Writing these letters was unproductive, so Quinn left his room to go for another run along the river. There he let his emotions flow into the banks and the water. As the river sped faster and faster with his turbulence, he ran faster, too. It had been three days since he had returned to the Villa. He missed Amarice, although he appreciated her not pushing him to talk.
He returned to his room, dripping in sweat, and pushed open the door. He stopped in the doorway, gaping. While he was gone, his small, single bed had been replaced with a large, double bed. There was less room between the bed and desk now, but this new bed was much more appropriately-sized for a young man over six feet tall. He smiled to himself.
“Do you like it? We can move you to a bigger room if you’d prefer.” A melodic voice rang behind him. He turned and saw Amarice standing there, grinning.
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“I wish I had known sooner,” she told him. “I often don’t think of these details. This has always been the apprentice’s room, but I believe you might be the tallest Sage’s apprentice ever.” She grinned.
He stepped toward her, as if to embrace her, but stopped short. The air between them grew tense. They simply stared at one another for several moments, before Amarice broke the silence. “It’s time for you to stop brooding. The fact that you are, it appears, half-Deyoni, is great news for us.” He furrowed his brow, confused. She smiled and explained. “You see, I’ve been poring through the writings of all the past Sages looking for something about dream magic. I just have not understood why you and I keep having these dreams. But I’ve been looking in the wrong place. We need to be looking for answers in the Deyoni.” She continued, explaining that she believed dreams must have played a role in causing all the nomadic tribes to venture toward the cities they hated and set up semi-permanent camp. After all, there had been only two attacks on their people, but they came to the cities by the thousands.
“I have sent word asking for the Deyoni shamans to come to the Villa for the Sage’s Sabbath. I hope they will. But until then, I need your help, Quinn. We need to find anything we can about dream magic in the volumes about the Deyoni.”
***
Quinn threw himself wholeheartedly into their research. Could the thing, unknown for so long, that had made Quinn such an outsider give him a purpose? Sage and apprentice spent hours reading in the library, stacks of books growing ever taller. Unfortunately, most of the writings on the Deyoni gave little mention of any of their magic. The histories were biased against these ancient people.
“I’ll just write my own damn book about the Deyoni!” Quinn exclaimed one afternoon, throwing the latest unhelpful book on the floor. “If I read one more page about how ignorant and savage they are…” A torrent of warm wind blew through the open windows and ruffled the pages of several open tomes. Quinn raised a hand to calm the wind. “Sorry.” He could not always control nature’s reactions to his anger, but at least he now knew how to stop it from getting out of control.
“You should,” Amarice said, brushing her wind-blown hair from her face.
“Should what?”
“Write your own damn book. Think of how far-reaching an unbigoted, comprehensive study of Deyoni magic would be. Think of the implications for Scholars and their Gifts.”
Quinn pondered this idea. Could he do it? Could he write a book that would improve both the lives of the tribal people and the magic of the Scholars? He would have to consider this more, later. Maybe this was where his career would take him. Maybe he could help Amarice shape the future of these people—his people. But they weren’t his people, not really. He may never see the man from the crowd again. And he was just a young Scholar with dreams of grandeur. His old friend self-doubt crept into his mind.
Then he looked at Amarice. She believed he could do it. He saw it on her face. Amarice had a way of making anything seem possible. This woman, the most powerful woman to ever live, believed in him. He grinned at her.
***
Despite his newfound confidence, their research proved largely unhelpful. New books were delivered almost daily to the Villa. Occasionally, one of them would stumble across a brief mention of Deyoni dream prophets, but the books either provided no more than a sentence or two or cited an individual who had been dead for centuries.
The weather grew warmer and the shades of winter shifted in pale greens. Every morning looked like a soft watercolor painting, and Quinn had taken to waking early to take a run at sunrise. One such morning, he returned sweating and panting to find Amarice standing outside his bedroom door. His heart leaped into his throat with a glint of hope. She looked him over, and he felt wildly self-conscious of his current state of appearance.
