by Duncan Pile
…
For the first few days of his search for Shirukai Sestin, Ferast travelled by night. He slept in barns and once under a hedge, taking care not to be seen in case his absence had been noticed by anyone at the college. He headed west, passing out of lands he knew and into unfamiliar terrain, pushing on towards the Bottomless Sands. After a week had passed with no sign of pursuit, he gave up sleeping rough, and began to take rooms in wayside inns, or beg hospitality from smallholders. It seemed that the city of magicians either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care that he had left, and although their disinterest rankled, it also afforded him a burgeoning sense of liberty. No-one was following him, and no-one would be watching what he did.
One evening, just as he was wearying of a long day’s hike, he came across a cottage. The smallholder, a buxom, thick-bodied serf, was working her small plot of land when he walked past. She took pity on him and offered him a meal and a bed for the night in exchange for a day’s labour on the morrow. Ferast had no interest in doing any labour, but he put on his most ingratiating smile and accepted the offer.
The woman talked incessantly over dinner, a meagre offering of thin, tasteless stew, and was visibly disappointed when he made his excuses and went to bed early. She followed him around as he got ready, talking at him until the moment he closed the bedroom door in her face. Her need for company wasn’t his problem. Anyway, it wasn’t as if she was on her own! The witless woman seemed to have invited every small creature within several miles into her house and made them her pets. She’d given them all names, and actually talked to them as if they were her friends!
He lit an oil lamp from a candle, eyeing the tiny room he would be sleeping in with distaste. He peered with particular suspicion at the thin, straw-filled mattress that was to be his bed, anticipating the prickly and uncomfortable night he’d have trying to sleep on it. It rested on a rickety old frame and was probably the source of the sour odour that permeated the room. He supposed it was better than sleeping under a hedge, but not by much. He sat down on the bed and shot up again in alarm as a furry shape darted out from beneath it. Instinctively, he reached out with his power and captured it, muffling its frightened mewling with another deft touch. He gestured and the creature floated up into the air, suspended before him, utterly defenceless.
It was a small cat, ginger with white paws and about six months old. It twisted silently in feline panic. He didn’t want its heart to give out, so he sent out a suggestion of calm, manipulating its mind with a subtle twist of power. It ceased struggling immediately, looking at him with docile eyes, neither alarmed nor curious. An indulgent smile spread across Ferast’s face as he revelled in the power neuromancy gave him. Others might play with force strikes and other showy tricks, but they were like children’s toys in comparison to the control neuromancy offered.
He stared at the cat for a few moments, wondering what he would do with it, and then he remembered something Hephistole had said about Shirukai Sestin. The renegade had been in the habit of practicing neuromancy on animals, performing experiments on them while he manipulated their minds. Apparently this was one of the sure signs of his degenerate nature, but Ferast couldn’t see what was so wrong with what he’d been doing. He’d been pushing back the boundaries of magical learning, seeking to understand the mind, its strengths and weaknesses, and the point at which pain would cause it to snap. What were a few animals compared to the great learning to be gained from such experiments? Perhaps Sestin had gone a bit too far when he kidnapped and experimented on a human being, but who knew what that guard had done to him? Small-minded people leapt to small-minded judgements, and Sestin had fled, knowing he would never get a chance to explain. Ferast smiled, certain that, in him, Shirukai Sestin would find a like-minded soul, or perhaps even an equal.
Perhaps he should prepare for meeting Sestin as he travelled. Certainly, fate had given him an ideal opportunity to start doing so. He had a subject at his mercy, and total privacy. With a single flick of his finger he magically locked the door and turned his attention to the cat. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t learn much if the cat’s response to pain was completely subdued, so he loosened his hold on its mind until it began to wriggle uncertainly, its glazed eyes rolling around, trying to focus. With another flick of his finger, he flipped it upside down and lowered it down until its back was against the floor, pinning its legs in place so its belly was exposed. With a feverish light in his eyes, he summoned a gleaming magical blade and bent down to make the first cut.
Twelve
Hephistole pushed Ferast’s door open and walked into an empty room. Stepping slowly across the floorboards, he reached out with his senses, searching for the tell-tale residues of a recent human presence, but the lingering energies he hoped to find were faint. Although the air carried the taint of negative emotion, the scent was cold and stale, and no magic had been performed in the room for days. Hephistole sat down heavily at the desk, frowning in frustration. There was no question about it – Ferast was long gone from the College of Collective Magicks.
He clenched a fist and rested it on the desk. This was his fault! Ferast’s teachers had been sending him reports for months about the disturbing line of questioning he’d been pursuing, and although Hephistole had intended to speak with the boy personally, he’d become distracted with other things and left it too late. Yes, he’d overseen the reassignment of Ferast’s mentors, and yes, he’d hoped that the boy might be impressed by old Ceril, with his decades of hard-won wisdom, but in the end, that clearly hadn’t been enough. Ferast had obviously not been impressed, and now it looked like Hephistole had missed the chance to win over a talented but troubled pupil.
