Shattering the Ley

by Joshua Palmatier

  “What about the ley globes? And the other . . . incidents we told you about.” Her father’s voice was creased with worry and Kara froze, coldness settling into her stomach. What other incidents? Were they still talking about her?

  “Has she been tested yet?”

  “She’s only twelve. They won’t test her or the others at the school for another few years.”

  Someone grunted. “I’d say she’s simply manifesting some talents early. Don’t worry, it’s not unheard of. Sometimes the talent—whatever it may be—simply appears off and on ahead of time, as early as five years before testing. If it continues, bring it to the attention of someone at her school.”

  Kara heard movement, some more conversation too muffled for her to make out, and then a door closing.

  A moment later, her father appeared in the door to the bedroom, his hair wild, his eyes haunted and hollow, bruised with lack of sleep. Kara gasped and tried to rise, but couldn’t; her arms felt leaden. She could barely raise her hands off the blanket that covered her, and after a few moments holding them in the air, trembling as if palsied, she let them fall back into place. She stared at them in horror, then, with effort, turned her head toward her father.

  “What’s wrong with me?” She nearly choked on the words, her throat suddenly thick and tight. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

  Her father stepped to her side and knelt, placing a hand on her forehead as if checking for a fever before brushing her hair back from her eyes with a tight smile. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Kara. The healer was here and he checked everything out. He says that the excitement of the sowing of the tower overwhelmed you and wore you out, that’s all.”

  Kara could hear the doubt in his voice. “I can barely move my arms.”

  Her father frowned. “Do they hurt?”

  She shook her head weakly. “They just feel . . . heavy.” She tried to move her legs, but they merely shifted beneath the blanket. She could wiggle her toes and make a fist with her hand, but anything more and her body barely reacted.

  What if they never moved again?

  Something seized her chest and began to tighten. It suddenly became hard to breathe, her throat constricted, but before she could completely panic, her father leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Hush. Don’t try to move. The healer said everything was fine, remember? You’re exhausted, that’s all. You’ll get your strength back. I bet you can even move your arm more now than you could a moment ago, right?” He sat back and motioned for her to try.

  Kara frowned and tried to raise her right hand again. It came off the blanket much easier than before, and she could hold it in the air longer, but eventually it began shuddering and she had to lay it back down.

  “See?” her father said. “You’re already recovering.” He squeezed her shoulder with one hand as he stood. “I have some of the stew from last night warming in the pot. It should be well-flavored after a night out on the windowsill in the cold.”

  He left, moving into the kitchen where she could hear him rummaging around. She waited for him to start humming to himself, but he didn’t, so she knew he was still worried about something. She didn’t hear her mother, but the light coming in from the direction of the kitchen meant it was just after midday. Her mother would still be at the tower.

  She spent the next few minutes concentrating on her arms and legs, lifting them until she couldn’t hold them up any longer, moving her hands, her feet, twisting her head around. The initial panic eased, although it still prickled her chest when her limbs collapsed, or her wrist sagged, too tired to hold her hand upright. The weight she’d felt since she’d woken still pressed over her body, as if she’d run and run and run until she couldn’t run any farther and had collapsed, drained and empty.

  Leaning her head back against her thin feather pillow, she thought about what she’d heard the healer say. She knew about the testing of talents at school, although she hadn’t thought about it much since it wasn’t supposed to happen for another two years. Everyone was tested, and then they could choose where they wanted to apprentice after that. Except for those that showed some significant talent. They were sent to the University in Confluence to study . . . or to the ley nodes and the Wielders. Cory and Brandt and some of the other boys whispered and snickered and dreamed about being chosen to become a Wielder, playacting in the school’s courtyard as they manipulated the ley for their own purposes, arms waving in wild, dramatic circles. But it was just playacting. Nearly everyone tested showed some trace of talent, but rarely was it strong enough to be selected to attend the University. Fewer still were taken off by the Wielders. And those that were taken by the Wielders never spoke of their training in the use of the ley. So everything that Cory and Brandt and the rest made up in the courtyard was simply . . . imagination. It wasn’t real.

  She frowned and stared down at her hands, clutched now against her chest. She thought suddenly of Halliel’s Park, of the ley globes hovering above the gate brightening and dimming—

  But then her father returned, a bowl of steaming stew held in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He dragged a stool close with his foot, and set the bowl and glass on the floor. “Let’s get you into a better position,” he muttered, helping her to sit up, rearranging the pillows at her back so she could lean against the wall that served as a headboard. He moved the bowl to her lap and handed her a spoon. She managed to raise a few spoonfuls to her mouth before her arm became too weak and he took over for her. The stew spread warmth through her stomach and chest and even though she still felt weak, the last vestiges of her panic subsided.

  She’d eaten half the bowl when her father drew back and ruffled her hair. “Feeling better?” When she nodded, he stood. “Good. I need to get to work on this new clock. You stay here and rest. I’ll be in the next room.”

  “Da?”

  He turned at the door, bowl of stew cupped in one hand. He didn’t look as weary as before. “What, Kara?”

