Clanda leaned forward. "You're going to make it that easy for me?" She chuckled. "All right, I'll make it easier for you. I know who you are, Ellery mac Torol."
A whine started in the back of his throat. He felt faint, and he was certain he would be sick. "Th-then y-you know--"
"I know about the fire. I know why the Reapers want you. I know your father is a prisoner in Lishal Tor."
"Wh-what are y-you going to do with m-me?" He swallowed bile. "I-I d-don't deserve--"
Clanda stood and moved to sit next to him on the bed. "Do you think I should cast you out and let the Reapers have you?"
He closed his eyes and nodded. "I-I destroy everything I touch." The words were a whisper, and he had not meant to say them at all.
Clanda sighed. "I don't think that's true, and I don't think I should give you up either."
He shook his head. "I can't stay here. I have to--"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do anything. I'll make sure Lishal Tor is freed, and I'll find some way to send the Reapers back empty handed. That's my job, Cree. The Cavordiac is here to protect and defend, not throw innocents to the slaughter."
"I'm not innocent." He moved just enough to escape her touch. "I've done horrible things. And nothing can ever atone for them." Tears welled in his eyes, and a few slid down his cheek. He turned away.
"The fire wasn't your fault. You were sick, half-trained--"
"It's not the fire." The words slipped out before he could stop them. He felt Clanda's surprise and stood, hoping she would leave. Her eyes were dagger-pricks on his back, and a mix of anger and curiosity poured from her.
"Not the fire? Then what? What have you done that was so awful? You were a child when the fire started. What have you done since--"
"Nothing. It was before--" He choked. "Before the fire." Shivers coursed up and down his spine.
"What could a child have done that was so horrible? Or perhaps--" Her face lit with understanding. "Cree, does this have to do with the magic?"
He nodded, relaxing as he felt Clanda's anger melt away. "I don't use the magic anymore. I don't want it."
"Unfortunately, you're going to have to use it. You're a spark waiting to erupt, and you could explode any moment. Mirayla told me what almost happened last night."
He sat back on the bed, waves of hopelessness weighting down his shoulders. "Please, I--"
"I'm not angry with you. I'm not going to hurt you, but I do want to train your abilities enough that you don't engulf yourself in flames during a nightmare."
"No! I can't. I won't--"
"Do you want to die, Cree Lin?"
The words were a verbal slap. He pulled himself from his grief enough to turn, cold, empty eyes towards her. "I'm already dead. My soul is dead. That's why the Leyloni shaman named me Cree Lin. It means Soulless One. So, please, let my wreck of a body die in peace, without the taint of magic."
Clanda shuddered. "Your soul isn't dead, Cree, only bent. Of that, Mirayla and Cali are quite certain. And as for the magic, I can give you control. It's a temporary solution, but if you're so set against training your powers, it's the best I can offer." Her voice was desperate, filled with pity and concern.
"Mirayla said that?"
"Yes, she did. I told you. I trust her judgment."
He pondered her words. True control would mean he could sleep without fear of setting himself or anything else on fire. True control meant an end to dreams of his father dying, Mirayla burning, his mother's soul tormented. "What would you do?" He raised a tear-stained face to meet her eyes.
She smiled gently. "All I have to do is touch your mind."
The promise of nights without dreams or fear was too much. "Do it," he whispered and dropped his walls. Clanda's shock at his sudden agreement almost knocked him unconscious, and he spun some of the shield back.
"Think about a blank wall for a moment."
He concentrated, and a touch like a soft breeze brushed through his mind, searching. He followed it. Deeper and deeper it led, through darkness, to a faint spark of light. "See," Clanda's voice whispered. "Your soul isn't dead. It still shines, faint, but there." Staring at the dim spark, he thought it grew brighter. "Yes, Cree, here is where true control comes. I can find it for you, or you can find it yourself. All you have to do is make the light brighter, let it fill you. That's your center, and with that, you'd never have to fear losing control again."
