by Duncan Pile
There were only two things that he found hard. The first was the evenings, which he found boring. Everything was fine until after dinner and then Heath would just sit in his chair and look at the stars as they came out. The druid was increasingly relaxed around him, and even seemed to enjoy his company in his own way, but once the sun had gone down he barely uttered a word. Gaspi figured that was just the way he was; Heath was a recluse, and nothing was going to change that. While the druid seemed to be content to sit and stare at the stars, he found himself longing for conversation. The great joy he found during the daytime was compromised in part by the boredom of the long, silent evenings.
The second thing he found difficult was how much he missed Emmy. During the day, when he was busy tramping through the forest with Heath and learning new skills, he was busy and distracted, but in the quiet of the evening, his thoughts lingered on the girl who meant so much to him. Yes he missed Taurnil, Jonn, and even Lydia, but Emmy’s absence was nothing less than painful, and in the quiet and the dark he had nothing to distract him.
He combated the restlessness of the evenings by keeping busy during the day, working so hard that the evening would be short, and he would fall asleep as soon as possible. Sometimes that worked, but there were still nights where he was up long after it was dark, staring at the ceiling in the light of the stars and wishing he could be with her.
…
One morning, about a month into his stay with Heath, Gaspi woke up and went about his by now well-established routines. He relieved himself first of all and then went to the pool to bathe. The spring water woke and refreshed him while he spied on the inhabitants of the forest as they went about their business. He was busy watching a large, green woodpecker drill its beak against a trunk, enjoying the rapid rat-a-tat-a-tat sound it produced as it echoed through the trees, when a pair of twinkling green lights came into being right in front of him.
He almost yelled out in shock before he realised what it was - it was an elemental. Barely daring to breath, he sat as still as he could, filled with nervous excitement as he waited to see what would happen. He could only see its eyes, but what amazing eyes they were! They were larger than a man’s, facetted instead of rounded, and they sparkled from deep within like living jewels. They glimmered with a kind of intelligence, though not a human intelligence, and he felt like he was being searched through and through.
The spirit continued to watch him for long moments, and then all of a sudden its whole body blossomed into being. Gaspi caught his breath at the spirit’s beauty. It floated above the water, waves of light undulating through its transparent form. It had a head, shoulders, arms and long, slender hands, but below that its elongated body tapered off to a fine point. Gaspi stared, mesmerised. It had nothing that could be called a nose or a mouth; just a twinkling pair of eyes set in an otherwise featureless face. It was a being of light and magic, and it radiated a sense of wellbeing and peace.
That sense of wellbeing seemed to permeate Gaspi’s heart and mind, as if he could feel the presence of the elemental in a tangible way. It felt like it was reaching out to him, asking him to do the same in response and meet it halfway. Responding instinctively, Gaspi gave the elemental the permission it seemed to be seeking, and then something incredible happened. It was as if some core part of the spirit fused with the same core part of him, and for a moment, they were one. The intensity of the joining lasted a moment before fading away. The spirit withdrew, but something had changed. It was as if the spirit had left part of itself behind, and without fully understanding what that meant, Gaspi knew that he would never be the same again.
The spirit broke his gaze and began swooping back and forth playfully over the water. It soared upwards and stopped high in the air, pausing for a moment before diving down into the pool, green lights twinkling in its wake. Gaspi laughed, watching the sleek green form surge through the water before it burst out into the air again and flew off into the forest.
Caught between joy and amazement, Gaspi climbed out of the pool and dried off. This was what he’d come for, after all, but he’d got much more than he’d bargained for. He needed to tell Heath. He ran through the forest back to the clearing, where the druid was waiting with breakfast.
“Heath! You’ll never guess!” Gaspi enthused, standing panting by the druid’s chair.
The druid broke into a slow smile, expectation blossoming in his eyes. “Tell me.”
