“Thanks for the advice.” Dormael snickered despite his irritation. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Good.” Tamasis widened his grin into a genuine smile. “I have found, in my times with you, that I enjoy being helpful. It is…fulfilling. If you need more advice, I will be glad to help however I can.”
“How magnanimous. Tell me, then, O Wise One—how do I get back to my friends?”
Tamasis smiled, a twinge of mischief in his glowing eyes.
“You begin as you would on any other day, Dormael.”
“Do I, now?” Dormael crossed his arms. “How?”
“You wake up.”
***
Dormael’s eyes opened to the wan light of midmorning.
The river whispered in the distance, filling the silent forest with its voice. Pain throbbed in Dormael’s legs, and a rock was digging into the back of his shoulder. His muscles were stiff, fingers frozen. The dry taste of thirst filled his mouth.
Dormael moved from the hollow with care, keeping his ears open for other sounds of movement. He had to brush pine needles from his body as he stood, and ended up with a pile of them at his feet. His skin itched as he dug them from the back of his neck, out of his sleeves, and from the insides of his boots. After a few moments pawing at his clothing and a quick stretch to get his blood flowing, Dormael stalked toward the water.
The river was wider than he remembered. He approached the bank with caution, alert for signs of danger. His eyes darted to the shadows beneath the trees—the gray light did little to pierce their depths. Rapids broke the surface of the river, forcing the water into a churning mess. Dormael spotted the rock which had been his salvation and said a silent prayer of thanks to the gods.
You deserve it, little rock, even though the bloody gods aren’t listening anymore.
Dormael was reluctant to drink from the river. The current was strong, but there was a good chance there were bodies upstream caught on the rocks, leaking their putrid essence into the water. Plenty of people had died from corrupted water, even without the certainty of corpses in the river. Grimacing down at the chill liquid he’d scooped into his hands, Dormael splashed it onto his face rather than into his mouth.
I’ve got to find a way to carry some. His wineskins had been tied to his saddle, and he had no way to either boil or store anything to drink. A quick survey of his clothing found that he’d escaped the river with a pocketful of pebbles—which had likely come from the water—and a single dagger that had somehow managed to stay tight in its boot-sheath.
“Wonderful.” Dormael let the pebbles fall from his palm. “At least I’ve still got a knife. Maybe the gods aren’t so bad.”
Dormael reached for his magic and was relieved when it answered him. The dull headache returned with it, and Dormael could feel the weakened state of his power. He sat and spent a few moments in silent concentration, but his magic allowed only the lightest touch before taxing his body with discomfort.
“Nothing’s ever easy,” he grumbled.
It would take days to recover from this much fatigue. Out in the wilderness, on the run from hungry man-eaters, there would be little chance to replenish his fortitude. If Dormael had a warm bed, a roaring fire, and a full belly, he might be at full strength after a night’s rest.
Might as well beg for golden turds to rain from the heavens. Should I find a place to dig in and rest? It could be better than running around the mountains. Right now I’d be worth little more than a quick run and a good meal to any Garthorin that sniffed me out.
“Can’t stay near the water.” Dormael sighed as he looked over the fast-flowing river. Every thirsty Garthorin in the valley would come here to drink. The closer Dormael was to the riverbank, the greater his chance of discovery. He had to move into the high places.
Dormael squinted at the cloud cover, trying to get a sense of location. Given the direction of the current, Dormael was on the north side of the river. The current was faster here than it had been at the ford where they faced the Garthorin, which meant he had been washed far downstream.
“A few minutes downriver, a few days on foot.”
D’Jenn would be looking for him. He wouldn’t have turned around—not in this dangerous hinterland—but Dormael knew D’Jenn would be making passes over the trees in Mind Flight, and perhaps leaving clues for Dormael to follow. If Dormael could survive long enough to regain some magical strength, he could shapeshift and meet his friends at the flat-topped mountain.
You didn’t dream up that other song in the ether. There’s someone else out here—don’t forget.
The sky looked more threatening with that in mind.
Dormael rose from his crouch and flicked the remaining water from his hands. He’d have to find another water source. His mouth burned with thirst, but he closed it and ignored the sensation. His Kai hummed a wary, injured melody, so Dormael let it sleep.
Best to summon it only when necessary.
His best option was to cut due north across the forested valley, making for the heights beyond. He would need to gather what little food and water he could find along the way and evade detection from the sky. Man-eating beasts filled these woods, and Dormael was in a weakened state. With everything considered, Dormael liked his chances for ending in the belly of a hungry Garthorin.
Dormael turned to head north and was frozen with surprise.
In the woods before him stood the Silver Lady. Her arms were extended, her flaming hair waving like she were underwater. Dormael’s body wracked with pain. His vision blurred, turning red at the edges. His knees hit the dirt and tears leaked down his face. The woman regarded him with a rapturous expression, metallic eyes full of triumph. She rose from the ground and floated upward, reflecting sunlight from her body despite the overcast day.
Dormael was filled with need. He felt the urge to kill something, to kill many somethings. He wanted to devour, to take, to rage across everything in sight. Anger filled his chest, suffused his veins with lightning.
