Odjin gave her a flat look. His transformation had been more abrupt and unwelcome than hers, after all. “When they potioneered me… They forced me to my knees and cut me open. It hurt. They didn’t give me anything for the pain. I couldn’t even see what they were doing; they worked behind me. I think they left some kind of marker behind. Maybe that’s how they track us if we try to run away.”
Horrified, Kiwani clamped her lips shut against any overly simplistic platitudes that might try to force their way out. Her former hexmate had been scarred in more than one way. Her words would never be enough.
She examined his face. His eyes, once so bright, were now dull and faded, but their intensity remained, giving his face a haunted look. His blond braids were dingy and nappy, where once they’d been smooth and even. Potioneering clearly didn’t agree with him. Kiwani imagined what state she’d be in if she were potioneered, but had to jolt herself out of her thoughts when she envisioned the unkempt effect it would have on her hair and nails. No matter how far Kiwani thought she’d fallen, it seemed there was always a greater chasm lurking in the corner of her eye. “Let me feel the tracker.”
He snorted with surprise. “You have changed. Not many would dare touch a filthy potioneer.” He leaned forward and indicated the space between his shoulder blades.
Kiwani leaned over him. Her fingers gently pressed against his back. She found a flat, hard object next to his spine and narrowly avoided jerking her hand back in revulsion. Instead, she pressed it flat against his back. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re afraid you’ll end up like me.” Odjin straightened. “I can see it in your eyes. Have others washed out of the hex since I did?”
“No.”
He heard the deflection in her voice and smirked. “Just you, then. Having problems focusing? One of the elements refusing to cooperate?”
She resisted the urge to whisper her problems to the angry boy before her. He would give her no sympathy. “Something like that. A sint sent me on a quest, but I didn’t find what I thought I was looking for.”
His dusty eyebrows rose. “A sint? You have become adventurous, haven’t you? Listen, if you get your focus back—if you get to stay on campus—ask your sint how potioneers are made. Why the cutting works, what the trackers really do. The potioneer makers will never tell us, and there aren’t any sints around here, or near any of my colleagues.”
“Colleagues?”
He humorlessly lifted a corner of his mouth. “Just a few concerned potioneers who believe there’s more to potioneers than the empire wants us to believe. We have a few theories, but no way to test them, you see. Us being potioneers and all.”
Was he serious? Better to assume he was. “I will. I’ll send you a letter with the sint’s answers.”
“That’ll never get here.”
Kiwani’s eyes drifted to Kah. “It will if it comes special delivery.”
Odjin looked at Kah with a new glint in his eye, and the bird took a step back, cocking his head to gaze at them both in turn.
“Please, Kah, you can find Odjin again, can’t you? You found him this time. That’s why you flew down this road. So we could reunite.”
The bird hopped around the table proudly again, the ring in its claw clinking against the wood. “Kah!”
Forcing and Bonding
After breakfast, Bayan had to squeeze past a gaggle of trainee girls at the door to the Dining Hall as he and his hexmates headed to Master witten Oost’s morning Diplomacy class. Though he was pleased to see Dunfarroghan and Balanganese talking easily, Calder had another view.
“These newniks are everywhere. Havena they any classwork to do?”
“Just wait another score of days,” Tarin replied. “They’ll shift from one meditation and one form class per day to two, and they won’t have all this free time.”
Calder pouted. “When did we get our free time? I only remember classwork, classwork, and more classwork!”
“Excuse me, Bayan Lualhati?” A short girl with smooth dark hair leaned into his way, as if hesitant to actually stop him. She held out a shallow iron bowl filled with colorless wax. “May I have your autoglyph?”
While Calder slapped a hand over his eyes in apparent disgust, Bayan gave the girl a smile. He pressed his thumb into the still-warm wax. “You have a good day, trainee. And pay attention in your culture classes. I wish I had when I was your rank.” She blushed, nodded, and scurried away, leaving the hex free to continue.