“How on earth do you wake up so early to run? I try to stay in bed as long as possible.”
He laughed. “I like being out when the sun rises. So, what are you doing awake this early then?”
Amarice said nothing for a while, as if she were unsure herself why she stood at Quinn’s door before breakfast. She opened her mouth to speak once or twice then closed it without a word. Quinn studied her curiously. She glowed in the pale morning light, her eyes still full of sleep. She lacked her normal finesse and confidence; yet, she was exquisite. Finally, she spoke. “We have not done much earth magic of late, sequestered away in the library. I was hoping you would take a walk with me.”
She led him out of the Villa and through the northern gardens. They passed the Consort’s Tree, which had stayed in full bloom since Quinn’s wild magic had revived it. Quinn smiled. That seemed so long ago, but it had been barely three months. He had arrived in the heart of winter; now the first day of spring was right around the corner.
Amarice led him down the slope of the mountain, toward the area where she had burned and revitalized the earth. Finally, she sat in the grass, as if this random spot had been exactly what she was looking for. Perhaps it was. She gestured to Quinn to sit across from her. He sat, and she closed her eyes.
The air was still and the morning dew still dampened the ground. Far enough from the nearest woods, the stillness was uninterrupted by birds. Quinn let the earth’s magic fill him until he felt warm and strong. The Sage sat quietly, breathing in the life of the morning. She stayed quiet so long, her voice startled him when she spoke.
“Do you feel at peace?” she asked him. He nodded. “One of the most powerful uses of the Gift of the Earth is to change the feeling of a room. I want you to change the air. Create a space of peace and safety.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You do, you just haven’t figured it out yet. Go on.” She closed her deep grey eyes again, giving him no further instruction. What is that supposed to mean? He wondered. I have no clue what I’m supposed to do. Still, Amarice had never led him astray. He trusted her, so he tried to push away his self-doubt. He closed his eyes.
He sat for a long time, letting the earth’s magic flow through him. He placed his bare hands on the wet ground to strengthen his connection. Time passed; he was unsure how long. He tried not to think about what to do. Peace and safety. As he thought it, he imagined a pale blue light surrounding him. Or perhaps, it was real. He did not know. Peace and safety. There it was again, only when his eyes were closed.
Quinn focused all his attention on this strange blue light. He realized it wasn’t surrounding him, but was a part of him. He took note of his body; he could no longer feel the coolness of the morning, the dampness of the ground. Only the blue light. It was neither hot nor cold; it was intangible, but it was a part of him. The longer he focused on it, the more he felt that it was real. Invisible with open eyes, but as real as the woman sitting in front of him.
Realization dawned on him. If the light was a part of him, could he control it? He concentrated as hard as he could. He forced the blue light to grow, to extend past him like an extra limb. It worked! He pictured Amarice sitting in front of him, and pushed the light toward her. It took a strength he had not anticipated, and he could
feel his Gift surging through him as if it were frantically running. He pushed harder. The light reached her. He pushed it further, his magic leaving him. The light spread over Amarice, enveloping her in its protective aura.
He opened his eyes. The light was gone, as was the feeling of peace and safety he had controlled. He gasped, weak. Had he imagined it?
Amarice grinned. “You did it!”
His eyes widened. “I did? You saw it?”
She shook her head. “No, only you can see it. And every person sees something different; some people see a bubble, some people a shield or a curtain. But I felt it, before you dropped it. The air had a slight buzz, but I felt peaceful and protected when it touched me.” Quinn had so many questions, but he felt so weak. “Replenish yourself,” she told him, sensing his thoughts. “We’ll talk more, later.”
They sat in silence for a time longer. Quinn pulled the magic, the ever-sustaining Gift of the Earth, into himself. He had never used so much power. As he felt the earth’s magic again, he let himself feel proud.
He asked her many questions as they walked slowly back toward the Villa. She assured him that with practice, it would become quicker and less draining. She said the audible buzzing would go away the more he did it, that most Scholars never practice this enough to get rid of the noise. She told him he could use it to bring happiness to a place of grief, respect to a place of dishonor, and peace to a place of turmoil.
