Rony, seeing that both his mother and sister shared in their slumber within the collective embrace of this perfect evening, could not help but feel alone. He missed his Drahin, and needed him more than ever tonight. Watching the easy rhythm of breaths as the two women's chests rose and fell, he could not feel anything but helpless while faced with their daunting task and resulting mountain of responsibility. He was not ready. He could not possibly be ready, and yet, at the same time, he had to be ready. With both his mother's and sister's futures and continued lives resting squarely on his shoulders, he tried placing himself in his father's mind in the hope that he could speak to him from beyond the grave. But no words, nor voice, nor guidance came. His father was gone and he was forced to face the reality that the memory he held of him had faded over the years.
With this acknowledged revelation, he decided not to disturb the peaceful dreams he hoped the two women were having and quietly made his way to his bed chamber. While undressing, he mentally reviewed everything they had done to make ready for the unknown variables of their journey. When his review produced satisfaction, he humbly slipped under his sheet, rested his head on his pillow, and offered a silent tear producing "I miss you, Drahin" to wherever his father now was. Feeling alone and small, he let the weight of it all transfer to his eyes, now heavy with fatigue. As they closed, so too did his thoughts of his father close upon his wakeful consciousness allowing him to join his mother and sister in their slumber.
Hun (Knowledge).
There he sat, alone in the early hours before daylight, as Wizards often do, to escape the mundane workings of the waking world most often designed to pull his attention away from furthering his knowledge. And now, with the class of the new initiates set to begin in a few short hours, and his responsibilities as both Grand Master of the University of Knowledge and Grand Wizard of the Council of Knowledge at their peaks, his dedicated allotment of time to indulge in the progression of his knowledge for personal improvement was sure to be limited severely.
He sighed as he slowly resigned to the fact that his understanding and hence, subsequent control of time would have to wait, yet again. But he was so close to unraveling its mystery to further explore the possibilities of projecting through, whether it be forward or backward, its substance. Since his first initial thought that time, in any tangible form, did not exist in terms of our five defined senses, he began to look for other explanations for our belief in its unquestioned passage. After all, the true test of existence is seated firmly in life's presentation to our senses, and subsequently, our ability to know.
And that is when it occurred to him. The only visitation we can have, as mortals, and many of the numerous immortals, with events gone past or events yet to come is when we visit either our memories or our hopes respectively. Because our minds, through the intricate processes we employ, can recall images, feelings, emotions, tastes, and smells so vividly, there must be something within the mind that perceives not only the passage of time, but its subsequent storage. Yet beyond that, there must be something forged within us that innately comprehends the very nature of time and all things concerning its relevant constraints. One cannot manipulate something, with any amount of success, without understanding its nature first.
When time passes, even in our first moments of intellectual awareness, we do not need to learn about it to know that something, once it happens, is not continuing to happen and has passed into something we have indiscriminately named "The Past". We do not confuse things that have occurred as something that is either yet to occur or something currently occurring. We are able, quite readily and easily, to keep them all segmented preventing any and all blending. However, there are those individuals who have ceased their normal (if there is such a thing) mental faculties preventing their progress through the separate moments of their lives and have become stuck or trapped within “The Past".
For any number of reasons, their minds have lost, covered, or rejected the innate knowledge of time, and have, as a horrific result, failed to progress; not because of their inability to move beyond a specific event, but because they no longer know how. It would be similar to someone suffocating because the involuntary connections allowing unconscious breathing have been disrupted. One would remember the need to breathe, maybe even the knowledge of how to breathe, but unless concentrated upon, they would fail because they could not access the unconscious pathways allowing their survival without conscious concentration.
But what is the conscious mind without the subconscious mind? And if something was not in the conscious, could it be seeded and grown within the subconscious without actual conscious effort? Because we do not concentrate upon time, is it something derived from our subconscious? Or does it really even exist at all? And if it does exist, does it mean we can revisit the moments of our lives and actually change them? Or even a more daunting question comes from the assumption of the later as true; if we can visit the past, can we visit the future? Assuming time does exist creates yet another derivative one should ask altogether; at what point did time begin its existence? So many questions to answer and knowledge to obtain, yet he was always pulled back to the reality of his time, whether it existed or not, that there was simply just not enough of it.
He smiled at himself, as he often did, when he was wrapped up within his mind as it lead him back to the genesis of his original mental inquiry. His progression into time was indeed going to have to wait as in a couple short hours, he was going to find himself standing in front of the new class of Initiates. The responsibility of being the first impact upon their young and impressionable minds was one he took very seriously. After all, identified as the leader of Wizards in Avendia, if he did not exemplify the numerous characteristics a true wizard should seek to display by leading from the very beginning, how could he expect those he was given charge to lead, to follow?
Reflecting back to his first lecture as a recipient, he grinned slightly as he remembered his first instructor and how integral the old wizard had been at promoting the idea that knowledge, above all else, was the serious wizard's first responsibility. Because of this original ins
tructor, Darkinian the Great, he decided to take it upon himself to play a very active role in not only the policy setting and the determination of curriculum for The University, but also its propagation through direct classroom teaching. He could still remember his mentor's first words as he sat apprehensively awaiting the beginning of the new life that was promised him.
Even though the activation of the talent relented the physical and mental effects of time, Darkinian was so old that not even the magical effects could hide his substantially advanced age. Yet he still walked with a deep purpose when he entered the study room all those years ago. He stood for several moments, minutes probably, and looked at each student in the eyes seemingly trying to deduce each of their respective purposes. When he had systematically completed his survey of each initiate, including Intellos, he spoke in an almost inaudibly soft, but extremely forceful voice, "To those of you who seek to gain great power, you must first know that you have no power without knowledge. For the truly powerful Wizards of History are not remembered by the spells they cast or the enemies they defeat. They are remembered because of the knowledge they reveal. Knowledge, my young initiates, is the only path to power, and the only concern of the Wizard."
For nearly all wizards, male and female alike, a substantial emotional event was required to temporarily activate the reservoir of magical talent held within. Because women tended to be in touch with their emotions on a higher level, thus feeling them more intensely at earlier ages, they would most often display their talent earlier in life, usually beginning in early adolescence; whereas many male wizards would not discover their talent until much later in adolescence. Intellos, however, was the exception. Being only eight years old when he first accessed his reservoir, his untimely manifestation of the talent presented two possibilities; either his reservoir of magic was so vast that holding it beyond eight years was too great of a challenge for his young mind and will, or his ability to understand and assimilate knowledge, on a mental level, was much more advanced than the normal abilities of a preadolescent child. In Intellos's case, it happened to be both.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 10