“One of the spirits showed itself to me!” he said. Heath slapped his hands against his knees, grinning like a child on his Nameday. He rose from his chair and clapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s great news!” the normally measured druid said with genuine excitement. “Tell me all about it,” he added, retaking his seat and indicating that Gaspi should do likewise. Gaspi squatted down by the tree root and told him how it had happened, the words bubbling out of him. Heath’s grin didn’t fade during the entire re-telling. Most of all Gaspi wanted to understand what he’d experienced when the spirit connected with him.
“It sounds to me like the spirit has bonded with you,” Heath explained in reverent tones. “You are privileged indeed to receive such an honour.”
“Bonded?” Gaspi asked.
“Don’t ask me to explain such a great mystery!” Heath responded. “You are now spirit-bound, just as I am. Suffice it to say that you will explore that bond over time and come to understand what it means. I had not anticipated this, but now that it has happened, I cannot say I am surprised.”
“Which spirit are you bound to?” Gaspi asked, his curiosity piqued. While working with Heath in the forest, he’d never noticed the druid interacting with any one spirit in particular.
“One of the water spirits,” Heath answered. “Now that an elemental has bonded with you, the other spirits may well start to manifest in your presence. If they do, I’ll point out the spirit I am bound to.”
“Fair enough,” Gaspi said.
“Ah Gaspi,” Heath continued, sighing in satisfaction. “I hoped the day would come when the spirits would show themselves to you, but now that it has happened, I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am. Today is a happy day,” he effused. Gaspi was touched by the strength of his emotion. It meant a lot to him to finally commune in some way with an elemental, but he hadn’t expected the rush of warmth from the druid.
“Heath,” he said in a more serious tone. “What does this mean?”
“What does what mean?” Heath asked.
“That the spirit revealed itself to me? That it bonded with me?” Gaspi responded. “I mean, what comes next? What am I meant to do about it?”
Heath stared at him for long moments and then started to chuckle. It was a deep and hearty chuckle, starting in his chest and spreading out until his whole torso was heaving with laughter.
Gaspi folded his arms indignantly. He didn’t see what was amusing the druid so much. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.
Heath continued to laugh, struggling to regain control of himself, but eventually he did so, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s as if you’ve learned nothing since you’ve been here!” he said.
Gaspi’s irritation ratcheted up another notch. “Eh?” he asked, offended.
Heath glanced at him, catching his tone. With an effort, he settled himself down, his last chuckles dying away. He took a controlled breath before speaking. “When you first arrived here, why did I not let you use magic?”
Gaspi thought about it for a moment, still annoyed by being laughed at. “Because it would be forceful, and I had to learn to do things naturally,” he answered grudgingly.
“That’s right,” Heath said. “And why have you been learning to cook and garden?”
He thought he could see where this was going. “To learn to flow with natural rhythms,” he answered, using wording that Heath himself had used numerous times.
“And what about the work we do, healing the trees and animals? With druidic p
owers, are we nature’s master or its servant?”
“Its servant,” Gaspi mumbled.
“If you hold all these learnings in tension, why do you think I am amused by your questions?” the druid asked gently.
He saw what Heath was getting at. Sighing, he let go of his irritation. “Because you think I should just let it happen and enjoy the moment, rather than try and turn it to some kind of purpose straight away.”
“Well said,” Heath responded. “I’m sorry I laughed at you, but can you see why it’s funny? Here you are learning how to go slowly and be in the moment, finding your place and your part in nature’s great cycle, and the moment you have a breakthrough you want to seize control again. I could have sworn you’ve enjoyed learning the rhythms of life here in the forest.”
Gaspi was chagrined. “You’re right Heath,” he said slowly. “I really have enjoyed what you’ve taught me. I feel happy here most of the time. I love serving the land. I just got a bit carried away, that’s all.”