Sighing wearily, Hephistole stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him. Wishing to avoid company, he draped himself in an illusion that rendered him invisible, and walked back through the Warren. He transported down to the Atrium and back up to the Observatory, and paced around the curving length of his office until he reached the scryer. There was always the chance that Ferast might still be within the device’s range, in which case he might get lucky and be able to locate him. The length of time the boy had been gone made it very unlikely, but he had to give it a try.
Placing his hands on the scryer’s cool, curving surface, he closed his eyes and used the powerful enchantment to look beyond the walls of the city. He searched north first, looking for signs of his missing student along the main thoroughfares, but to no avail. He did the same for each point of the compass, working tirelessly throughout the afternoon, but by the time evening came around, and he hadn’t found any sign of Ferast, he knew there was no point carrying on.
Walking away from the scryer, Hephistole massaged his temples, trying to sooth the abominable headache that had built up over the previous few hours. Slumping into the seat behind his desk, he let out a huge, disappointed sigh. It could be argued that as chancellor of the college, he couldn’t be expected to spend time with individual students, but he knew that argument didn’t really hold water. He’d certainly found time to invest in Gaspi, and he had known that Ferast was struggling, so as far as he was concerned, there was no excuse. At the end of the day he was responsible for every student in his care, and by neglecting to pay sufficient attention to a troubled boy, he had failed in his most important duty. He only hoped the consequences for Ferast wouldn’t be too severe.
…
Gaspi sat by the brook, meditating to its playful gurgle. He was deeply immersed in his inner world, imaginatively engaged to the point where the lapping waters he envisaged were gleaming more brightly than any he’d seen with his natural eyes. He was in his “secret place,” a construct his mind had created for him as a place to relax and feel centred. It was in a sheltered valley hidden away in the adjoining crook of two majestic mountains. It was high enough to see for miles and caught the full light of the sun, but the mountains protected him from all but the gentlest breath of wind. A single pine tree grew at the edge of a shimmering l
ake, and it was in its shade that Gaspi sat, his feet dangling in the cool water.
He breathed deeply in contentment. This was a “place” that he came to often, a kind of in-between meditative landscape where he could feel an encompassing sense of love but didn’t actually touch his power. He’d promised Heath he wouldn’t use magic during his stay with him, but meditation didn’t require him to use his powers, and was something Heath encouraged him to do. Even though he knew that the whole scene was a product of his imagination, there was something about his innate magical nature that grounded the experience and made it seem real. He swore he could feel the water as it gently lapped against his skin, tickling his ankles as it rose and fell. The scent of the pine tree was fresh and sharp in his nostrils, and the sun felt warm against his face.
During the early stages of learning to connect with his powers, he’d once allowed Hephistole to enter his inner landscape with him, but apart from that one time, his secret place had always been entirely private. That had all changed after bonding with the earth elemental.
After the spirit’s first appearance, it hadn’t left him alone. It trailed after him wherever he went, including the privy! When Gaspi complained about the lack of privacy, Heath had explained that now it was bonded with him, the spirit was a permanent part of his life, and he just needed to let it happen. The other spirits had come out of hiding now that one of their number had accepted him, but when he walked into the clearing each morning, it was always his own spirit that greeted him. It swooped and soared more than all the rest, exuding a great sense of joy at his arrival. As well as accompanying him during the day, it had even started to make its presence known in his private meditations, following him into even the most sacred of personal spaces.
In that moment, as Gaspi meditated, he could feel its presence infusing his peaceful state with sparkling notes of joy. He’d discovered that he could block his awareness of its presence if he wanted to, but that morning he was enjoying its company, its airy gladness infusing him with a quiet joy of his own. Thinking that Heath might be waiting for him, he reluctantly departed from the wonderful place of peace and stillness, gently bringing himself back to a fully conscious state. When he opened his eyes, he saw to his delight that the spirit had wrapped itself around his neck like a scarf, its head buried under a loop of its own diaphanous body. It unwound itself and peered intently into his face with jewel-bright eyes before taking off into the air. Gaspi stood up, easing the kinks out of his cramping legs. He must have been there for longer than he thought!
Heath emerged from inside his house, smiling when he saw him. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said, the rustiness in his voice long gone now that he had grown accustomed to talking again. “It looks like you and the spirit have taken bonding to a whole new level,” he added.
“He even gets into my meditations,” Gaspi said. “Not visibly, but I can feel him.”
“Him?” Heath asked with a disapproving expression. “You know they are not male and female?”
“I know,” Gaspi said with a shrug. “It’s just easier that way, and it feels more like a he than a she. Besides, if it were a she, Emea might not like it!” Heath harrumphed. “I’m even thinking of giving it a name,” Gaspi added.
Heath looked at him incredulously. “Why?” the druid asked. “They don’t have names.”
“I just want to call it something,” Gaspi said. “It feels like the natural thing to do.”
From the look on Heath’s face, he clearly didn’t approve. “I’ll not interfere with what’s happening between you and the spirit, but just remember that it is not human. To fully understand and work with a spirit, you have to respect its nature.”