He reached with tentative fingers for the light. It was warm, the warmth of a summer day. Memories of childhood days with his mother, rides across the plains of the Southland, visions of Mirayla, all came back in a rush. He was certain it grew brighter, and he pulled more of it towards him, bathed in its depths. Hollow, aching places filled with warmth. Some of his fear and pain burned away. If only magic could be like this. A gentle touch pulled him away from the now blazing light towards himself once again. He opened his eyes and stared at Clanda's face, awe struck. "What did you do?"
She laughed. "Me? I did nothing."
"No, what did you do?" When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "You don't mean that I--"
"Yes, you. You found your center, and with that discovery comes control."
"But I'm not a mage. I don't do magic."
"No, Cree, you aren't."
She left then, leaving him to puzzle over her final words. If he wasn't a mage, then what was he?
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* * *
Chapter Fifteen
The halls of the keep were deserted, and Cree wandered, hoping to find his way outside to the stables. Thoughts of Mirayla, coupled with Clanda's cryptic words, twisted his stomach into knots and left his muscles tight and aching. He wanted to ride and let the wind tangle his hair and distract his mind with thoughts of freedom. If only he could find the way out.
"Looking for something?" Mirayla stepped from a door. A quick peek showed him the infirmary.
He pasted a smile on his face. "I want to go outside, but I can't find the door."
"All you had to do was ask. I'll show you."
"And the stable?"
She arched an eyebrow. "You can't go outside the gates. The Reapers have set up camp."
Disappointment gnawed in his gut. He needed to get away from Mirayla, Clanda, the keep. "Is there anywhere to walk then?"
"The garden. It's mostly dead now, though. But then..." she smiled, "...I don't think that will bother you."
"Can you show me?"
"Of course." She took his arm. "It's this way."
He couldn't help tensing. His experience with Clanda had left his senses raw, and her emotions echoed against his mind. His head started throbbing, and he pulled away.
"Is something wrong?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just a bit of a headache, that's all."
"Somehow, I don't believe you. I trust you and Mama had a good chat."
"You knew."
She nodded. "I sent her to talk to you. I was hoping she could help you a little. Did she?"
Reaching inside himself, he felt the still blazing source of warmth and light. He closed his eyes and let its warmth fill him. When he opened them again, Mirayla was staring at him. He smiled, this time with genuine happiness. "Yes, I think she did."
"That's good. I'm glad." She studied his face for a moment, then shook her head, and motioned for him to follow. "The garden is this way."
He followed her through a dark corridor. He heard a door open, and before him lay the most enormous garden he had ever seen. Neatly trimmed evergreen bushes snaked throughout its expanse, creating a maze. Stone paths followed the line of the maze. Benches were placed at regular intervals along the walks. Beds, meant for flowering plants, were staked out ready for spring planting. His jaw dropped.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Mirayla stepped from the corridor onto the path. "Well, are you coming?"
"I'm sorry. I've never seen anything quite like this." He stepped onto the path.
"There's a pond in the center
of the maze. I'll lead you through, if you like."
He frowned. He wanted to be alone so he could try to decipher his feelings for Mirayla and, most of all, puzzle over Clanda's words. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to be alone." As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. Mirayla's face fell, and he cringed at the touch of her disappointment.
"I see. I just thought--" She turned back to the door.
"Mirayla, I didn't mean--"
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you wanted company. I shouldn't have assumed a number of things. I'll leave you alone." The door closed with a thud.
Cree groaned. Being alone didn't seem so appealing now. He was tempted to go after Mirayla and try to explain, but stopped himself. She's part of the problem came the insidious thought. I'm falling in love with her, and I can't stop myself. The urge to run overwhelmed him. I'm outside. All I have to do is find the stables. If I leave at night, I can outrun the Reapers. I can be on the road to the Southland before anyone notices I'm gone. He walked along the edge of the garden, looking for the exit. He smiled when he saw it, half-formed plans of escape brewing in his mind.