“That’s understandable,” Heath said. “Old habits are hard to break, and there are times when you will have to be forceful again once you leave this place, but while you’re here I want you to learn these lessons as deeply as you possibly can.” Heath’s eyes took on a distant look. “A time may come Gaspi when you will need to abandon forcefulness and embrace the natural cycle of things, even though it costs you dearly.”
Gaspi shuddered, feeling the weight of prophecy in Heath’s words. A cloud drifted across the sun, casting the house into shadow. When it passed, the sun burst through again, its warm rays chasing away the gloom of the previous moment.
“So, when something wonderful like this happens, you should just embrace it,” Heath concluded. “Don’t worry what comes next, or why it’s happening. Those things will reveal themselves when it is time for you to understand.”
“I can do that,” Gaspi said, sobered by Heath’s words.
“But know this too,” Heath said. “This is a big step. You can’t force elementals to trust you, and if you had not embraced the lessons you’ve learned in the wholehearted way that you have, it wouldn’t have happened. So why not continue to relax and enjoy yourself, and get to know what it means to engage with elemental spirits?”
“Got it,” Gaspi said, feeling that, at least in his understanding, he’d taken another important step forward.
Ten
Ferast walked away from his tutorial, seething. His latest mentor had absolutely no imagination whatsoever. It was almost as if the healers had conspired together, agreeing that none of them would explain how healing could be used as a weapon. He’d been passed onto yet another teacher to try and tame his ambitions, an older magician who was probably meant to impress him with his years of experience and wisdom. Ferast hawked and spat on the floor at the thought. Wisdom! He was just an old man fading into his dotage, without any great achievements to boast of. He despised him and everything he stood for.
But what if there was a conspiracy? The thought stopped him in his tracks. What if he’d been branded a troublemaker, and no-one would ever show him the things he was so desperate to know? If that was the case, he’d definitely run out of reasons to stay at the College of Collective Magicks. Maybe it was time to make his move. Excitement fluttered in his belly. He’d been furiously researching the probable whereabouts of Shirukai Sestin, and was sure he was making real progress. Originally he’d thought the Archmage’s lair might be in the mountains far to the north, where all but the hardiest of people refused to live, but then he’d remembered what Hephistole had written about the renegade. The dark magician had two fascinations: summoning demons, and performing experiments on humans. Sestin would want to be near an available crop of people, but wouldn’t want anyone stumbling across his lair either. If that were true, he’d base himself someplace people naturally avoided, but which was not too far from human settlements.
After many nights of research, he’d narrowed it down to three possible places in the continent of Antropel: Sailor’s End, the Bottomless Sands and the Haunted Citadel. All three places gave people a good reason to avoid them. Sailor’s End was a barren but enormous island off Widow’s Grief Cape, the most deadly waterway in the continent. The Bottomless Sands was a region in the wide Karkarus desert where sinkholes were reported to swallow people whole. All the caravans crossing the desert went around it. The Haunted Citadel was the ancient seat of power in the Southland. It had been all but destroyed in the final battle of the Thirty Year War, and had lain abandoned ever since, reputedly haunted by evil spirits.
Ferast made up his mind. He would go to all three places if necessary but he would start with the Bottomless Sands, which was closest to Helioport. If he didn’t find Sestin there, he’d travel south to Sailor’s End, and then back up north-west to the Haunted Citadel. It was a journey of many hundreds of miles, and he’d have to traverse wild terrain to get there, but nothing was going to stop him from finding Shirukai Sestin and claiming his destiny.
…
Late that night, when most people were asleep, Ferast slipped out of the Warren. Hidden by a spell of secrecy, he passed unnoticed through the campus. The spell was a neuromantic invention of his own, massaging the mind of anyone looking his way, encouraging them to ignore his presence. He passed several late night revellers unnoticed, but the real test of his spell would be at the gate. It was easy enough to persuade the mind of a passer-by to ignore him, but it was much more difficult to overcome the mind of a person who was deliberately observing their surroundings. The main gates would be closed at that time of night, so he’d have to go through the smaller door built into the gates themselves. There would be guards posted on either side of the gate, all of whom should be alert for trouble, so this would be the moment his compulsion would be most rigorously tested.
