Nature's Servant

by Duncan Pile

  It was as if two parts of him were at war; the part of him that wanted to refrain from forcefulness and the part of him that wanted to show Everand up for the idiot he was. As he was dwelling on this, Loreill began to nudge insistently at his consciousness. He could feel the elemental urging him to return to what Heath had taught him, but Loreill could never truly understand. He didn’t have human emotions and only understood his struggles through the bond they shared rather than through personal experience. Besides, it wasn’t as simple as just making a choice. What was he going to do with this ball of anger that kept swelling in his belly every time he saw Everand?

  And then, all of a sudden, the answer came to him. He wasn’t sure if Loreill had fed it to him or if it had come from himself, but the solution was clear - he should return to a rigorous practice of meditation. Gaspi winced. He’d been neglecting his morning routine for weeks! When he’d first learned to meditate it was to help him connect with his magical powers, but he no longer needed it for that purpose. He only really used it that way when enchanting, when the extra focus enhanced his spell work, but otherwise magic came at his beck and call these days. He loved meditating of course, and revelled in the feelings of clarity and contentment it gave him, but he’d just been…busy. The sparring sessions kept him occupied, as did the extra combat training Taurnil made him do, and then there was his work at the Orangery – he had a whole section of ground allocated to him now and it took a lot of looking after.

  He also had to keep up some form of magical study beyond combat and botany, and although Voltan kept his workload light, he still had to invest a certain amount of time a week looking at the basic subjects all students were expected to study, such as the History of Magic and Antropellean Politics. All students were expected to be familiar with the workings of local and regional governments as one day they may well be drawn on as advisors, or employed at court. He had koshta to play, and football too if the boys wanted a game, and on top of all that he had friends to hang out with and a girlfriend to see. It wasn’t as if he had endless time to spare!

  He wrinkled his brow in frustration. Even though that didn’t leave much time for meditation, it seemed like he’d have to make it happen anyway. He’d always had a short fuse and his powers made that a very dangerous flaw, and if meditation helped him keep a rein on his emotions, then it was clearly not something that was optional for him. Gaspi made up his mind. From tomorrow onwards he’d start getting up a bit earlier and making regular time to meditate, like he used to. Loreill’s approval came in a flood of warmth, and he knew he’d stumbled across the answer to his inner tension.

  “Gaspi!” someone called from behind him, interrupting his reflections, and he turned to see Jonn jogging along the wall. When he arrived he was breathing a little heavily, ruddy-faced from the exertion. “Did you see that storm?” he asked, clearly concerned. “It had to be magical!”

  “Er…yeah, it was me,” he admitted, embarrassed that he’d caused such a fuss.

  “Oh!” Jonn said, and sat down on the wall. “Any reason for it?” he asked, peering up at him through eyes screwed up against the bright sunlight. Gaspi sat down so Jonn wouldn’t have to squint.

  “It was an accident,” he said with a shrug, not wanting to go into the whole thing about Everand.

  Jonn smiled wryly. “An accident!” he said in mock disgust. “If that’s what you can do by mistake I’d hate to see what you could do on purpose!”

  He grinned sheepishly. He was so used to his powers by now that they no longer surprised him, but when he thought about the dark thunderhead he’d accidentally summoned, he realised it was powerful magic indeed. There probably wasn’t another person alive who could duplicate it. Strangely, his spell-work was always much more powerful when he was feeling emotional, and anger always made for a dramatic display.

  “Let’s carry on walking,” Jonn said once he’d caught his breath, and they stood up to continue their round of the city wall. “How’s Rimulth getting on?” he asked as they meandered slowly onwards.

  “He’s doing pretty well,” Gaspi answered. “He still misses his tribe but he’s given up the idea of going back there anytime soon.”

  “That must be hard,” Jonn said sympathetically.

  “Yeah I think it is,” Gaspi answered, “but he’s fitting in really well with all of us. He’s becoming a good friend.”

  “As good a friend as Taurnil?” Jonn asked defensively.

  “Different,” Gaspi said, surprised by Jonn’s unusual response. “Taurnil’s my best mate and always will be, but there’s no harm in having other friends too right?” he responded, managing to speak without defensiveness.

  “You’re right,” Jonn said. “Sorry, I should know you’d never leave Taurnil out of things. You two have been best friends since you were tiny.”

  Gaspi thought Jonn sounded wistful. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  Jonn looked at him in surprise. “What, with me?” he asked.

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  Jonn’s expression turned inward. “I suppose you could say I’m evaluating things,” he said.

  “In what way?”

  Jonn looked at him in wry amusement. “A man can’t keep anything to himself around you eh?” he said. “I don’t know Gasp,” he said honestly. “Things just feel different now. You lot don’t need me so much anymore,” he continued, waving away Gaspi’s protestations, “and I’m pretty much used to being a guard again. Life just feels a bit…pointless.”

  Gaspi had the rare experience of not knowing what to say.

  “Anyway, that’s quite enough navel gazing,” Jonn added with forced cheer. “I’m just looking at things and thinking about my options, but there’s no need to worry about me.”