Finding the stables was easy. He caught sight of a boy leading a horse and followed him. He ignored the sights along the way and focused on his goal, the low-slung building just ahead of him. At the entrance, he paused and savored the familiar scents. With a thought, he reached towards Windchaser, and heard the stallion's wickered greeting. Smiling, he sauntered to the horse's stall and scratched his ears.
"Shh. We're going to go for a ride tonight. I hope you're up for it." The horse pawed at the ground. "Good. I'm ready to go, too."
"You aren't thinking of leaving are you?"
Cree jumped at Benjamin's voice. "Benjamin?"
"Yes, that's me. I see you've recovered." Benjamin walked towards Cree, the load of horseshoes in his arms clanking.
Cree nodded. "I'm feeling better."
"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up. Pale as death, barely breathing, I carried you to the infirmary. What did you do?"
"I don't remember. I just remember riding."
"I don't think I believe you, Mac Torol. You didn't answer my question."
"What question?"
"Are you planning on leaving? If you are, you can leave my horse here."
"I thought--" He had forgotten Benjamin had only loaned Windchaser to him. The stallion wuffled his hair. "I wasn't planning to leave." He tried to smile and sound convincing, but the words sounded weak even to him.
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed, and he scowled. "Liar. What's eating you now? The girl?"
"I have to get away, Benjamin. I have to--"
The blacksmith grinned. "So it is the girl. I was beginning to doubt my earlier suspicions."
"We're not destined for each other." He laid his cheek against Windchaser's nose.
"You know you are, and you're in love with her. I can see it in your eyes." The blacksmith laughed and slapped his hand against his thigh, setting the horseshoes jingling.
Cree scratched Windchaser's ears and glared at the Benjamin. "I don't see anything funny."
"Oh, you haven't told her." He shook his head. "Are you going to torture yourself forever? Just tell her how you feel and--"
"It's not that easy, Benjamin, and it's not just her. I have to leave. I am leaving."
The blacksmith's face grew serious. "You'll be dead before morning. The Reapers are camped a mile from the gate, and there's more of them now. Ka-shal Tiroth has sent an envoy to petition the Grand Council for your immediate release. You don't stand a chance." The horseshoes clattered to the ground.
Cree's eyes narrowed. "You underestimate me."
Benjamin took a step towards Cree. "And where are you going?"
Cree sighed and stepped away from the stallion. "Home." The word was awkward, and he wondered if he really had a home.
"Lishal Tor?" The blacksmith rolled his eyes. "Do you have a death wish?"
Cree frowned. Lishal Tor. He had forgotten about his father. "My father--"
"You're dead for sure, Mac Torol. The city's occupied, your father's under arrest. You don't even know where he is."
"I can get in. I know ways into Torol House no one else does."
"Do you? Seems to me Sarana knows everything that's in your mind, or so you've said in your sleep."
The mention of Sarana sent a chill coursing through Cree's body. "He doesn't know everything."
"You're a damn fool to even think about trying a stunt like that." Benjamin started gathering his horseshoes again. "Mirayla told me her mother would win the city back and free your father."
"I have to. Don't you see, Benjamin, this is all my fault. If I'd just stayed in the South, none of this would ever have happened." He turned back to the horse and rubbed the stallion's nose. "When Father's free, I can go home."
"And where is home?"
"The Southland."
Benjamin shook his head. "I thought you had gotten some sense. I thought Mirayla would help you. I thought coming here would give you the release you wanted so badly. I don't know why I wasted my time on a fool. Go ahead, Mac Torol, leave! Get yourself killed! Don't even think about those of us who care about you. Ignore the woman who loves you so much she hardly moved from your side while you were dead to the world. Ignore your friends. Ignore your own potential. After all, the only person worth caring for is yourself!"
Benjamins's words hurt, but he willed them not to. "I can't stay, Benjamin, I--"
The blacksmith waved him to silence. "Don't bother. Take my gelding when you leave. The stallion stays." He left the stable.
He touched his forehead to the stallion's. "I guess this is good-bye then," he whispered and started back to his room.
