“Tried to use it as a weapon.” D’Jenn shook his head. “Do you see the problem here? Tell me what you think you did wrong.”
Bethany chewed on her lower lip. “It’s like you said. My intentions weren’t clear.”
“Correct.” D’Jenn held up a finger. “There is more to consider, however. Do you remember what happened? How the magic turned on you?”
“It was hot.” Bethany’s gaze turned inward. “My head got dizzy and I felt sick. I think I was having trouble seeing, but…it’s hard to remember.” She focused on D’Jenn, giving him a chagrined look. “I remember you Splintering me, though. That hurt.”
“It was necessary. Why do you think those things happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the theme of today’s lesson?”
Bethany took a moment to recall before a look of understanding crossed her face.
She’s a smart girl. She’s beginning to see what I’m getting at.
“For everything, there is a cost,” Bethany said, echoing his phrasing. “So…I didn’t use enough power to move the water, or I used too much. Which is it?”
“Too little.” D’Jenn grasped his hands together to illustrate his point. “You became locked into the spell, unable to pull your magic free. The demand became too great on your Kai—that’s where the dizziness and sickness came from. You’re lucky that you have so much power, Bethany, else you might have burned your way into the Death Sleep.”
Bethany took a deep breath and absorbed his words. “How?”
“Remember when we taught you to Splinter? What did we tell you about how magic works, and why Splintering is so dangerous?”
Bethany’s forehead wrinkled. “You said that magic is like water in a bottle. Magic itself is the water, and the mind of the wizard is the bottle. Splintering is dangerous because once magic is channeled up, it needs to be used.” She paused, looking around at nothing while she thought. “But I don’t understand. If I didn’t use enough power to move the river, then what would make it so dangerous? Wouldn’t the spell just wink out? Why was I locked into it?”
“Your will is a two-sided trap, Bethany,” D’Jenn said. “Do you ever wonder why Conclave initiates don’t go around moving huge stones, summoning firestorms, or calling up lightning?”
Bethany shrugged. “I just thought they didn’t know how.”
“That’s partly true with regard to the lightning,” D’Jenn admitted. “Fire, though, isn’t so hard to summon. You need to understand it, but it doesn’t take much to learn its secrets. You’re strong enough to lift a boulder yourself, and—”
“Probably ten.” Bethany closed her eyes, as if she was listening to her Kai. “I can feel my magic getting stronger every day, like it’s growing.”
D’Jenn was surprised at how much that statement chilled him. He stumbled over his words, but recovered by giving her another chiding look. Bethany’s cheeks colored, though she did give him an embarrassed smile.
“Don’t brag, little one,” D’Jenn said. “It’s not polite.”
Bethany furrowed her brow. “Uncle Allen says polite people are all snakes behind your back. He says you should always trust a raging arsehole, because at least you know what you’ll get from them. He said you can step around a turd if you see it coming.”
“Your uncle has a lot of maxims that mean nothing at all. I suspect he makes them up on the spot. Best to ignore him, girl. He’s messing with you most of the time.” D’Jenn opened his mouth to continue the lesson but stopped himself. “Did he teach you those words? Turd and arsehole?”
“I’ve heard them before.” It sounded like an evasion.
D’Jenn sighed. “Don’t let Shawna hear you saying them. She’ll probably smack you for it.”
“She’d have to catch me first.”
D’Jenn snickered. “Be quick on your feet, then. Back to the matter at hand, girl—the reason initiates don’t go around performing wonders is that your will is a two-sided trap, as I was saying.”
“What does that mean?”
“Once you commit to a spell, it’s difficult to pull yourself free. It takes years of training to safely disengage from a casting before it runs its course. What isn’t difficult is underestimating how much magic needs to be channeled to accomplish something. Once a spell is enacted, the will of the caster becomes just as restrictive to the wizard as to the magic. You become something of a conduit for the magic itself, and breaking that bond while the power is coursing through you can have devastating effects.”