The Silver Lady came for him. She wrapped her body around Dormael, her arms and legs as pliable as the liquid metal of her true form. She stared into Dormael’s eyes until they were full of her gaze. Dormael’s ears echoed with her vengeful scream.
When the world returned to clarity, Dormael was on his knees. His heart pounded like he’d just run a foot-race. His body burned with heat, and sweat poured down his face. His hands shook as he raised them to wipe his brow. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Dormael let out a fearful breath. “Gods be damned.”
“Don’t blame the gods, Dormael.”
Dormael’s eyes snapped up, his breath catching in his chest. A different woman appeared at the edge of the woods, her form coalescing from midair as if the light itself had hidden her. She was tall and imposing, with intense brown eyes. She wore scouting gear in hues of green and brown. A black kerchief covered her head and face, but the dark brown skin around her eyes would have given her identity away to anyone who knew her. She carried Dormael’s spear over her shoulder, which made him start in surprise.
“Khora.”
The skin around her eyes tightened, suggesting a smile. “I suppose you’d recognize me, even in this.”
Dormael’s heart gave a twinge before starting a panicked rhythm.
“You?” Dormael scowled at her. “You took up our Death Coins?”
“It is not so simple as that.”
“So you did.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Don’t move, Dormael.”
Khora moved a hand and itching erupted over Dormael’s arms. He cursed, trying to roll to the side, but his dehydrated muscles betrayed him. He tried to open his Kai during the struggle to rise, but his magic was sluggish to respond.
Before Dormael could right himself, he felt the weight of Khora’s magic come down on him. There was a flash of pain and a sound like a thousand shattering windows. Dormael felt the gritty sensation of pebbles against his cheek and the taste of
more blood in his mouth.
The light of midmorning fled his sight, leaving only darkness.
***
“For everything, there is a cost,” D’Jenn said, holding a pebble suspended in the air. “This rock weighs almost nothing, but almost nothing is still something.”
“I can’t even feel it when I try and hold a pebble.” Bethany watched the rock as it hovered in the space between them. “Sometimes it’s like there’s a storm inside me, pressure building up. It’s tough to hold it in.”
“Magic is volatile by nature,” D’Jenn said. “I know how it tugs at you, how it wants to be used. Resisting that urge is a large part of what any young wizard is taught. But, as you know—”
“I’m different.” Bethany sounded irritated, but D’Jenn chose to ignore her tone.
“Your situation is different, that’s true, but you’re not as different as you think, Bethany. You’ve got the same problems as any other child at the Conclave.”
Bethany sighed and kicked at the pebbles under her feet, a sour look passing over her face. D’Jenn turned an admonishing expression on her but softened it with a hand on her shoulder. She ceased her fidgeting and looked at him.
“Don’t brood,” he said. “And don’t start feeling sorry for yourself. It’s ugly, and it serves no purpose. Best to apply yourself, girl—that’s what you do if you want things to get better. Understood?”
She closed her eyes and gave him a short nod.
“Good. Now—attend.”
D’Jenn gestured to the side, where Bethany had gathered a small pile of stones for the purpose of her lesson. D’Jenn’s Kai hummed a low melody, whispering toward the rocks like an invisible serpent. He used his senses to identify the different stones and grasped one in the center with his magic. Tugging it out like a fisherman with a bite, he brought the stone to hover beside the one he’d already been holding.
“Finesse is much more valuable than power. Power will give you an advantage, that’s true. With enough power, you could crush these pebbles to dust.” D’Jenn clenched his fist, and the two pebbles crackled under the pressure of his magic. He released his magical grip and let the shattered remains fall to the dirt.
“That’s what happens when I try to catch them. They crack.”
“Dormael was concerned with teaching you to defend yourself,” D’Jenn said. “He tried to move quickly, going from Flying Rock to catching them out of the air. Magic is like any other tool you have, though. A child must learn to use its hands in stages—you don’t try and catch things if you’re not yet good enough to hold them properly. You couldn’t be expected to write a message if you can barely scrawl your name.”
“I can write my name.” Bethany scowled at him. “I’m not stupid.”
“That’s not what I meant, girl.” D’Jenn shook his head. “Have you ever seen a baby learning to walk?”
“I’ve seen babies.” Bethany smiled. “And you’re right—it’s funny watching them fall everywhere. It’s alright to laugh at them, though. They think it’s funny, too.”
D’Jenn snickered. “I’ll keep that in mind. Your magic is like that, Bethany. The baby has legs, it knows on some level how to use them, but it takes practice before the child can walk.”
“So my magic is like the baby’s legs?” She gave him a look of supreme skepticism.
“In a way.” D’Jenn ignored Bethany’s dubious look. “Open your Kai. Reach into that pile over there and pluck me out a single stone—the smallest one, if you can pick it out.”
“I can pick it out.” Bethany turned her gaze on the rocks.
“Don’t crush it.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t touch the other stones with your magic,” he added. “I want one—just one.”
“Just one.” Bethany bit her lower lip in concentration. She narrowed her focus at the stones and hummed a quiet note to herself. D’Jenn thumped her on the ear.