  “Okay,” Gaspi responded, not at all convinced, but he felt that probing any further would be an invasion of his guardian’s privacy. A seed of worry lodged in his chest, an old ache he’d almost forgotten about. It was the same ache he used to feel as a child when he’d find Jonn in a drunken stupor. He just wanted him to be happy. Unable to soothe that pain, he made light conversation for the short distance that remained of their circuit of the city wall, and then made his excuses. He wanted to find Emmy. Perhaps she would have some ideas about how to help Jonn.

  …

  Jonn sat alone in The Stag’s Bellow, a back-street tavern he’d found in the Thieves’ Quarter. It was a filthy dive with dodgy beer and even dodgier customers, but no-one he knew drank there, which suited him when he was in a particularly black mood. On that particular day, all he wanted was anonymity, and the Stag’s Bellow had provided him with a shadowy corner to hide in and brood. He’d been up on the wall with Gaspi, and the boy had clearly sensed some of his difficulties. He’d been feeling rotten for a long time now, and it had finally reached the stage where he had to admit the possibility that he was sinking back into the deep funk he’d been lost in for all those years in Aemon’s Reach. The thought sent a chill through him, something akin to panic. He had genuinely believed he’d escaped all of that, but it must have been months since he’d felt even the slightest glimmer of genuine happiness.

  It had all started when they went back to Aemon’s Reach for the summer. It had been great for some of the younger folk, except Gaspi perhaps, who hadn’t been so happy, but for Jonn it had been a reminder of everything he’d lost: Rhetta, his best friend, his innocence, and years of his life wasted in misery. He’d been hoping that returning to Helioport would bring him back to his senses, but although his mood had improved on their return, it had never truly rebounded. Initially, he’d put it down to lacking a sense of purpose, but that argument didn’t hold up anymore. He was heavily involved in sparring and had to help Gaspi and Taurnil get ready for competing in the Measure, so it wasn’t as if he lacked things to do.

  Despite his busyness, he still felt that a deep black hole had opened up in the middle of him, and nothing he did seemed to fill it. Frowning, he stared down in
to his beer glass, lost in thought. He knew a way to numb the pain. It wasn’t a long term solution, but even if he could escape how he was feeling for just a few hours, that would be a mercy. Slowly, he lifted his head.

  “Innkeep,” he called, gaining the attention of the fat man behind the bar. “Whisky! And bring the bottle.”

  …

  Voltan threw a hard strike at Gaspi, its leading edge shaped to puncture anything but the strongest shield. Sensing the narrowness of the strike, Gaspi didn’t try and block it, but deflected it to the side instead. Before the energy had even dissipated, he spun on his heel and threw two strikes at once; one at Jonn’s legs and the other at Voltan, more to distract the magician than to actually hit him. Voltan was more than a match for such tactics however, easily scattering the energies Gaspi had thrown at him, and diverting the low strike back in Taurnil’s direction.

  “Jump!” Gaspi barked and Taurnil did so immediately, tuned into Gaspi’s commands so that he could avoid strikes coming from outside his field of vision. As Taurnil jumped, Gaspi stamped hard, sending shockwaves rippling through ground at the two fighters. The waves of energy passed right under Taurnil, who was in mid-jump, but caught Jonn off balance, sending him tumbling to the ground. Taurnil leapt in and pressed the butt of his staff up against his throat.

  “Good timing,” Voltan said, stepping back and dropping his arms, signalling a pause in the fighting. “You two are working very well together,” he continued as Taurnil helped Jonn up. He looked a bit unsteady on his feet.

  “Are you alright?” Taurnil asked.

  “Yeah, fine,” Jonn answered, but seeing him in that moment, Gaspi couldn’t help noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. Jonn hadn’t fought as well as usual. His reactions were slower, and Taurnil had found it easier than he normally did to get through his guard.

  “Let’s call it a day,” Voltan said. “There’s always room for improvement, but unless I’m very much mistaken, you two are ready for the Measure. That earth strike was magnificent.”

  “Thanks,” Gaspi said, echoed by Taurnil, who was looking at Voltan as if he must have misheard. The warrior mage was never generous with praise! He was glad of the early finish to the session. He wanted to talk to Taurnil about Jonn. He packed up his things quickly and they went back to his room.

  …

  Gaspi closed the door and sat on the bed.

  “What’ve you dragged me back here for then?” Taurnil asked, reversing Gaspi’s desk chair and sitting down, his arms folded on top of the backrest.

  “Don’t you think Jonn was a bit off today?” he asked.

  “Off?” Taurnil asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Slow, losing his balance; that sort of thing.”

  “Mmm…” Taurnil mused to himself. “Now that you come to mention it he was on pretty bad form. What’s your worry though?” he asked. “Everyone has an off day.”

  “I dunno exactly,” Gaspi responded, screwing up his face in frustration. “It’s just a feeling I’ve got, that’s all. Something’s not right.”

  “Well you know him best mate,” Taurnil said.

  “Will you keep an eye on him?” Gaspi asked. Taurnil saw a lot more of Jonn than he did and was far more likely to observe anything out of place.

  “Sure,” Taurnil said. “But you shouldn’t worry so much. Jonn can look after himself.”