“Like the Death Sleep?”
“That’s the most likely outcome,” D’Jenn said. “No one knows why people have the capacity for magic they do. Some say it’s a result of bloodline, but that only explains why some people are born Blessed. What of the Learned? The best explanation is that there is something inside people—something in our blood, or our bodies—that burns out if too much magic courses through us. Your body will tell you when this is happening.”
“The dizziness.” Bethany gasped in realization and nodded. “And the sickness.”
“Exactly. Once you start feeling sick to your stomach, the process is well underway. You were close to going under when I Splintered you, Bethany. I know it hurt, but in all likelihood, I saved your life.”
“So I didn’t bring enough magic up from the ether to finish the casting,” Bethany said. “And I got locked into my own spell because of it. Alright. But the heat—where did that come from?”
“The heat is more related to the other mistake you made—that of having an unclear intention and undisciplined focus.”
“Alright.” Bethany’s confused tone demonstrated her lack of understanding.
D’Jenn sighed. “When you seized the river with your Kai, you wanted the magic to drown the Garthorin. You wanted to use the river as a weapon. It was instinctive, wild magic—”
“I’ve seen Dormael do that sort of thing before,” she said. “You both did—at Orm.”
“That’s true.” D’Jenn held up a hand. “But don’t think that gives you leave to try it. Your father and I are trained Warlocks, Bethany. We’ve been doing this for years and we understand the risks. You’re a trainee, youngling. You need to remember that.”
Bethany looked at the ground. “I remember.”
“Good.” D’Jenn nodded. “The reason it’s such a risk to have unclear intentions is precisely the problem with your will.”
“It’s easy to get locked into a spell?”
D’Jenn nodded.
Bethany bit her lip and took on a thoughtful expression. “Alright. So, because I didn’t have a clear intention for the spell, it trapped me. There wasn’t enough power, and that’s why I got sick.”
“Precisely. You’re beginning to understand. Very good, little one.”
Bethany gave him the ghost of a smile. “But how do I know how much power to use?”
“That’s the tricky thing,” D’Jenn said. “Have you noticed the way Dormael always calls up the same things—lightning, fire, and force? He throws large objects around because he can—he has the power to get it done and has become comfortable with using it. The same is true with lightning, or anything else he does. He’s studied it, practiced it, and has a good idea of how much power he’ll need to use. The smoother your use of magic—whether on deciding how much power to use, or having a clear intention—the less strain you’ll put on your Kai.”
“An unfocused mind yields unfocused magic?”
“Aye.” D’Jenn smiled at the girl. “Now you have a better understanding of the meaning.”
“Still doesn’t tell me how to figure out how much magic I’ll need.”
“That changes with the task, little one. Take the river, for example—how much magic do you think you would need to change the course of the river?”
“I don’t know.” Bethany sighed. “Probably a lot.”
“How much does water weigh?”
“Does that matter?”
�
�It does if you’re trying to move it.” D’Jenn tapped her forehead again. “Give me a guess.”
“I don’t know.” Bethany shrugged. “I know it’s heavy, though.”
“It is heavy.” D’Jenn nodded. “So, let’s say, for the sake of this lesson, that you’d need to exert a certain amount of magic to pick up a barrel of water, and in order to pick up the river, you’d need to use a proportionate amount.”
“Proportionate amount?”
“If there are a thousand barrels of water in the river, you’d need a thousand times the magic required to lift one barrel to lift the river. Savvy?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“So, that’s how much I use? A thousand barrels’ worth?”
“Well, how many barrels are in the river?”
“I don’t know.”
“The river flows—uphill to downhill. How many barrels are added to your estimate every moment as the water rushes into your grasp?”
“I don’t know.”
“And how much force do you think you need to counteract the current itself? How strong is the current?”
“I don’t know.”
“How cold is the water? Will that affect your magic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there anything you did know?”