“Hey!” Bethany gave him an injured glance.
“Don’t hum,” D’Jenn said. “Don’t bite your lip. You do that a lot, you know. Scream when you release your power, hum when you’re casting. It’s a crutch, little one. Rid yourself of it.”
“It helps me concentrate. Is that so bad?”
“It is if you’re trying to hide, for instance, and don’t want to be discovered. A hum would give you away. Your problem is that you don’t have enough focus, Bethany, and I think I’m starting to see why. If you need to hum in order to cast, it’s a problem—a barrier between you and your magic. Those things have a way of crystallizing over time. It’s a hindrance, child, and even if it’s a mild hindrance, it’s still unacceptable.”
“Alright.” Bethany squared her shoulders and looked again to the pile of stones. D’Jenn suppressed a smile when she started to bite her lip, hesitated, then forced her expression to stillness. She took a deep breath, filling the space around her with magic. D’Jenn took a step away from the girl—her power was intense—and tried to ignore the crawling sensation burning over his skin.
“Stop,” D’Jenn said. “You’ve drawn in more than you need. That much magic could crush a boulder, girl.”
“I have to draw it in to use it. How else am I supposed to do it?”
D’Jenn stifled an irritated sigh. He was no instructor at the Conclave to be teaching children the basics of magic. It was hard to know where to begin with Bethany’s training. She had intuited so many things, and been allowed to pick up so many bad habits, that fixing her problem would be a many-layered process. D’Jenn felt a spike of guilt at his culpability in allowing her mistakes to take root, but there was a reason he’d never aspired to a teaching position. Training Bethany would take precious time from other important tasks.
It needs to be done, though. It won’t be long before she does something even more spectacular and gets us all killed.
D’Jenn shook his head. “You’ve been listening while Dormael and I have been fighting. We draw in power that way because we have to use it quickly, and for different things. Most wizards only pull in what they need for any given spell they’re using at the time.”
She gave him a confused look.
“Go on,” he said, trying a different tactic. “Use the power you’re holding now to pick up the stone. The smallest one, remember, and—”
“Don’t touch the other stones with my magic.”
D’Jenn nodded and held out a hand, inviting her to begin.
Bethany gave him a triumphant glance, as if she had won an argument, and squared her shoulders. Her eyes narrowed at the pile of stones again, her face resisting the urge to scowl in concentration. D’Jenn hid another smile at the effort.
The pebbles vibrated as Bethany’s power reached into them. One of the stones rose from the pile, but others were caught in the magic she had used to touch it, and floated from the ground as well. They dropped back to the dirt in scattered numbers as Bethany concentrated on holding the smallest stone in the grip of her magic.
D’Jenn held his palm out to catch the stone as it floated toward him. Bethany brought the pebble over and dropped it into his grip, letting out a breath as she released it. Her song still burned through the ether, and D’Jenn could feel anticipation in her magic, like a dog watching its master approach with a piece of meat. D’Jenn held the pebble between his fingers and inspected it.
“No cracks,” he said. “I’ll give you credit for that much. What went wrong?”
Bethany looked to the ground. “I touched the other stones.”
“And how did that happen?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “Sometimes it’s like the magic is squirming around everywhere and it won’t stay still. I’m trying, but…it’s hard.”
D’Jenn nodded. “Think of drawing in magic like holding your breath. The first few seconds are easy. Twenty seconds on, it’s more difficult. With each passing moment, your body starts to fight for air. The difficulty intensifies by degrees, until your chest is burning and you can stan
d it no longer.”
“It’s hard for me right from the start.”
“With magic, the more you’re holding, the more difficult it is to hold. What you’re doing is taking a great, deep breath and trying to use just enough to get something done. Every moment you hold that power in check, it grows more anxious and harder to control.”
“How do I stop it?”
D’Jenn tapped a finger against Bethany’s forehead. “What is the best harness to magic’s nature? What best shapes it?”
“The mind and will of the wizard,” Bethany intoned, brushing his finger away.
D’Jenn smiled. “So you do remember some of your lessons. Meditation, girl. Focus. Clarity. The mind is the sharpest knife any wizard can wield. Honing that knife will refine your skills. Understanding the forces you seek to control will also help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s take what happened at the river for an example.”
Bethany’s eyes darkened and she looked away. D’Jenn put another hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. Her expression was mournful, perhaps dejected, but not petulant. There was deep regret in her eyes.
“I’m not trying to berate you, Bethany, only to teach you. Take that experience and use it to improve. Have the courage to face it. Understand?”
She nodded.
“Now—the river. When you reached out with your power, what was your intent?”
“To help.” Bethany looked at her feet.
“I’m speaking only of the spell, little one, not the intention behind your decision to act. I don’t question your heart. So tell me, what was your intention when you touched the river with your power?”
Bethany thought for a moment. “I think I wanted to drown them—the Garthorin. I think. When I pulled on my Kai and felt the magic inside me, I just…just knew that I could do anything with it I wanted. I only had a moment, and I just grabbed the strongest thing I could see and tried to use it as a weapon.”
The City Under the Mountain (The Seven Signs Book 4) Page 16