Calder turned his glare on Bayan. “Oh, and no mention of who it was that saved your Balang arse from failing, then? I see the way of it. If your gushlings get any thicker on the ground, they’re like to keep us from reaching our classes on time.”
Bayan gazed after his newest admirer and paid Calder’s mutterings no mind. “Were we that short when we first got here?”
“Bayan, you’re still that short,” Tarin said. When he glared up at her, she grinned and raised her chin as high as it would go.
The hex passed three more roaming groups of newniks on the way to Master witten Oost’s classroom. At least one person in each group waved, called out, or pointed out Bayan to their companions.
Eward spoke up as they reached the classroom door. “If this is going to keep happening, maybe we should come up with some short responses for Bayan to use, so we aren’t delayed too much. Bayan may be famous, but he’s still a student.”
“Good idea.” Bayan enjoyed all the positive attention, but he realized Eward had a point. The last thing Bayan wanted was to fail his Avatar test because he’d been too busy giving autoglyphs.
~~~
“Bayan, can you shut your gushgirls up?” Breckan called across the Wood Arena. “I can’t hear myself Cragroot!”
Bayan cringed. Every time he made his Wood Avatar, Root, cast a spell, a dozen girls in the arena’s seats cheered wildly. He figured it was a result of his visits to Kipri’s cultural meetings. With each subsequent visit, the majority of the students seemed more at ease with him, to the point where they accosted him nearly everywhere he went.
He’d asked Instructor Aalthoven to make the trainees stop cheering and screaming during his Avatar classes, but the man had replied that students must train to perform in such loud and distracting situations, so having a yelling audience was actually excellent practice. The other Avatar students in the arena seemed to disagree.
And there were plenty of other students. The hexes training for their Avatar test all took classes together, no matter when they’d begun their training. None of the hexes retained all six original members, and the instructors seemed keen to observe who worked well with whom. Some hexes would likely be divided up, their members farmed out to larger hexes, in the hopes that training with six students would more fully enable the hex to pass Avatar testing as a unit. It rarely worked, but Bayan looked forward to having a sixth member of the hex again. He and his friends had found a few likely places on campus for their clandestine Savant training, and knowing how much it had improved Bayan’s own magic gave him hope that the whole hex could pass their Avatar tests and more.
Calder and Tarin were Idling Wibble and Dandie, their Wood avatars, into a fistfight. Bayan paused to watch as Tarin’s giant shrub, with its twiggy hair full of new buds, slammed Calder’s vine-man to the ground. His congratulatory comment faded before he could give it voice, though, when he heard Taban and Aleida talking nearby.
“Just another try, Aleida,” Taban was saying. “It’s all in the wrist, just a slow bend.”
“No, it’s just not working today. I can’t concentrate in this zoo. I need to go. I’ll see you later.”
Bayan looked over his shoulder as Aleida stalked across the sand and into the exit tunnel. He glanced at Taban, the black-haired, arrogant student who had nevertheless given him invaluable tutoring last year. Taban met his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Bayan knew they were both thinking the same thing. The closer the Avatar test came, the more students who would top out and leav
e, unable to manifest and properly control all six elemental avatars. And everyone who left would be a lost friend, if not a hexmate.
~~~
“I should have brought a scarf. The wind up here is vicious.” Tarin’s words barely reached Bayan’s ears as she tugged her thick winter training uniform close around her throat.
“It’s better back in the valley.” Calder pointed.
In the dim light from a half-moon, Bayan could see that the valley they’d chosen for their first attempt at Savant training did have a thick stand of trees lining its edges. The hex moved into the shelter between its ridges and spread out.
“Where should we start?” Tarin’s breath made a white puff in the moonlight.
“The basic spells,” Bayan said.
“Let’s pick one element at a time,” Eward suggested.
Calder waved a finger in inspiration. “I think we need to start with the Avatar spells.”
Tarin crossed her arms. “You lot are dripping with help.”