~*~
Cree waited until midnight to leave. He slipped from his room, slung his pack over his shoulder, and retraced his steps to the garden. The halls were quiet, and he could not shake the feeling that his escape was easy, too easy. The garden, too, was empty, and he sprinted to the stables, disturbing no one, but a tired, old hound that barked once and went back to its slumber.
In the gloom of the stables, he found Benjamin's rough-boned gelding and glanced at Windchaser's stall. He was sorely tempted to take the stallion. He shook his head, and saddled the gelding. He would not break his word to his friend. Once saddled, he mounted and steered the horse to the unguarded south gate. In moments, he was in the open grassland, sprinting for the shelter of the trees.
He slowed to a walk inside the shadow of the woods. He listened, his breath coming in harsh gasps, for any sign of pursuit, but there were only normal night sounds - an owl hooting, a cricket chirrup. Now alone, he realized he had wanted someone to stop him or at least accompany him. He had grown tired of the never-ending silence of loneliness. Safe in the shadows, Cree watched the Reaper camp slide by, its occupants snoring loudly, except one lone lookout, who leaned on a spear and teetered as he fought to keep awake. Cree smiled and nudged the gelding to a trot. Once out of sight of the camp, he leaned low over the horse's neck and sent it running.
He glanced over his shoulder often, but saw nothing behind him except the growing stretch of road. Even the shadows had deserted him. Nothing moved in the waving grass or the trees beyond. He was alone. He relaxed dropped his guard a little. Nothing. No one's come after me. No one's noticed I'm gone. The thought should have been comforting; instead he found it disappointing. They don't need you. They don't want you. He looked back one more time and said a silent farewell to Socorrow's Rest. He would not need to learn their magic now, and Clanda's assurance he had found true control had been the medicine he was searching for. He could rest easy.
A shout, followed by a chorus of hoof beats, startled him and, he looked back to see the Reapers riding hard after him, swords drawn. They couldn't have seen me pass, but how did they know? He spurred the gelding to a gallop and leaned low over its neck, hoping he could outrun them. The horse strained, grunting with each
step. Built for stamina, not speed, it wouldn't be able to keep up the swift pace for long. He spun a little of his own energy into its body, strengthened its legs, and washed some of its weariness away. He glanced behind, but the Reapers still gave chase.
Leaning forward, he whispered. "Come on. We don't want them to catch us." Flecks of foam flew from the horse's mouth as it strained a little harder. Still, the Reapers came.
The road cut through a patch of trees, and Cree veered the horse into their depths. If he could not outrun his pursuers, perhaps he could trick them. He kept the gelding silent with a thought and led it into a thicket of brambles. The intertwining branches left him with a view of the road, and he knelt in their midst, ignoring the sting as thorns scratched his face and hands. The thud of hoof beats grew louder. He tensed.
"He must have gone straight through," one of the men said. Cree watched the group slow and stare into the depths of the trees. "No way he could have gotten a horse in these thickets." The man dismounted and combed along the edge of the woods.
"Nothing looks disturbed. He's gone ahead."
The man remounted, and Cree closed his eyes, praying they would ride on. The slow stomp of boots in the trees told him the Reapers still searched. He sank a little deeper into the brambles.
"Move out! He's obviously gone on! Remember, he's to be kept alive!"
"Wait a moment," said a new voice.
Cree froze. He knew that voice. He peeked through the briars. A portly man, dressed in riding leathers, stood on the edge of the road, staring into the wood straight at him. He could not mistake the face or the voice. Sarana. Cree dug his fingers into the damp earth and wished he could somehow bury himself, as well.
"What do you mean wait?" The man on the horse looked down at the mage. "If we wait, he'll only be farther ahead. Get on your horse and ride."
"I don't think he's gone on, Captain. He's still here."
"There's no way he could have gotten a horse in that thicket."
"Oh, really? We are talking about a rogue mage, who's well known to have a special talent with animals. He could have gotten the horse to do just about anything."
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