  She bit her lower lip, then blurted. “I was at the park, at Halliel’s Park. That’s why I didn’t come straight home from school, why I was at the marketplace. I wanted to see the park.”

  “I know.” He smiled. “And I’m glad you told me. Now you should get some rest, so you can go back to school tomorrow. Besides, your mother should be home shortly and you’ll want to let her know you’re fine by helping out with dinner, right?”

  Kara made a face and scrunched back into the pillow. Her father chuckled, the sound fading as he settled into the outer room, the chair before his desk creaking with his weight. She wondered how he knew she’d been going to the park all this time, and why he hadn’t said anything to her about it before.

  Then she heard her father humming in the outside room, the sound barely audible, and the tension drained from her body and the weight that made her arms and legs leaden faded and she drifted off to sleep.

  Four

  “WHERE ARE YOU HEADED?” Cory asked Kara as soon as he emerged from the iron gate that served as the entrance to the school’s courtyard. Their fellow students streamed out around them, screaming, laughing, and shoving each other as they dispersed toward their respective parts of Eld and whatever chores their parents had for them.

  “Home,” Kara said, and hefted the leather strap holding her schoolbooks onto her shoulder. It had been two weeks since the sowing of the tower, now visible from any of the hillocks in Eld and fast becoming a familiar sight. She finally felt as if she’d regained all of her strength; Cory had had to carry her books for her the first week. “You?”

  Cory sighed. “The same. My father wants me to help him with the candles. Ever since the sowing, the local lords and ladies have ordered hundreds of them. The Baron used them during the ceremony somehow and now they all want them.” He scowled. “I hate working with tallow.”

  Kara drew breath to point out that his father expected him to take over the
business once he’d been tested, but then Justin caught her eye.

  The eight-year-old had finally emerged from the main building into the courtyard, the younger students released later so that older brothers and sisters could meet them if necessary. Head lowered so that his dirty-blond hair covered his face, he plodded across the yard to the gates, books dragging across the cobblestones behind him.

  As soon as he reached the gate, he looked up and searched the street. His gaze swept over Kara and Cory with only a flicker of recognition. Then it locked on something farther down the street and his entire body went rigid with tension, his gray eyes widening in fear, hand clenching tight on the strap holding his books.

  Kara spun, expecting to see some of the older boys waiting down the street in a small huddle, punching each other in the shoulder and eyeing the students as they left. Her shoulders tensed, her eyes narrowed with rage, but she had to swallow the bitter words that rose in the back of her throat. The bullies weren’t there. Some of the other students were still hanging around—a few older ones waiting impatiently for their younger siblings, a group of two or three chatting—and a few adults were going about their daily errands, but no one else.

  Kara turned back to Justin, who still stood in the same place, body trembling slightly. She moved to his side. “What is it, Justin? What’s wrong?”

  Justin jumped at her voice, hand jerking his books closer with a thud. His terrified eyes latched onto hers, but for a long moment he said nothing. Then, in a soft, ragged voice, he said, “That man. He’s watching me again.”

  “What man?” Cory said from behind them, body bristling with anger. “It isn’t Brent, is it? I told him to leave you alone.”

  Justin shook his head. “Not Brent. Him.” He pointed, Kara and Cory glancing down the street, then toward each other, Cory frowning.

  “I don’t see anyone, Justin,” Kara said.

  Justin’s arm lowered. “He’s not there anymore.” His gaze darted back and forth across the street and he took a step toward Kara as if for protection. “He’s waiting for me. He’s been here every day for the past week.”

  “Well, he’s gone now, right?”

  Kara glared at Cory, who shrugged and mouthed the word, What? over Justin’s head. “Were you walking home by yourself today? I don’t see your mother.”

  “She’s at the lord’s manse. Lady Carlsing wanted new curtains.” He edged closer still to Kara as he spoke.

  Kara heard Cory sigh, but she ignored him. “We can walk with you, can’t we, Cory?”

  He rolled his eyes, but said, “Of course.”

  Cory started up a running conversation with her and Justin almost as soon as they left. Justin kept his eyes on the street, face twisted up into a tight frown of worry, but as Cory distracted him, drawing him out with stories from school and rude jokes, the tension that tightened his body relaxed. Kara watched the street as well, catching sight of a group of three Dogs headed toward Stone, another of five Temerite merchants talking rapidly in their own language, but nothing else out of the ordinary. Certainly no strange men watching them or following them. She wondered briefly if Justin had imagined him. He’d always been a little odd, quiet and prone to standing in the shadows of the courtyard while everyone else tussled in the grass off the main cobbles or watched the training in the practice yard. That was why he’d caught the attention of Brent and his group.

  But when they reached the steps that led to Justin’s flat, and he darted up to the door and glanced hurriedly in both directions before ducking inside, a shudder of unease coursed down her back.

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Cory asked. “Do you think he’s just being . . . well, Justin?”

  “I don’t know. At school, he seemed terrified.”

  “And it didn’t go away, no matter how awful my jokes were.”