“We need to start with the basics out here because we rarely use them in class anymore,” Bayan explained.
“I think it will be less obvious if we only improve within one element at a time,” Eward added.
“If we can strengthen our Avatar spells now,” Calder said, “we stand a better chance of passing our final exam.”
Bayan looked at the other two boys and sighed out a big white breath. “Good points, both of you. How should we decide which is really the best?”
“Maybe we can test each one on a different training night,” Eward said. “See which seems to fit the best as far as making sense and keeping the instructors from noticing what we’re up to, then we’ll stick with that.”
“You lot don’t have the first clue about how to avoid notice,” Tarin stalked into the center of the loosely gathered group. “You all have good points. You should each use your own suggestion. With three different patterns, the instructors won’t have any idea what to look for. They’ll never figure out what we’re doing.”
Bayan frowned in thought. “That still leaves you.”
“I canna do it exactly the way any of you are. But I think I could pick an element that Eward isn’t working on, and improve it. Atop that, he can start with the elemental spells, and I’ll start with the Avatar spells.”
“Good idea. Let’s begin.”
The group spread out. Bayan went first, summoning his magic with the Elemental Invocation. A quick arc summoned his Wood magic in a burst of green smoke, and he unleashed the Woodcast of Cragroot. Vicious roots ripped up from the rocky ground a dozen strides before him, slashing the air in search of an enemy to strangle. The familiar darkness edged his vision, thrilling his soul with that old thirst for vengeance. He tamed it, as always, and released the spell.
“Remember,” he cautioned the others before they cast their spells, “you have to master the emotion before you can be a stable Savant caster. Master before caster.”
“Thought that one up all by your onesie, did you?” Calder summoned Firedust, his Flame avatar, in a red flash of mist and directed it to cast Summer into the air over everyone’s heads.
A radiant heat rolled down across Bayan’s skin. He closed his eyes and thought of home. “Don’t stop,” he said. “That feels perfect.”
“Good idea to start with Flame, too,” added Eward, when Calder finally released his spell. “I’ll start with Wind.” He performed the first invocation, then took a few moments to focus. After a smile creased his lips, he invoked Wind and performed the whirling motions of Downdraft. The spell burst from a soft blue fog and whipped the chill air into a tight vortex.
Bayan, already cold, began to shiver. He started jogging in place to stay warm as Eward let the Wind spell go. “Tarin?”
“Earth, for me. I think starting with Flame would be too easy.” She invoked her magic, then crossed her arms in the Earth invocation. A moment later, her Earthquake spell rippled out from a silver cloud, causing the ground to judder and crack, but only on Tarin’s left. She cursed.
“No, anger’s my emotion.” Bayan spoke lightly, trying to ease her frustration. She only glared at him.
“Not a problem,” Eward told her. “We’re just starting out.”
Calder stepped back. “Maybe we should give each other more space, though. I don’t want Tarin, or any of us, to think we have to rein in our spells because we might hurt someone. We’re here to make them as strong as we can.”
Everyone agreed. Bayan backed toward the windy mouth of the valley, and the others spaced themselves toward its other end. Though he practiced his spells too, it was more to be seen doing it than from any need. He’d been a Duelist Savant for nearly a year, and whenever his instructors taught him a new spell in class, he simply bonded his anger to it as he practiced. His hexmates had to start from scratch. He thought of Kiwani and grinned. When she got back, she’d no doubt feel behind everyone else, and she’d be up in the valley all night until Victory in Pallithea Day just to catch up.
The hex slung spells in the chilly night until Bayan’s arms felt formed of lead. He kept an eye on the others. Calder and Eward started off strong, but Tarin’s magic stuttered and broke more often than not. Her struggles reminded Bayan of his own early efforts to cast magic. Eventually her failure affected Eward’s positive outlook, and his magic began to flutter too. Not wanting the situation to deteriorate further, Bayan called a halt for the night.