They passed the Consort’s Tree again and walked through the stone arch of the northern gardens. “Amarice?” She met his eyes, waiting for him to continue. “If every Scholar sees something different, what do you see?”
She smiled, as she turned toward her quarters. “A pale blue light.”
***
A Messenger arrived at lunchtime with a letter for the Sage. It was an update from the Chief Inquisitor. Amarice pulled Quinn into her study to discuss the latest news.
A growing suspicion of magic existed in the outlying towns. Inquisitors reported hearing village folk blaming Scholars and Deyoni for small issues—everything from stolen loaves of bread to the pro-Deyoni laws of Parliament. In town meetings, discontent with forest protection laws abounded. Some villagers blamed those laws, and by proxy the Scholars, for their inability to extend their land and towns. The small religious sects in the outskirts of Elandria began preaching more and more about the unnaturalness of the Scholars’ gift.
Amarice thought that was hilarious. “The whole idea of our magic is that it is completely natural; we can’t do anything without a connection to the natural world.” She shook her head at the ignorance.
The letter had included an example of the propaganda seen in the villages. All across the outer regions of Elandria, posters with the same message had been placed around village squares and near churches: “Resist the Sinners’ Sorcery.” Not all the villagers bought into these ideas; most who had ever directly encountered Scholars had no qualms with their power. These villagers reported, over pints of ale, an influx of travelers with loud opinions. Always men, always alone, never with a clear destination.
The negative sentiments in some villages had grown so severe that many Scholars who made their homes there—schoolteachers, apothecaries, healers—had left and returned to the cities. If the pattern continued, there would be a shortage of positions available soon. Amarice made note to contact the Academy. She could house some Scholars, but the Academy would need to take in others. Scholars did not turn their backs on one another in times of hardship, and many would take in their homeless brethren. But the Sage and the Academy could afford to house and provide some income to those without work. In the meantime, she and the Academy would need to produce something to counter the propaganda.
Chapter Fourteen
The Villa greeted many guests over the next few days. With this newest information from the Royal Inquisitors, the Sage had requested the audience of many people. The High Inquisitor and several members of Parliament came to discuss the safety of the Scholars and the Deyoni. Quinn enjoyed watching Amarice command these meetings. Though she respected every person’s input and respected the ancient tradition of democracy, it was clear that she was the real force in the proceedings. She managed to be kind but adamant. And though the King typically deferred his power to Parliament, with the peace in Elandria threatened, everyone knew the Sage had the King’s ear. What Amarice wanted is what would happen.
The next crowd of guests were the professors who ran the Academy: Quickthorn, Viridion, and Metrarch. Professor Quickthorn greeted Quinn amicably. “You’ve changed,” she told him. “Do you still doubt your power?” Quinn just smiled.
Amarice led the meeting in her study. Though together the three professors and the Sage comprised the official leadership of the Scholars in Elandria, and the Sage held the most power, Amarice still treated her former professors with great reverence. Quinn sat near the corner of the study; he felt unqualified to be there. Indeed, he wondered if he would be allowed in any of these meetings if he did not have the same dreams as the Sage.
“How much room does the Academy have for Scholars who need a home?” Amarice asked the professors.
“It would be quite cramped,” Professor Viridion answered in his high-pitched voice, “but we determined we can house seventy-five. We can afford salaries for one hundred, though.”
Quickthorn added, “That figure does include the thirty that have already returned.”
The Sage nodded. “I can house and pay twenty to join us at the Villa. We’ll need to reach out to the well-established Scholars in Teleah to see who can open up rooms or find work for them. If the influx continues, I expect we’ll have several hundred over the next few months.”
Viridion offered to take on that responsibility. Metrarch said he would recruit students to help create pro-Scholar literature to disseminate to the outer villages. “We’ll also reach the inner villages preemptively.”