  She snorted, then glanced up and down the street one last time . . . and suddenly realized where they were.

  Halliel’s Park was only a few streets away.

  Even as she thought it, a different kind of shudder ran through her, from the roots of her hair down into her toes. It centered there, coursing through her feet and into the ground. She could feel the pull of the park again. She’d managed not to think about it since the sowing, had focused on recovering from whatever had drained her strength, but now the pull had returned, stronger than before. She thought about what the healer had said to her father, about the way the ley globes in the park had brightened and dimmed, about the testing at the end of each school year, those of age gathering in the Great Hall with the Master of the School, the teachers, staff, and students, a Prime Wielder, and the Head of the University. The Head of the University usually tested each student first, placing two glass globes, one each, in the palms of the student’s hands. Most of the time nothing would happen and everyone present would release their pent-up breaths in a low sigh, accompanied by murmured conversation as the student stepped to the side and was presented to the Prime Wielder. Sometimes, one or both globes would flicker with colored light, usually only a spattering, as if the globes were struggling to catch fire on the inside. Only once had Kara seen the globes flare with light, then steady into a cool, vibrant blue. That student had been sent to the University the following day.

  The test by the Wielder was less dramatic. He or she would place a hand on the student’s head, close his or her eyes, wait for a long moment, and then proclaim the student unworthy. Kara had never seen anyone proclaimed worthy during any of the tests she’d attended.

  She suddenly wondered what the globes from the University would do if she held them. Or what the Wielder would say after his moment of silence.

  “Kara, what’s wrong?”

  Kara gasped and jerked away when Cory placed his hand on her arm. He gave her a sharp frown. “What’s wrong? Is it happening again? Are you getting weak?”

  “I’m fine.” The words came out too quick, but they were true. She could still feel the pull of the park, her feet tingling against the earth, but she didn’t feel the prickling sensation that had coursed through her the night of the sowing. She drew in a deep breath and smiled. “It’s all right, Cory, I’m fine. We should head back home.”

  He eyed her carefully, awkwardly concerned, then nodded. “Let’s go. My dad will be furious if we don’t get the candles done tonight.”

  Kara hung back, letting Cory make a path through the people on the street, following in his wake. When he turned onto the street that ran along one side of Halliel’s Park, she nearly called out to stop him. But the pull of the park had increased, had tightened in a band across her chest, tight enough it had grown hard to breathe. She could feel the blood pulsing in her throat, in her arms and fingers. Her feet had grown heavy, yet at the same time her body felt light. The sensations increased as they drew near the park’s entrance and she glanced toward the ley globes above the ends of the stone arch, catching sight of a gardener—the same man she’d seen before—working within. The globes brightened as she drew near and the gardener’s head snapped up to stare at them, then out toward the street. He stood as he searched, moved to the threshold of the park—

  And then his gaze fell on Kara.

  Kara flinched and ducked her head, realized she’d slowed, that Cory was now a good twenty paces in front of her. She increased her pace to catch up, but a hand fell on her shoulder and a voice said, “Wait.”

  She knew it was the gardener even before she turned. Not because he’d seen her, or because his voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined it would—rough with age, yet still gentle. She knew it was the gardener because she’d felt him approaching through her feet, his presence like a pressure against her back.

  She swallowed against the tightness in her chest. “Yes, sir?”

  The gardener stared at her a long moment, glanced back toward the two globes, now slightly dimmed, then back to her. Something flash
ed through his eyes, something sad, although he smiled and knelt down before her. He didn’t release his hold on her shoulder, though.

  “You were here the other day, weren’t you? Before the sowing?”

  She nodded. She could feel something through the man’s touch, an energy, streaming out from her, passing through him and into the ground where he knelt. Energy coursed from him into her as well, but it wasn’t as strong, its flow sluggish and weak.

  The gardener sighed, then squeezed her shoulder in reassurance before struggling to stand. As soon as he released her shoulder, the flow of energy cut off, although she could still feel him, as if some small part of that flow still remained, nearly undetectable.

  He nodded toward Cory, who’d halted a few paces distant and was eyeing the gardener suspiciously. “I think you, along with your friend, should take me to your father. We need to speak. Right now.”

  When Kara opened the door to her family’s apartment, her father was working at his desk, the ley globe pulled in close. It brightened as soon as she entered, the gardener trailing behind her. Cory had escaped as soon as they reached his apartment, casting her a worried look as he closed the door.

  “Ah, Kara, I’m glad you’re home,” her father said without turning. “Someone dropped off a Gorrani sandglass.” He motioned to where the clock sat to one side, sand falling from one tray to another through a pinched hourglass, the tray beneath slowly lowering as it grew heavier. “I was hoping you’d be able to take a look while I finish the work on this piece.”

  “Da?” Her voice cracked and she coughed and cleared her throat. “Da, there’s someone here.”

  Metal clattered against metal and her father swore, too softly for her to hear the words. Straightening, he sighed and pushed the ley globe aside, spinning in his chair. “What did you sa—?”