On the way back down to campus, he said, “I wish Kiwani were here, Tarin. I hate to think of you heading back to your dorm room without anyone from our hex to talk to. She’d tell you that the only way to get better is to practice harder.”
“Well, she’s not here, and she’s wrong, besides,” Tarin growled, seething beneath her sweaty bangs. “I can take care of my own problems.”
“I didn’t mean to say—” Bayan began, but Tarin split off from the group, stalking toward the mountain ridges where the small structures known as solitaries were built overlooking the valley.
Eward watched her leave. “A little meditation?”
“Those solitaries aren’t very comfortable,” Calder said, “especially not on a night like this. Right, Bayan?”
Bayan recalled the night he and Calder had been sentenced to meditate in separate open-air buildings, seeking the void that would allow them to master their magic without emotional distraction. Instead, Bayan had felt his anger magic cooperate with him for the first time. As he watched Tarin round a corner and vanish from view, he hoped she would find something as useful tonight.
~~~
Kipri’s eyeballs were little orbs of ice in the constant chill wind. Part of him wanted to look out one of the other sides of the solitary, but the wooden railing beneath his chin had warmed from his body heat, as had the stone floor beneath his knees. Besides, he wasn’t sure his muscles had enough warmth to move.
Master witten Oost had stopped in to see Kipri that evening as the eunuch composed a letter to Philo. Something in the instructor’s pleasant demeanor rubbed Kipri the wrong way. Likely, it was the fact that the man was not just the only living Master Duelist in the empire, but also a scion of noble blood—two things Kipri could never hope to be. Though the master’s visit had merely been a brief social call, it had triggered one of Kipri’s mental down-spins.
He hadn’t suffered one since his years in eunuch training. He hoped it was nothing more than a result of the stress of his new position and all the pressure he felt on his shoulders. He wanted so much to be of use to his people, to other young Raqtaaq within the empire, so they didn’t suffer as he had—as he still did. But strong, confident Waarden such as Master witten Oost could—without trying, and merely by showing up unannounced in the doorway—make Kipri’s task seem nigh impossible.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was being disciplined up here tonight.”
Kipri twitched, cracked his chin, and bruised his knees at the lilting voice. He spun around in time to confirm that it belonged t
o Tarin. Her bright red hair swung free in the moonlight as she headed back along the trail. “Wait, it’s just me.”
She paused, then bent over and peered in at him. Her hair formed a thick curtain. “So it is! Have you displeased the headmaster already?”
Kipri laughed, and the wind carried his voice through her hair. “I don’t think so. I just wanted to see the view. The Kheerzaal doesn’t have cliffs this sheer, and Balanganam is either rice paddies or lumpy red mountains.”
“I’ll pass your compliments to Bayan, I’m sure.” She strolled closer.
“Don’t you dare. Tell him it’s the food I can’t forget. That should please him.” He smiled down at Tarin’s open face. “How are you not frozen? The wind’s peeled my skin off long ago.”
She chuckled. “Duelist training is on the merciless side. This is nothing compared to perching in the snow for two hours while Avatar duelists shoot firebolts over my head.”
“At least you weren’t naked.” Kipri bit his tongue and felt his cheeks flush. What in sints had made him blurt such an inappropriate remark?
Tarin only laughed louder. “Says who? I’m always naked under my workout uniform, aye?”
Kipri’s cheeks flushed with a different kind of heat. His mostly numb fingers barely registered hers lacing between them. “Do you believe in fate?” she murmured.
“I’m not sure.”
“Me either. But I’ve been worrying over how to keep my hexmates safe. It’s a delicate problem, you see. Not one for the instructors’ ears. But their very lives could hang in the balance.”
Somewhere beyond his awareness of Tarin’s body heat, Kipri felt sharp concern for Bayan’s well-being. “Sints, that sounds serious. What can I do to help?”
With a slow smile, Tarin leaned closer. Her warm lips pressed against his shivering ones, and Kipri’s autumn night faded into the height of spring.
Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists) Page 6