As he neared the gates, he cloaked himself even more deeply in magical secrecy, his spell-craft sending whispers out into the night, urging onlookers to ignore him, to forget him, to see nothing. As expected, there were two guards on the inside of the gate, but he could tell from their posture that they were half-asleep, propped up and dozing against their spears. He stepped carefully to the small doorway and gave it a gentle tug. It was bolted shut. Feeling suddenly nervous, he steeled himself and slid the bolt free inch by inch. The heavy iron housing was well-oiled, and the bolt shifted without making any noise, but it was taking far too long. Every long second wracked his already taut nerves, and he kept glancing at the guards on either side of him, looking for any sign that they were rousing from their doze. When the bolt finally slid out of its socket, he grabbed the door handle and pulled. It swung soundlessly on hinges as well-oiled as the bolt had been, and neither guard reacted. He stepped through, looking quickly right and left at the guards on the other side of the gate. The left guard was staring into space, paying no attention to him at all, but the other was peering in his direction. He looked befuddled, trying to focus his eyes on what was in front of him.
Ferast’s heart was thumping in his chest. He drew more deeply on his power, spinning out a web of manipulation. His magic extended towards the guard, wrapping him in comfortable lies, urging him to relax and stop trying to see. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the guard’s eyes glazed over and he resumed his stance, turning back to look out into the night. He pushed the door shut, closing it as silently as he could. He considered using magic to try and slide the bolt back home on the other side, but he couldn’t see what he was doing, and it might end up making enough noise to break his spell altogether, so he left it as it was. The guards would notice it of course, but by that time he’d be long gone, and they’d probably just assume it was a mistake. He glanced one last time at the guards, making sure they were still wrapped in his web of suggestion, and when they continued to ignore him, he stepped away from the gate and out onto the road. Within fifty paces he was well out of the glow of the city’s lamps, and he let his spell fall away, breathing a quiet sigh of satisfaction. What had he bee
n worried about? The ordinary guards of Helioport could never resist the magic of a skilled neuromancer.
He ran over his plans as he walked. He didn’t intend to walk very far. At the very first opportunity he would steal a horse and head west, using his powers to his advantage every chance he got. Lesser people had to work for things, to scrimp and save, but he could just take whatever he wanted, and the owners would let him walk away with their most prized possessions. Such power was evidence of his greatness, a greatness that he was fully intent on exploring. Without looking back on the city that had housed him and where he had first learned to use magic, Ferast journeyed into the dark, embarking on the first stage of the search for his new master.
…
Rimulth was just dropping off to when a loud cry pierced the camp. He sat up with a start, confused by the lingering entanglement of drowsiness. He pushed himself out of bed, grabbed a spear and stepped outside in his nightclothes. Other members of the tribe were also stepping out of their huts, armed with whatever weaponry was at hand. The Dag-Mar, dressed only in a loin-cloth and a thousand tattoos, stood before the fire in the centre of the ring of tents, peering out into the night. It was he that had made the cry, rousing the tribe from their sleep.
Over the last few weeks more tribes had been attacked by demonic beasts, their shamans drained of all power, their lives snuffed out. None had yet prevailed, but reports had been spread throughout the mountains that the demons could be damaged by fire. On learning that, the Dag-Mar had decreed that every tribe should keep its fire burning constantly, day and night, in case of attack. His decree had been sent out by messenger, and now all the tribes kept a fire burning perpetually, ready to defend themselves against the demonic invaders.
Rimulth looked at the nearly-naked Dag-Mar. He was skinny and wrinkled, but he radiated such an aura of power that it was impossible to perceive him as weak. He looked around the camp. “Ready your weapons,” he commanded, sensing something that was beyond Rimulth’s perception.