“I won’t forget,” Gaspi promised.
…
Later that day, when they were out in the forest, they came across a tree with a torn trunk.
Heath looked at him intently for a moment. “I think it’s time for you to start harnessing the power of elemental magic. Do you think you’re ready?”
“I’ve never done the mantras before,” Gaspi answered uncertainly. The mantras Heath chanted when performing healings seemed to be a crucial part of the magic, and the druid hadn’t taught him a single one of them yet.
“Don’t worry,” Heath said mysteriously. “You’ll know what to do.”
“Er, okay,” he responded, taking a step towards the tree.
This was the first genuine bit of druidry Gaspi was going to practice, and in the absence of clear instructions, he felt suddenly unsure of himself. Heath handed him his bag of herbs and pastes, but when he looked in at all the stoppered jars and pouches of herbs, he didn’t have a clue what to do. He opened his mouth to voice his doubts when he was suddenly infused with power. It wasn’t his own, and yet it felt strangely familiar. Looking around, he saw that his elemental had materialised beside him, its attention riveted to the wounded tree. The strange sense of power flooding through him was coming directly from the spirit! He could feel its desire to heal resonating throughout his body. It wasn’t like human emotion, with all its complexity and self-awareness, but it was pure and sweet, and wanted only health and wellbeing for the damaged tree.
Gaspi felt knowledge flow into him along with the inrush of power, and suddenly he knew how to make the poultice needed for this kind of healing. He looked into the pouch, and what had previously looked like a random assortment of pots and herbs had taken on a whole different aspect. He could sense the qualities of each element - the power to bind, to stimulate growth, to combat poison. Reaching into the pouch, he drew out a tub of thick, white paste, and a small pouch of herbs. It was a simple concoction; the paste sealed the wound and the herbs stimulated healing. It wouldn’t do much on its own, but the elemental magic would lend strength to the paste’s natural qualities, and the poultice they left behind would be powerful for many weeks, giving the tree the time it needed to heal.
Gaspi took out a wide wooden blade and smeared a thin layer of the paste over the damaged tree’s exposed flesh. He separated a small handful of herbs from the pouch, and smeared these into the paste. Finally he took more of the paste, and added a second layer to seal the herbs inside the poultice. He wiped the blade clean on a cloth, resealed the pot and closed the pouch before placing them back in the larger bag.
Turning his attention back to the poultice, he tried to sense the intent of the elemental. He felt its power swell within him, rising up from his belly and flowing up through his neck into his mouth, making his tongue tingle. Gaspi knew the spirit wanted to speak through his mouth, and he though he knew he could choose to stop it, he allowed it to happen, yielding to the sweet power running through him. He breathed out, letting his mouth and tongue form the sounds that were trying to find their way out of him. What came out made no sense to him at all. If the sounds were forming words, they were in no language he’d ever heard. The strange utterances rolled fluidly off his tongue in a couple of melodious phrases. He repeated them several times, feeling power flow through him with every syllable, and when he felt a sense of completion, the words suddenly stopped coming. He stepped away from the tree, working his jaw and tongue to make sure he had full control again. The spirit soared into the air, swooping joyfully over him, and he could feel its transcendent emotion resonating within him. He looked at Heath, wanting to make sure the job was done properly.
“Very good Gaspi,” Heath said reverently. “You seem to understand what it means to be a druid.”
He was too staggered by the experience to acknowledge the compliment. The exhilarating flow of the spirit’s power had left him tingling from top to toe, as if the flow of healing power had done something to him too. So blessed was he that the chorus of questions his mind would normally produce lay quiescent, subdued by sheer wonder. There would be plenty of time to talk about it later. For now, he just wanted to abandon himself to the blissful flow of the spirit’s power.
Heath asked him to perform further healings throughout the day. The druid to
ok charge whenever they found injured or ailing animals, but when they came across damaged trees or plants, it was Gaspi who acted as the conduit for elemental power.
…
Heath didn’t speak again of Gaspi’s achievement until later that night, when they’d cooked and eaten, and were sitting beneath the stars. The druid cleared his throat before speaking.
“Are you ready to talk about what happened today?” he asked.
“I think so,” Gaspi answered, his eyes wide. “Can you explain it to me? I’m sure I’ve got a million questions, but I honestly can’t think of a single one.”
Heath smiled warmly. “I’m glad to see that using elemental magic has affected you so deeply,” he began. “You showed me today that you’ve understood the most important thing about being a druid.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you first arrived here, we discussed the reason you are not to use magic while you’re here,” Heath said. “Human magic is forceful, bringing other beings and powers under its control. That is not necessarily wrong but it is not the druid’s way. We serve nature - we are not its masters.” Gaspi nodded, showing that he understood so far. This was familiar territory by now. “When the spirit’s power touched you today, you did not try to control it. You yielded to it, letting it flow through you. You not only yielded to another being’s power, but you yielded your understanding and your speech, allowing it to do something you couldn’t comprehend and providing it with the breath to speak the words of power.”