  “You’re probably right,” Gaspi said, but in his heart of hearts he didn’t really believe it.

  Thirty-Eight

  Lydia leant into Taurnil as they drifted lazily down the river. It was his rostered day off, so they’d borrowed one of the city’s old rowboats and taken it out on the river. He smiled indulgently. Being a guard had its perks. Lydia murmured contentedly, snuggling in a bit closer and Taurnil’s smile broadened. They drifted out from under the shadow of a stand of trees and warm sunlight fell across his face. Spring had been nibbling at winter’s edges for the last couple of weeks, and this was the first truly mild day of the year. It was a lovely morning, and he was out enjoying the sunshine with his beautiful girlfriend while his fellow guards manned the walls. Life didn’t get much better than this!

  As they drifted, Taurnil reflected on how things had been with Lydia since the night he’d confronted her, and they’d agreed to wait for marriage before having sex. It wasn’t easy for Lydia to change her outlook, and there had been intimate moments since that night when things had got a bit heated, and she forgot her good intentions. In those moments, he sometimes struggled to remember why it was so important to him to wait, but he’d just about managed to stand his ground. A couple of times, that had led to an argument, but those conflicts were just a shadow of their previous misunderstanding, and were easily resolved in the cold light of day. When he was being honest with himself, Taurnil had to admit that it was no longer just Lydia’s willingness to stick to their agreement that was the problem – it was also his own. As time passed he came to love her more and more, and the reasons for holding back were becoming less clear.

  Taurnil glanced at the city, trying to gauge how far they’d drifted. Lydia had brought a basket of food, and they were planning on staying out all day, but he didn’t want to go too far downriver. Every effortless yard downstream was a much more arduous yard upstream on the return journey. The water was eddying lazily against its banks, but even at this slow pace he figured they should only allow the current to carry them downstream for half an hour or so.

  The river curved up ahead, beginning another of its long, lazy loops through the plain, and just where it began to turn, it had cut deeply into the bank, creating a natural overhang. Trees laden with their first spring growth hung heavily over the water, their roots twisting out from the bank and snaking down into the water. Taurnil thought it would make a great spot to stop for lunch. Gently separating himself from Lydia, he picked up the oars and steered them into the tangle of protruding roots with long, slow strokes. Picking up the loose end of the painter, he tied it to one of the stronger roots and shipped the oars, long rivulets of cool river water running down the coarse wood and over his hands.

  “Why’re we stopping?” Lydia asked, pushing her long, dark hair out of her eyes and back over her shoulders.

  “I don’t want to go too far downstream,” he said. “Besides, it’s a good place to stop for a bit. Look at the view.”

  Lydia sat up to take in the scene. On the far bank of the river there was a gentle beach. Wading birds strode through the shallows, lifting their long, awkward legs one at a time and planting them again, digging into the sand with beaks designed for winkling out the tiny creatures that lived there. Taurnil thought they looked like old treasure hunters panning for gold. Beyond the beach the plain stretched away towards the city, dotted with grazing sheep and goats, and slow-moving herds of cattle. The city itself looked magnificent in the distance, the rounded, terracotta rooftops of the lower city glowing warmly in the sun. The upper city was encircled by the Wall, a thin creamy line that separated the relative sanity of the lower city from the utter madness of the College of Collective Magicks. Above it, all manner of extraordinary structures shouted for attention, from the stately magnificence of the tower to the lunacy of billowing, multi-coloured, and top-heavy buildings built and supported by magic, without which they would probably collapse in an instant.

  “You’re right,” Lydia said. “It’s a great view. Let’s stay for a while.”

  Taurnil wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her sun-warmed hair. She leaned back into him and they stayed like that for a while, watching the birds search patiently for food in the shallows. They were close enough to the city that Taurnil could see the sunlight winking off the guards’ helmets, and his sense of satisfaction at the perfection of the day deepened. There was nowhere he’d rather be than here. He tightened his arms around Lydia, holding her even more closely, and after long moments, Lydia extricated herself from his embrace and turned round to face him.

  The boat rocked alarmingly
as she manoeuvred herself. Shuffling to the edge of the bench, she placed a hand on either side of Taurnil’s face and leant in to kiss him. There was a kind of fierceness in her gaze, a danger sign that she was feeling passionate, but this time it matched the intensity he was also feeling, and he let it happen. As she leant in to kiss him, her lips opened a fraction and her finger tips trailed tenderly down his cheeks.

  Taurnil thrilled in the intimacy, in the sweetness of her breath and the depth of her passion. Once again he was staggered that such an amazing, intoxicating girl would love him. He was bewitched by her, body and soul, and as she kissed him, he felt something stir in him that was equally potent. This was normally the point where he put a stop to things, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t find the strength of will to resist. Their kissing became more passionate, the gentle hands touching his face tightening possessively, just as his own locked around her waist and drew her nearer.

  She pulled back, gasping for breath, her eyes aflame but conflicted. “Taurnil, stop,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked, breathing heavily.

  “Because you know where this is leading, and we’ve worked far too hard at this to give in now,” she said.

  “I don’t know what to think,” he responded, confused and frustrated. “This feels right.”