Bethany let her shoulders slump, crestfallen. “I just knew I wanted to help.”
“A noble urge, Bethany,” D’Jenn said, “but a foolish one.”
“Using magic is hard.” Bethany grimaced at the dirt and kicked at one of the pebbles. Her shoulders shook for just a moment and she sniffled.
Oh gods, don’t start crying. The last thing he needed was to make her cry again. Shawna had spoken little more than three words to him since his first confrontation with Bethany. The woman eyed D’Jenn with suspicion when she saw him talking to Bethany, as if he might lash out at the girl at the drop of a hat.
“Nothing worth doing is easy.” D’Jenn acted as if he hadn’t noticed the tears. He gave Bethany a moment to compose herself and gestured again at the rock pile. “Magic can be learned, though. It can be mastered, and I’m going to teach you the right way—the subtle way.”
“Alright,” Bethany said, taking a deep breath to stifle her sobs. “What do I learn first?”
“How to control the amount of magic you draw in,” D’Jenn said. “It will calm that storm inside you. From there, we’ll move on to better things. Just remember what I said, girl. What’s the theme of today’s lesson?”
“For everything, a cost.”
“Sharp girl.” D’Jenn rustled her hair the way Dormael used to do. He caught himself feeling awkward at making the gesture, even though he’d done so without thinking. Bethany didn’t seem to notice. “Now, open your Kai, but don’t draw in any power until—”
A tone sounded through the ether coming from the east. It was a faint noise, but D’Jenn had been listening for it since the day he’d first noticed its presence. He took a moment to listen, but the distance stretched the limits of D’Jenn’s power.
Bethany looked to him, her expression surprised. D’Jenn put a hand to the girl’s shoulder and hauled her beneath some nearby tree cover. He gave Bethany a fierce look.
“Scratch that, Bethany,” he said. “Do you remember how to link?”
“I remember how to let it happen.”
“Good. Open your Kai. We’re going to link our magic together.”
“What are we going to do?”
D’Jenn gave Bethany a wicked smile. “We’re going to find out where this Warlock is hiding. If they’re using magic right now, it means they’re distracted. We can use that distraction to our advantage and figure out where they are.”
“I get to help?” Bethany’s expression went from confused to excited.
“Of course, girl. Go ahead, open your magic. Let’s bring that sneaky shit into the light.”
“I thought you didn’t want me hearing those sorts of words.”
“It’s Shawna I don’t want hearing them,” D’Jenn muttered. “Sit down. Hurry, now.”
Bethany smiled and sat next to him, all signs of her distress now gone. She closed her eyes and opened her Kai, bringing the familiar crawling sensation to D’Jenn’s body. He was surprised when she wriggled her little hand into his larger one, and leaned her shoulder against him.
Girls. D’Jenn sighed, but he didn’t pull his hand free.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s see what we can discover.”
***
“Drink.”
Dormael opened his eyes to the late afternoon sun. A waterskin was shoved under his nose, causing him to sputter and dodge its advances. He found his wrists bound in front of him when he reached for it, and felt a slight pain in his wrists at the movement. Closing his hands around the waterskin, he held it to his mouth and drank.
The water tasted like leather, but Dormael was so thirsty he didn’t care. He gulped it down as fast as he dared and sputtered as it was pulled away. Blinking his eyes, Dormael brought his sight into focus.
Khora crouched across from him, bereft of her head-wrapping. She was a striking woman, with the dark brown skin of a Sheran and a head of tight, curly hair. She watched Dormael with an intense expression, as if she could dig secrets from the lines of his face. Her fingers tapped at the side of the waterskin while she chewed on some unspoken thought. Dormael stared back at her before looking down at himself.
He was tied to a tree with a ridiculous length of silk rope, his legs splayed out like he’d stopped to sit and take a nap. His arms were free—a thing for which he was thankful—though his wrists were bound and his boots had been removed. Dormael glanced around and found them sitting near a campfire, with his socks drying over a nearby stone. His spear leaned against a tree at the edge of the campsite.