“And pro-Deyoni literature?” Amarice asked. The professors shifted uncomfortably. No one spoke. Though the professors were not strictly anti-Deyoni, they held many of the same biases that the common folk did. For the first time since they arrived, Amarice gave them a look that clearly said I am the Sage, and I’m asking for your solutions. Quickthorn began playing with the rings on her fingers. Viridion stared intently at the nearest tapestry. Metrarch simply sat stone-faced.
“I’ll do it,” Quinn piped up quietly. They all turned to look at the young apprentice. He met Amarice’s eyes, and she beamed at him. “I’ll create it if the Academy will print and disseminate it.” Amarice gave an appraising look at the professors, and they nodded emphatically.
“Excellent,” the Sage said. “I think we’re done here. I will see you all at dinner.” The professors stood to excuse themselves. Quinn began to follow them out of the study. “Quinn, you should stay.” He nodded, and shut the door after the professors. The second they were gone, Amarice dropped her Sage persona with a groan, and Quinn relaxed. He collapsed in the seat across from her desk and shook his head. “Thank you,” she told him.
He shrugged. “I just don’t understand.” But he did—the Deyoni never integrated themselves into mainstream society. Their ways were different, and humans by nature feared different. However, the professors were Scholars, the ones who preached knowledge above all else. There was so much to learn from these societal outcasts, if one only put forth the effort.
Sage and apprentice spent the next several hours planning how best to send pro-Deyoni messages. Quinn thought he could easily spend the rest of his life in Amarice’s presence, planning, reflecting, and laughing. If only Amarice felt the same, he thought. He pushed the thoughts away; he had a mission now.
***
Two days later, as the Villa prepared in earnest for the Sage’s Sabbath, three Deyoni shamans arrived. Two elderly women in vibrant skirts entered the Villa gracefully, their hair wrapped in silken scarves, faces decorated with jewels. A short man, old enough to be Quinn’s grandfather, followed tw
o steps behind, in flared pants and an open vest of blue velvet. He wore a sash around his waist.
Quinn felt unexpectedly disappointed. Part of him had hoped one of the shamans would be the man who so resembled him. Improbable, he knew, considering the thousands of Deyoni camped outside of Teleah. But he had wanted to meet this man, to ask him about his mother, about his heritage.
“Drabekesala!” they greeted Amarice with warm embraces. Amarice chatted with them in the courtyard in their language, before switching to the common tongue.
“Meet my apprentice, Quinn Atwell.” She gestured toward Quinn, who bowed in reverence. The man bowed in return, as did one of the women. The other, shriveled with a bird-like face, eyed him up and down.
“He is Deyoni.” Her accent was thick, but her message was unmistakable. Quinn and Amarice both looked at the woman in surprise, then looked at each other. Quinn gaped; he had no words.
Amarice spoke in his stead. She could not hide the shock in her voice at the elderly shaman’s appraisal. “Well, we believe he is half Deyoni. We saw a man who resembled him and knew his mother, but we did not get a chance to speak with him.”
“It is in his heart.” The woman finally bowed to Quinn. “Welcome, brother. We accept you.” Quinn stuttered out words of thanks, unsure if he was coherent or not. The woman turned to the other two and muttered something in Deyoni.
Quinn looked at Amarice questioningly. She looked puzzled and shook her head. Maybe she had not heard what they said. Amarice turned to lead the shamans to their meeting. He expected her to take them into the study, but she walked past the courtyard and into the northern gardens. The shamans followed silently as she led them past the Consort’s Tree and down the hill. She walked to the spot where she had taught Quinn much of his magic and sat in the grass.
With an adeptness uncharacteristic of people their age, the shamans sat on the grass, forming a small circle with Amarice. Quinn took a seat between the bird-like woman and the Sage. His old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity had returned in earnest. He sat in the presence of immense power; that much was clear. But the woman’s insight into his heritage—a heritage he had only discovered the week prior—disturbed him. How could she have known?
The Sage's Consort (The Scholars of Elandria Book 1) Page 11