Dormael’s Kai was humming a muted tone through the ether. His head was throbbing in response to his magic, and Dormael tried to banish his Kai to save his energy. The magic, though, would not leave him.
What in the name of the gods is going on with my power?
Dormael glanced at his boots and blinked at Khora. “You’re drying my boots?”
“They stink.” Khora smirked at him. “I didn’t wash them, you fool. I just sat them next to the fire.”
“Could have put my feet a little closer.” Dormael wiggled his toes. “It gets cold out here at night.”
“Your feet will be in the fire soon enough.”
Dormael snorted. “Why didn’t you kill me? You had me flat-footed. You’re just drawing things out.”
“So eager to die, old friend? I suppose we could get started, if you’re impatient to be on about it.”
“I’m just wondering.” Dormael’s eyes went to his boots again.
“I need information.” Khora stared at his face.
“Good. Let’s trade, then. You speak first.”
Khora’s face tightened by the slightest degree. “Orm. I want to know what happened there.”
“Victus didn’t tell you?”
“Was it the artifact?”
“Has he manipulated his way into the Mekai’s seat yet? How many Kansils does he have under his thumb? I imagine he’s been busy, given the—”
Khora held up a finger and Dormael heard her magic sing. Pressure built in his head, slowly at first, like he was catching a sickness. It increased by degrees until Dormael’s ears popped and his skull began to throb. The pain grew until it felt like fire was burning behind his eyes, and Dormael thought his head would explode.
Khora’s song faded and the pain was gone.
“Fine amount of courtesy you’re showing me for drying out your boots.”
“It’s not as if you washed them.” Dormael sagged against his bonds.
Khora snickered. “What happened upriver—was that the girl? The one they say you’ve adopted as your own?”
Dormael kept his mouth shut.
“Of all the stories they’re telling a
bout you, that’s the strangest one,” Khora said. “You go off to Alderak and come back with a noble mistress and a child? Something happened to you when your lady love died in the war, Dormael. I said it then, and I’ll say it again. You just can’t turn off a stray, can you?”
Dormael showed her his teeth. “I’m a soft-hearted fellow.”
“The artifact, Dormael—how does it work?”
“Not even the Founder knew that,” Dormael said. “I’m not lying, either.”
Khora narrowed her eyes and relaxed her posture. She nodded to herself and turned away, rummaging in a pile of saddlebags sitting nearby. She returned with a pipe and a twig from the campfire, lighting it as she settled down across from Dormael. After taking a long pull, she offered the pipe to him. The sweet smell of tobacco made Dormael’s mouth water, and he accepted the pipe with a nod.
“We’ve known each other a long time, Dormael.” Khora’s eyes held a predatory gleam. “We’ve helped each other here and there. I’ve always been fond of you—that’s why I dried your boots. I wanted a chance to talk.”
“To convince me to come over to your side?” Dormael shook his head. “Don’t bother.”
“My side.” Khora snickered, snatching the pipe from his hands and taking her own hit. “I just want to survive, Dormael. What’s your attachment to the establishment? What grand order are you trying to preserve by opposing the Deacon? Vera tried to expose him—lot of good it would have done her—and she died. Others spoke against him, they disappeared.”
“And you agree with those tactics?”
“Doesn’t matter if I agree or not.” Khora shrugged. “I liked Vera, you know. Even helped her dig up some of the evidence against the Deacon before I knew what was happening.”
“And her death means nothing to you?”
Khora’s eyes locked to his, something hard in their depths. “I said I liked her. Doesn’t mean I’m going to take up arms to avenge her death. Did I ever tell you about my sister? About the day she died?”
“No.”
“I was only a girl. Ten, maybe eleven springs of age. I grew up in West Lodinburg, you know.”
The City Under the Mountain (The Seven Signs Book 4) Page 17